Weighed Down

Before I get into my Marie Osmond-esque testimonial, let me say this: I know that it's common to gain a few lbs after you settle into a romantic relationship. Trading vodka-sodas for pad thai dinners, and no longer worried about whether you'll ever have sex again, one can get a little doughy. And when you eat to feel nothing, like I do, it's a recipe for a fat-saster.* I've had weight issues for as long as I can remember, and enrolling in an Upper East Side private school where your daily calorie intake shouldn't exceed the grade on your final exam didn't help matters.
Here are a few quick facts that'll make my relationship with food a bit clearer:

• At the age of 9, while inhaling food at my grandmother's house and being told to slow down, my response was, "I'm a growing boy!" which was meant to be a joke--plus, I'd never heard "she's a growing girl" when a young female wanted seconds.
• My first week of college I was terrified to have to eat meals with my hallmates because I hadn't eaten in front of boys in years.
• My mother regularly went on 3- to 5-day crash diets and I would try to do them with her and could only last 5 minutes. I hated myself for my lack of willpower.

So, as you can imagine, when Jewboo admitted to noticing my recent weight gain, I went into a bit of a shame spiral. After all, the only thing that's made coitus acceptable is remembering that he thinks I'm thin. Now that neither of us are in a fantasy world, there's no going back!


I know this is kind of a random post. But what prompted it was this NY Times OpEd.**  That, and the fact that when I was in the D a couple weeks ago, my cousin and I reminisced about how, when I was 10, I would cry when they teased me for having "a white-girl booty" (you know, flat). I wanted curves in the right places, as the OpEd discusses. That was right before I started my new school and fell into a different cultural stereotyping.


Now I want the happy medium. You know, something like

Teehee--I can't help the puns!




But it's all looking up! I finally got one of them 'smart phones' the kids have been on about, and I'm trading in the fun apps (like fried ravioli) for some good-for-you apps, like "Noom," which helps you stop being a chubzo. Yay for taking positive actions!


How are you? What's the haps? Any tips on how to keep the weight in my boobs but make sure it leaves my thighs?


* (a fat disaster, obvs).
** I mean, other than the fact that the writer's "go-to meals" sound depressing, there's a lot there that I agree with.

Blacktresses & The Blues

**I started writing this post on Friday. Today is Tuesday. That should give you a sense of where I'm at.**

Guys, I am so dead tired. Don’t you ever wake up and have one of those days where it’s like, “Yeah, I could totally kill myself right now and it wouldn’t even be a big deal.”?

No? Just me? Well, anyway, that’s where I’m at.

I hung out with my mom last night and, as always, it was a mixed bag—a dash of hope, humbling gratitude, a bit of self-loathing, gut-wrenching frustration, and a feeling of powerlessness that makes a gal eat bread pudding for breakfast—natch. We had dinner with my voice over coach and it was straight out of Waiting to Exhale. They got along swimmingly, which I’d expected, but also banded together to point out several of my shortcomings.

You know, like how I don’t “invest in myself.”
And how I “dress like someone who doesn’t care.”
And how I “don’t focus on what really matters”
Oh yeah—and how I need to purchase some really good wigs and hair pieces if I want to be seen as a professional on stage and in auditions.

I feel like a character in a Carson McCullers novel.

Of course, it always helps to keep it in perspective. After all, I could be little Paisley here:

When questioned, her mother didn’t really get all the hoopla. “Well, at this pageant there was an option to do celebrity-wear,” the mom said. “And we thought about what we could wear with her being a brunette, and Julia Roberts is my favorite actress of all time. I thought it was real cute to do Julia. She’s 3. If she was 10 I never would have considered this. But as young as she is I thought it was very comical.”

With that in mind, I’m trying to shake off mom’s words, but the timing couldn’t really be worse—this Sunday is round 1 of NBC’s StandUp for Diversity auditions, where oppressed comics can finally get their reparations.

Last year, I didn’t even make it past the first round.
I was beaten by an 11-year-old boy with braces and rubber bands who talked about putting vodka in his cereal.

Needless to say, I’m nervous. And I only have 60 seconds to prove myself. If I win them over, I get to go on to the second round, which allows me 2 whole minutes to bring the pain. If I pass that I get to be on the showcase the following night.

I know, I mustn’t count my chickens. But it could be fun.
If only I could find a way to be hilarious in 60 seconds and stop thinking about how my natural hair makes me look like, “Whoopi Goldberg, not caring, wearing a moo-moo.”

I'm gonna go get a pedicure and re-watch "Good Hair."

Blacktress out!

This Is My Confession

I just finished watching Akeelah and the Bee and I'm feeling a little emotional.
This is nothing new.
I have seen Akeelah and the Bee on more than one occasion.

There, I've said it.

The film tells the story of a young, gifted, and black girl who discovers her gift for spelling with the guidance of Laurence Fishburne, a surly college professor who has led many spellers to the championships. Angela Bassett plays Akeelah's single mother, struggling to keep the family afloat by working overtime, all the time.

This film speaks to my heart on many levels: as a woman of color, a writer, a blacktress, and as a former young black girl--and a former spelling bee champ.

Yes, Sojo can spell.

I was never all into the Latin roots and reading the dictionary, but back in my Harlem schooldaze, I represented the 5th grade in our school-wide spelling bee. I didn't take home the big trophy, but I made it to the top 3-- and I even beat an 8th grader.

So, watching Akeelah and the Bee is always tender and heartwarming, and I tune in for at least a portion of it whenever it's on the boob tube.

And I always cry at the end.

Wow. I can't believe I just admitted it. I must really feel safe with you guys here in cyberspace.

But for serious, I do cry during the film. Something about the cast of a who's-who of blacktors and blacktresses, Akeelah's glasses and braids in a ponytail--she is a young Sojo. Her ill-fitting outfits, nerdiness, and friendship with the soon-to-be homosexual fellow speller Javier is everything I was growing up. Then just add Angela Bassett to the mix, and I'm feeling empowered, intimidated, and desperate for her approval--much like I do with my own mother.

At the end, when Akeelah is triumphant (come on, that wasn't a spoiler, you know it's a feel-good film), there's a montage of everyone cheering: her classmates back in South Central LA (obvi it had to be set there), her family back home, neighborhood residents in the diner. And I don't know why, but the slow-motion clapping and hugging just really got me this time around--Sojo's spirit was lifted. I am so happy when a young nerdy negress can triumph and lift up the whole community.



The young blacktress Keke Palmer, floating in the Caucasian Sea, stands--and spells--alone.
I think I own the outfit she's wearing.