Why Are People So Cray?

Granted, not my punny-est title, but it’s really all I’ve got to say.

I got to work and was greeted by Awkward Male Coworker, who has come back from holiday vacay with some new neuroses. He’s been eating Weight Watchers SmartOnes for lunch every day.

He is 31 years old. He is not obese. He is not overweight. He doesn’t even have a paunch.
I finally called him out yesterday in the office kitchen.

“What are you doing to yourself?! You need more than 250 calories for a meal!”
“I’m watching my weight,” he said in his trademark monotone. [His underbite leaves him little room for enunciating.]
“There’s nothing to watch!”
“I’ve gotta get back to 24-year-old Tom, heh.” [his laughter is so weird.]
“Um, wasn’t 24-year-old Tom getting a divorce?”
“But I looked good.”

I’m sorry to discriminate, but a man eating a SmartOnes as a meal disgusts me. I mean, when a woman eats it, I get sad, but a man….I don’t know, it just crosses the line.

He was heating up this--which, as you can imagine, looks 10x worse IRL.

When I got in, AMC was eating a breakfast salad—nothing particularly breakfast-y in it, but a salad at breakfast. Spinach, Tomatoes, Mushrooms, with no dressing.

I can’t even look at him.

I was particularly annoyed because, this morning I had the strangest encounter with a human before ever leaving my house—which is saying a lot, cause I live alone. I was eating my Banana Nut Crunch* when the buzzer rang. I answered and waited for the person to state his/her name and business through the intercom.

"Hi, I’m your neighbor at 309. I was walking my dog and I can’t find him and I wanted to see if he was in your backyard."

In the words of Marc Maron: WTF?!

Y’all, the levels of fuckery are almost as limitless as Bradley Cooper, but let me just share some of the first few:
My "neighbor at 309"? Um, I live at 56. What kind of geography are you using?! Plus, you didn’t even say what street you’re on. To be on 309 [Sojourner’s] Ave, you’d have to be about 17 blocks north. Not exactly my neighborhood.

You want to "see if your dog was in my backyard?" You mean he got through my 7-foot-tall reinforced fence and stood there quietly for the last 15 minutes? Bitch, please.

“I’ll go take a look,” I told him through the intercom. And I did—a real thorough one, too.
“Nope, he’s not here.”
“You looked?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, ok.” He sounded dejected. “Um, could--”
“Sorry. Good luck!”

I don’t know what this CRAY-bor (you know, crazy neighbor) was thinking. This is not a Lifetime Movie, this is my life. Mama didn’t raise no fool! Maybe it’s all the Criminal Minds I watch, but I know a potentially rape-y situation when I see one. Like I’m just going to let him carry out a home invasion cause he’s “looking for a dog.” I am not a gentrifier; you can’t warm my heart by talking about an animal and think I’ll forget where I am.
In the words of short-lived R&B trio 3LW: PLAYA, PLEASE!

When I left the house—10 minutes after he rang—the dude was still out there!!! Just as I suspected, he looked like he had nowhere to be during business hours and hadn’t been to a dentist since before 9/11. He gave me the same line, which just didn’t make sense because we’d been through this.

“I know, I looked. I didn’t see anything,” I said.
“Could I just—”
“NO.”
Y’all, I was about to break out a rape whistle on my own stoop!

I got on the train, looking back to make sure Doggie Day Care was walking in the opposite direction.

I mean, of course I’m excited that I avoided the clutches of a criminally insane person, but I'm still shaken. I’ve been taking solace in Twitter all morning, and it’s actually working. Just writing this post is a step on the road to recovery.


What are you up to this weekend, guys?



*Hey yo, Post Cereals, can I get some free boxes for advertising?

Interview With a Blacktress

Guys, this is my favorite time of the year. No, not because we’re supposed to make the yuletide homosexual, or because I actually have a winter spoon this winter. It’s the best because we’re starting on a new financial year, which means we are ready to hire a new intern.

“But blacktress, aren’t interns annoying and over-eager?” you may be asking. “Doesn’t the hope and optimism in their eyes as they relish the ‘opportunity’ to photocopy remind you of your own lost innocence and drive?”

Yes, yes gentle reader, you are correct. But the best part of this whole process is that I GET TO INTERVIEW THEM!

As you all know, I relish power in all its forms, as I do not exist until you recognize my prowess. I also love young people, because my desire to be a mother without actually being a mother can be fulfilled by ordering them around and guiding them through the workplace as though it were life. The interview is the first time I’m able to assert my dominance, and I like to set them up for the beginning of the day so that I start off with a boost of confidence.

Unfortunately, I am co-interviewing with the other associate editor, who’s a real buzz-kill of a guy. He’s monotone, second-guesses everything I do (which really pisses me off, because he came into his post as my replacement), and doesn’t know how to kick back. In the interviews we pretty much take do the Good Cop-Bad Cop routine, with him asking hard-hitting questions, and me trying to take the pressure off and see into the applicant’s soul.

Before Thanksgiving, we interviewed one candidate, a plucky young grad who, after 2 years of Teach for America, is ready to be done with the illiterati (h/t Scribe) and pursue his editorial dreams. My coworker went in with this:

Buzzkill: Can you tell us of a time when you spearheaded a project, in or out of the workplace?

YAAAWWWNNNNN. Homey’s gonna be answering phones, faxing, photocopying, and copyediting for at least the first 6 months. He learns on the job, and if he’s got an interest and ¾ of a brain, he can do this. I don’t really need to know if he spearheaded anything. Let’s get to the real questions.

Me: Where do you see yourself in 5 years, and am I there with you?

That’s the kind of stuff we need to know! Tell me your dreams, tell me how much you love me, tell me what’s going on behind the button-down, sir!

Buzzkill: Do you have any interest or knowledge of contemporary realist art?

Ugh, WHO CARES?! I didn’t know Rembrandt from Remington Steele when I came in here—and I still don’t! What I do know is how to write, and how to use the Dictionary of Art Terms, and I sound super smarty-pants, and the readers are none the wiser. I am not tripping over this stuff, and I’ve been here 3 years and have actual responsibility! I don’t care if the whole magazine is printed in Wingdings, as long as my check clears!

This office is broke and busted, with one bathroom for 8 people, stacks of boxes lining the hallway (because we don’t have sufficient storage space), and a “doorman” named Manny who leans against the door all day (well, actually, only until 2pm, cause Manny got thangs to do) talking to the guy wearing a sandwich board sign advertising CHEAP PASSPORT PHOTOS. Every time I come into the office, I feel like I’m walking into a bodega.

In other words—this ain’t that deep, and we need to not get it twisted up in here. You’re asking an educated individual to spend 40 hours a week making sure “Antwerp blue” is spelled properly, and take calls from crazy elderly people who believe that all of their opinions should be heard. I need him/her to be smart, cool, and fearful of me—that’s all.

So now I’ve got a stack of resumes and cover letters, and I’m enjoying the judging process. I want to hire a cute, dorky boy who tells me I’m pretty and offers to run personal errands.

ColorED Commentary

Hey Gang,

Happy Hump Day!! I usually like to start off the work week with a blog, but there was nothing much to report--until today.

So, I just got back from my 11am Starbucks-procrastination run. I was gone for roughly 14 minutes. I come back to find some emails in my inbox in which our publisher (the magazine's overseer, if you will) suggests I emcee a presentation at our upcoming weekend-long painting event.

His exact description was "the painting smack-down on Friday."
Yes, a painting "smack-down."
(*Rolling my eyes so far I'm looking at my amygdala*)

This is why I like to keep personal and work life separate. After I was put on blast for being a comedian, my office thinks I'm the court jester. What they don't understand is that my humour is usually bitter, racial, sexual, and generally NSFW--even my television debut involved me cupping my own breasts!!

What's worse is that they have me teaming up with my office nemesis. I'm sure I've mentioned her. She's the newest employee who lost me the moment she wore leggings and cowboy boots on her first day of work, and goes further in the red every time she says "Have a good one!" and "bye-ya!" at the end of each day. Oh yeah, and in the morning she says "hiya!" It's like I'm talking to a hostess at Chili's. I just want to shake her and be like, "ARE YOU GOING TO OFFER ME SOUTHWESTERN EGG ROLLS FOR LUNCH??"

What's even better is that she, yet again, put my name in the running for something that I have no interest in doing. Looking back over the previous emails in the chain (that I hadn't been included in), she was first asked to emcee on her own. She writes:

"I think that’d be fun. Though I can’t promise nonstop laughs—that’s [Sojourner's] department!!"

Of course, this prompts the overseer to respond with:

"What if you and Sojourner did this together - treat it like a football game, with an analyst and a color commentator? The two of you would be fabulous!"

I think what he meant was colored commentator.

He even said in one of the previous emails, "Our emcee picture has gotten a bit middle-aged-white-guy heavy. Would you like to do the color commentary piece for the painting smack-down on Friday?"

If I had a nickel for every time things got too middle-aged-white-guy heavy, I'd have $45.30. Am I right, or am I right?

Of course, I can't say no. I'll be attending the entire weekend, and it's not like I have anything else to do at that time. I'm there on the company's dime, which means I'm also on the clock 24/7.
Of course, some of you may be thinking, "that's cool, Sojo! You can use your blackting skills at work!"
But guys, this isn't my forte. The California retiree crowd isn't exactly the blacktress' target audience. They want me to "use my skills," without actually being myself, which is pretty hard work if you ask me. What kind of jokes can I make about oil paint? I'm pretty sarcastic, and don't have the passion for art that my nemesis has--I could end up making fun of her out loud in front of hundreds of Caucasians! It could be the end of the blacktress as we know it!

I kind of want to just act really dumb, like Pepper Brooks in Dodgeball (one of my favorite films--yep, I said it.) This is the moment when Jason Bateman came back for me:



I love when he says "Ouchtown, population you, bro!!!"
There's got to be a way to bring that in to a painting "smack-down". Someone's gonna get cut with a bristle brush, I can feel it!

Black HERStory Month!

Happy Black History Month, guys!!!!

It’s a great time to be black, gang!! Last night started off strong, with a viewing of “BORN WITHOUT A FACE” (aaahhh!!! I couldn’t look away!), followed by a “Criminal Minds” mini-marathon (I’m just that cool). Although I slept rather fretfully, once I remembered what today was, I jumped out of bed with great glee.* I got to work and was pleased to begin my first week sitting at my new desk, which is NOT directly across from the bathroom. Holla at a blacktress movin’ on up!! I no longer have to hear my coworkers urinate as I pretend to do work.

We have a new girl in our office today, and she took my old desk. I already don’t like her—no, not just because she’s not black! It’s because she’s overly familiar and asks for a lot of things. Plus, she's wearing, like, leggings and grey cowboy boots and a tight green cardi - this is an OFFICE. It’s your FIRST DAY. And you make way more than I do, and I have to go Banana Republic biz-cas. Please have the decency to at least pretend to care, like the rest of us—at least in the beginning.

Anyway, I digress. I should be pleased that I now live in a world where Sojourner can be cold to a Caucasian newbie without fear of retribution. This is growth, people! Add to this the fact that tonight’s the season 2 premiere of RuPaul’s Drag Race, and this month is gonna be off the chain! Y’all know how much I love a DQ, and Ru is the queen of them all. I was in Australia during the first season of this show, and upon returning, it was more important to see Drag Race than call up my 93-year-old grandmother. (Does that make me a bad person?)

I think my favorite part had to be the finale, when their challenge was to write a rap for Ru’s song. Bebe Zahara Benet’s rap involves her saying the word ‘face,’ like, 10 times.
And she won the challenge.
I love this show so hard.

Add to this the fact that RuPaul is BLACK, and I think the BHM tie-ins are beyond obvious.

Okay, guys, it’s damn near noon, and I haven’t done an ounce of work. Apparently my boss doesn’t “understand” that Black History Month is a national holiday and I can’t be “expected” to “actually do my work” at any point.




Um, can we talk about the fact that I’m at work wearing my headphones and listening to ‘Covergirl (Put the Bass in Your Walk)’?

(Check out minute 1:22 for the start of the ‘face’ goodness)



I think what I love most about this show is the fact that, at the end of the episode, the bottom 2 contestants stand side-by-side and are told to “Lip synch…. FOR YOUR LIFE.”

I hope to one day be able to say the very same to two dueling male suitors. Whichever one is more fierce will get to be with me forever.


*god I miss that show.

Sidebar: Those who are in NYC and want to see the blacktress LIVE can check out the following stand-up shows this month:

Thursday, February 11, 9pm
Comedy Party USA
@ The Grizzly Pear
107 Macdougal St.
(Trains to West 4th)

Friday, February 12, 9pm
The Back Room
Ochi's Lounge
downstairs in Comix, 14th btwn 8th and 9th Avenue
(A/C/E to 14th street)

Both shows are FREE!

Working Girl!

I'm breaking the writer's block by creating fiction. This way, when my life gets too boring or too tragic, I'm not at a loss. Here is the first installment.

Working Girl!
A true work of fiction.

Martha was excited. Today was her first day at a new job! But there were tons of papers to fill out, and she always got confused. Like this “computer use agreement.” She didn't see any stipulations about gchat, so it looked fine. “I guess I’ll put my John Hancock right here! “ Martha chuckled to herself as she wrote.
“But what about my W-4? What do they mean, how many dependents do you have? What do you write if you have codependence issues?” Martha wondered to herself. She was pretty needy, and depended on a lot of people for support. But I don’t think she should be taxed for it – after all, it already takes an emotional toll.

This is hard. she thought as she agonized over the deductions sheet. But I have to remind myself that the whole point of working is to have a reason to shower and shave, and force me to be in a place where I can’t sob openly. Martha was right. She had been starting to reek of saline and insecurity, and her 2-am pizza binges were starting to show on her hips. She thought of all the doors her new employment would open for her and smiled as she began the “emergency contact form.”

“I think I’m going to tell them that if there’s an emergency, they should contact my crush, Tommy,” Martha said to the HR representative sitting across from her. “He said he can’t be in a relationship right now, but I’m sure he’d want to know if something bad happens to me. He’d rush to my side, and seeing me near death would definitely change his mind.” Yep, I’m going to put his name down. she thought. She still had his cell and work numbers, even though he never really gave them to her or anything. Maybe she’ll put down his email address, too.

Oooh, Martha just got an email from her new coworker. At desk with her shiny new Mac laptop, she felt like she’d really made it to the big time. He answered my question with a one-liner – he’s clearly an efficient guy, she thought to herself as she hit the reply button. She leaned back to another colleague two desks down.
“Do you think I should write back and say 'thanks!' or just leave it.? I don’t want to clog his inbox. Maybe I should just write back with :).” She drew the smiley face on a post-it to clarify.

Her coworker said nothing.

Or maybe I should wink? she wondered. No, that probably counts as sexual harassment. Oh, workplace politics! ;P

The phone suddenly rang and when she went to pick it up it hit her desk lamp, making a loud clanging sound. Martha looked around to try and catch the eye of one of her coworkers, but no one saw her hit myself on the head with the phone humorously so they probably just think she’s making a lot of noise for no reason. I hope I don’t get fired!

She began to sweat profusely.

Martha’s desk was right across from the bathroom. All day, she could hear coworkers make onesies and twosies and wash their hands. I’d simply die if someone heard me use the bathroom, she thought resolutely. Seriously, I’d pass out and one of my lungs would collapse and I’d choke on my own saliva from embarrassment. I think I’ll try to keep my fluids low during the work day, and if I have to go, I’ll just go across the street to Barnes and Nobles. I mean, those people are strangers, I’ll never have to face them again.

I wonder if I should contact Tommy and tell him I got a job. Maybe I’ll send it from my office email, so he knows I’m not making it up. That’d be good. He’d know I’m really over him. Big and better, onwards and upwards, I always say!

I always say that. Seriously. She reinforced herself.

As the day wound down, Martha began to feel glum. I wonder what people with active social lives are doing tonight.

She was about to do a google search on the very subject when her boss walked by. She hurriedly closed the window and got to work!

What a day!

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?? / Sojourner May Not Be Suitable for Children...

Well, technically, guess who went to dinner--ME!

Last night was dinner at the boss's place--massa let Sojo into the big house, y'all!!

I arrived with a 6-pack--of juiceboxes--and a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift for the adults. I was instantly greeted by 3-year-old Timmy,* who is really into trains. As massa cooked, I chatted with his new missus** (who actually used to work on my plantation, too, and currently freelances, so we weren't total strangers) and drank some of the wine that they'd already opened. We mostly discussed my impending move Down Under, and entertained the young one. After a few minutes, I noticed that everyone was shoeless, and asked if they preferred I took my shoes off.

"Oh, no, it's fine, whatever you prefer," said Massa.
"Oh, good, um, I'm going to keep them on because I've got a short-pants/ankle-socks situation that the boots are hiding, and it's very unflattering."

I think he understood.

Anyway, dinner was quite pleasant and low-key, and I didn't slip up by, you know, talking about how I can't wait to leave my plantation. In fact, my heart was actually warmed when the massa told me that the big massa (the overseer, if you will--will you?^) has been interviewing potential successors and singing my praises to each of them, basically telling them, "you've got big shoes to fill, and from the looks of it, you can't handle clown shoes."

Or, you know, something tender about me.

Anyway, the thing I like about little kids is that in new situations, they force everyone to focus on them, thereby taking attention away from the guest/new person/or cousin with Elephantitis. I didn't finish my dinner (it was delicious, I swear!), and started to feel guilty, when little Timmy (who clearly had left the table long before the adults and was amusing himself) came back and asked me to wear a mask and a conductor hat and let him ride on my back as though I was a human train.

Who was I to deny the cherub this wish? (As you know from previous posts, I have a way with the children.)

So there I was, in a mask that obscured my vision and a hat fit for a toddler, yelling "Choo Choo" and prattling on about Thomas the Tank Engine in front of my boss and his future wife.

Yep, the blacktress has no shame.
It really helps that my massa and I have a rapport, and he finds me pretty funny. Turns out the future wife shares his sense of humor, and, like, Sojo, she is really rational with children. Take, for instance, the following dinner time excerpt:

Timmy: Mommy, I'm hungry.
Mom: Well, Timmy, you didn't eat your dinner, and dinner time is over. You can have milk, or an apple.
Timmy: I don't want an apple! (pouting, of course, ensues)
Mom: Well, what about a glass of milk?
Timmy: I don't want milk. ("Oh my god, do I see a glisten of a tear?" I wonder as the scene goes down)
Mom: Well, Timmy, I don't know what to tell you.

HAHAHAHH!!! That's exactly how I will be if I ever accidentally get knocked up and decide to carry my kid to term and raise it myself.
Seriously, you've got to be logical with them, you can't let that ranting and whining go unchecked, or you'll end up with a brat.
In the end, he went for the apple and was quite pleased.

After the "human-train" incident, Timmy and I had really bonded, and he ran into his room and returned with The Cat in the Hat.
"Here, you be the teacher!" He said to me, as he pulled me over to the living room chair. He nestled beside me so I could read to him. (Tenderness!!!) He then made his mom and my massa sit on the floor in front of us so that we could read to them.

Oh my god, I was about to conduct story-time to my boss.
For serious, guys. I cannot make my life up. Is this normal?

As I said earlier, I don't really go for baby talk with the little people (or with dwarfs). I also have a tendency to see the seedy, sketchy, darkly humorous sides of so many of children's shows and books (see my serious analysis of television show Max and Ruby, for more). As a seasoned comedic veteran, I know the importance of connecting with the audience. While I had a 3-year-old who wanted to read, I also had two adults who were not about to sit through Cat in the Hat while seated on the floor. I had to provide a literary experience that would reach them all.

So, here, for your reading pleasure, is the completely improvised (and then quickly written down on the subway home) version of the Cat in the Hat, as told by Sojourner to Massa, his future wifey, and the cutest little boy ever.

PLEASE NOTE: The underlying goal of my story was also to help get little Timmy drowsy and ready for bed (it was, after all, already an hour past his bedtime!).

THE CAT IN THE HAT: BLACKTRESS VERSION

The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
And tried to sleep the day away.

I sat there with Timmy.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish you were older
so I could be friends with you."

Mom wasn't home
'cause she was making ends meet
So we sat in the house
And wondered what we would eat.

But all we could do was to
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.

And then
something went BUMP!
Sally reached for the phone.
I said, "Oh god, why did mom leave us alone?"

We looked!
Then we saw him step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to us,
"Why do you sit there like that?"
"Tomorrow's school, but don't be weepy
We can have the kind of good fun
that will make you nice and sleepy!"

"I know some good games we could play,"
Said the cat.
"I know some new tricks," [Ed. Note:Watch for child molesting]
Said the Cat in the Hat.
"A lot of good tricks.
I will show them to you.
Your mother
Will not mind at all if I do."

Then Sally and I
Did not know what to say.
Our mother was out of the house
For the day.

Who were to deny a feline in fancy dress?
The times would be good, we expected no less.

But our fish said, "No! No!
Make that cat go away!"
See, the fish is a buzzkill [Young Timmy looked at me blankly at this point]
cause he does nothing all day.

Then the cat let out a yawn,
and said, "fish, kill that noise.
"We're gonna have some fun,
then sleep soundly--and poised."
"I have a game called,
INDOOR VOICES, PLEASE--
It's where everyone stops yelling
And jumping on his knees."

[Improvising in rhyme is hard--especially when you have to keep it PG.
I made it about that far when Timmy got distracted and they went and got Goodnight Gorilla-- a completely unsanitary tale about animals breaking out of their cages at the zoo and going into the home of the zookeeper so they can sleep in his bed.
Ew.]

Well, even though I couldn't make it to the end for Timmy, here's where the story was headed.

"The cat was acting totes wired
But Sally and Timmy were really tired.
They wanted the fun, but knew they had a big day ahead
So they said, 'hey cat, come back tomorrow,
we're gonna go to bed.'"

"But what about your mother?
Don't you want to say hi when she gets in?"
"No," said Sally,
"She'll probably be surly, and will
undoubtedly be reeking of gin."

So the Cat sighed, and almost cried.
"No one every wants to play me!
This is why I resort to breaking and entering!"
Sally and her brother just shuffled up the stairs.
Hardened by life as latchkey children,
they just yelled back, "Dude, who cares?"

As they tucked themselves soundly in their own beds,
The cat sat in the living room,
balancing the fish bowl on his head.
He then went searching in the cupboards, for a little late-night nip
As tears poured down his cheeks, he said,
"Step 13--it's okay if I have one little sip..."

THE END.

Take that, Seuss!

Dude, he so has an addiction.

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent Caucasian youth.
**How do you like them apples?! Massa did the cookin' while Sojo did the drankin'!
^If it makes you uncomfortable, you can just call him "editor-in-chief," which I guess is "technically his title."

Celebrating a White Woman

Yes, I'm doing it.

29 years ago today, my office wife was squeezed out into this world. She grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey, where she cultivated a love of whole wheat and grains, physical activity, and positive thinking. She went on to work in advertising, and then magazine publishing.

And there she changed a blacktress' life.

As a woman of color and a writer, it is behoovy of me to express my appreciation in the written form, as I've done for so many others, from Harry Potter to Katie Walsh-- you know, the people who really matter. Below, I look back on the year that has been and celebrate the birth of Alli Mali.

From the very first day, you knew all the answers
Wielding your red pen like a sword, you showed me it's the deck that really matters.
From our first lunch time walk en plein air
I knew we'd be besties--especially when that bird pooped in your hair.
Halfway through the year we moved into veal pens
But, surprisingly, our tender office love did not end.
Now we lean back in our rolly chairs,
sharing our worries and cares
Then bitch and moan at Lemongrass on Fridays.
You have the youthful joy of someone a mere 18 years old,
yet you always know I have a date if I'm wearing my reflections in gold.
And when I'm a hot mess you don't judge me in any way.
I feel great joy when I hand you an article I think is DONE AND DONE.
Then I see your red marks and I know the learning has just begun.
You push me to be the best blacktress I can be--
But no matter what you say, I won't drink that damn algae.
You're so kind to everyone, the mail guys say you're hot.
Then there's that darn Sal, who's just waiting for you to give him a shot.
You're my nine-to-five soul sister, twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five
Except for those ten vacation days, and the fact that you're white.


Alli, remember that time you and I were working on an article (you know, every day) and you taught me new and exciting things? Well, I never told you, but you just treated me like such an equal, I actually felt white.

Goosebumps--Tales of TRUTH

me: i know you're busy, but i just found a NEW office gay

Kathleen: nice

me: i was in the kitchen, talking to katey about how i hate men

and i just looked over at this dude who was at the vending machine and was like, "WHY AM I SINGLE?"

and turns out he's gayer than a christmas goose!

he goes, "all my girl friends ask me that. you need to leave new york and find a man somewhere else, club him over the head, and drag him back here."

Kathleen: haha

nice

so true as well

how is a christmas goose gay??

me: katie

that's not the point.


What is the point is that this man--a total stranger just in need of a can of Schweppes--knew the problem. He went on to say, "The thing is, to make it in this city, you have to be sort of an egomaniac [TRUTH], and it's hard for an egomaniac to be in a relationship with another person. And then, being a strong woman, it's even harder."

I mean, does he get me or what?
God bless a gay Christmas goose.

This is what I would cook for my boyfriend every night, if he ever decided to love me. Notice the two glasses of red wine.

Office Ex

There is this guy who works in my office who looks just like my ex boyfriend. I kid you not. Now, joining the ranks of my Office Wife and Office Husband, I now have my Office Ex. It’s totally freaking me out.

For those of you who don’t know (and for those of you who just love the hilarity of it all), my ex boyfriend is an Israeli, vegan, investment banker, who worked about 90 hours a week and did his study-abroad semester at a historically black college.
I kid you not.

How do randoms find me?!

We met at the birthday party of Edith Zimmerman, back in June of 2006…I should have known those two 6s were a sign….

He met me at a delicate time, when I was lost and confused, just fresh back from my tour with THE DEAF (where no one can hear you scream….), and well know how I love a man-cuddle during hard times. He was definitely sweet, and tried very hard to make the love work, but…

He was an Israeli, VEGAN, INVESTMENT BANKER, who WORKED 90 HOURS A WEEK.
Do you see the problems?

In addition to those, his parents were not happy with him dating a blacktress, and wouldn’t acknowledge I was even in his life.
Oh yeah, and he was pro-life.

Nothing’s more awkward than a guy you’ve been dating 2 months telling you he’d be ready to have a child with you if you were to get pregnant.

Oh, wait, actually, I CAN think of something more awkward: him telling you, “I’ve been thinking about whether or not I would love a black child…”

Um, paging Barack Obama!!! So, let’s get this straight: he’s telling me that not only must I bear his seed, but he won’t love it even if it does pop out of the ol’ babymaker!
In the words of Whitney Houston: HELL TO THE NO!!!

As you can see, this is still an emotional situation for me. I look back on the relationship with conflicting emotions and wonder if he is now in the arms of a vegetarian Jewess, who makes him latkes and likes to do spreadsheets. I sometimes wake up in a cold sweat, thinking of the unloved mocha baby that would have resulted from our union….

And then I see the Office Ex, walking to the bathroom.
Honestly, the first time I saw him, my stomach leapt in my throat until sanity came back to me. “Get a hold of yourself, Sojourner,” I said. “There’s no way a rich banker boy would suddenly decide to work for business-to-business magazines….Besides, Office Ex is a bit more Jewey, and shorter than Schmomer Schmohen.**”

While I know it’s not him, this doppelganger haunts me, and sometimes makes me throw up in my mouth a little.

I haven’t been able to discuss this with my office spouses (you know how hard it is for your mate to think of you with other people—imagine if that person were always around!!!), so I’ve decided to share this with you, fair readers.

Do you think I should talk to him? Walk up to his desk and say “Shalom!” Ask him his feelings on a woman’s right to choose?

Or should I just turn the other way when I see him—as I do now?





**Names have been changed to protect the Jewish.

Office Wife

You may be surprised to learn that, in addition to being a woman of color, writer, and blacktress, I am also in a committed REAL-ationship with a woman.

She is my office wife. Her name is Allison, and she’s a semi-precious stone of Caucasian beauty.

Initially, I was nervous and awkward around Allison. She wears a lot of muted tones, sensible slacks, and has well-coiffed blonde hair. I figured she was not going to be able to handle Sojourner. I was worried that she’d be like, “aah, she’s black, I don’t know how to talk to her!” and she’d mistake my sassiness for negro anger. I was warned pre-meeting not to use profanity around Allison, lest her delicate ears burn.

Then, one day, I came in to work looking all done up. It’s a rare moment, when the contact lenses and cute top appear in tandem, and Allison noticed. Not only did she feed my ego, but she also said, “Oh, you got your hair did!”

YES! I got my hair DID!!!

Where Allison learned the incorrect verbiage used for black-tresses, I will never know! What are they teaching young people in the suburbs of Hoboken?! My shock was further compounded when, a few days later, I asked Alli for some hand lotion and she said, “Why, are your elbows ashy?”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!! Kind of offensive, yet kind of hilarious and subversive!
She can handle the truth!!

The best part is that she says these things with the wide-open eagerness of a child, not a hint of irony or self-awareness in her voice. Her words are pure and her love is true.

Since those moments, I’ve let it all hang out with Allison, even letting her read my blog. And she attended my comedic performance a few weeks back, and laughed at moments when others didn’t. I think this is why I love her most. No matter what I say to her, she cracks up. She allows my randomness to flow free, and makes our cubicles/veal pens feel like wide open meadows filled with flowers and unicorns.

Do you see how poetic this love makes me?!

And when she edits my articles, wielding her red pen like a sword, I know she’s doing it out of love. She is doing it so that, one day my blogs don’t contain so many typos and improper uses of commas. She does it because she cares.

We’re getting gay married in Ontario next week. Our registry is at pottery barn and Melissa Ethridge’s garage sale.


This is me and Alli. She's standing over me copyediting an article I wrote. She's kind of like a female Abe Lincoln, in her understanding of the brown people and desire for us to be equals.