Showing posts with label lists. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lists. Show all posts

Friday, September 14, 2012

Search Herstory

Happy Friday, friends!

Living with Jewboo is going pretty well, considering I'm an only child who needs complete quiet in order to fall asleep and he's a neurotic workaholic. It's good having someone to share responsibilities with and look to for support. And have an extra computer to use. My laziness seems to know no bounds and when his computer is right there, all on the desk and easy to use, I don't want to lug my laptop to various areas of the house.

Unfortunately, this also means Jewboo has access to the myriad of useless things that occupy my mind on a daily basis. Below are a list of things I've recently looked into on the information super highway. As I write this list and share it with the blogsphere, I release the shame and embarrassment that comes with it. Thank you for bearing witness to my recovery.

Things I Have Recently Googled
  • comedy festivals 2013, submissions open
  • comedy managers
  • how many calories burned by [insert a range of everyday actions here]
  • best rueben sandwiches, nyc
  • how to make corned beef (clearly, I was trying to empower myself)
  • large pores in forehead cause excessive sweating?
  • coupons Almond Breeze Almond Milk
  • [My own name]



Friday, May 18, 2012

Summertime and the Dressin' is Shitty....

As the weather stays warm, everyone's dressing for the season--and many are looking fierce. I mean, I work in Chelsea, so every block and a half I see a young model on her way to a go-see (yep, I know the lingo), but even the normals are bringin' their A-game.

Except for the men.

I've discovered that I have several prejudices against certain fashion choices that men make. In fact, they offend me with their grossness.
I would like to share them with you now.
As with my fears, I believe that as I say them, I release them.

Hipster mullet.


                             

I came across this just yesterday while getting lunch with a gal pal. It was one of those hip restaurants where all of the waitstaff look like runaways from Oregon, and the guy asked us how many we'd be before reserving our table with a flame-patterned kerchief. So typical.


TEVAS

OF COURSE this guy would have a fish is a lava-lamp-shaped tank and a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge as his screensaver. No, buddy, I don't want to hear about that time you went to India with your parents for vacation!



This same character is usually found wearing another gguuhh--ross item: 
the short-sleeve button-down
I know, I know, this may polarize many of you, but this is my blog and my truth!

It doesn't matter how attractive you are, this screams LAME DAD!


Jaunty Caps (with unkempt hair)


No, you're not cool, you're not a 1940s jazz musician, and you don't have to get up early tomorrow and go to a life-drawing class. 


Winter Hats in Non-Winter Weather.    

Not even on Zefron.


This makes me want to vomit.
This makes me want to vomit--and not because it's Howie Mandel.  
FYI: it doesn't look good on non-white guys, either. 



While we're on the face, let's discuss WAXED MUSTACHES. 

Kill yourself.




The man below is basically the stuff of my nightmares.

Frosted Hair; 1990s-swing-music-revival-style T-Shirt; BLEACHED SOUL PATCH; sculpted facial hair AROUND the soul patch; TWO hoop earrings; AND A PINKY RING.




Monday, December 26, 2011

Habari Gani*!


*That's Swahili for "What's the news?" It's the "traditional" greeting on each day of Kwanzaa--which is Swahili for "After-Christmas sales."

Today is UMOJA which means unity. On this, the first day of Kwanzaa, we seek to promote unity in the family, community, nation, and race.

Umoja has been a part of AfAm culture for as long as I can remember. Take, for instance, the popular Queen Latifah song U.M.O.J.A., Bob Marley's "One Love," or the ultimate togetherness party anthem, Sister Sledge's "We are Family." If it's still not resonating after that list of songs, I suggest you work on fostering umoja in your life, starting today. Here are a few suggestions:
  • If you're Caucasian, invite a bunch of friends out for a walk on a weekend afternoon. I learned a few weeks ago that Caucasians love a crisp, sunny day. (Seriously, I was the only person of color on Columbus Avenue from 81st - 97th street.)
  • Become a fan of the brand-nubian Facebook fan page Blacktress Comedy. By clicking "Like," you're actually umoja-ing with other like-minded folks and supporting my truths!
  • Next time you're in a group of folks that you don't really know, mention the Kardashians (any of them) and wait for the resounding chorus of groans as people enumerate the reasons why that family is a sign of the apocalypse.
  • Rent the film Teen Witch and invite some gals and gays over for a viewing party. By the time the number "I Like Boys" starts to play, you'll all be new bffs!
  • When you're hanging out with someone who you really want to be besties with, just agree with everything they say. You guys will be so umoja-ed, it'll be like you're siamese.
Hope this helps you bring a little Kwanzaa into your day! I'll be back with more tips tomorrow!

Monday, October 26, 2009

Best of Blacktress

So, I've started giving out my biznass card alot nowadays. With this card, the average random gets my full name, email addy, and blog address. Basically, they could use all these resources to become my double and be me for Halloween.

Clearly, my bloggery is hit or miss at times. I've decided that, for all those who come to the site seeking to hire me for their next major motion picture, I should be able to draw their attention to my funniest of funnies. Until this site gets hard core and has a ".com" URL, I'm going to just create this post.

Best of the Blacktress. Tell your friends.

- Stand up in Sydneytown (you know, so folks know about the international flava!)

- DUSK, a Twilight parody.

- The Original SCORNED WOMAN ECARDS!

- "Why Dawson's Creek Has Made It Impossible For Me To Have a Healthy Relationship. Ever."
(Um, you know it's true.)

- Mondays With Artists

- Heteromanese, Decoded!

Am I missing anything, gentle readers?

OH EM GEE, I'm about to see "Gentlemen Broncos," starring hottie Jemaine Clement from "Flight of the Conchords." Having seen Kristen Schaal (who plays Mel) last nigh, and after meeting Murray last year, I am on my way to collecting the whole cast! If only Brett would stop being so elusive..... Details to follow (and I don't mean the magazine! har har)

Friday, July 10, 2009

Run, run, as fast as you can from the gingerbread man!

So, remember that redheaded Aussie from back in the day (you know, two months ago)?

Well, he's headed for NYC in about 6 days.

He'd first alerted me to his visit nearly 6 weeks ago, when I was INSIDE CAUCASIA (in Sweden). I shrugged it off at the time, only to learn from a mutual friend that he'd be bringing his girlfriend with him.

Um, hello?! How could he not mention her in the email? I mean, I know he's got a gf, there is not a single part of me that wants to get with him, so why not put it out there? I also know that there's not a single part of me that wants to meet her, so if I get blindsided with a gf-bomb, I will die. Cause that's what bombs do. They make you die.

Anyway, the last time he was here (when I was down under), I told him tons of stuff to do, got him discounts to comedy shows, etc. I hope he does not come to me asking for ways to entertain him and his lover. My top suggestions would be:

1. Climb to the top of the Empire State Building, hand in hand. Look out over the edge, and then jump.

2. Walk down a deserted back alley on 11th avenue, counting your American currency. Wait to be stuck with a shiv. (Do people use shivs outside of prison?)

3. S a D, cause I hate your face.

Ugh, whatever. He asked if I wanted to meet up and I was evasive. While I know I can get through a quick drink, since it'll mostly involve catching up and pleasantries, I don't think seeing him will enrich my life in any way. The only Weasley I want to see is Ronald, on screen July 15!
If I go to drinks, I will be too worried about looking cute, seeming carefree, and touting accomplishments I have not... accomplished. I won't want to hear a word about how happy and put together his Canadian life is, and I'll be resentful. And we all know how loud and inappropriate I get after some dranks.

Sorry, I'm being grumpy. I've decided that I'm not good at stand-up comedy, and this requires a major restructuring of life goals. This ginger situation is not helping.

I'm gonna go watch "16 and Pregnant."

Monday, December 22, 2008

Why I Want a Vampire Boyfriend

OMG, guys. I just got back from seeing the 10:30am showing of Twilight, and I am one smitten kitten.

As you know, since seeing Daniel Radcliffe's penis (and incurring his wrath) my love for Harry Potter has waned. I need a new teen heartthrob to take his place--or at least fill the void until the 6th movie comes out. Cue Cedric Diggory, stage left.

I was totes swooning over Ced in the HP films, and I think a guy I dated back in the day sorta looked like him. In fact, it was with that guy that I first saw the preview for Twilight, and knew I'd have to be there opening day to see my two favorite things: pretty white people with problems, and vampires (arguably could be seen as the same thing).

Many of you may not know this about me, but I'm totes into vampire lore. The whole creature-of-the-night, no-need-for-earthly-desires vibe is really hot to me. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is my jam and my jump off, and I spend many a lonely Australian day/night/dusk watching episodes on my computer.

Oh wait, have I said too much?

Anyway, I went into Twilight quite excited, though unsure of what to expect. I haven't read the books--how I didn't know they existed is beyond me (I clearly need to start hanging out with more middle schoolers). All I had to go on was the trailer, which was all overcast and blue-tinged and sexylike--and filled with Diggory. The movie just came out in Sydney, and I'd been waiting for a free Tuesday so I could go. See, movies here normally cost $18, but on "tight-arse Tuesdays," they are a low-low $10.

I kid you not.

Anyway, despite my sore throat, I pulled myself out of bed, figuring I could always take a nap post-cinematic bliss. I arrived to find I was one of 4 people in the theater--all older women. Should I be worried? I thought as I pretended to check text messages as I waited for the film to start. 5 minutes before showtime a gaggle of giggling girls came in, thus cementing my own inappropriateness.

The movie began, and I instantly found the female lead to be dull and boring. However, this was overshadowed by the intense sex appeal that is Robert Pattinson as Edward Cullen, all pasty and dark-eyed and tortured and repressed. From the moment he started dry heaving in biology class, brimming with desire for Bella, I knew this was going to be a good old time. Edward was so socially awkward, which I absolutely love in all men, and he wore the cutest cropped pea coat that I just loved on his slender frame. Overall, I wasn't pleased with what the film did with vampire lore (um, what is with the whole "in the sunshine I bling like Diddy's watch" nonsense?), and it reminded me of Buffy and True Blood and others I'd seen, but the repressed teen lust was through the roof. I kept just waiting for them to do it, and all the panting and almost-kissing was driving me nuts.

Well done, director, well done. I also admired some of the casting choices, including an attempt at multi-racial classmates and PETER FACINELLI (from 'Can't Hardly Wait') as the father of the vamp crew.

So, you know how I'm not interested in any members of the male gender, right? How I think they're all dumb and boring? Well, I found myself intensely turned on my Edward Cullen, which leads me to one conclusion only: I need a vampire boyfriend.

I mean, imagine how interesting he'd be. There's no way I could be bored, cause he'd have, like, a century worth of stories. He couldn't be dumb, cause he'd have seen it all. And yes, while a 100-year-old man probably has a lot of baggage, he also must be pretty damn mature.
I think this makes perfect sense. If you're still not buying it, here's a handy list.

Reasons A Vampire Is Better Than A Regular Boyfriend

- Super-human strength.
- The whole "I shun earthly desires and walk the night" is so hot.
- He has no problem feasting on the blood of humans-- a vegan Israeli investment banker couldn't do that.
- He will get his whole family to dismember anyone that comes after you. Um, instant street cred--hello?!
- Ability to scale great heights = best seats at every concert.
- He could kill you at any moment. Which, you know, just adds an element of spontaneity that most men lack in relationships.
- Just his desire to be with you shows that he's not afraid to follow his heart--or whatever he has in its place.
- His parents are probably dead, so I don't have to worry about his mother liking me.
- Will always be young and hot. Ka-ching!

Um, so obvi this is something I need to make happen. If you know any vampires, or any pale, sullen orphan boys who are faster than a speeding bullet, let me know.

Monday, December 15, 2008

The Day the Music Died

So, as you know, the bar where I work is a haven for the foreign crowd. As a result, most of the music played is the sort of common-denominator pop music that is sure to please everyone from Bombay to Berlin. While the DJs do a good job of keeping the dance floor full, I've learned that the songs are pretty much the same each night. So, in the vein of The Lonesome Lumberjack, I offer a list.

Songs That Make Me Want to Shoot Myself in the Pinkie Toe Just to Take The Pain Away
aka Tunes I Hear At Work Every Night, from the '80s, '90s, and Today:


"All The Small Things," by Blink 182
"Hotstepper," by Ini Kamoze.
(tell me you remember this song. You know, the hotstepper. The lyrical gangsta. Excuse me, mister officer / Still love you like that....)
"Informer," by White reggae singer SNOW. If you don't know this one, I'm gonna jog your memory.





"Ice, Ice Baby," by Rob Van Winkle, aka Vanilla Ice.
Okay, while this song can occasionally bring about ironic fun, hearing it every single night for two weeks straights makes me as angry as Mr. Van Winkle (Did you see his Behind the Music? Dude is cray cray!)
"Pokerface," by Lady Gaga. Never heard of this chick before I got here, but she's all the rage. And I want to stab her eyes with a spork.
"Groove Is In The Heart," by Dee-lite.
Yes, Dee-lite.
"That's Not My Name," by the Ting Tings.
Okay, I get it, whatever, it's not your name. What is your fucking name, chick? Oh, how about Bane of My Existence. Wait, too long?

I can only get my energy up when they play JT--for some reason he never gets old.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Something to Blog About

So, I don’t know what’s particularly interesting nowadays, so here’s a look at the past week’s highlights—let me know which you’d like to know more about, dear readers.

1. The blacktress is officially booked on Quantas flight 740, departing San Francisco on October 11, 2008. I arrive in Sydney on October 13*-- holla!!! Eli Reed and other Aussie friends: I expect you to have 12 rugged men and 7 koalas waiting for me.

2. Tonight is date #2 with a hottie from NEW ZEALAND!!!
I mean, that’s practically like Australia (don’t tell him I said that—there’s apparently beef between the two countries), so it’s great preparation for the big trip. It also allows me to pretend like I'm dating Jemaine from "Flight of the Conchords" (let me look at my list....living the dream? CHECK! hot accent? double-check! love for a blacktress? mutha-CHECKIN' yes!)

He has even asked me to be his “summer girlfriend”—yes, please!! Best to go out with a bang, I always say!

3. This morning, I was on the Underground Railroad heading in the wrong direction (to the plantation), when a petite pregnant lady got on the train. Being NYC at rush hour, of course there were no seats left. She quietly stood and grabbed the pole, and I looked around momentarily. Not a single man, woman, or child got up. I got the woman’s attention and offered her my seat. She immediately accepted and I stood up over the young, able-bodied hipster guy who I had been sitting next to. He looked momentarily sheepish, then went back to reading his book on social theory.

I was so annoyed by this turn of events. Well, yes, I would have liked to sit, but I was more put off by the fact that I, a young blacktress, was the only person who offered to give this clearly-8-months-pregnant woman a seat on the train. She’s holding life in womb, for Christ’s sake! I can barely stand up in a pair of heels, so lord knows the day I accidentally get knocked up, I’m gonna need to take a knee every ten seconds!! And, on top of that, I noticed that when she sat down she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—is she a single mom, struggling with the worry of how to raise this incoming fetus on her own?! My lord, if I had that weighing on my shoulders in addition to the baby weighing on my torso, I would probably be in a Jazzy Electric Wheelchair, much like this one:
It’s actually called a “Jazzy.”

The refusal of any man to get up off his ass and give her a seat reminded me of the words of a great poet—Nelly Furtado—in her hit opus “Promiscuous”:

“Roses are red / some diamonds are blue / chivalry is dead / but you’re still kinda cute.”


I mean, if that ain’t the gospel truth, I don’t know what is. If it was 1956, everyone with a Y chromosome would have gotten up when that woman came on the train, and some probably would have removed their bowler hats. Alas, those days of propriety are gone.

I guess I shouldn’t be so upset, though—if the old days were still around, I’d be sitting at the back of the bus.



*What happens to me for a whole day???? It’s like I’m in some transcontinental vortex where I cease to exist…..I smell a Sci-Fi channel original motion picture!

Friday, July 25, 2008

Total Request BLOG

I was at a loss of what to blog about the last couple of days, until I received the following letter/g-chat message from a loyal reader. I thought that in helping her, I could post my response and help countless* others as well. Please, read on.


Dear Sojourner,

I really like your blog. Even though I am white and sometimes delicate, you make me want to be a strong black woman. I was wondering if I could ask you to do me a favor. I think you should blog something inspirational for a friend of mine who has recently given up on men.
You can lie if necessary.

Please? Yes? Okay, thanks!

-Anonymous (person you are friends with)

PS: Also, did you SEE the youtube clip I sent you from Sesame Street with Aaron Neville singing with Ernie? That is like the song of my childhood, and Aaron Neville's musical stylings are just outrageous.


Dear Anonymous,

I am more than happy to support your “friend’s” recent decision to renounce man-love. I am quite flattered that in a time of weakness, you have come to the blacktress for the ultimate boost. Here’s why I think it’s a good thing to give up on men—at least for a year or two while you get your head right.

One of the best things about swearing off the gender of your desire is that you suddenly have a wealth of time on your hands. No longer spending hours on the phone, obsessing over every detail of a 4-minute conversation,** or running to parties in the depths of the outer boroughs in hopes of playing it cool,*** you can focus on making the world a better place for you and your loved ones.

I’ve created a pithy list of all the things you can do instead of thinking about men. Feel free to print it, cut it out, and laminate it—you can keep it in your wallet next to your safety condom.


When You Let Go of Man-Love, You Can Spend More Time:
  • Baking
  • Doing needlepoint and other crafts
  • Sleeping
  • Animal Rescue
  • Canvassing for Barack Obama
  • Journaling
  • Listening to Ani Difranco while crying into a pint of Haagen Daz
  • Going to the gym (where I like to eat whole pizzas while sitting on the exercise bike)
  • Blogging
  • Traveling to foreign lands and starting a pop-music career.
  • Sending Facebook messages to that friend from high school you’ve been meaning to call, but haven’t gotten around to ‘cause of all the worrying about men you were doing.
  • Engaging in discourse
  • Singing along to the soundtracks of Broadway musicals (dudes hate that)
  • Writing your first major motion picture—a period piece set during the Franco-Prussian War.
  • Applying for jobs you actually might want.
  • Saving your money for that big trip to Malta and/or Australia.
  • Fighting the power
  • Attending rock concerts and other live performances
  • Re-reading the Harry Potter series and/or Searching the internet for still photos of naked Daniel Radcliffe in Equus.


This is just a small sampling of all the things you’ll be able to do with your newfound emotional and temporal freedom. In fact, I would say you’re not “giving up on men” so much as “giving in to yourself!”

Congratulations. I think you are on your way to becoming a strong black woman.

Love,
Sojo

PS: I have seen the Aaron-and-Ernie duet, and I must agree that it is uplifting on so many levels. Let's relive the magic:






* Actually, I think the exact number is 345.


**“Oh my god, I thought he was going to kiss me, but then he paused—but was it more of a comma kind of pause or a semicolon?!”

*** Girl, we all know you came from Harlem to Sunset Park for one reason only…

Monday, June 23, 2008

I am Danny Glover.

Have you ever seen the movie Lethal Weapon? One of the great buddy-cop comedies of the 20th century, it stars Mel “Before I Went Crazy and Started Slamming Jews” Gibson and Danny “Proud to be a Brother” Glover. Mel plays Riggs, a young homicidal cop all bent out of shape after the untimely death of his wife, and Danny is veteran cop Murtaugh, who’s just looking to retire and get off the mean streets. Throughout the film, as cars flip over, bullets graze their heads, and they fight for justice—and their lives—Murtaugh says “I’m too old for this shit.”

This line is repeated throughout Lethal Weapons 1, 2, 3, and 4.

I can currently relate to this line like no other.

As you know, Sojourner’s no spring chicken. And as you know if you’ve been following this blog, I can’t keep a sane, straight man to save my life. From Australia to Astoria to the depths of Brooklyn, these dudes are not treating me right. The latest blow comes from a “man” I thought was a tender gentleman caller, who spent the last month calling, texting, and wooing Sojourner with invitations to 8th grade prom and other classy dates. After asking me to spend the night on a weeknight (for the second week in a row), and speaking in more future tenses than a confused ESL student, I asked him what was going on with us.
You know, a simple state-of-the-union address.
You know, perhaps a little reassurance that this was more than a hook-up thing.
It had been a month.
There was constant texting—initiated by him. He even went so far as to respond to my telephone message with a text when he was unable to answer the phone, and then promised to call the next day.
AND HE DID.

So, you can imagine my surprise when he said I seemed to want more than he wanted, as though I was the crazy one.
And he did this an hour before we were supposed to go see a friend's improv show, meaning that not only was I left depressed and jilted, I had no Friday night plans while he got to scamper off and laugh at comedic improvisation.
One of my first thoughts (after "Why is this happening again?" and "What is wrong with me?") was "I am sick and tired of this shit"--much like Murtaugh throughout the Lethal Weapon quadrilogy (is that a word? Probably not). Like him, I just want to settle down, get out of the crossfire of single life in NYC, and retire from this dangerous game before I become a walking STD with a heart made of stone.


(remember this?)

As I lick my wounds in solitary confinement, here is a handy list that should help anyone who tries to reach out to me during this dark time.

Words and Phrases That Will Make Me Cry and Make You Feel Awkward
(Please Omit From All Sentences/Conversations/Email):
Date
Boyfriend
Happy/Happiness (also: Future Happiness)
The Bible (also: King James Version)
Television actor Dean Cain
Able-bodied
Lucky
Sex
Coitus
Relations
Relationship
Battleship (including Russian Montage film “Battleship Potemkin”)
Barren Womb
Nice Guy
Bears
8th grade
Prom
Massachusetts
“Sex and the City” Movie(who takes a girl to see that WILLINGLY, then says she’s being too much?!)
Intense
“I don’t think we should do this.”
Teach for America (also: NYC Teaching Fellows, teaching in general, or "school")
Brooklyn
Q Train
Self-respect
“I don’t know.” (Please be completely certain when we speak. I won’t take it well.)

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Neutral Ground -- No Longer Neutral

I did it, guys. Friday night, at 6:30 pm, I met my tutor for my first lesson in Magic Cards. We met outside of Neutral Ground—or, as I like to call it, the Magic Kingdom—on West 37th Street. Through the glass, one could see cards and games for sale, and a line of people, who I soon discovered were registering for a tournament.

Among them, the man who started it all. The man who inspired this post and this scorned card. It was him.

I almost had a heart attack. My tutor, who is married to a white strong black woman, offered to put his wedding ring in his pocket to help me look cool. I told him it was all right (meanwhile, I slipped my ring from my right to left hand—just, you know, so Mr. Magic would think he’d really missed the boat—or, in my case, the slave ship?). We went inside, and my nostrils were immediately assaulted with a scent that can only be described as a combination of body odor and insecurity, as young boys and a few masculine females of all ages sat at long cafeteria-style tables playing card games. Flat-screen PCs lined the walls, where high-tech kids could play various computer games. Mr. Magic was well ahead of us, but I saw him again when we went upstairs to find a place to play.

He sat, cockily swigging his cola, as some angry pale man told me and my tutor that we couldn’t sit up there because “a tourney was about to start and it’s reserved.”

TRUTHfully, I was glad we wouldn’t have to sit near magic. I knew I’d need to focus all my energies on mastering the game, and couldn’t be distracted by thoughts of vengeance.

We took a seat downstairs, and my tutor—a 27-year-old Diversity University graduate with a high-falutin’ job—began to pull out huge packages of various magic cards from his backpack.

“I was going to make you a deck at work today, but I got really busy, so we’ll have to make it now,” he said, as he sorted through the booty he’d collected over the years.

I sat, feeling about as nervous and awkward as the chubby dateless girl at a middle school dance. And although I knew I was a strong black woman, I kept glancing around to see if Mr. Magic was around.

Either that lying sack of mana (which means land, I’ve learned, and provides the strength needed to cast spells) didn’t see me, or he really is a talented—albeit UNEMPLOYED—actor, who just pretended not to see a blacktress. We never acknowledged each other’s presence, but I saw him up in there, playing a magic tournament on a damn Friday night, like he was too good for a blacktress.

Although I know I should relax, relate, and release my anger, I don’t do well with seeing old rejectors after the fact. One of the primary reasons I date people who live in outer boroughs is because I want them to disappear after the inevitable fallout. While dating a dude who lives in Sunset Park may be a pain in the ass, breaking up ain’t so hard to do. I often like to think that men who have wronged me have died in a car crash—the same one that killed Boyz II Men and the talented Michael Jackson (I miss them so much!). It’s not gruesome or violent, it’s more like their car hits a tree that then shuttles them into an alternate universe or place in time, much like the Delorean in Back to the Future. The presence of Mr. Magic, in all his magic-playing glory, still alive and kicking as though he’s better off without a blacktress almost stopped me from honing my skills as a true Magician.

So, for all of you dying to know, here’s how you play:

You shuffle your deck of cards. Each deck has a color, and with each color comes a different strategy. Oppresively enough, the black deck is the most dangerous (I’ll have to talk to someone about that), with the white deck being the simplest and most straightforward, strategy-wise. Colors can be combined to form a super-strategy deck of magical power, but I was advised not to get ahead of myself.

You and your opponent each pick 7 cards from your deck, and leave the rest to draw from (most decks have 60 cards, but as a newbie, I started off with about 30).

Lands are cards that represent just that—land. You want to lay out as many lands as possible, for the number of lands you have allows you to cast certain spells (eg: summoning a lion requires 2 lands and 1 of another other card. If you only have 1 land on the board, then you can’t summon—oh no!).

Okay, I could go on, but I’m getting kinda bored just writing it.

Basically, you want to get your opponents life points down from 20 to 0, and when you do that, you’ve won. You attack them with various spells, creatures, and hexes, and if they can’t defend themselves, the points are yours.

Playing the game, I imagined what young wizard Harry Potter must have felt when he had to cast spells at Hogwarts. My tutor was my very own Dumbledore—or, rather, Remus Lupin—who taught me to think positive thoughts and stay focused as the dementor that was Mr. Magic loomed above.

The things you can learn from this post are:

  1. Magic cards is hard.
  2. Spiking your cranberry juice with vodka will add a fun layer to the experience of being in Neutral Ground.
  3. Only a blacktress can go to a gaming center and have Gossip-Girl style drama with one of the other dudes playing.
  4. A married male friend who is willing to take off his ring to make you look cool is a true friend indeed.
  5. Just because a guy doesn’t call you back doesn’t mean he’s dead. He may very well be in midtown playing in a magic card tournament.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Last Unicorn

Ladies, Gentlemen, Friends, Foes, and Hos:

Today is a sad day. Another one bites the dust.

It is currently day 5 of “OPERATION: Why won’t he call me? WHY?! WHY?!” and still no word. Not one to roll over and play dead (I did free myself from the shackles of slavery, didn’t I?) I even called the wandering minstrel last night, just to put out there—this body ain’t getting any younger, people!!!

As of now, I have received no return call.

This, coming from a man who said I was “Excrutiatingly attractive”—when ‘excrutiatingly’ isn’t even a word! I mean, when you’re altering the dictionary to find the right compliment, it has to be for real, right?

This, coming from a man who had a moment in the Nubian sunshine, and came all the way to Harlem to attend a gathering hosted by Sojo when he didn’t know a single soul in attendance.

This, from a fellow who cleaned the red wine I spilled all over the couch and still wanted to make out with me.

I am seriously lost and delirious.

Let me tell you some things I like about my crush:

He is a 6-foot 3-inch tall glass of milk
—Sojourner's not getting osteoporosis on his watch!

He has curly hair
—it's like white people's version of nappiness!

He plays magic cards
—which clearly means he is smart, has an nerdy past, and won't be scared off by my Harry Potter fetish.

And, most importantly:

He was recently on The Tyra Banks Show.


Um, need a say more???

Ok, I will!!!!!!!!!

A tall hot nerd who doesn’t know he’s hot is an urban legend—like razor-blades in apples, and getting AIDS from a toilet seat—only he’s more fun than those. A hot nerd who wants a blacktress is simply magical—the male equivalent of a unicorn. Like an audience member at his Las Vegas run of Cirque du Soleil, I thought I’d hit the jackpot when I dazzled him in my freakum dress and my gays said my “tats looked great.” Our interactions were effortless, and it felt like I’d known him way more than a hot minute. I thought I could finally stop kissing frogs and end up with a prince.

Apparently, that’s not in the (magic) cards for a blacktress.

My beeper has not beeped and my phone has not phoned, and I feel like an ugly normal person who no one wants to spend time with—not even Jesus (and he’s everyone’s homeboy).

Possible Reasons He No Longer Has Love for the Blacktress:
1. He’s gotten with that tramp Felicia from the Tyra Show.
2. Hotter women have come out of the woodwork ever since Tyra called him sexy.
3. He’s going on tour with a wandering minstrel show.
4. He’s been stop-lossed and is going back into the trenches, like Ryan Phillippe
5. He’s racist.
6. He’s lazy and crazy.
7. My vagina dentata scared him away (JK (rowling)!!! I don’t have TEETH)
8. Perhaps it’s because I told him I wouldn’t sleep with him til EL CINCO DE MAYO (Mexican Independence Day)?
9. Because I asked him to teach me to play magic cards because I wanted to “know his world.” (which I personally think is endearing as shit, and should have made him swoon with delight)

So, today, we self-soothe with episodes of "The Office" online. We shed a tear for the pretty, tall, mixie babies that would have been. We light a candle for the mocha acting troupe we would have undoubtedly started. We pour 1/5 of gin on the ground for our dead minstrel, and just praise White Jesus that he didn’t put his p in my v without a c.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

The Emperor Club’s New Groove

Okay, so as you all know by now, former NY governor Eliot Spitzer resigned after he was discovered to be part of a prostitution ring known as the Emperor’s Club VIP. A high-priced international call-girl ring that serviced wealthy men in major cities around the globe, The Emperor’s Club’s clients paid upwards of $3,000 per hour for a moment of magic with some classy broads. They say on their website (which has been taken down):

We specialize in introductions of: fashion models, pageant winners, and exquisite students, graduates and women of successful careers (finance, art, media, etc…) to gentlemen of exceptional standards.

Women are rated on a diamond scale (cause, really, who doesn’t love bling?) of three to seven, with their rating directly proportional to a price of an evening or hour with them. A three-diamond ho costs $10,000 per day; a four-diamond ho costs $12,000; a five-diamond trick costs $15,000; a six-diamond tramp costs $21,000; and a seven-diamond lady of the night will set you back $31,000.

Um, let’s take a look at the chick Spitzer was caught with:
How many diamonds do you think this homegirl’s worth?

Here’s a screen capture of some of the ladies of the Emperor’s Club:

Notice that none of them are darker than a paper bag—at least, not without the help of a tanning bed.

Clearly, this is where Sojo comes in.

I’ve been inspired by the work of fellow blacktivist Scribe, who recently ended her Adopt-A-Darkie Campaign. Capitalizing on White celebrities’ preference for brown babies, she put herself up for adoption, even offering to wear a diaper and call Gwyneth Paltrow “mammy” if she helped eradicate her student loans.

This, to me, is genius. Some may call it “Selling Out” or acting as a “brazen race traitor,” but I call it acting on the freakonomics of the day and letting a rich white person work for you.

So here I sit, in all my mocha brownness.

Emperor’s Club, I offer my services to you.

Looking at the screen capture above, it’s clear they are missing some key flavors of dark chocolate. The only black girl they feature—a “Caribbean Beauty”—is lighter than Halle Berry, and certainly won’t cure any of these wealthy men’s chocolate addictions.
(You won't piss of the Spitzers at Seder dinner with that light skin!)

And we all know they have them. In fact, there is nothing a powerful white male wants more than for a black woman to say he has a big penis and let him….colonize her dark CUNTtry, if you will.

How do I know?
You don’t want to know.

I think I’d be an excellent addition to the Emperor’s Club—especially if I’m getting a substantial cut of that $31,000 per day (oh yes, I’m a seven-diamond sister). This is also payable in euros and pounds, which means I’ll be doing some international travel—to lands where all the men are down with the brown.

Reasons I’d Be a Good Emperor’s Club Trick
1. I’m young and fertile, but I won’t get knocked up.
2. I’m discreet (um, you will not find Sojo on myspace, with her crotch out and about, bent over a Vespa)
3. I’m really dark-skinned. I mean, I Am. Black. You won’t have any doubt that you’re doing something taboo when I’m in your boudoir!!
4. I, too, was an “exquisite student” (HIGH HONORS from a prestigious New England private university, what what?!)—the epitome of high-class ladies that the Emperor’s Club takes in.
5. I don’t talk White, I talk right. I can be your arm candy at all your events, and I’ll be even more well-spoken and dazzling than your wife.
6. For the right tip, we can even play “Thomas Jefferson and the Slave Girl”….. let the hate mail begin….

Basically, what I’m trying to say is: if Spitzer had gotten down with a sister, he might still be governor today.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Happy Lovers Day-- Negro Lovers, That Is!!!


Yeah, that's how I feel about this "holiday."Sorry to get all “angry black woman” on y’all, but I just don’t think there’s any point in Valentine’s Day. If you’re with someone, you should be good to them all the time, and all V-day does is allow everyday establishments to raise prices on goods and services as well as decorate their areas a hideous pink-and-red combination—which is flattering on no one.

Today is a day for celebrating one’s significant other, right? Well, I’ve decided I will celebrate myself, for I am quite the significantother--get it?! Oh, my pseudo-intellectual race jokes are the best!!

Anyway, let’s get back to why black people are so great, shall we? Here’s a quick list.

Reasons I Love Black People
- We use wash cloths
- We have created a hip hop culture which has given suburban white males a means of channeling their misplaced anger at their parents for such atrocities as Little League, SAT Prep, and music lessons.
- The women of the race give white men something to fetishize.
- Without black people, Duane Reade would have no employees.
- Drag queens would have never learned to be so sassy!
- Gay men would have never had anyone to come out to, if not for the SBW—strong black woman.
- We may not have built this city on rock and roll, but we built this country on…slavery. I think we all know who won in that chapter of history.


So, on this day of both lovers and Negroes, and I’ve decided that my true love is none other than Sojo herself. And, unlike a man, I won’t oppress myself, I won’t hook up with myself and not call, and I will make sense in all my speech and only speak TRUTH.

God, it’s good to be me.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Mama Didn't Raise No Fool!

And so we thank her, on this day, the 6th day of BHM.

I thought it behoovy of me to praise Mama Dukes because we went to Bank of America this morning to apply for my mortgage, so I can get off her plantation. Thanks to her hard work and good credit, I have been pre-approved! Clearly, this is not something I could have done on my own. When I asked Big Mama Thornton* if she really wanted to do this, if she was really ready to be my blackup in case of nonpayment, she said to me, in all seriousness:
“I see this as an investment in you. I believe that in a few years you will be a financial stable and responsible adult, and I want to help you get on your own two feet—and off my couch.”

It was touching moment. Massa-Mama is enabling me to break free from the shackles of oppression and get my own 40 acres and a mule—or, in this case, several hundred square feet and a doorman.

MaDukes should be thanked for several reasons:

1. She taught me to read.
2. She didn’t give me up for adoption, when she most certainly could have.
3. After I was born, she sent me to Africa for 6 months and I lived with my grandma while mom studied for the bar exam. If that’s not being a strong black woman, I don’t know what is.
3a. If she hadn’t passed that bar exam, she wouldn’t be the lawyer she is today.
4. She taught me that when a White person tells me I’m “well-spoken,” they are being “condescending” and “racist.”
5. She fed me until I was old enough to cook for my damn self.
6. She’s shown me that a woman is never too old to get a Latin lover.
7. She taught me all about TRUTH.
As a young girl, I looked to my mother for validation, guidance, and support. If I was wearing a hideous outfit, she would tell me; if I complained about gaining weight, she’d stop buying sweets, “cause the Buddha-belly was bulging.” When tears would well up in my nubian eyes, she’d calmly explain, “I’m your mother. If you can’t count on me to tell you the truth, who can you count on?” It was rough, it was harsh, but it was always the Sojourner Truth.



I hope you, too, go to the strong black women in your lives and show them some love this month.

This is what you find when you google search "Slave Mother." This is a still from the movie Beloved, starring Oprah Winfrey. Neither of these women were actual slaves at any point.


*not her real name

Friday, January 18, 2008

To Eli Reed.....

My Australian has been found out. (see her comment on the previous post)

I think we are soul sisters from different misters. I will tell you all the things I discovered from reading her blogger profile that prove my point:

1. She’s from Detroit, but lives in Sydney.
This makes us soul mates because Detroit, Michigan—aka, the City That God Forgot—is my second home. It is where my mother’s from, and where I spent every childhood summer and now all major holidays. I also want to live in Sydney, as that’s where the men appreciate the blacktress and would probably love the truth.

2. She is a comedian, much like myself.
But we probably wouldn’t steal each other’s thunder, and could probably be like a funnier, more attractive version of Frangela (you know, those black chicks who comment on VH1 shows and aren’t really funny).

3. She has a boyfriend and a cat.
These are two things I want more than anything! I’ve had each of them at different points in my life, but to have both a BF and a feline AT THE SAME TIME….WHILE LIVING IN AUSTRALIA…..she lives the dream, my I’m living a dream deferred.

I can’t wait til the day we magically meet and become besties-- it'll be like an episode of that Aussie TV show "Neighbours," that used to star Natalie Imbruglia. Maybe she can find me some Australian men who like the blacktresses so that when I come I’ll have some dudes waiting. I don’t know how long you’ve been reading this blog, my international soul sister, but when it comes to men, I like a tall glass of skim milk! Holla at a calcium boost!

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

I'm Awkward

Things Not to Say When the Guy You Slept With Calls You to Make a Date:

6. I can’t really talk right now-- I’m watching the season finale of “I Love New York.”

5. You know, I think you should be on “I Love New York." You’re very urban. You remind me of Tailor Made.

4. I have three leaks in my ceiling.

3. When he arranges a date for Saturday on Monday, you say: “It’s good you called so far in advance; I book fast. I’m very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany….. um, have you ever seen Anchorman?

2. At the end of the conversation: “I’m going to hold my breath until Saturday!”
He says: “Um, why?”
You respond: “Until our date! I mean, what will I wear?! The possibilities are endless!”

1. I blogged about you.


And it is for this reason I had to take down my previous post, extolling his virtues as a giver. Just in case he is anywhere near as savvy an internet stalker as I am, he can't find out that I gave the world a little TMI. I'll repost once I have him firmly in my clutches, and he can separate the ACT from the BLACKtress.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

DRANKS FOR 2007!

So, this just in:

The top 10 lists for 2007 have made their way to my desk. From TVs, to movies, to downloads, to websites, I've got the pdf file of what was hot and what was not.

While many of the titles were to be expected, my heart actually leapt at one chart-topper:
List of Top 10 Most Digitally Downloaded Songs
10----Something
9-----Something
8-----Something
7-----BUY YOU A DRANK (SHAWTY SNAPPIN')----BY T-PAIN!!!

List of Top 10 Most Played Songs on the Radio
1-----BUY YOU A DRANK (SHAWTY SNAPPIN')----BY T-PAIN!!!


YES! I'm just so happy that T-Pain's misspelling behind is finally getting the attention he deserves. Not only is drank my favorite word (closely followed by tooken), but this man has given more hope to ugly fools the world over. I mean, look at him:
He is not a looker. He might even qualify as a hot mess. But he buys DRANKS. These, for those of you who don't know, are even more potent than regular alcoholic beverages, and often inspire pole-dancing. He even says that he wants you to "get drunk and forget what we did"-- something that only a potent drank can cause.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

10 Signs....

I've come to a new conclusion:
Men are like parking spaces-- they are either handicapped or taken!

And this handicap can come in many forms: emotional, physical, mental.

You would not believe how many conversations I've been having with my lady friends over guy drama. And in every case, we give ourselves a hard time, yet when it comes to the guy, we have lower standards than a county technical college. WTF?!

I myself have resorted to interweb dating. Yes, I'm doing it. If the gays can, so can I. We are both equally oppressed. Now, while this seems "unsafe," and "sketchy," I've found that knowing a guy doesn't preclude the aforementioned sketchiness.*

To prove it, I am going to take you on a trip, back in time and relive one of the worst dates in the history of life. I tell you all this not only to further prove my oppression, but in the hopes that you, gentle reader, will not make the same mistakes.


Ten Signs the Date Should Have Ended At “Hello”
10. He comes to your door with his hair dripping wet and when you ask if it’s raining, he proudly says, “No! I showered for you!” Any man who thinks bathing is a cause for celebration is a bad sign. If he wants accolades for something that basic, he’ll expect 76 trombones every time he opens a car door.

9. He then holds up a box of wine and suggests you take it with you to the restaurant. Box wine is to only be consumed by the following people in the following situations: 1. teenagers at a house party; 2. college students in a dorm room; 3. a teenager, visiting a college student’s dorm room.

8. Quick to get this show on the road, you grab your coat. Once outside, he asks if you can stop by your ex boyfriend’s house and pick up something he left there. Anyone content to make you this uncomfortable before you even have anything invested in them is far too presumptuous. At this rate, the second date will be at his granpappy’s wake!

7. While waiting for a table, he tells you about his study abroad experience in China. His favorite souvenir: his worm, which he named! Initially taken aback by his love of insects, you then learn that this worm was kept not in a cage or a cup with a hole in it, like an inquisitive little tyke. The worm was inside of him! Yes, he had a tapeworm that seemed to be difficult to get rid of. This is a sign that the only warm fuzzy feeling you’re going to have this evening is nausea.

6. He then follows up this tidbit of information with chit chat about his foot fungus.

5. He chooses a Thai restaurant and sizes up every waitress in the place. When you jokingly ask him if he “has a thing for Asian women” he excitedly says, “Yes.” Great, you’ve got a fetishizer on your hands.

4. When asked what he does for fun, he says, “There are just some nights when you just want to go out into the woods with your best friend and do some mushrooms, you know?”
No, you do not know.

3. After walking you back to your house, he says “Whoa. I think I gotta drop a deuce. Did your food taste weird?” He then lingers in the doorway.

2. The next night, you see him arm in arm with an Asian woman! I mean, make a decision man! Do you want a ride on the Underground Railroad, or do you want to hop onto the Orient Express?! Stop jerking me around!

1. Upon recapping the night with your friend (who obviously did some gossiping and googling to make sure this man was worth his weight in pad thai), you find out that he may have fathered an Asian baby while studying abroad! Had you received this nugget of information three days earlier, the date would not have taken place. Anyone who is fathering babies, then leaves them to suffer with SARS should be nowhere near your safe space! Where’s your respect, woman?!

I guess I could have titled this post: "Does he have an Asian baby? And other questions you won’t remember to ask until you learn the hard way."

So don't give me crap for internet dating. As you can see, I have nothing to lose.

*Yeah, used the words "aforementioned" and "preclude." You didn't know Sojo could roll like that, did you?!