Sometimes, all you can do is nothing. Am I right?????*
PREACH!
*Dear god, I hope I'm right, or else I'm on a one-way, downhill road to nowhere.
Showing posts with label Sojourner's Truths. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sojourner's Truths. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
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.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Morning Posts
Ugh, I have no idea what to blog about. But I've started reading The Artist's Way which suggests writing "morning pages" every day. These are three handwritten pages of whatever comes to your mind right after waking up. The goal is to just write, with no judgments or agenda, and just clear out all the crap. So, with that in mind, I'm going to just write about where I'm at, and just see what happens. (without being overly self-indulgent, I swear!)
Not that my life's totally boring (just mildly), but I don't know how to be succinct and witty anymore. Between writing about paintings non-stop and the calls from [insert network here]'s Legal Department, the will to go on has been sucked out of me.
Yes, calls from the legal team. Remember my cuckoo bananas run-in with a mentally ill woman who offered to make me a star? Well, since then I've gotten several more emails, and at 12:06am last night I received a THREE-MINUTE VOICEMAIL MESSAGE from the woman, talking about how NBC writers are just mad at her because "my sketches are perfectly written and LOL."
Yes, she said LOL.
Of course, this is all fodder for something, but I've been suffering from creative blocks and I feel like I just need an emotional laxative. (A relaxative? A frien-ema? I feel like there's a good portmanteau out there just waiting to be found!) In summation, here's where I'm at right now:
Ugh, I just got another email from the crazy lady, telling me to "be nicer to the writer, N" after I wrote her an email asking her to cease communication.
Is that a threat? Y'all, she's going to skin me and wear me as a pelt!
Not that my life's totally boring (just mildly), but I don't know how to be succinct and witty anymore. Between writing about paintings non-stop and the calls from [insert network here]'s Legal Department, the will to go on has been sucked out of me.
Yes, calls from the legal team. Remember my cuckoo bananas run-in with a mentally ill woman who offered to make me a star? Well, since then I've gotten several more emails, and at 12:06am last night I received a THREE-MINUTE VOICEMAIL MESSAGE from the woman, talking about how NBC writers are just mad at her because "my sketches are perfectly written and LOL."
Yes, she said LOL.
Of course, this is all fodder for something, but I've been suffering from creative blocks and I feel like I just need an emotional laxative. (A relaxative? A frien-ema? I feel like there's a good portmanteau out there just waiting to be found!) In summation, here's where I'm at right now:
Sojourner's Current Truths
- I cringe every time my coworker opens the blinds to the window that stretches across both of our cubicles. I realize it's because the feeling of the sunlight on my skin reminds me that this is reality. (Sometimes when I'm in the office alone, I don't open any blinds at all.)
- Is it wrong for me to ask the German roommate not to use the kitchen as a study space so that I can get up and have my morning oatmeal (and general pre-day prep) in peace and quiet?
- What about if I ask her to stop making her gross-smelling coffee that makes the house smell like wet garbage?
- Whenever I'm crossing the street, I'm afraid that turning cars are going to hit me. A couple weeks ago, a guy stopped his car after I ran across (I had the light), he opened his door, and yelled after me, "WHY YOU RUNNING??? WHY YOU RUNNING? YOU FUCKING IDIOT." It was awkward.
- Jewboo and I are starting to look for an apartment and the place we were interested in just fell through. We had a sure-fire in, there was a washer/dryer IN THE BUILDING, and the apt has a special spot in my heart because it's where I saw my very first episode of 16 & Pregnant. Then the landlords decided we had to go through a broker (after speaking with us directly and giving us apps to fill out), who would charges a $1700 fee! Um, no thanks.
Ugh, I just got another email from the crazy lady, telling me to "be nicer to the writer, N" after I wrote her an email asking her to cease communication.
Is that a threat? Y'all, she's going to skin me and wear me as a pelt!
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Truth Never Gets Old
You know, this time last year, I was smack dab in the middle of Caucasia, where no one even knew was Black History Month was. And now, to be home, able to tell my TRUTH…well, it just warms my heart. I’ve been thinking of important black folks I wanted to share with you today, and I think I’ve come up with one.
She’s not famous.
She’s not on reality TV.
And no, she’s not 16 or pregnant.
She’s…MY GRANDMA.
Yes, my grandmother—or, as I like to call her, G-Unit.
My grandmother is 93 ½ years old, y’all—holla!! And yes, I said 93 ½ (her birthday is in June). I figure when you make it to as old as 93, you get to revert back to kid referral to your age – every second counts! Dudes, 93?! For reals? I think she has an autographed copy of the Bible – for reals.
Ethel Mae was born in Waynesboro, Mississippi in 1916. She currently lives in Detroit, Michigan—also known as “The City That God Forgot.” I used to spend every summer with Ethel until I was 14 years old. Ethel raised 7 kids and worked full time and was not exactly a sugar-and-spice grandmother. I didn’t get baked cookies – I got grits in the morning. There was no knitting and needlepoint, there was tilling the backyard fields. When my cousins and I would play hide-and-seek in her house, she’d always leave us with a warning:
“Be careful, and don’t go in that front room – that’s where I keep my gun.”
Yes, y’all! G-Unit will bust a cap in yo’ ass.
She’s never actually used the alleged gun, which I’ve never actually seen, but she says she had it for protection, because she’s “a lonely old woman living alone and people will prey on me.”
Um, nobody’s preyed on this old broad a day in her life.
“Okay, Sojourner, your grandma’s old--what’s your point?” you’re probably saying to yourself.
Well, gentle reader, this month, we’re honoring those that came before us and re-learning their lessons. As you can imagine, a woman who survived the Great Depression, WW2, and had a 68-year-old bf when she was 86 has pearls of wisdom to impart. Here are some nuggets for you to add to your TRUTH collection:
On preparing for disaster:
“In times of distress, you must be able to wipe yo’ ass.”
--Grandma to me, re: why she had a whole closet full of toilet paper before the year 2000. You know, she was worried about “the Y2K.”
On homosexuality:
“You know how I know she a lezbun? 1: She got that short haircut; B: We was watching a joe boxer commercial and the man was dancing in his underwear and she changed the channel? Why would she do that? I’m an old woman and I want to see it! You know why she changed it? Cause she a lezbun”
--Grandma, re: my cousin’s recent breakup from his gf.
On Michelle Obama:
“She lookin’ like a smiley Grinch. Don’t you just love that smiley Grinch?”
-Grandma, re: Michelle’s Vogue magazine article.
On interracial marriage:
“It’s okay for you, baby, cause you’ll be able to do your daughter’s hair. That Laura [my uncle’s white wife’] leaves her girl looking a mess, and it just breaks my heart.”
--As long as the children’s hair is tight, black-and-white is all right!
“Sojo, I think you should meet Bob, he’s a nice man, got a job. Why don’t y’all go on a date?”
--Bob is my white aunt’s brother. He is a 40-something divorcee who works at the Chrysler plant. My grandmother thinks he’s my type solely because he’s Caucasian.
On aging:
“I’m doing pretty fair for an ol’ lady. You know, I’m just waitin’ to die.”
-Grandma, in response to the always innocuous question, How are you doing?
I include this because this shows that grandma is never afraid to tell you the TRUTH, even it will make you uncomfortable and/or depressed.
So, as you go about your day—nay, your LIFE—try to live the Ethel Mae philosophy. Tell the TRUTH, the whole TRUTH, and nothing but the (Sojourner) TRUTH, so help you God! Who knows? You may even live to be 93.
She’s not famous.
She’s not on reality TV.
And no, she’s not 16 or pregnant.
She’s…MY GRANDMA.
Yes, my grandmother—or, as I like to call her, G-Unit.
My grandmother is 93 ½ years old, y’all—holla!! And yes, I said 93 ½ (her birthday is in June). I figure when you make it to as old as 93, you get to revert back to kid referral to your age – every second counts! Dudes, 93?! For reals? I think she has an autographed copy of the Bible – for reals.
Ethel Mae was born in Waynesboro, Mississippi in 1916. She currently lives in Detroit, Michigan—also known as “The City That God Forgot.” I used to spend every summer with Ethel until I was 14 years old. Ethel raised 7 kids and worked full time and was not exactly a sugar-and-spice grandmother. I didn’t get baked cookies – I got grits in the morning. There was no knitting and needlepoint, there was tilling the backyard fields. When my cousins and I would play hide-and-seek in her house, she’d always leave us with a warning:
“Be careful, and don’t go in that front room – that’s where I keep my gun.”
Yes, y’all! G-Unit will bust a cap in yo’ ass.
She’s never actually used the alleged gun, which I’ve never actually seen, but she says she had it for protection, because she’s “a lonely old woman living alone and people will prey on me.”
Um, nobody’s preyed on this old broad a day in her life.
“Okay, Sojourner, your grandma’s old--what’s your point?” you’re probably saying to yourself.
Well, gentle reader, this month, we’re honoring those that came before us and re-learning their lessons. As you can imagine, a woman who survived the Great Depression, WW2, and had a 68-year-old bf when she was 86 has pearls of wisdom to impart. Here are some nuggets for you to add to your TRUTH collection:
On preparing for disaster:
“In times of distress, you must be able to wipe yo’ ass.”
--Grandma to me, re: why she had a whole closet full of toilet paper before the year 2000. You know, she was worried about “the Y2K.”
On homosexuality:
“You know how I know she a lezbun? 1: She got that short haircut; B: We was watching a joe boxer commercial and the man was dancing in his underwear and she changed the channel? Why would she do that? I’m an old woman and I want to see it! You know why she changed it? Cause she a lezbun”
--Grandma, re: my cousin’s recent breakup from his gf.
On Michelle Obama:
“She lookin’ like a smiley Grinch. Don’t you just love that smiley Grinch?”
-Grandma, re: Michelle’s Vogue magazine article.
On interracial marriage:
“It’s okay for you, baby, cause you’ll be able to do your daughter’s hair. That Laura [my uncle’s white wife’] leaves her girl looking a mess, and it just breaks my heart.”
--As long as the children’s hair is tight, black-and-white is all right!
“Sojo, I think you should meet Bob, he’s a nice man, got a job. Why don’t y’all go on a date?”
--Bob is my white aunt’s brother. He is a 40-something divorcee who works at the Chrysler plant. My grandmother thinks he’s my type solely because he’s Caucasian.
On aging:
“I’m doing pretty fair for an ol’ lady. You know, I’m just waitin’ to die.”
-Grandma, in response to the always innocuous question, How are you doing?
I include this because this shows that grandma is never afraid to tell you the TRUTH, even it will make you uncomfortable and/or depressed.
So, as you go about your day—nay, your LIFE—try to live the Ethel Mae philosophy. Tell the TRUTH, the whole TRUTH, and nothing but the (Sojourner) TRUTH, so help you God! Who knows? You may even live to be 93.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Black History Month All Year Round
Hey Guys,
For your viewing pleasure, here's a live version of Sojourner's stand-up show during Black History Month. Topics include:
Slavery
Gentrification
Ps in Vs Without Cs
I hope you enjoy.
Oh, and remember: it's comedy. Let's not get our panties in a twist.
Part 2:
For your viewing pleasure, here's a live version of Sojourner's stand-up show during Black History Month. Topics include:
Slavery
Gentrification
Ps in Vs Without Cs
I hope you enjoy.
Oh, and remember: it's comedy. Let's not get our panties in a twist.
Part 2:
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Inconvenient Truths
Sorry guys. For a hot minute I forgot I was a mad blacktress-- then I took a crazy improv class.
It wasn't any crazier or weirder than any acting class I've ever taken (except for the class I was in when another student referred to someone as "colored." Like, un-ironically. It was a dark day). But it was still awkward, which you know is my favorite thing ever, and I'd like to share it with you.
So, we were playing all these tender, heartwarming get-to-know-you-and-as-a-result-get-to-know-myself games (you know, the awkward ones you do during orientation week), and one of them involved standing in the middle of a circle, surrounded by the other classmates, who were seated. You then stated a fact about yourself (no lies!) and whoever shared that truth had to get up. The goal was to get another person's seat, thereby leaving another defenseless soul in the middle of the circle to share a truth about themselves.
It started off simply enough-- we began with physical characteristics that were easy to note in others. When it was my turn in the center, I felt like a buck on the auction block. Of course, I was the only blacktress in the room, and I'd chosen this day to wear a dress. There were few physical characteristics I had in common with my fellow classmates-- *oppression*. I had to settle for "Anyone who has polished toes, stand up!" just to get the other two women in the class moving.
After a few minutes of pointing out physical flaws in ourselves, we then had to state facts that were true for us, but not visible ("Anyone who has been to a foreign country!" for instance). By doing this, we'd share bits of ourselves and in turn realize we weren't alone. Magical.
Some things that I shared with the class:
Anyone who cried at the end of Harry Potter, stand up!
(no one did)
Anyone who has ever hooked up with someone they didn't like just cause they were bored, stand up!
(the people under 25 did)
Anyone who says they like children cause they know it's the right thing to say, but really don't, stand up!
(again, no one. This surprised me because, for real, most kids are annoying.)
Anyone who thinks race is a social construct, stand up!
(I don't know why I bothered.)
I am different and that is bad.
It wasn't any crazier or weirder than any acting class I've ever taken (except for the class I was in when another student referred to someone as "colored." Like, un-ironically. It was a dark day). But it was still awkward, which you know is my favorite thing ever, and I'd like to share it with you.
So, we were playing all these tender, heartwarming get-to-know-you-and-as-a-result-get-to-know-myself games (you know, the awkward ones you do during orientation week), and one of them involved standing in the middle of a circle, surrounded by the other classmates, who were seated. You then stated a fact about yourself (no lies!) and whoever shared that truth had to get up. The goal was to get another person's seat, thereby leaving another defenseless soul in the middle of the circle to share a truth about themselves.
It started off simply enough-- we began with physical characteristics that were easy to note in others. When it was my turn in the center, I felt like a buck on the auction block. Of course, I was the only blacktress in the room, and I'd chosen this day to wear a dress. There were few physical characteristics I had in common with my fellow classmates-- *oppression*. I had to settle for "Anyone who has polished toes, stand up!" just to get the other two women in the class moving.
After a few minutes of pointing out physical flaws in ourselves, we then had to state facts that were true for us, but not visible ("Anyone who has been to a foreign country!" for instance). By doing this, we'd share bits of ourselves and in turn realize we weren't alone. Magical.
Some things that I shared with the class:
Anyone who cried at the end of Harry Potter, stand up!
(no one did)
Anyone who has ever hooked up with someone they didn't like just cause they were bored, stand up!
(the people under 25 did)
Anyone who says they like children cause they know it's the right thing to say, but really don't, stand up!
(again, no one. This surprised me because, for real, most kids are annoying.)
Anyone who thinks race is a social construct, stand up!
(I don't know why I bothered.)
I am different and that is bad.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Internet Dating: Not Just for Pedophiles Anymore!
Okay guys, I'm not trying to, like, brag or anything, but I think I may be the hottest thing to hit the internet since the URL. Apparently, the gentlemen want to handle the truth, the whole truth, and nothing BUT the Sojourner Truth-- and they want to HANDLE WITH CARE!!
I have not had any real love connections, but after every encounter I have left young gentlemen callers feeling like smitten kittens-- and not once has anyone attempted to fondle or impregnate me! I consider this a success, seeing as the chances of meeting a crazy on the internet in New York are as likely as finding a piece of hay in a... haystack.
(We won't go into the awkward date with the 33-year-old Russian radiologist who read my palm and told me I was "passionate lover" and when discussing our love of desserts-- specifically chocolate brownies and vanilla ice cream-- he said "It's a dessert that represents you and me."
I have not had any real love connections, but after every encounter I have left young gentlemen callers feeling like smitten kittens-- and not once has anyone attempted to fondle or impregnate me! I consider this a success, seeing as the chances of meeting a crazy on the internet in New York are as likely as finding a piece of hay in a... haystack.
(We won't go into the awkward date with the 33-year-old Russian radiologist who read my palm and told me I was "passionate lover" and when discussing our love of desserts-- specifically chocolate brownies and vanilla ice cream-- he said "It's a dessert that represents you and me."
You may not past go. You may not collect 200 dollars. Only Sojo can make racially charged food-related puns.)
After my 3 dates over the last 2 days, I urge the world to surf the interweb of love (i think that's going to be the title of my first album), and offer some advice and tips.
MASTER THE LINGO
OMG, I'm LOL'ing so much I have to BRB!!!
There are even more abbreviations when it comes to electronic love searches. Here are some I've learned:
LTR = Long Term Relationship
(unfortunately, my initial confusion led to me sending alot of emails about Frodo Baggins and the shire)
BBW= Big-Boned Women
Let's be real, big girls need love, too!
SBF= Single Black Female
(this is often seen preceded by the phrase "SWM seeks..." Holla!)
WTF, D?!= What The Fuck, Dude?!
This isn't particular to internet dating posts. This is just something I write to fellows who send me nude photographs.
Obviously I'm all about the truth, so I don't support putting up a fake picture, lying about your interests, or living a gender lie. I know we all want to seem "open-minded" and "laid-back," but there's one thing positive thing I've learned from racists: it's best to lay your cards out on the table, so people know what you're about. If you tell me you don't get why black women are always snapping their fingers, I will know you're insane and never speak to you again.
Things I told potential suitors I was "about": writing, reading (because I can), red wine, the mingling of the races, ghetto booties, offensive humor, and apple pie.
As a result of my candor, anyone who lacks an interest in miscegenation, baked goods, female literacy, or trunks filled with junk will not write me. I have saved everyone time.
After my 3 dates over the last 2 days, I urge the world to surf the interweb of love (i think that's going to be the title of my first album), and offer some advice and tips.
MASTER THE LINGO
OMG, I'm LOL'ing so much I have to BRB!!!
There are even more abbreviations when it comes to electronic love searches. Here are some I've learned:
LTR = Long Term Relationship
(unfortunately, my initial confusion led to me sending alot of emails about Frodo Baggins and the shire)
BBW= Big-Boned Women
Let's be real, big girls need love, too!
SBF= Single Black Female
(this is often seen preceded by the phrase "SWM seeks..." Holla!)
WTF, D?!= What The Fuck, Dude?!
This isn't particular to internet dating posts. This is just something I write to fellows who send me nude photographs.
Obviously I'm all about the truth, so I don't support putting up a fake picture, lying about your interests, or living a gender lie. I know we all want to seem "open-minded" and "laid-back," but there's one thing positive thing I've learned from racists: it's best to lay your cards out on the table, so people know what you're about. If you tell me you don't get why black women are always snapping their fingers, I will know you're insane and never speak to you again.
Things I told potential suitors I was "about": writing, reading (because I can), red wine, the mingling of the races, ghetto booties, offensive humor, and apple pie.
As a result of my candor, anyone who lacks an interest in miscegenation, baked goods, female literacy, or trunks filled with junk will not write me. I have saved everyone time.
DOs and DON'Ts
DO NOT try to hold my hand 10 minutes into our date like you're trying to recreate that Boys and Girls Club logo.
DO dress like the kind of gal who'd be a lady on the street, but a freak in the bed. (Ludacris is a misunderstood poet. I call his the real Songs of Innocence and Experience)
DO NOT send a photo taken 7 years earlier at your sister's wedding, where you're in fancy clothes you never wear and lack the 20 pounds of beer belly you currently possess. You are not telling the Sojourner Truth.
DO have a list of questions handy. You will find that many internet lovers are kind and gentle, but they lack the social skills to hold a conversation for multiple minutes. Be prepared with tidbits and fun facts. I suggest bringing Snapple caps.
DO avoid back alleys, underpasses, and any other darkened crevices. There could be dementors lurking about.... OR HE COULD TRY TO KILL YOU!
DO NOT get physical with your internet lover too soon, no matter how hot he/she/ze may be.
Trust me, I know it can be difficult (especially when you're feeling hornier than a boy scout at camp after lights out..... I mean, that's not how I feel or anything..... um.... LOOK OVER THERE!)
DO NOT, no matter how desperate for traffic you are, mention the title of your blog or your blogging alias to an internet suitor. This will prevent you from writing with candor ever again. Seriously, ask Mr. W.
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