On the Last Day of BHM, My True Love Gave to Me….

The chance to finally be FREE!!!

Hello internet friends!!!

I write to you now with a feeling of levity and freedom that can only come from working for one’s rights. After being bombarded with black mama drama Friday and Saturday, I had to end the pain. Her e-mails were legen—wait for it—dary*, and although this may incite drama, I can’t help but mine the molten earth of mom-induced guilt to reveal the comedy gold that is the following piece of advice she offered in an email.:
It's about an image, a brand. If you're doing voice over about baby stuff they don't want your name and vagina being associated with that.
MY NAME AND VAGINA!!!!!!

I swear, Mama Bear is hilarious.

“Sojourner, how could you just put your mom on blast after the drama of which you speak?” you may be wondering.

Well, gentle readers, not only did Mama Bear say I could blog about her (tender quote: … you can talk about me all that you want. That was the funniest. LOVE MOM ), but just minutes ago I created a new email account for this site, changed my username, AND instructed robots not to crawl to the site—resulting in a full-name search that comes up with NOTHING INCRIMINATING!!! (Well, until Google caches out)

Guys, do you know what this means???

It means I can blog with confidence, knowing that anything I say can’t and won’t be used against me in a court of law!
Well, unless some potential employer decides to start googling “Blacktress”—in which case, they got what’s comin’ to them.

What I do on my own time under my alias is, to quote the great rappers Salt ‘n’ Pepa, none of their business!



If I want to write a blog / about some dirty dog—it’s none of your business!
If I wanna spend my work day / talkin' 'bout what's cray cray -- it's none of your business!
A boss shouldn't even get into / who I'm givin' skins to -- it's none of your business!
etc.

With the monkey off my back, I can now fill you in on the other anxiety-inducer of the last few days: Jewboo’s birthday!!

I planned a surprise party for him that was unlike anything I’d ever undertaken. I reached out to 3 friends of his from out of town and arranged for them to come in to the city. The plan was this:

6pm – Arrive at Jewboo’s house.
6:30pm – long-time childhood best friend arrives. Jewboo is shocked and moved. They proceed to bro-out until it’s time to go to dinner.
7:30 – We go to dinner with friend, roommate, and another improviser—a nice Thai place in the neighborhood.
7:45 – We arrive at restaurant and find TWO OF JEWBOO’S GRAD SCHOOL FRIENDS!!!
7:46 – Jewboo weeps with joy. They proceed to catch up and hold each other close. I become best friends with the black lesbian with the locks from the ATL.
9:00pm – Other friend leaves dinner to “stop by a coworker’s party”—which is really going to the bowling alley to put our names down for a lane.
10pm – we arrive at bowling alley, where other friends are waiting!! SURPRISES!
Jewboo can no longer contain it. In front of everyone in the bar, he announces his plans to marry me. Just then, a writer from Comedy Central offers him a job—writing for the TV show they’re going to offer me. “Any woman who can plan a party like this is someone I want to get behind!” the hipster-y producer says, holding his monocle (ironically, of course).

Everyone rejoices and we stumble home at 2am, drunk on love and accomplishment.

Okay, I might have planned a little too much. But it really went well. He had no idea anyone was coming (although his emotional repression prevented the weeping I’d hoped for), and even though bowling was a bust (a 4-hour wait for a lane—wtf?!), we went to a random divey bar and dominated the jukebox. His out-of-town friends stayed til the end, and when his parents visited the next day, I received many accolades. I think my favorites were:
“You have the best girlfriend ever.”
“You put up with our son; the least we can do is give you a ride to the subway.”
[Bless these chosen people for getting me out of Greenpoint in 15 minutes flat.]

Considering this was the first time I ever had a boyfriend with a birthday**, I think I did pretty damn good.

Blacktress out!


*(h/t Barney Stinson/NPH—aka, Heterosexuality’s Greatest Loss)
**they’ve all been genetically engineered.

OMG! I'm the Mayor of Swoon City!

(Note: This may be my most diary-like blog post yet)
Guys, today is a day of OMGs.
Well, just one really.

Friday, May 14, at 8:42pm, Jewboo said "I love you."
to me.
non-ironically.

OMG!

Clearly, I am questioning his judgment while also planning our wedding. This means we're getting married, right?

Guys, this is kind of a big deal. A man hasn’t said I love you to me since 2001.
(I don’t want to blame it all on 9/11, but we can’t really be sure.)

The way it happened was also so random. I’d go into details, but why don’t I just give you an excerpt from today’s gchat with JJSiii? (of course, I emailed 10 of my nearest and dearest/anyone who’s ever heard me cry about how I’ll die alone to let them know the good news)


JJSiii: OMG.
a la Usher
This is big news.
Dudes expressing feelings, it's not a common occurrence.
Me: I KNOW
JJSiii: PS: I love that you marked the exact time and date.
I want you to get married at 8:42PM on May 14th
Whatever year may be appropriate.
JJSiii: important question: did you say it back?
Me: YES
OF COURSE
JJSiii: well, obvs
Me: you know i've been biting my tongue for, like, three weeks
JJSiii: otherwise it'd be totally awkward
Me: totes
Let me give you a blow-by-blow
JJSiii: Please do!
Me: We got into a stupid fight Friday early evening—you know, cause I was being a crazy person.
We make up, and the plan is for him to come over.
So, he gets to my place.
he comes in
and barges into the kitchen, all angry and cute
takes off his coat
and puts down his bag
and he's standing there and takes a breath, and says, "look. i love you."
i feel kind of dizzy, like i'm in some surreal hyper-baric chamber and this is so insane
JJSiii: haha, you should rent out a giant billboard in times square
just you giving a thumbs up
Me: yep
JJSiii: with the caption "He said 'I Love You'"
ME: hahahah!
who's got two thumbs and a boyfriend that said "i love you"? THIS GIRL!
JJSiii: Yes. It'll be a video billboard
or just one of those scrolling ones
I can picture it in my head
Me: I can’t blog about it…can I?
JJSiii: FYI: There's totally a Degrassi episode about blogging and relationships colliding


Clearly, the conversation devolved into Degrassi-related madness, with a few links to wedding dresses.

Here’s hoping he doesn’t go reading the blog today, people!!!]

I know, I know, I'm such a tween--grown ass women do not act like this (right?). Where's my Justin Bieber poster?

Cop and a Blacktress

So, as you know, I work on a plantation--a plantation of writing, crazy artists, and writing about crazy artists. I really enjoy getting know the artists and their process, as most of them are very friendly to the person writing a feature-length article on them. My favorite artist thus far has to be, hands down, the man I like to call "The Detective"--mainly because that is his occupation. Based in the Pacific Northwest, he's a man of the law who draws composite sketches of criminals based on witnesses accounts. When he's not doing that, he's doing high-class commissioned portraits. He is, in short, bad ass and artistic-- and cool as ice.

The thing I like most about him is that we've sort of developed a rapport that has lasted long after his article was published. He sends the funniest emails ever, and I thought it was behoovy of me to share them with you, my gentle readers.

I knew from our first interview that The Detective and I would get along. He was already a reader of our magazine, so he was all flattered by the idea of being interviewed. He was really long-whinded (which I love when writing an article, because it means I'll never have a shortage of quotes), and he laughed at all my jokes. Before we'd even spoken, he'd done a little research on me, reading my past articles to see if I had the chops. I immediately told him, "Detective, I'll bring nothing but my A-game with this article--primarily because you could have me killed and make it look like an accident."

We had a good long laugh at that one, and we only calmed down once he said, between chuckles, "Yes, that's true."

So, needless to say, I got down to business--but there was also some pleasure.

The Detective told me he'd never been to NYC, and I told him all about our fast-paced lifestyle. I also explained that I could never live anywhere else, because I hate nature. He couldn't believe it. After that convo, he sent me the following email:

Sojo,

Nice talking to you today. I'm still laughing. I've never met anyone who doesn't like nature. Just for you, I'm attaching the photo collages I sent out with our last Christmas card. You're going to see a lot of my family, but what I really want you to see is the number of photos taken outside--in the woods, trails on the sides of mountains, on the beach, in parks, in kayaks on the water, there's even a picture under the water, etc. Pay special attention to the photo of my whole family on the beach building an enormous sand castle. You want to talk dirt... Okay, it's sand, but pretty much the same thing. I love it outside. Maybe I should write an article about you. In Seattle, you'd be the fascinating one! Like talking to an alien.* "Yes that's right. She doesn't like nature!"

Let me know if you have any more questions--I will have more time this weekend, but right now I have to go to bed because I have to get up at 0230 to go serve a warrant. This could be a wild one--house full of armed gang members involved in an assortment of crimes. It's not as bad as it sounds--we're sending in the SWAT team first. - D

Please note that this last paragraph has not been doctored in any way. The Detective is hard core. Note the use of military time when he tells me what time he has to wake up. Also note how chill he is: "it's not as bad as it sounds--we're sending in the SWAT team first." Oh, okay detective--and when you're done, you'll all have some donuts and coffee and go make love to your wives.

I love the detective. In my head, he and I could be a dynamic duo, if not the basis of a TV movie. He'd be solving gritty crimes by day, and by night he would come home and draw his victims. Only with the help of Sojourner would he be able to unlock the truth and crack the case. I think it'd be something like this:

I'm the little black boy and he's Burt Reynolds.

The detective and I still talk, and he sends me emails to let me know how things are going. Sometimes he asks for favors, like advanced or discount copies, and because of our bond--and his power (see above re: killing me and making it look like an accident)--I often give in. He's always really nice, but he makes sure I never forget who I'm talking to. Take, for example, this short gem he sent a few days ago:

Sojo,

I've been busy all morning arresting a guy--got a full confession though. You find anyone to help transfer that file?
I'll be back in an hour--got to go meet a victim.
-D

Was he telling me I only had an hour to get him the file or I'd be sleeping with the fishes? Was he mentioning a "victim" just to give me the willies? I didn't even give him time to explain--that file was in his inbox in 12 minutes.


*[The Detective thinks I'm from another planet simply because I said to him, "I don't get why anyone would want to go outside and pretend to be poor. I don't want 'the stars as my blanket'-- I want a blanket as my blanket!!"
I don't get what's so crazy about that.
Oh, and fyi-- one of his family photos showed his son with a black gf--holla at interracial love!]

Office Ex

There is this guy who works in my office who looks just like my ex boyfriend. I kid you not. Now, joining the ranks of my Office Wife and Office Husband, I now have my Office Ex. It’s totally freaking me out.

For those of you who don’t know (and for those of you who just love the hilarity of it all), my ex boyfriend is an Israeli, vegan, investment banker, who worked about 90 hours a week and did his study-abroad semester at a historically black college.
I kid you not.

How do randoms find me?!

We met at the birthday party of Edith Zimmerman, back in June of 2006…I should have known those two 6s were a sign….

He met me at a delicate time, when I was lost and confused, just fresh back from my tour with THE DEAF (where no one can hear you scream….), and well know how I love a man-cuddle during hard times. He was definitely sweet, and tried very hard to make the love work, but…

He was an Israeli, VEGAN, INVESTMENT BANKER, who WORKED 90 HOURS A WEEK.
Do you see the problems?

In addition to those, his parents were not happy with him dating a blacktress, and wouldn’t acknowledge I was even in his life.
Oh yeah, and he was pro-life.

Nothing’s more awkward than a guy you’ve been dating 2 months telling you he’d be ready to have a child with you if you were to get pregnant.

Oh, wait, actually, I CAN think of something more awkward: him telling you, “I’ve been thinking about whether or not I would love a black child…”

Um, paging Barack Obama!!! So, let’s get this straight: he’s telling me that not only must I bear his seed, but he won’t love it even if it does pop out of the ol’ babymaker!
In the words of Whitney Houston: HELL TO THE NO!!!

As you can see, this is still an emotional situation for me. I look back on the relationship with conflicting emotions and wonder if he is now in the arms of a vegetarian Jewess, who makes him latkes and likes to do spreadsheets. I sometimes wake up in a cold sweat, thinking of the unloved mocha baby that would have resulted from our union….

And then I see the Office Ex, walking to the bathroom.
Honestly, the first time I saw him, my stomach leapt in my throat until sanity came back to me. “Get a hold of yourself, Sojourner,” I said. “There’s no way a rich banker boy would suddenly decide to work for business-to-business magazines….Besides, Office Ex is a bit more Jewey, and shorter than Schmomer Schmohen.**”

While I know it’s not him, this doppelganger haunts me, and sometimes makes me throw up in my mouth a little.

I haven’t been able to discuss this with my office spouses (you know how hard it is for your mate to think of you with other people—imagine if that person were always around!!!), so I’ve decided to share this with you, fair readers.

Do you think I should talk to him? Walk up to his desk and say “Shalom!” Ask him his feelings on a woman’s right to choose?

Or should I just turn the other way when I see him—as I do now?





**Names have been changed to protect the Jewish.