Sharing the Love

On Saturday, December 10, my expulsion from my mother's uterus--and my singular relationship with my "Coyote Average" co-host Katie East--was honored in the form of a poem. This poem was written by Hardcore Boris a gifted performer who I think, after hearing this opus, I can now refer to as "a dear friend." Never before has someone seen into the core of me and captured the magic of my relationship with a Caucraysian. I must share this with you now, gentle readers:

We're here to celebrate two people's birthdays tonight
One is black and the other is white
the black one's in a relationship and feelin fine
The white one is single, drinkin all the time
The white one's always hangin out back at her crib
The black one's always sayin "'I'm getting too old for this shit.'"
They're both workin in the same profession
Gaining life experience, learning valuable lessons
all the white one really needs is a caring lover
The white one's played by Mel Gibson, the black one by Danny Glover
Two human beings, you could call it a dream team
Gunnin it, runnin this well-oiled machine

You know that feeling when someone just gets you?

I’ve Run Out of Toilet Paper (A Poem)

As you all know, sometimes I find it much more fitting to express intense emotion in iambic pentameter, as in the case of my extreme love of Harry Potter. This weekend was an emotional rollercoaster and I thought it best to get to the heart of the matter with a little poem.

I've run out of toilet paper
I’ve been out since yesterday.
I’ve been rationing out 1/8 of a roll
And I know that it’s not okay.
While I’m at it, I should also add milk to my grocery list
It’s hard to have cereal for dinner with I have nothing to moisten it with.

I need to buy toilet paper
Would I do it if it were called “The Great Charmin Caper”?
There’s nothing quite as depleting as
Looking over while excreting and
Realizing that you’ve
Run out of toilet paper
Which you knew all day.
All that time hunting for red velvet cupcake ice cream
Could have been spent in a more productive way.
While I’m at it, I should probably send that birthday present to my friend’s kid
It’s been over a year and now she probably can’t fit it.

It’s a hat.

I need to buy toilet paper
Especially because it doubles as Kleenex
And, on occasion, it serves as a makeup-removing towelette
I got a flu shot on Monday and now my underarm hurts
And I'm all like, Why can't I do anything right?
Yes, I baked a tray of brownies on Monday
And yes, I'm eating them for dinner every night.

With cookies 'n' cream ice cream.

Late Birthday Love/ An Ode to a Strong Black Woman

When I first met you, I must admit I was scared
You were a strong white woman, and said things other wouldn’t dare.
Gender, race, politics, and class
you were into it all and you had great hair and a cute ass.
After admiring you from afar, the clouds parted in heaven
Something magical happened between us in the summer of 2007.
You let me into your heart (all it took was a glass of red wine)
And I found your inner bourgie pig, and you came to accept mine.
You’re a strong black woman--or so people think when they hear your name--
And when I’m feeling down, you remind me that I’m just the same.
Inter-office emails keep the love fires burning when we were apart
Procrastination is my destination when you’re in my inbox at the day’s start.
You remind me that men are a dime a baker’s dozen,
And I even love your Swedish pseudo-cousin—
And I think me and little sis may become besties.
You help Sojourner find the TRUTH, from the very first day,
And when a man oppresses me, you tell me I don’t need them.
I know if I was still in slavery today,
You’d be the white person to buy my freedom.

Celebrating a White Woman

Yes, I'm doing it.

29 years ago today, my office wife was squeezed out into this world. She grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey, where she cultivated a love of whole wheat and grains, physical activity, and positive thinking. She went on to work in advertising, and then magazine publishing.

And there she changed a blacktress' life.

As a woman of color and a writer, it is behoovy of me to express my appreciation in the written form, as I've done for so many others, from Harry Potter to Katie Walsh-- you know, the people who really matter. Below, I look back on the year that has been and celebrate the birth of Alli Mali.

From the very first day, you knew all the answers
Wielding your red pen like a sword, you showed me it's the deck that really matters.
From our first lunch time walk en plein air
I knew we'd be besties--especially when that bird pooped in your hair.
Halfway through the year we moved into veal pens
But, surprisingly, our tender office love did not end.
Now we lean back in our rolly chairs,
sharing our worries and cares
Then bitch and moan at Lemongrass on Fridays.
You have the youthful joy of someone a mere 18 years old,
yet you always know I have a date if I'm wearing my reflections in gold.
And when I'm a hot mess you don't judge me in any way.
I feel great joy when I hand you an article I think is DONE AND DONE.
Then I see your red marks and I know the learning has just begun.
You push me to be the best blacktress I can be--
But no matter what you say, I won't drink that damn algae.
You're so kind to everyone, the mail guys say you're hot.
Then there's that darn Sal, who's just waiting for you to give him a shot.
You're my nine-to-five soul sister, twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five
Except for those ten vacation days, and the fact that you're white.


Alli, remember that time you and I were working on an article (you know, every day) and you taught me new and exciting things? Well, I never told you, but you just treated me like such an equal, I actually felt white.