Four Times a Blacktress....A List

Hey gang!

God, I feel like I haven’t blogged in forevs. There’s so much to share; I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s just go with the highlights:

1. Brooke Shields is my new BFF!
Fer reals. Saturday morning, I was meeting up with some friends at noon, and was a bit early. To kill time, I went to the nearby Dean & Deluca for an iced tea. As I approach the door, a tall woman and a shorter bald man (her main gay?) beat me to the door and head in. I catch a glimpse of the woman’s face, and instantly I recognize her. Holy shit, it’s Brooke Shields! I walk in behind them and order my iced tea with lemon slices, trying not to stare.
Okay, Blacktress, be cool. Don’t be creepy; celebrities like living in New York because we don’t stare. But I can’t just not act like Brooke Shields isn’t two feet from me, asking about the soup of the day.
Brooke’s asking the guy what’s up with the soups, and I’m thinking, Brooke, it’s 95 degrees. Why on earth do you want soup? She’s such a goose.
The waiter offers to let her taste the soups and it turns out one of them in a succotash.
The moment was now.
“What’s a succotash? Is it like a gumbo?” I asked.
Brooke looked at me, square in the eye, like I was a real human. She tilts her cup down toward me to show me the very unattractive combination.
“Oh, it’s creamy.”
“Yeah, but it’s got bacon in it,” she says, making a face.
“Guh.”
After tossing the taster in the trash, she comes back over and whispers, “You know, the pizza place next door has lemons. They’ll give you a slice if you ask.”
I laughed. "Good call," I said, as if we were besties.
Brooke, I can't just roll up to a pizza place asking for a slice of lemon. It’s not like it’s a lemon factory! And even if it was, I don’t think they’d just be giving away the product. It was so cute, the way Brooke thought I could do something that she can do.
Me: Can I have a couple slices of lemon, please?
Pizza Guy: What?
Me: Slices of lemon….for my tea?
Pizza Guy: We don’t have that.
Me: Brooke Shields said I could get a slice of lemon here.
Pizza Guy: What? No, no, we don’t have that here.
Me: Are you trying to make a liar out of Brooke Shields?
[I am then forcibly ejected from the establishment.]

Brooke looks just as good in person, y'all. She's a glamazon.

2. Whoopi Goldberg hates people / The View is just like Kindergarten


I haven’t had a blog post up sooner because Monday I wasn’t at work (we all know that’s where the good writing gets done). My mom ordered tickets for The View, like, two years ago, and they came in the mail last week. She was going to toss them when I stopped her--When else would I get to see Whoopi, Joy, and Sherri IRL? Thanks to the magic of facebook, the third ticket went to a precious Greek gay man that I met at a commercial audition a couple months back. After waiting in line for three hours, we got into the theater and ended up in the front row (turned out to be right behind the camera, though--sadface!). During the commercial breaks, we were allowed to ask questions (and eat the Keebler cookies and juice given to us before filming.) My mother raised her hand instantly.
“I have a question for Whoopi and Joy,” she said. “My daughter and her friend are young comedians trying to break out, and I wondered what advice you would have for them.”
“What kind of comedy?” Sherrie asked.

“Stand-up,” I said.
“You just gotta keep getting up,” Joy said. “I would do six sets a night. I’d go from Laugh Factory to Improv to next one and the next. That’s how you get good.”
Whoopi, on the other hand, did not. Look. Up. The. Entire. Time.
Apparently, she’s slightly Aspberger-y. When someone asked about relationships, Whoopi went on a tangent about how she never wants to live with someone ever again. “I’ll love you to death, make love to you on top of the Empire State Building,” she said, “but you can’t live with me.” The audience laughed, but Whoopi wasn’t joking. It’s amazing how someone who has won a Grammy, a Tony, an Emmy, and an Oscar could dislike crowds so much.
(There goes my plan to make her my mentor. Kathy Griffin, it’s on you!)

Joy Behar, however, is now my new favorite cast member. She was so chill and normal. I did, however, fall into a fear-spiral thinking of her advice. I did a show at 10:30pm Sunday and I was knocked out for the next day, not to mention six sets a night. What about showing up for work and actually doing stuff? What about getting your laundry from the washer to the dryer? Who has that kind of time?! Or, better yet—who doesn’t have that kind of time and actually makes it in the comedy biznass?

3. We have a new summer intern. He is 15, has swoopy bangs, and recently got his braces off. He was out of the office for about a week (homey gets more vacay time than I do!), and just came back in today--with his girlfriend. Apparently, he was seeing her in LA and his dad told him he had to come home, so he brought her with him. She has curly black hair and is cute as a button. I have been calling them “Gomez and Bieber” all day long.
Yes, I put the GF to work.

4. New TMI from the Massa.

During a 1on1 meeting with my boss this morning, I asked him who posed for a painting he’d done, which was now on his desk. This innocuous query leads to a 5-minute monologue about this young guy who was “obsessed” with him. “I mean, it happens, I’ve come to accept it. I’m a good-looking guy, I seem like I have my shit together; I get it,” he says. “Then it got all messed up. He told people that I fucked him. He was telling everyone I fucked him—and I didn’t.”

[I needed him to stop saying “I fucked him” but he wouldn’t.]

Who's the Boss?

I recently went to a work event to kick off a weekend of mag-sponsored activities--yay? Massa is quite excited, because he'll get to hold court among the artists of the day. Although he puts on a great show (he is, after all, a former drag queen), I will always know him as the man who looked me square in the eye yesterday and said the following:

“I tell you, if I liked Asian boys, I’d be done! They were so into me this weekend. I was out dancing with my friends and every time I turned around there was a little geisha boy. I was like, 'Back up, honey, I'm just here to dance.' Those Asian boys never give up; it’s a part of their culture—trust me, I was an international student advisor at [school he taught at]. Think about it: there's so much bureaucracy in their governments that 'no' just means 'try harder.' Those boys don’t hear ‘no.’ One boy said [in mock Asian accent], ‘You old, but you nice.’ Maybe I should get that tattooed on my chest: old but nice.”

Um, how about "Old but cray"?

BSS and BCB

I just got back from my Bar Service Skills (BSS) course, which taught me the basics of bartending. We weren't allowed to use real liquor, but we worked the beer taps and practiced our fancy wine-pour technique.

We had to wear black pants, white button-down tops, and black shoes. As I walked to the class, I felt like I was on my way to a high school jazz performance, where we would funk up such classics as "America the Beautiful." I was a dash late, since I'm still getting turned around, but only one other student was there when I arrived.

Let's call him Crazy Eyes. 

He had those wide eyes that make you think you've just handed him an amazing present and he's about to say, "For ME?!" He was very fidgety, which is always suspect, and I avoided eye contact. Two minutes later, I hear a hissing sound, and look over to find Crazy Eyes applying spray-on deodorant to his pits. 

I kid you not.

This is happening in a waiting room.

I knew those eyes were a sign.

Only 5 of us are in today's clas, and we headed down to a bar in Darling Harbour, where we got down to biz-nass. Our teacher was a cool older woman who owns a pub outside of the city. As she went about the lesson, Crazy Eyes interjected whenever possible to tell us unnecessary information. For example,

"At home in New Zealand, you can go to a pub with an empty Cola bottle and just say, 'hey, mate, fill this up with some beer,' and they do it."

Um, really? 

Apparently, he tried it in Oz, and they turned him away.

As I walked behind him, I noticed that his haircut was an even hotter mess from the rear. It was almost like a cascade, with the top level being short and spiked, and the back divided into two tiers. However, this wasn't a mullet--it fell just below his ears. Oh, and I should mention it was dyed orange. I know it was a dye job because he was rocking 1980s, Judith Light in "Who's the Boss?"-style dark brown roots. 

Anyway, while I managed to tune him out and avoid looking in his mouth (don't get me started on the teeth), I learned much about pouring dranks/enabling addictions. The highlight was the role-playing at the end, when we each played a barman and a customer, and had to order 3 drinks. Of course, being the blacktress I am, I love a good RPG. As the shy Norwegian girl prepared to serve me, I put on my best "sleazy older gentleman" vibe.

"Hello, pretty lady, how are you today?"

[She laughed]

"Oh, by that laughter, I can sense a bit of an accent. Where are you from?"

"Norway."

"Ooh, precious. It gets cold there, eh? Do you want to snuggle?"

Then it stopped being funny.

Tonight I begin the couch-surfing lifestyle, and will be staying witha strong black woman from NY who moved to Sydney about 8 years ago. My mother knows her father, and I've basically been email-stalking her for the last 2 months. We met for the first time last week, and she is my shero.

She is the black Carrie Bradshaw--only without the whining and lameness.

She works as a fashion stylist, has a gay entourage to rival that of Bette, Liza, and Cher, and has taken the young Sojourner under her wing with no questions asked. 

God bless her soul.

She's even started reading the blog, which proves she can indeed handle the TRUTH. 

I told her of my dreams to be on Neighbours, and she told me that they're actually looking to diversify--holla at a blacktress' big break! Her son is an aspiring blacktor, but has already renounced Neighbours for more serious work. I think he has the chops to become the next Sydney Poitier.

I hope I won't put too big of a dent on her sofa, but when it comes to interim housing, Australian advice from BCB (as we're calling Black Carrie Bradshaw), is a hell of a lot better than tiptoeing around random Swedish girls, who seem to enjoy nothing more than crinkling plastic bags at 7:30 am. 

Checking out 2 more apts. this weekend. Wish me luck!