Inside the Mind of Paul Ryan - A Collage

Y'all, why is this election even close? We need to stop bullshitting and be real about who these Republicans are--angry White men who think they're the dispossessed. 

I feel like Romney gets ample attention in these final hours, but his potential VP is ignored. This cannot stand! Paul Ryan is so bitchy, he needs his own show on Oxygen. I have assembled a few of his best facial expressions. (Yes, this is how I spent the day before election day.)

What Happens to a Blacktress Deferred?

Hey gang, how was your hurricane?

Sorry for the lack of bloggery—I haven’t blogged since August! Completely unacceptable. I realized I should get on it before you started to think I got swept away by the Oprah & Gayle-force winds. I’ve had plenty blog-worthy points to discuss, but I've kind of been in a hole. I’m in the office today after working from home for two days due to illness. Before coming in on Monday, I spent the hurricane weekend at Jewboo’s house, where I mostly laid around like a 19th-century maiden who had the vapors.

Yup, it was just like this.

I was the kind of sick where I could still function, I just felt like a waste of space. I kept breaking out into these cold Requiem for a Dream-like sweats that were just uncomfortable. Then Aunt Flo decided to pay me a visit, and I was like, “I’m sorry, I am not up for having company this week. Can you go stay with the girl down the block?” And she was all, like, “No, that’s not how this works. I’m not an actual person.”

I love the idea of having one workday each week where I don’t have to be in the office. Although I was sickly, I finally had the daytime hours to pick up clothes that had been at the dry cleaners since June 6.
Y’all, that was three months ago. They were about to give my clothes away.
I also managed to stock up on orange juice, and would have bought more groceries if the store wasn't all ransacked and random, 28 Days Later-style. (They had, like, all the sugar-free ice cream and Pillsbury crescent rolls you could want, but no bread to speak of.)

But after the initial surge of productivity, I fell into a pit of despair. Without having to look over my shoulder to make sure my coworkers weren’t judging my gchatting, I realized I couldn’t muster up the will to write--not stand up, not a blog post, and certainly not the solo show I've been thinking of for over a year. I started to wonder why on earth I couldn’t make anything of my life. It didn’t help that before my therapy session, I thumbed through the latest issue of Time Out New York and saw pictures and write-ups on three people I know from the comedy scene. I want to be writing a show or finding some way to get off of this plantation, but I’m too crazy and lazy (cray and lay? LRAZY?) to get it done.

I ate five English muffins yesterday.
FIVE, y’all.

To give you a sense of how gross this is, let me provide a visual:

Just looking at these pictures makes me want another one. I disgust myself.

Clearly I’ve given up on life. It’s probably because I don’t have money for my dreams. I’ve been told I need to get new headshots, but it’ll run me at least $500; and I want to get a demo reel made so that I can take over the voice-over world, but it costs over $2,000! I’ve been spending money to celebrate Caucasian marriages, but can’t actually afford these hotels and presents.
Oh yeah, and I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to write a magazine about painting flowers.

I know these are luxury problems, but can I start a KickStarter Campaign for my dreams? Cause they are are straight-up withering like a raisin in the sun.

I’ve been thinking about Australia a lot, which is always a sign that I don’t want to be in the world. I’ve also started wondering if I need to get a Splenda daddy—you know, one who’s impotent and won’t want me to do anything besides look pretty. And when losing the Hairpin’s Most Horrible Things That Moms Have Said contest actually makes me feel like a failure, I’m obviously in what one would call a “dark place”.

To help get myself back into the world, I’ve been looking at this picture sent by an “artist."

I don't know this man's name, and I'm not sure this cat has given consent, but at least I can safely say I'm not him.

How are you doing?

How I'll Meet My Lover

Hey friends!

I've been hemming and hawing about what to blog about this week, fearful that I'd end up sued for libel and/or dumped on the streets of Harlem. I realize that the only fair game is celebrities and myself, as well as anyone who won't assume the worst of me. With that, I must share this juicy bit of info I got from a comedy-club booker just moments ago.

Neil Patrick Harris—or, as I like to call him, Heterosexuality's Greatest Loss—lives in Harlem.

Yes, y'all! NPH/HGL was one of our earliest gentrifiers. I knew we had a connection that extended beyond my brain’s fantasyworld.
(Note to self: I'll have to write him a letter and thank him for bringing black folks brunch.)

How did I get this info, you ask? Well, the booker called me about a showcase his club is doing for an NBC casting person. We got to chatting a bit and discovered we lived in the same neighborhood. My response:
“Oh, you’re one of the ones who jacked up our prices!”
Booker: Yup. I’ve been here about 10 years. Doogie Howser is here, too.
Me: Wait, what? SHUT UP. NPH lives in your building?
Booker: Huh?
Me: Neil. Patrick. Harris.
Booker: Yeah.
Me: You are my new best friend. I hope you don’t mind if I stalk you now.

He then goes on to tell me that, although NPH/HGL has a hip pad downtown, he uses his Harlem apartment “as a homebase.” When he was hosting the Tony Awards this year, he had the extended fam staying there, away from the limelight and the paps!

Apparently, he’s lived uptown since his post-Doogie days. Guys, what if NPH was right behind me in line at the Uptown Juice Bar? What if he also bought quarter waters at the bodega?* What if he, too, used to enjoyed a good Jamaican beef patty after a long day? And, most important—has he been to the iHop that opened on 135th street?????

I’ve always felt a kinship with him—like Dr. Howser, I enjoy unwinding at the end of a long day with a good ol’ recap on my computer. Like Barney Stinson, I have a slutty history and daddy issues. And, as a host, NPH and I will go to any length’s to wow the crowd—including rapping.

He did this with zero preparation. It was written on the spot after all the winners were announced. The man is a true professional.

I’m sure I’ve already blogged about my goal to become NPH’s au pair, so I won’t bother outlining that fantasy again. But guys, the fact that NPH is regularly within a mile of me brings me one step closer to achieving my dream! Can you imagine me with the twins?!

Photo courtesy JJSiii

I don’t know how I’ll make this happen. I’m thinking my best bet is through his partner, as he can likely travel incognito and just walks around the neighborhood. I am willing to take my time to befriend him, as it will allow me to know NPH through his lifemate. When we finally meet—hopefully at a bourgie Harlem restaurant offering “Haute Soul Cuisine” or some crap—it will be like we’ve know each other all our lives. The babies will reach for me as if they already know I’m the Corinna Corinna to their Molly Singer.

The whole fam will come to my stand-up shows, and I’ll have to make sure my friends don’t embarrass me in front of NPH, but he’ll be so cool and down to earth, it won’t even be a big deal. We’ll regularly “do brunch” and they’ll call me when the twins are finicky and they don’t know what to do. I bet they’ll even start celebrating Kwanzaa!!!

A gal can dream, right?

Oh, and by the way—I got a slot on the showcase. Hopefully you’ll get to see Blacktress on 30 Rock -- It's about time Tracy Morgan got some competition.


*If you understand this reference, I heart you. Please come to my aid the next time my negrosity is questioned.

Ready for my Close Up

Hey boofaces,

Can I call you 'boofaces'? I just love y'all so much!
I'm in a weird mood.
I have cramps.

Anyhoozle, I got headshots done on Sunday, and it was actually quite fun. I normally hate having my picture taken, and the last time I got headshots done back in '06, the photographer asked me if I'd "consider working on this other project of mine" when I went to pick up my CD of images.

He then proceeded to show me images from this other project: black-and-white photos of naked ladies.
"I think you'd be great for this because you've got a great personality and a great figure."
Listen, buddy, flattery will get you everywhere, but not everywhere.

Needless to say, I was a bit traumatized.
Add that trauma to my general fear and laziness with regard to my blackting career, and it's taken me way too long to get headshots. But, you know, as they say, "better late than the early bird catches the hand in the bush"....or something like that.

I got my shots done by this gal named Ari, who does headshots for a lot of the UCB comedians, and she was super cool. We met in her apt, and not once did she ask me to drop my pants. She just used natural light and we did four different looks, and it actually turned out really well. We talked about how comedy dudes are weird, why UCB needs more diversity (not just of color, but of experiences, so all scenes aren't about the same shit every time), and how she manages to make money from her creativity. She is a strong black woman in a Caucasian candy coating.
I like her a lot.

I can't tell if this is ridiculously narcissistic, or fun, so let's just see what happens. Here are some fun shots from the shoot:
OMG, I'm so wholesome! I think this'll be the main one. Thoughts? Give it a yay or nay in the comments.


The vibe here is very 19th-century maiden, wandering through the parlour in a fainting coat.



I was really trying to hide the fact that I'm was wearing bright-pink underwear under a sheer knit dress, but I ended up giving off more of a "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" vibe.



And this next show, dear readers, is what happens when you let elite gay visionary JJSiii work his Photoshop magic on your "Law and Order shot" at the workplace, all because you joked, "I'd love to be surrounded by twinks in real life."
......NSFW!!!!

I'm now one step closer to becoming a gay icon.

What's up with you guys today? I'm gonna take some Advil and do some work, I guess. It's 10:01 and I've actually started nothing. The New Massa isn't in til 11:30 (he's at a photo shoot--how fierce is that?!), so I think it's behoovy of me to keep kickin' til then. Let's see what's hot on the interwebs.

Go Shawty, it's yer burfday.....

Today's Obama's birthday!!! YAY!! The chocolate silver fox turns a sexy 48 years old today, and I'm ready to go all Marilyn Monroe on his fine ass!

What do you think the security guards will do if I rock up to the White House and jump out of a birthday cake on the front lawn? Will I be tasered, or will they fall in love with me? I just feel like it'd be a good time to wish him birthday goodness, as well as thank him for my reparations, which finally came through. Holla!

What reparations? You may be asking. I got a scholarship to take FREE improv classes at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre (UCB), a well-known institution in NYC. Basically, some very liberal and bright member of Caucasia who interns there made a shocking discovery: improv is the realm of straight White boys. She decided to do something about it, and got them to implement a Diversity program. Thanks to Obama, black is the new black, and people are coming out of the woodwork to show some love to the Talented Tenth. UCB decided to jump on that bandwagon and offered up some freebies to 16 people of color.

No, no, I didn't just get it for being black--I got it for being young, gifted, and black, as well as the friend of an influential gay visionary. Comedian Jeff Hiller was telling me about the program and I was initially interested in recruiting, but without telling me, Jeffster ended up nominating me for it! Holla at a nomination--I feel like Taraji P. Henson, and this is my Benjamin Button!
Reason #256 that I love a gay man: They are not afraid to lift up a strong black woman.

I had my second class last night, and so far it's going pretty well. I'd taken a couple UCB classes before, but I could never really get into it--it's such a cult, and everyone there is into name-dropping who they've studied with, and all work really hard to be funny. Add to that the fact that it is indeed a boys club, and there just left little for the blacktress to desire. However, it is a great place to be if you want to make it in the comedy world, as anyone who's anyone starts out there. I see tons of UCB people working as talking heads on VH1 (you know, I love the 80s, Best Groundhog's Day Ever, stuff like that), and even see former teachers on "The Office" and "Parks and Recreation." I know that if I want to reach the masses, I gotta take some classes!

So I'm getting in it to win it. I'm making friends with established performers, and vowing to see more shows. Even though I'm a little rusty, my scenes have been pretty strong, and the teacher isn't calling me out, which is always good. The people in the class are all nice, and are grasping concepts quickly, but the humour isn't necessarily strong. That's fine by me, though. If they can at least not fuck up the scenes, then I'm good to go. My teacher is also so tender and smart. He's the Michelle Pfeiffer to my improvisational Dangerous Mind, if you will.

But let me bring this back to the man of the day: Birthday Boy Barack.
Without him, I might not have gotten these reparations. He's proving that 48 is the new 28, and without him I wouldn't even be blogging this right now.

Happy Birthday, Barack! I hope you like your jaunty bday hat!

Nothing's Right, I'm SCORNED

Um, guys, I can't stop making e-cards. If you missed the first 4 in the series, scroll down to the post titled "OURecards.com."

My name is Sojourner, and I am a Photoshop addict.

Or, to quote the great poet Natalie Imbruglia,
nothing's right, i'm scorned...
i'm all out of faith
this is how i DEAL
i'm sitting here at work
and I'm blogging about pain....


Here are the latest e-cards:








Wait, is this one too personal????