Read It and Weep

I lost my iPod some time on Tuesday. I hate my life.

I mean, I knew this had to happen eventually—that’s why I never purchased one to begin with. When I was in elementary school, I was always losing very basic and vital items, like my sweater, backpack, and glasses case. I remember my mother’s tight lip as she tried not to yell and began a search-and-rescue mission more focused than a Navy SEAL. Her biggest concern, being a single mom, was how we’d pay for a new version of whatever I’d lost, and I felt it, too (glasses ain’t cheap!). I think this had a profound impact on my adult life, as I always try to avoid having nice things for fear of losing them.* It wasn’t until I was going to Oz that I thought getting one of these newfangled Apple gizmos would be practical. And even then, I inherited one from an elite gay visionary who was upgrading.

The word “sassafrass” was etched on the back.

I miss it so much.

It’s amazing how something so minor can cause a shame spiral. I am gutted. I'm replaying every moment in the last 48 hours, wondering where it could have gone. I remember hearing the echo of an object hitting the subway platform on Tuesday night as I exited the subway—did it fall from my bag without me even knowing??????? I can't stop shaking.

As if my work trip wasn’t going to suck enough, I’m now without my music.

The best way to deal with self-loathing is to get out of self, and thank goodness for a friend who knows how I feel about the D. I received the following link this morning and it really helped me check myself before I wreck myself:

Half of Detroit Can’t Read. The gist:

Forty-seven percent of adults in Detroit are functionally illiterate. That means almost half of residents can't do basic things like read a newspaper, fill out a job application or other forms, or understand the instructions on a medicine bottle.

Guys, this is getting out of control. First T-Baby, then old ladies scamming folks, and now everyone’s illiterate?????? I used to joke about Detroit being the city that God forgot, but maybe I wasn’t that far off.

I guess I should just be glad I could read and write my way to making enough money to buy a gay visionary’s hand-me-down iPod in the first place.


*paging Dr. Freud—Jewboo, does this explain my fear of letting love in?

I Want to Be a 5-Year-Old White Girl When I Grow Up

I know I'm a week behind, but I gotta share this YouTube:



This chick knows what's up! Did mom play Ani Difranco next to her belly when this precocious gem was in the womb?
I remember being this bold and brash. Did I ever tell you guys about the time I stabbed a boy with a spork in pre-K because he tried to kiss me?

Well, yeah. That's basically it.

And I was the one who got sent to time out! I still remember it like it was yesterday.

The year was 1988. We'd just woken up from nap time and were getting our snacks--a fruit cup, I believe (hence the spork). This boy--whose name I can't remember, but I think it was something lame--came and sat right next to me, and I immediately got annoyed. He then leaned in and tried to kiss me, and I used the only weapon at my disposal--the plastic genetically modified utensil hybrid found in cafeterias and KFCs everywhere (is it still given out at KFC? I stopped going there once I decided I didn't want to die young). I weakly stabbed at him through his shirt, and didn't even leave a mark, but he yelled for one of the nuns and told them what I did. I tried to explain that I was being assaulted, but at the age of 4, I didn't have such a vocabulary. My teacher instantly put me in the time-out corner. I was 4 years old, and I was trying to Take Back the Afternoon and I was denied!

So, basically, if I had this girl in my class back then, I might have had some support--you know, a Susan B. Anthony to my Sojourner.

Blast From the Past

No, I'm not referring to the movie starring Brendan Fraser and Alicia Silverstone. I'm talking about my lost youth.

I don’t know what’s up with me, but I cannot get early-90s television off the brain--maybe it's some weird PMS thing.

You know you’re hella bored at work when your first thought is, “I wish I could watch Blossom.”

Seriously. This has been nagging me since 10:42am.

Where is Mayim Bialik? Or, more important--where can a blacktress get one of those sweet hats with a flower on the front?



I cannot tell you how many times I sat in my room with my camcorder and recorded my dance moves for posterity. Blossom gets right to the heart of the matter.



I cannot tell you how many times, after a nice Brazilian wax, that I tapped dance on a piano while my dad looked on creepily. (something was going on there, I’m telling you)



Below are a list of other jams I miss--some of it may seem strange to you, gentle readers. I mean, the Cosby Show goes without saying, as does Save By the Bell, not only because everyone misses them but also because they can still be seen on Nick at Nite and TBS.
Oh god--television shows from my youth are now on Nick at Nite. I feel like I'm 72 years old. Here are some dark horses:

My Two Dads (obviously, my mention of it in the last post is what started this trip down memory lane.)
Flash Forward Hello--the old one, not that new ABC crap.
Out of This World (Because I, too, often imagined my absentee father was on a far-off planet, which is why he couldn’t take care of me)


And, of course, A Different World. Oh, how I hoped one day to go to Hillman……

I don't know what this is all about today, but I just really miss the early 90s. It was a simpler time--when Bill Clinton could get beejers whenever he wanted, and a B.A. could actually lead to employment. When , and creepy aliens could live amongst us--it was the kind of change I could believe in, you know?

Sidebar: OMG, New Massa just brought in his BF to introduce to the office. He is soooo hot multi-culti. They're like a silver-fox Benetton ad. SWOON CITY.

I want to spend my nights watching them sleep.
Is that creepy?

Black History MOTHERS!

This BHM just keeps getting better and better, guys. Tonight after work I’m heading uptown to an awards ceremony. The recipient – MY MOTHER!!

Holla at madukes making it happen!

As you all know, I still live with madukes and her latin lover (ok, they’ve been married for 4 years, so I guess I should stop describing him as though he’s some scantily clad pool boy, but I can’t help myself).

I’m sure many of my blog posts have touched on the topic of Black mama drama in all its ferocity. You see, my mother’s a lawyer:

Yes, like Claire Huxtable.

She argues for a living -- so, growing up, you know a young Sojo could never be right! Madukes could catch me in a lie before I even knew I was telling it.

Mom: “Sojo, did you finish your homework?”
Young Sojo: “Yes, ma.”
[She looks at me square in the eye as I speak.]
Mom: “Go back up to your room.”
Me: “What?! Why?!”
Mom: “You didn’t finish your homework, your eyes shifted to the left, you’re lying.”

As I stomped upstairs, wondering how on earth she knew I’d already decided mathematics wasn’t worth my time, I vowed never to be caught in a lie again.

This, of course, wasn’t so hard seeing as I was the most boring teen ever. When you’re a chubby little brown child at a high school that’s fresh out of an episode of Gossip Girl, you’re not popular enough to get into any actual trouble. As I got older, I combated her ability to see through me by omitting information altogether—I can’t get caught in a lie if I’m not actually telling one, see?

To really make childhood matters worse, my mother is a lawyer for abused and neglected children. She deals with foster homes, custody battles, and has tales that are straight up out of an episode of “Law and Order: SVU.” (Seriously, I’ve got some spec scripts in the works.) This means that growing up, none of that only-child bratty whining was gonna fly. When mom turned off the TV and said it was time for bed, there was no fucking around. If we had to leave the birthday party, a standard, “Ma, you’re so mean, this is not fair,” was usually met with: “I’m so mean?! Mean?! At least I didn’t trade you for 50 grams of crack like my client last month! You just be glad you’re enrolled in school and can expect three meals a day!”

Srsly, madukes helped a young blacktress keep it in perspective.

This is to be expected from a woman who, after giving birth to a child mere months before the end of law school, sent said child (me) to Africa to live with my grandmother. Mom ain't letting a baby stop her from living her dreams (take note, all you 16-and-pregnant chicks)!


Ever since I’ve been gainfully employed and her New Jersey house is finally at the end of renovations, mama bear and I have been getting along smashingly—I even got her to watch Drag Race! I can’t tell you how much it warmed my heart to wake up Sunday morning and see her watching a rerun while tucked in bed…under an electric blanket!!!

Tonight’s award is from the office of the borough president for her work on a child abuse/neglect case. I’m smartly dressed, cause you know I can’t rock up looking casual on madukes’ big night. I’m definitely more of a Denise, but tonight I’ll be embodying put-together Vanessa Huxtable.

Remember the look? I would have compared myself to Sondra, with her put-together looks and secretly-gay husband, but she never got enough screen time.