The Chosen People Have Chosen Me!!!

So, I don’t know how many of you received my March newsletter (email madblacktress[at]gmail.com if you wanna opt in!), but I mentioned a gig that was unlike any I’ve ever had. Of course, being nervous and stressed about it, I was trying to block it out and not speak of it—you know, like how I handle sweating in public. Saturday, March 17, I was scheduled to perform at a Jewish Community Center in York, Pennsylvania, just an hour away from where Jewboo’s parents live!

One of these things is not like the other.....

Clearly, someone had dropped out at the last minute—but I’m not quite sure why I was the natural sub. Never one to turn down a gig, I said yes and figured I’d work it out later. It was kinda exciting—although I was getting paid to do “20 minutes, clean material, but can be edgy,” and my lover’s parents would be in attendance!!! As you can imagine, I was freaking out. I mean, what does ‘edgy’ even mean? Can I just get a list of forbidden words? You know, like:

YOU CANNOT SAY

• F word
• S word
• C word
• Vagina / Vajay-jay
• P in V without a C
• “I can’t passover those matzohballs.”
• Niggerbollen
• Honky Lumps

YOU CAN SAY

• The other C word (cancer)
• The other C word (Caucasia)
• "Save the drama for Obama"
• Bitch, when used as a pronoun
• Wintercourse, when used as a biological term

I was equally stressed out being in a JCC. We all know that I’m down with the chosen but I’m learning that non-New York Jews are a different crowd. And, like the New Hampshire country club I attempted to entertain back in October, these folks were going to be out of my target demographic in terms of age and lifestyle choices. Would they know what Roots or a Tyler Perry production was? Would they be offended by the use of the term ‘Jewboo? I just wasn’t sure how I’d play it.

After consulting some of the top comedic Jewish minds I know, I reached the Zen place of not actually dealing with it. As Jewboo and I headed to PA, I started to get stressed. This was quickly eclipsed by a near-death experience.

So, turns out that I have allergy-induced asthma...which I discovered on Saturday, the morning before my JCC debut. #fml

Remember the magical impression I made on my first visit to Jewboo's family/a suburban PA emergency room?

Well, turns out it wasn't the lady meds--it's cat dander plus wall-to-wall carpeting.

After a night spent wheezing, we finally decided to suck it up and go to the urgent care center. Of course, being Pennsylvania and not NYC, I was in and out in just over an hour, complete with prescriptions to pick up!
Of course, fear of death trumps fear of death by stage, but once I passed that hurdle, I was back to freaking out, and waiting around the venue for over 90 minutes didn't help--until I went to the bathroom, that is.
After closing the stall door, my own face looked back at me!!!

Seeing one's own face in the most unexpected places (i.e. not a mirror) was mind-blowing!

I felt like Rihanna.

Clearly, they were ready for me, as they'd had to see my face numerous times over the last two weeks. I went up second, which gave me time to read the temperature of the room. They were quite fun, actually, and opener Gilad Foss killed them with his Israeli sense of Jewmor. I followed, and just sorta went in with my same old stuff. And turns out, they liked me--they really, really liked me!

After my set, everyone wanted to meet Jewboo (who had to repeatedly say his real name in an attempt to assert his identity), and the head of the JCC even cornered me in a wine-induced stupor and asked if I planned to convert to Judaism.
"Um, let's go over to the cake," I replied.
BYOB at a JCC = TMI!

The night was fun and it felt good to share that side of myself with the boo's parents. I was, however, wrecked from the previous night and ready to get to bed when we got home at 2am. (Keeping the parents out til all hours!) Unfortunately, steroids and the inhaler kept me hyped up like Jessie Spano before the big dance contest. I spent much of Sunday lying on the couch and returned to NYC with a mountain of laundry and much to do--you know, like prepare for an audition for 30 Rock on Monday.

Yep, that happened! I got an email Friday afternoon while en route to the PA JCC (perhaps I was already creating Chosen People karma before the gig began???). After the insanity of "Schmobbie Jones" (remember her?) I had to do a bunch of sleuthing to make sure I wasn't being lured into a dark alley. After all, how did they even know me? Where'd they get my contact info? How did they know I'd be right for the part?

Well, turns out those casting folks are good! Based on a set they saw me do at a club back in September, they called me in for a strong black woman whose one line is, "I handle conflict appropriately and I'm up-to-date on my mortgage payments!" YES!!! THAT IS SO ME!!!!

I was pretty psyched and was totally hepped up Sunday night--and still trying to get that whole "breathing" thing under control. A trip to the bathroom at 3:30am turned nearly deadly as I walked directly into the doorframe, clocking myself in the head. Any attempt at sleeping was abandoned, as I worked to ensure that I wouldn't end up with a giant lump on my head for 30 Rock.

I went into the audition in my Banana Republic dress and was about 10 years younger than the other women, which was a bit awk. I felt like I'd walked into a scene from Waiting to Exhale, especially because they all seemed to know each other. For reals, they were showing pictures of their babies, talking about their New Jersey homes that were minutes from one another, and generally being BFF. Clearly, there's an elite group of upwardly mobile blacktresses that function similarly to the Freemasons that I need to be a part of.

I must find my way in.

How are you?

Friday Mash-up Post

Hey friends!

How are you going? Please excuse my lack of bloggery--trust me, it hurts me more than it hurts you. I'm all out of whack and speaking in Aussie slang because I have two gals from Sydneytown staying with me. It's kinda surreal to come home and find two people I haven't seen in more than 2 years getting dolled up in my bathroom. Although guests are stressful, these are two women I adore. One is the daughter of my Aussie mum, and her roommate, Prue, is my ex-wife. (We were facebook-married for quite a time, but being a real-life lesbian, Prue found our status to be a real clit-block.) Our love, however, never waned.

A shared love of Pink (the singer, not the Victoria's Secret clothing line), vodka-cokes, and karaoke led to many a long night on their balcony.

It was she who lent me the first book in the Twilight series. I am forever in her debt.

I'm so happy they're here, but you guys know how I need time to openly sob and eat ice cream in my underwear at the end of a long day. Having visitors means I'm in 24/7 stress-mode. I came home to find that they'd used the countertop sponge to wash the dishes and I had to say a serenity prayer. I had a dream last night that they didn't know how to turn off the stove and left the gas on and we almost died.

****THIS JUST IN: I GOT CALLED BACK FOR THE MICROSOFT COMMERCIAL!!!****

Did I mention that I'd auditioned for this last week? Well, anyway, yeah. I left feeling awkward and was supposed to have been notified by 9/12, but when I didn't hear back, I forgot about it. You can imagine my joy when Martin (my new favorite gay) called me up and told me that I'm going in on Tuesday!

*****BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG POST****

I think I'm just really nervous about the showcase tonight cause my mom is coming. But I've been working on a new opener based on my African ancestry that's been getting some good responses. (I'm hoping the 30 Rock rep casts me as Toofer's sister who thinks he's as much of a blowhard as everyone else.)

I think I'm also being cray cray because I haven't had private time with Jewboo in over a week! Guys, I'm straight-up longing, 19th-century style. It's gotten to the point where I'm keeping a picture of us on my bedside table. Is he in Brooklyn or Afghanistan--either way, I am holding on to memories. It's hard when you're both working by day and trying to have dreams by night. Yesterday, all I ate was a probiotic yogurt and a trader joe's café latte in a can! I'm sitting at my desk, eating a lunch of grapes and....GRAPES! That's it, y'all.

Oh, before I go, I must share this inappropriately angry email I got from a reader of my magazine:

I must complain about the adhesive you use to attach mailing labels to the covers of ---- magazine. I subscribe to several magazines. All have labels which peel off easily and leave no residue. I tried pulling the labels off the Summer and Fall issues of ---- and was left with areas of a sticky substance which I could not remove. I tried removing the gum with rubber cement thinner which resulted only in removing the ink on the cover. I had to cut the corner off the issue to get rid of the gumminess. This, of course, was counterproductive as the reason for removing the label in the first place was to see the artwork in full. How about changing your technique so we all can enjoy the artwork.

Really, lady? Really? Our mailing-label technique???? How about you end sentences with the proper punctuation and go take your frustration out on the kids who never return your calls? Here's my drafted reply:

Dear [Judith Light],

I am very sorry to hear that you're having such trouble with our mailing labels. Perhaps you should purchase the magazine on the newsstands or not have an address. You seem like a scrappy, pugnacious woman who could fend for herself on the streets--maybe even become some sort of gang leader. I mean, rubber cement thinner for a mailing label? Judith, your talents are wasted on reading our magazine. I have attached a jpeg of the painting as it appeared on the cover--no corners cut at all!

Hope this helps. Thank you for your continued interest in our publication.

Best,

Sojourner

I would like to end this post with a little video--you know, cause it's Fri-day, Fri-day, Fri-ee-i-ee-i-day. How's about an awesome fake trailer?! Manic pixie dreamgirls drive me cray!

Blacktresses & The Blues

**I started writing this post on Friday. Today is Tuesday. That should give you a sense of where I'm at.**

Guys, I am so dead tired. Don’t you ever wake up and have one of those days where it’s like, “Yeah, I could totally kill myself right now and it wouldn’t even be a big deal.”?

No? Just me? Well, anyway, that’s where I’m at.

I hung out with my mom last night and, as always, it was a mixed bag—a dash of hope, humbling gratitude, a bit of self-loathing, gut-wrenching frustration, and a feeling of powerlessness that makes a gal eat bread pudding for breakfast—natch. We had dinner with my voice over coach and it was straight out of Waiting to Exhale. They got along swimmingly, which I’d expected, but also banded together to point out several of my shortcomings.

You know, like how I don’t “invest in myself.”
And how I “dress like someone who doesn’t care.”
And how I “don’t focus on what really matters”
Oh yeah—and how I need to purchase some really good wigs and hair pieces if I want to be seen as a professional on stage and in auditions.

I feel like a character in a Carson McCullers novel.

Of course, it always helps to keep it in perspective. After all, I could be little Paisley here:

When questioned, her mother didn’t really get all the hoopla. “Well, at this pageant there was an option to do celebrity-wear,” the mom said. “And we thought about what we could wear with her being a brunette, and Julia Roberts is my favorite actress of all time. I thought it was real cute to do Julia. She’s 3. If she was 10 I never would have considered this. But as young as she is I thought it was very comical.”

With that in mind, I’m trying to shake off mom’s words, but the timing couldn’t really be worse—this Sunday is round 1 of NBC’s StandUp for Diversity auditions, where oppressed comics can finally get their reparations.

Last year, I didn’t even make it past the first round.
I was beaten by an 11-year-old boy with braces and rubber bands who talked about putting vodka in his cereal.

Needless to say, I’m nervous. And I only have 60 seconds to prove myself. If I win them over, I get to go on to the second round, which allows me 2 whole minutes to bring the pain. If I pass that I get to be on the showcase the following night.

I know, I mustn’t count my chickens. But it could be fun.
If only I could find a way to be hilarious in 60 seconds and stop thinking about how my natural hair makes me look like, “Whoopi Goldberg, not caring, wearing a moo-moo.”

I'm gonna go get a pedicure and re-watch "Good Hair."

Blacktress out!

Movin' On Up!

Hey gang!

I’m writing to you from a brand new office! This place is way better than our overcrowded veal pens in the midtown office. Not only are we a Sharon Stone’s throw away from a Bed Bath & Beyond, a Trader Joe’s, and The Container Store, there are windows everywhere, and more than one bathroom!!! It’s nearly 1pm and I haven’t heard anyone urinate, blow his or her nose, or hack up a lung all day. This is living!

To top it off, massa’s not here (apparently he’s in Russia—this doesn’t surprise me in the least), I have an audition this afternoon, and I don’t even have to be nervous or guilty about leaving because today is the first “summer Fridays,” aka early dismissal! I feel like the world might not want to oppress me today—score!

In other news: The side I got for today’s audition makes no sense whatsoever. It’s for [a popular brand of food storage containers], but the product’s not mentioned once, the script references what appears to be eight different characters, and I don’t know if I’m going in for “Woman 1” “Woman 2,” or “Mom”—who’s referred to as Deb. I think I’m going to have to play it Pauly Shore style. Say what you will about him, but that man knows how to work with nonsensical (BioDome and Encino Man, par example).

Happy Friday!

BlacktressFail

Guh.
It’s Monday.

Every night I tell myself to shake off the previous day, and resolve to go into work fresh, relaxed, and free. I promise to focus on my responsibilities, telling myself that the day will go faster if I just keep my head down and get it done. I vow to let go of the anger I feel toward my coworker who I’m convinced is planning total domination of this magazine (why else would he, at 26 years old, be so anal retentive and condescending? He’s clearly trying to show his dominance so that when he becomes the next EIC, no one’s the wiser.)

And yet here I am, 2.5 hours into the day, and I’m already asking for the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

I’m still reeling from the tragedy that was Friday’s callback. I was awkward as all get-out, and just didn’t know how to loosen up. I’ve vowed to chalk it up to a learning experience, but I just don’t know—I mean, how many times can I suck/”learn and get used to the process” (as my optimistic friends say) before they just stop calling me in for auditions? This isn’t some community theater production of Our Town—this is television, people! TV, the medium-sized screen! The place with commercial breaks and the highest stakes! The place where the only people with my skin tone are in Tyler Perry productions! As I stood in the elevator crying, I thought about “A League of Their Own”—you know, when the coach says “THERE’S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!!!!”
There is no crying in callbacks. If I keep this up, I’ll end up more dehydrated than an African orphan. I’ve gotta man up.

I felt slightly better after consoling myself with Pinkberry, but my return to the office was met with hours of work that apparently only I could do. This isn’t even possible. World-domination-coworker–Code name: Buzzkill—is really weird sometimes. Like, he’ll be quick to point out every mistake you make, but won’t really take initiative on something if it interferes with his lunch time. He regularly spends the hour at his desk watching Internet videos, and will shut out any and all responsibilities during that time. If that’s the case, go sit your ass in the Barnes & Noble up the street.

I began today with an awesome email from a reader regarding some typos in the latest issue of the magazine I’m in charge of. She writes:
I have only reached page 31 and am ready to toss this month’s issue through the window. Either you only use spellcheck or English is your second language. What am I going to find as I keep reading? Shame on you!

Awesome. Good morning.
Apparently my lack of investment is starting to show in the finished product. So, in summation: I’m shitty at my job and shitty at blackting.

To maintain the will to live, I keep reading the reply I got from the Gotham booker in response to my thank-you email. It keeps me going strong:

Very nice to meet you as well. Glad you found the notes helpful. I think you have tremendous potential. Keep writing and performing. You can make it in this business. Will keep you in mind for anything you'd be good for at the club.

This makes me feel a lot better about eating 4 pieces of cinnamon raisin toast for breakfast.

Everything's Coming Up Blacktress!

Happy Friday, Gentle Readers!!!

So much has happened over the last few days, and you’re the only people I want to share it with. Let's get to it.

Tuesday’s commercial audition was a lot of fun. It was for a rental car company, and called for “subtle comedy.” This was my second professional audition ever, and I felt nervous, like when you're about to go on a date with someone you've already slept with. It was at the same casting studio as my first audition, so I knew what to expect and wasn’t all sweaty and awkward. Although my call time was 2:15, I didn’t go in for about 30 minutes. That would have normally given me tons of time to freak out and judge everyone else, but I actually didn’t go there, instead choosing to text Jewboo, and chat up a friendly gay sitting next to me. Turns out he also does improv and was super sweet. We're totes fb friends now.

When my name was called, I went in and just had fun. I didn’t even notice that the “Employee” character for which I was auditioning had a line until about 5 minutes before I was called in (the photocopy was a hot mess--it looked like the remnants of a cave drawing). I even had to play a male character—complete with a Boston accent—so that the agent could see my scene partner say the “Employee” line. It was all of 3 minutes, but it was fun, and I made the agent laugh—which I took as a good sign seeing as he’d spent the last 5 hours hearing the same three-word line over and over. I walked out feeling happy that I got out of my own way, you know? Blackting is reacting, and I did what I could do.

My new way of looking at these things is this: an audition is a chance for me to leave this hellish plantation and do what I love to do, even if it’s just for 60 seconds. It doesn’t matter if I get it, because I’m having fun. I’m not letting the massa define me, or these crazy artists run my show!

With that fun feeling, I went into Wednesday night’s Gotham Comedy Club show with high spirits, but a bundle of nerves. It was my first time at the venue, and it turns out there was industry watching. I went up and the crowd loved it (Apparently, we can all relate to wintercourse)! I got accolades from total strangers (many of whom were middle-aged members of Caucasia), and even had a one-on-one notes session with the manager of the club.

He was all business, in a fierce suit and spectacles that said “I got my eyes on the prize.” I’d seen him taking notes throughout the entire show, so I knew he was serious. When I went in to meet him, I was slightly nervous but I could tell he liked me—probably because he offered me a bottle of Perrier (poppin’ bottles, y’alls!). He proceeded to break down my set, and really, his only direct suggestions were “Slow down, take your time. You’ve got a lot of funny stuff there” and “I want to hear more about the magazine, more about Jewboo, more about Caucasia.” I was like, honey, if I had more than 7 minutes, you’d get the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!

He was shocked that I had only been doing comedy off and on for a few years, and told me to just keep writing and keep getting up there. It was so gratifying, and I went home—well, after a stop at the Donut Plant and Lucky’s Burgers—on cloud nine.

On my way out of the house yesterday morning I saw that payment for some freelance work I'd done had finally arrived--nothing says “it’s gonna be a good day” quite like unexpected money, y'all. I knew the commercial was shooting on 3/31, and figured they wanted to lock it down ASAP, so when I didn’t get a call on Wednesday, I thought that was that. Although I walked out feeling good, it's all a crapshoot, you know?

Then, at 5:00pm yesterday the unthinkable happened: I saw I had a missed call from the agent who sent me out. I knew she wasn’t just checking in. I listened to her message:
“Hey Blacktress, it’s [Mariel], you got called back! Call me back and let me know you’re available!”
Yes, y’all!!! Blacktress goes in today, at 12pm EST to bring the funny!!!

I’m blogging now so that you can say a little prayer for me. Imagine: you’ll turn on your television screens and see the BLACKTRESS on the regular!!! I’m trying not to be nervous and just go in and do me, but this entire morning is a wash. I can’t be thinking about fruit in bowls and landscapes when I need to get ready for my close-up.


xoxo,

Blacktress!

EYES OF A MURDERER

....and the voice of a demon.



Below you can see actor Chris Klein auditioning for a role in Mamma Mia!
Why is he so terrifying?
One friend described the moment when he launches into song as "bone-chilling."
I believe he is correct.



As with every hilarious video I share, thanks must go to KWalsh for bringing it to my attention.
The urge to watch this video came not only out of intense boredom at work, but because I needed something to get the image of "The Human Centipede" trailer out of my head.
I'd link you to it or embed it, but I can't do that to you--I love you all too much.
All I know is, after watching it I felt the urge to cry and desperately wanted my mommy.

Thank god Chris Klein's coked-out eyes and nails-on-chalkboard singing voice snapped me out of my horror-filled frenzy. Clearly, he's still reeling from the loss of Katie Holmes.

Well, with that, I am off to a rehearsal for CONVERSATIONS WITH DEB--LIVE AT UCB!!

You know Deb, y'all. I've been repping her blog from the get-go (check the blogroll). Well, she has far surpassed the blacktress with her own live show at Upright Citizens Brigade. Due to illness, Deb can't be in it, so this requires an additional player--cue blacktress, stage left. You know I'd never let down a Jewess in need, y'all! I play the gripping, complex role of "the narrator."

It's gonna be sweet--way sweeter than whatever the hell Chris Klein is trying to do. MAKE A RESERVATION, AND COME ON DOWN!