New York, I Love Hate You

I am so over this damn city.

I got on the train this morning and, honestly, there was nothing particularly special about today's rush-hour madness. I spent 30 minutes clutching my purse to make room, apologizing for my every movement and occasionally my own weary sighs, and trying to move in ways that would let the dude behind me know that we shouldn't be touching butts--you know, the usual. But I just hit a wall of Danny Glover-ness (I'm too old for this shit!) combined with Samuel L. Jackson fed-up-edness (I'm sick and tired of these muthafuckin' snakes on this muthafuckin' plane!!!) that I can't get through.

Listen, I know it's "the greatest city on earth," and I sure as hell wouldn't want to live in another city in America, but we're selling ourselves short, people! And the worst part is that these low standards are acceptable. Living in New York City and taking public transportation, I smell human excrement on a daily basis--sometimes several times a day--and this is commonplace. WTF??! This ain't Calcutta! This sure as hell ain't 14th-century England during the bubonic plague--why is there excrement in the streets?! We're worth more!

This started getting to me when I was walking to the subway and saw this homeless guy. He's tall and skinny and looks about 70 years old (thought he's probably 40) and he's balding with basically two long matted dreadlocks. When I saw him on the platform, my first thought was, "Aw, shit, this guy again. I better get a damn seat so he doesn't touch my shoulder and call me 'beautiful miss.'" Y'all, this man is not violent or loud, but he is relentless. But the point is: Why do I have a history with a hobo??? I am not, nor have I ever been, impoverished (praise black Jesus). I have never dated a hobo or performed at a hobo benefit. And yet I see this person and can immediately recall his life story and personality quirks as though he were an old school chum. I'm not okay with this! Of course, the fact that I'm annoyed by him just gets me one rung closer to hell, and I'm not proud of it, but this is how NYC gets you. You get inoculated to pain, y'all.

Yesterday after work I was getting into the train at 28th street and I saw two men on the steps, standing a few feet apart from each other. Black guy was standing further down, White guy was standing toward the top (I'm ID'ing them by race to make it easier to describe, don't worry!). On the other side, a guy was trying to exit, so I waited for the clog to clear. The guy came through but the other two men didn't move. The Black guy waved the white guy down and told him to come closer. I'm thinking these two are going to walk down so I start going down but they stop about 4 steps up from the subway platform. The Black guy reaches into his sock and pulls out a baggie. The white guy peels off some bills and hands him cash. I interrupt this exchange with, "Excuse me, um, can I get through? thank you."
Y'all, I walked through a drug deal!! LIKE I'M JUST STRAIGHT OUT OF A SPIKE LEE JOINT AND DON'T GIVE A F#?!%

I didn't realize this until a minute after I swiped my Metrocard--and that's what really got me. Growing up in pre-gentrified Harlem as the child of a mother who worked in family and criminal court, I am anything but cavalier, and I know that killers are around every corner (oh yeah, I'm a drama queen who grew up on Lifetime movies). I never thought I'd see the day I'd burst through an interracial illegal drug trade. That guy could have pulled anything out of his sock (like a weapon!) and I woulda been up in the crossfire! I need to go back to Australia so I can get my head back on straight and appreciate this place. Who's with me?

HOLLER IF YOU HEAR ME!!!

Guys, I just got the following casting notice and I have to share:

OPEN CALL

For the Tupac Shakur musical:

HOLLER IF YA HEAR ME

An American Musical Inspired by and featuring the music of Tupac Amaru Shakur

*Actors must be available for workshop dates: 4/23 - 5/11

SEEKING: African American Male and Female rappers ages 18 – 35. Additionally seeking one Caucasian actor ages 20 – 25 with a strong facility for rap and terrific guitar skills. Strong legit singing voices a plus for all, but not required.

WHAT TO PREPARE: A rap of choice under 2 minutes. We will supply a boom box if needed. Singers should prepare 16 - 32 bars of an uptempo song to sing accapella. You may bring your own accompaniment if you want.

My dear readers, please feel free to forward to all of your actor-friends who have a dream of being AMAZING.

If there's one way for a thug to be immortal, it's to be the basis of a musical.

What Do You Want From Me, World???????

Hey y'all!
How was your weekend? Hanging with my Jewish fam this weekend was fun and far too short. I love acting like a tourist in the suburbs, and the fam is happy to oblige. Not only did we get dessert at Dairy Queen and Sonic, we also saw some Amish riding down the street in a horse and buggy. I have gotten my suburban fix for the remainder of the year.

[A PORTION OF THIS POST HAS BEEN REMOVED DUE TO READERS NOT KNOWING HOW TO BE COOL. ONE PERSON COULDN'T BEHAVE, AND NOW THERE'S NO EMOTIONAL CONNECTION FOR ANYONE.]

After all, I'm not Bradley Cooper.

Although he is limitless, my mom wouldn’t want me to marry him.

I got into work this morning (an hour late—score!) and found a FB message from THE AUSTRALIAN?
Remember him, y’all?
Nope, not the redheaded Weasley.
Not the racist one.
Nope, not Kebab Boy.
Not the American guy who went to Australia after our first two dates and never called again.
The first one. The man that started it all.

I fucking hate facebook.
As you know, it all went horribly wrong with the Aussie, with my visit to his homeland resulting in a complete severance of contact (funny, that). I still think of him with a twinge, but it happens once every three months, and is only in a, “I hate that he thinks I’m the crazy one!” kind of way, not a swoony way. I haven’t spoken to him since we had a White president.
Turns out two NYC pals I haven’t seen in ages just had their babies and I sent along my congratulations via wall post (as you do in this internet age). For this act of pseudo-human-interaction, I received the following:











Subject: Hello

Hey [BLACKTRESS],
How are you? Saw you on [new parents’] photo post.
Hope you're doing great.
[D-bag]

WHY?????? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?
Hey, Folger’s, I got a new jingle for you:
“The worst part of wakin’ up / Is an asshole who won’t shut up!”

I think what's most insane about it is the attempt at a casual hello--as if seeing me on a "photo post" was the same as seeing me at a party or something. And he hopes I'm doing "Great." What if I wrote back and said, "I'm doing good, not great--gotta drain my labia three times a day."
Hmmm.....perhaps that would prevent him from contacting me forever.....

Of course, I couldn't deal with this alone at my desk. I promptly alerted KWalsh to the situation.

me: THE AUSTRALIAN FRIENDED ME ON FACEBOOK
KWalsh: ewwwwwwwwwww
me: DUDE, I CAN'T FUCKING COPE WITH THIS WORLD
ok, i'm done with the caps
KWalsh: haha
me: and his profile pic is a glamour shot
like, out of control
what do you think his mental illness is?
KWalsh: hahahaha
being australian?
KWalsh: i think men have amnesia about the shit they do
like, 2 years passes and suddenly they're like "oh yeah, her! cool!"
like don't remember any of the strife
oorrrrrrr they didnt think it was crazy dramatic in the first place
normal
me: we were never friends! He is a crazy biatch
KWalsh: i know but i think he thinks you were friends
in his retroactive narrative
me: but that's so strange
we met at a bar, had a torrid affair, then he went back to Australia
he sent me his penis over the internet and tried to have phone sex with a 16-hour time difference while he was in a relationship
when became single again, he came back to nyc 8 months
we had another torrid three-day affair
and then when i said i didn't want to be his friend in australia, he said i was "fucking crazy"
KWalsh: i know these are all FACTS
but i think he is just conveniently remembering that you're his mate in the US
me: that doesn't compute in my brainhole

And it still doesn’t, guys. I mean, all for living and letting live, but there's a huge difference between that and "sure, show up in my minifeed and keep tabs on my performance schedule as though we have a mutual respect that makes that unobtrusive."
See how many more words that is--clearly, it's very different.

In other news:
I was asked to do a voiceover on the plantation last week for a craft event. Because our setup is so broke and busted, me and the video guy had to record it locked in the bathroom. Of course, you know my work ethic--I'm in it for the bennies and the blog fodder. With that in mind, I have provided a few choice outtakes from the recording session:

Apparently, He No Longer Has a Hold on Anyone

Y'all, I got another rando press release today at work. The subject line was cut off, but what I could see read "SMOKEY ROBINSON MEDIA BLITZ S---"

What?! Smokey Robinson? Homey's still alive and blitzing it up?! I obviously double-clicked on that shizz post haste.

Apparently, Smokey has a new album out, y'all. It's called "Now and Then." This is exciting--the man's a legend, and he's still got it! I was ready to call up my mom and tell her the good news when I read the introduction. Tell me what's wrong with this paragraph, y'all (it has not in any way been altered):

Nashville, TN – Legendary hit-maker Smokey Robinson will commence a media flurry, visiting national media in Nashville and New York to promote his highly anticipated album, Now and Then, which hits Cracker Barrel Old Country Store locations on November 1st.

In addition, Smokey will tape segments for The Weather Channel, Fox Entertainment feed, LXNY, NYC Profiles, ABC Nightline, and Hannity.

Cracker Barrel?! They selling Smokey's albums in Cracker Muthafuckin' Barrel Old Country Stores?! Y'all, this is the man who brought us such mega hits as “Shop Around,” “Tracks of My Tears,” and “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me.” He is a living legend--and they can't even put his ish on Amazon?!


Smokey is too good for CRACKER BARREL! I call that restaurant "Barrel of Crackers," cause when I stopped at one by the roadside, I didn't see a black person anywhere. In fact, every person in the place turned and looked at us, which I know took a lot of work, because most of them didn't have necks.

And what's this "Weather Channel" foolishness? What about VH1 or BET?! And Hannity?! WTF?! Y'all, I can't cope with this foolishness. Smokey needs to get some new representation, stat.


Don't worry, Smokey--you still got a hold on Sojo!

Columbus Wouldn’t Have Wanted it This Way

Hey gang! It feels good to be blogging again. Hell, after my weekend, it feels good to be showered and not reeking of menthol again! Yes, my boofaces (can I call you my boofaces?), I was sick, sick, sickie all weekend. It began Wednesday night with a scratchy throat. I came in to the plantation on Thursday, although I definitely had my fair share of daytime cold medicine. By Friday morning, all bets were fucking off, as I was feverish, every part of me ached, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but couldn’t breathe through my nose. My entire weekend was a wash, and I was too mad to have to cancel a hosting gig, miss a great networking opportunity, and generally lose the me-time the weekends allow. Not even the joy of "The Next Karate Kid" and "Sleepwalkers" coming on TV (I didn't have to Netflix them!!!) could brighten my spirits. I spent most of the sunny, warm weekend in my house wearing a turtleneck and sweatpants under the covers and hacking up a lung.

Yes, gross.

Although I wasn’t feeling great, I was definitely better by Sunday night, and vowed to come to work Monday morning. After all, I’d already missed one day, and there was so much to do. We hadn’t gotten Columbus Day off, but a few people would be out, so I could work in relative quiet/not scare anyone off with my mucus. It was, however, a struggle to get up and out, and even the shower water was a shock to my delicate system. I got in to work a bit early, and my self-congratulatory smugness was definitely spilling over into the unoccupied cubicles. I checked my emails and kept looking around—I’d had to unlock the elevator and the gate, but I love being the first one in. It was, however, already after 9 and no one was here. Weird.

Finally, at 9:30, my massa came to my desk. I went to say hello, but the intake of breath resulted in a coughing fit. When it had subsided, he said, “I didn't want to call you at home, but I gave everyone the day off today and said they didn't have to make it PTO [paid time off]".
OH HELL TO THE NO!!!

Let me get this gay: I dragged myself out of bed with my whooping cough to do work, and you gave everyone the day off? And, not only did I deprive myself of much-needed rest, but it could have been avoided if you or anyone else on staff had thought to call or email my ass?????
I can’t take this shit, y’all. Not only have I still not been given the raise I was promised OVER 5 MONTHS AGO, they now don’t even want to put me on the fucking office phone tree????
As fellow freedom writer Scribe put it, “your boss is the cuntiest ass in the history of assholes.”
Her words are like poetry—angry, vulgar, TRUTH poetry.

Y’all, I’m about to snap like a fucking Lifetime movie heroine. With a 9-5 like this, I see why J. Love ended up becoming a prosti-mom!

I’ve been trying to really let go of my rage, but this really was the cherry on the pie of a crap weekend. Do you know Jewboo is so damn dense and selfish that he didn’t even come see a blacktress once while she was bedridden—we haven’t seen each other in 6 days! Homey was like, “Well, if you need something, I’ll come…” Um, what I fucking need is a man who doesn’t have to be shamed into behaving properly. Jewboo is on thin ice. That behavior after 7 months and a key to the pad is just out of fucking order. He’s not dead to me yet, but he’s definitely in a coma and I’m putting his stuff on eBay just in case.

I’m feeling slightly better today, and downing OJ and tea like it’s my job—you know, one that actually pays me.

How y’all doing?

Thanks, OKCupid!

I got the following email in my OKCupid inbox this morning:

Hello dear!

How are you?
Looking at your profile makes me feel I have my heart right in your hands...You're so cute! and outgoing!

Every time I see someone like you, I tend to be protective...So I am for you. Because of your character, the right person to befriended is someone like me who understands, respects, protects, serious and real...

I already stated that I am single and eventually interested in a serious relationship...since it takes time to built a relationship...For that I am open to hangout with you, have fun, go to movies, walk in the park , laugh and so on

Now the only thing that I want to know is : "Are you open to spend time with me, do you really want to enjoy my company"???


Waiting for your reply!

until then take care!

OH EM GEE, what do I write back????!?!?!? This guy could be the one!*




*This is sarcasm, in case that wasn't clear. I'm not as good at it as Edith Zimmerman.