Going With What Works

Hey guys,

It was 95 degrees in New York City today and I feel like I’ve just been through some sort of Sisyphus-like trial. All I was actually doing was existing, walking upwards of 4 blocks at a time, and trying not to be hideous. I’m finally home, showered, and wanting to distract myself from the heat and tomorrow’s next doctor’s appointment. Suddenly, I remembered a long lost love that I’d neglected—16 & Pregnant. I know there’s a teen mom out there struggling with a deadbeat dad, getting rid of her stretchmarks, and passing algebra who will help me get some perspective. Thank god for ON DEMAND—I’m gonna check out my options. Hopefully there’s a twang-filled Southern girl—she’ll understand what it’s like to live in this heat.

11:04
Oh my god, her name is Cleondra!
THIS IS ALREADY AMAZING.
She’s a pretty biracial Mississippi girl with 4 siblings! They’re like the Smollett family.

Do you remember them? They had their own tv show, for, like, a second. All their names start with J. Journee is the only one who's made a name for herself.

Her sis--named ZERICA --is a teen mom, too. Legacy!!!! It’s like getting into a good university, only much sadder.

Cleondra’s bf is Mario—a garage-working caramel fellow who lives right across the street from her! That’s so Clarissa & Sam.

Um, why wasn't this teenage boy, with ranging hormones and uncontrollable urges stopped from climbing up a ladder into a pubescent girl's bedroom? Man, life was different before Facebook.

I love the staged conversation where they have the couple talking about what it was like to find out they were pregnant while doing something “everyday”. They’re walking down the street—in the middle of the street, that is—and discussing their fate.
Her sister’s daughter is named Zyra—are they trying to build a family or a troupe of drag queens???

11:09
White mom Dixie sits with Cleondra on the bed, talking about pregnancy. Mom isn’t amped to have a second teen mom, obvs. “I got the whole big box of condoms…you say your heart sank? My heart sank.”
Apparently, she agreed to have an abortion, but being underage, they’d need parental consent, and Mario just couldn’t do that.
I don't understand.

11:11
Rob—Cleondra’s mom’s (black) boyfriend. He’s got a salt-and-pepper goatee and wears a silver chain. There is nothing more to say.

Over a family game of cards, brother Jerome tells her how disappointed he is. Damn, all these folks just sit around slurring—I can barely distinguish the insults from the requests for food!

11:13
“Not being able to dance on the dance team this year, sucks. I don’t get to see my friends as much.” Um, I think you’re going to have to let go of the Stomping the Yard and forget trying to Step Up 2 Da Streets—the only thing you need to Step Up to is motherhood.
She’s hanging with her dance team friends—these girls don’t look like they've got rhythm, but I'll allow it.

"Mario feels really guilty about getting me pregnant. He even decided not to go to the army and got a full-time job at a tire shop.”

Okay, is there a Teen Mom checklist for baby daddies? When they agree to do the show, do they have to sign both a waiver and a contract agreeing to be a cliché?

Mario plans to fix up his house so that they can live together—cause apparently Cleondra’s house is “chaotic” (um, with 12 people running around with names like Zerica and Zyra, I don’t need much convincing).

11:17
Barbecue at Mario’s house! His dad, Billy, chats with his son: “I want my grandbaby to grow up in something normal, no craziness, no chaos.” Mario agrees!

11:19
Cleondra sits in the library with friends. “How long are you going to take off school?” the token black one asks.
“Probably two weeks, then we have Christmas vacation, then I’ll come back in January.”

Let’s get this gay: She’s going to take off a month after getting pregnant and then get back to the books? I love how “I have a crib in my house, Mario has a crib in his house”—um, you've turned your baby into a nomad fresh from the womb?

11:21 – 33 Weeks Pregnant
Cleondra breaks it down: “Mario lives across the street with his dad, and his mom is around the corner. He’d rather go there than have dinner at my house.”

Mario’s mom, Maria (natch), is very West Side Story—bright purple halter top, tons of makeup, and though I can’t see it, I’m sure she’s wearing espadrilles while sitting on her couch.

First words out of her mouth: “I will not be called grandma. You have to choose between Nona, Gigi, or Yaya.” None of these are her name. Yaya is a common Greek word for grandmother, but they’re Latin and in Mississippi. I’m lost.

They discuss baby names: Maria likes “Twilight,”—who is this woman?!—and Cleondra is super annoyed. She doesn’t even want to discuss baby names. Her attitude toward Maria is so obvious.

Back at home, Mario calls her out for her attitude.
[Between their southern drawls and Cleondra’s refusal to open her mouth when she talks, I’m missing a lot of the convo.]

11:24 – Baby Shower!!
I love the bootleg showers thrown by high-school students!
They are playing a game where various condiments are placed in diapers and guests have to smell them and guess what it is.
Ew.
But there are a lot of people, even her main gay, Levonté (yes, Levonte. I can’t make this shit up. I wish I could.)
11:26
Mario sits with his pasty pal Myles in the tire shop.
Mario: “You’re 20, I’m 19—we’re the two youngest guys in the shop. And you got a baby and another on the way, and I got one on the way. That’s crazy.”
Yes, yes it is.
Apparently, Cleondra’s bedroom/private space is a “tent she got for her birthday, but if I say something, she’ll cry about it for 10 days. She’s all pregnant and hormonal. “

11:27
They’ve decided a name! It’s going to be…..
Kylee Sue.
[Even the graphics show it in small font, it’s so bad]

Um, I don’t know how to cope with this. I guess it’s a step up from Zyrtec, or whatever they’re naming themselves in the family, but still.

11:28—LABOR
[I love watching this without commercials]
“My mom’s too squeamish to stay in the delivery room, but Mario and Alexis [dance friend] are staying with me.”
Um, what kind of hot mess is it when your mother--who has clearly birthed upwards of 5 children—won’t stay in the delivery room because it’s unsightly? Clearly, everyone lacks the mothering skills in this house.

11:29
Birth is relatively quick and drama-free! (I mean, 6 hours of pain, but at least no one went into shock or V-fib)
Mario goes outside and hugs all of his homeys—he’s even got some tears! So tender!

Mom comes in the room, trying to get all parental when she couldn’t even let her daughter squeeze her hand during delivery. Dixie fail!

11:31

First night home—having the “whose house are we staying in?” fight. She’s tired and probably still vag-sore, and wants her bed. Mario’s also tired and wants his bed. He left to go home.
ARE. YOU. FUCKING. KIDDING ME????

And this is why teen moms can’t have nice things.

11:33
Cleondra’s voice over: “Mario’s never here, but my Mom and Rob [her boyfriend] are helping me out, and Zerica is home to take care of Zyra.”

(Oh god, watching the sister “comb” her biracial child’s hair is a bit painful, but damn if those pigtails don’t look cute once she’s finished.)

Mario and his mom (who is wearing a sheer lace top at her kitchen table with her son) talk about why he won’t stay over there. “I don’t want Kylee Sue around Zerica and Jerome at all. I don’t even want them around the child… if she won’t move in, this isn’t going to work.”

Don’t you think that the whole “I think your family’s sketchy and fucked up” conversation should have happened way before they were knockin’ boots?

11:35- 2 Weeks Old

“Taking care of Kylie consumes every minute of the day, and Mario’s at work all day. I can’t miss any of my midterms if I want to graduate.” So she leaves the baby with her sister (who has two piercings above and below her lips) while she takes a test.

Mario comes over and finds out that she left the baby with Zerica and Jerome—he’s not pleased. Luckily, his southern drawl and mumbling prevents him from sounding enraged.
“I’d rather you at least call me," he says. "I’d figure something out.”
“So, you don’t trust my family?”
Nope. No he doesn't.

11:38 – 3 Weeks Old
Cleondra calls Mario, asking him to come over and help her with Kylee. We see him sitting on a couch (in front of a cheesy flea market tapestry) surrounded by boxes and bouncing a tennis ball on the floor.

He responds: “I just don’t feel like doing anything right now. I’m not trying to hang out.”

HE LIVES ACROSS THE FUCKING STREET!!! Jewboo and I—childless, employed, adults who are quite into sleeping in our own beds--are separated by three trains and we make it work! Get it together!

11:40
She goes over to Mario’s house for the night so he can see what this 24/7 parenting is.

The clock reads 4:01 am—Kylee Sue starts crying. Cleondra, now holding Kylee Sue, tries to rouse Mario.
He won’t budge.

January. 1 Month Old –Cleondra goes back to school!
Because Mario doesn’t want the baby with her bro and sis, they had to make a babysitting schedule. The plan:

• Rob (mom’s boyfriend) will watch her on Mondays
• Mario will do Tuesday
• Mario’s mom on Wednesday
• Dixie (Cleondra’s mom) on Thursday
• Mario’s sister on Friday

I do not think any of these people read books for pleasure, and I’m pretty sure Rob has some kids of his own that aren’t getting attention.

11:42
Cleondra is angry that Mario won’t hang out with her and the baby more.

They’re in some sort of Applebee’s type of establishment, surrounded by several plates of food (thanks, MTV!), and they have a fight about who holds the baby so that the other can eat.

Watching this child get passed across a table full of trans fats is really upsetting.

Mario explains his absence: “I’d rather take her at my house. You say you need to sleep, so leave her with me at night and you can rest…You can’t let her come right across the fucking street? At her dad’s house? That’s bullshit. I will never fucking ask you to spend the night in my house. Spend the night when you move in. “

Dinner ends with them sitting across from each other, heads in hands, as the soundtrack of a frustrated and soulful acoustic guitar plays.

11:45
Cleondra comes back home and talks to Dixie.
Awesome voice over: “I knew having a baby would change things, but I always thought Mario would support me. But now that doesn’t seem like a sure thing.”

Dixie—the only proactive one, clearly—invites Mario and his mom over to her house to air it out.

Maria, Mario, and Cleondra sit on the couch, slumped down like three guilty hooligans in the principal’s office.
Maria comes to Cleondra’s defense when Mario complains about her not leaving the baby with him so she can sleep: “No, as a mother, You expect all your little chickens to be in the nest at night.”
Um, as a human, your children probably shouldn’t be chickens. But I get her point.

Dixie—clearly a strong black woman in a white candy-coating—breaks it down: “If you can’t compromise now, you can’t compromise living in the same house.”

So, as two children, it takes their moms to help them reach a resolution. Mario will come over 2 times week, and they will work on compromising. Half-hearted hugs all around!

11:49 - Final Thoughts

Ugh, I wish Cleondra would enunciate—if you’re too bored to speak, how can you expect me to pay attention?
“Being a parent is hard. The child has to come first, but I’m doing it…. Mario’s my first relationship, I love him.”


Whew, that felt really good, guys. I’m finally ready to go bed.
xoxo,
Blacktress!

It's Hard Being Young, Gifted, and Black!

Earlier this week, Scribe brought an interesting news item to my attention. Y’all know the blacktress isn’t exactly one for the topical or celebrity stories (that’s what Huff Post, Perez, and TMZ are for), but I found this quite interesting, so I thought I’d share.

It seems that 16-year-old college student Ralph Jones, a real bright whiz of a kid, has chosen to attend Florida A&M University after weighing his acceptances from such top schools as Cornell, Harvard, and Stanford. He’s now hearing a whole heap of protests from people who think he made the wrong choice.



Now, those of you who have followed the blacktress from the jump (or have spent great office hours procrastinating with the blog archives) know that, in 2008, I suffered from a blacklash when I called out Morehouse University for having a white valedictorian. Thanks to one Howard friend’s bf, the black listservs got wind of it, and I was blacklisted faster than a Hollywood writer during the McCarthy era. Of course, it was a rough going, and I had to stop the flood of comments to my direct email address, but I realize that when you’re Sojourner “You Can’t Handle The” Truth, some people will indeed be unable to handle the truth.

I actually wanted to talk about this because I wanted to shock some of my haters. I actually think Ralph made a great decision, and the dissenters need to back up off of him. Yes, y'all!! I still totally think it's a black-college FAIL to have a white valedictorian, but there's no denying that, for a Southern teen with engineering dreams, FAMU makes perfect sense. As you can read in the article, he has very sound reasons for his choice (hello, financial aid!). The boy’s only 16—he may be smart, but he still has some maturing to do, and will need extra support. Harvard, Stanford, and other Ivys aren’t going to give that to him. Yeah, he’ll get a "top-notch education," but he’ll probably get a B- on his first test, think he’s a failure, and drop out—and there will be no one there to tell him that he may be a bit young, but he’s also gifted and black!

Part of the lure of HBCUs is the network, and the sense of community that they offer—for a tyke who probably hasn’t even packed after-shave for is shower caddy, that community is a must. As Ralph notes, "When it comes down to it, the family feeling -- I didn't feel that at other institutions, because I visited a lot of schools." I get that. The black bond is real, y’all. Just last night, I experienced the power of it! I went into ACE Hardware store looking for some mouse traps, and an older black guy working there not only told me what to do and how to use the trap, he even ripped steel wool out of the bag it came in and gave me a piece!! Yes, y’all—homey straight-up gave me something I was meant to purchase from the establishment in which he worked!!! He was like, "you don't need this whole big bag," and just yoinked it, and said, "put it in your pocket"--holla at a random freebie! If I wasn’t a blacktress, that wouldn’t have happened (No, my boobs weren’t out. I was rocking my nerdy-pining-girl-in-any-80s-teen-movie look of my black glasses and ponytail). I mean, if my black cousins hadn’t made fun of me all my life for talking white, I might have felt like I was at home at an HBCU, too.
Alas, I’m much more at home anywhere that offers bagels at any time of the day.

So, Ralph, as someone who has also suffered a backlash, I salute you for going with your gut, and so clearly and sanely defending your reasoning. My only wish is that you drop that engineering dream and focus on films—someone’s gotta de-throne Tyler Perry, and you don’t seem like one for coonery.

xoxo,
Blacktress!

I'm Livid!

Fellow woman of color and writer Scribe just brought the following hot mess to my attention:

Apparently, in Nettleton Middle School in Mississippi, black students aren't allowed to run for class president, and mixies don't even count!!

Look at the class elections handout, which lets students know their place:


This image is courtesy of Jezebel, where you can also find the more-detailed story.

Of course, the obvious levels of wrongness are in all our faces (if you're reading the blacktress blog, you must be down with equality!). What's most terrifying is that in most middle schools, students have to get parental signatures to engage in extra-curricular activities, including student government. This means that several parents and families saw this paperwork and didn't flinch. They signed little Sally's paper, letting her run for class president. Or, even worse, families of color accepted this statement as well. Of course, there is a group of mixed-race families reacting to this news, but why is this the first time we're hearing about this school and their election system? Is it only because now we're supposedly in a "post-racial" America? It seems like now more than ever, all this hidden racism is coming to light.

I mean, several school-board members, PTA moms, and faculty have held this in place for who knows how long. When a mother of a mixed-race child finally spoke up (her child is White and Indian), she said "They told me that they 'Go by the mother's race b/c with minorities the father isn't generally in the home.' They also told me that 'a city court order is the reason why it is this way.'"
Um, WTF?!

I don't even know what to say. There's nothing funny about this. It's terrifying. It's why I can't ever do a cross-country road trip--there will inevitably be some tiny towns where a blacktress can't afford to have her car break down! This shit is real, people.

Oh, before I go, let me take a moment to jot down a quick letter to our southern friends.

Dear People of the South,
These are the kind of bad apples that spoil the bunch. If you'd like a better reputation among citizens above the Mason-Dixon line, don't do shit like this.
Love,
Blacktress!

Dream DENIED

Did y'all hear about this madness down south? Well, thanks to my politically minded friends, and the Huffington Post, I was made aware just moments ago. Check it out:

An Interracial Couple Was Denied A Marriage License in Louisiana!!!!!!

Oh Hell to the No!! I feel as though, since Barack's election, close-minded members of Caucasia have felt more threatened than ever, and incidents such as these are coming up left and right--or, maybe because of our new Pres, these incidents are being called out. Either way, Sojo's pissed! Y'all know how much I love me a tall glass of milk (does a body good!), and here is Keith Bardwell, trying to shut down miscegenation, cause he's scared of us making more change-leading baby Baracks! This couple's dream wasn't deferred--it was straight up denied!

I love how this justice of the peace (Justice of the HATE, is more like it)talks about "his experience" with interracial marriages, which shows they don't last long. Well, hm, is it because 50% of ALL marriages end in divorce? I wonder what his views are on marriage licenses for shotgun weddings, or couples in the 18- to 25-year-old range? For some reason, I have a feeling that he has no problem issuing those licenses, as long as they keep it within their race.

Okay, I could go on, but I'll turn it over to you, gentle readers. Thoughts?



What about Iman and David Bowie, Mr. Bardwell??!?!?! They are too fierce to not be meant to be!

No, Seriously, Can I Buy You a Drank?

Um, you know how I’m really into T-Pain, right? I believe that from the beginning of this blog, I have referenced the hideous rapper on more than one occasion. I first found him humorous when he came on the scene, offering to buy you a “drank,” which is funny because that is not how the word is spelled, but it is how T-Pain pronounces it in the song, during which he also says we should “get drunk and forget what we did.” And even funnier than the song itself was its instant popularity.

Even funnier than that is this latest product, brought to my attention by a man who is rapidly rising the ranks of my favorite gays:



Yes. It is called DRANK. And yes, at the bottom of the can appears its tagline: “Slow your roll.”
The drink, a product of Houston, Texas, is a grape-flavored “anti-energy” drink that contains a combination of rose hips, melatonin, and valerian root—you know, to calm your wild ass down. It’s sold throughout the South in liquor and convenience stores and is scheduled to cross the Mason-Dixon line soon.

I think the best thing about Drank is its target audience. Straight from the press release, the creators say:
From design to production, every aspect of this calming drink was inspired by today’s popular hip hop artists who embrace the much sought-after hip hop lifestyle that encourages people to capture a stress-free state of mind.

Oh, they mean like that old song about “rolling down the street, smoking indo, sipping on gin and DRANK”? I think I’ve heard that old Negro spiritual.

Some facts about DRANK:
1. it’s not a joke.
2. people are actually drinking this
3. it costs 5 dollars a can, which I think is far too expensive for something that’s going to make me tired and lazy.
4. it apparently tastes great with vodka, which must really slow your roll.
5. the mere presence of this beverage in the marketplace confuses me and makes me uncomfortable.

COTTON gin and tonics with Gay Visionaries-- aka HALLOWEEN

Happy Halloween Everybody!

Okay, I know I’m late—it’s called CP time. Get with it.

So, it’s been a while since I blogged. It’s because there have almost been too many things to discuss!!! Let’s re-cap:

The Greek went crazy. He began sending me angry emails, hurling insults at me much in the way the god Zeus hurled lightning bolts at mere mortals for sport. He also called me, utilizing his lack of a cell phone to give me attitude and force me to speak with him. He simply could not handle the truth of the fact that I DIDN'T WANT TO SPEAK TO HIM EVER AGAIN.

Whiteley never called. He’s dead to me. I should have known not to even holla at a man who sleeps on a mattress on a floor.

I’m meeting with the co-op board tonight to see if I get my apartment!!! This is the big moment guys. Sojo will finally be free from the shackles of the oppression of her mother and her latin lover Eduardo. Keep your fingers crossed (for me) and your legs crossed (for Jesus)!

Last night was the greatest night of my life. I attended the Halloween/birthday extravaganza of the actor Nick Cearley, where gorgeous gay men were scantily clad and enjoying $5 mojitos. It was men, men everywhere—and not a drop to drink!!! While I’m normally against the “holiday” of Halloween, as it encourages people to assume alternate identities and not live up to the TRUTH, I thought I’d reclaim it and show the truth of who I once was.

I donned my old bonnet, the skirt I wore when working in the fields, and I brought some cotton balls that I’d picked in the hot, sweaty aisles of Duane Reade. I called the white men ‘Massa’ and didn’t look them in the eye—just as I used to do. I knew it might make people uncomfortable, but they don’t call me “You can’t handle the TRUTH” for nothing!

(That's me and Massa Colin, remembering the good times.)

Though I anticipated scorn, and prayed I wouldn't be attacked by someone dressed as a Black Panther, I was pleased to find that the gays could indeed handle my truth. One fine man—his name was Patrick, I believe—was wearing a green sleeveless top and booty shorts to accentuate his…. Masculinity. He came up to me and said, “Sister, where you gon’ lay your troubles down?”

I was shocked. I wasn’t anticipating this introduction from a half-naked man. I faltered.

“What?” I said.

“I said—where you gon’ lay your troubles down?”

“DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE!!!!!”

We began a rousing rendition of the old spiritual that my mammy used to sing to me, and he told me he was from Mississippi. We spoke of the past and how we’d changed, and the freedom we’d both enjoyed as oppressed peoples. I asked him how he could be so bold as to come out on the streets of Manhattan in such a clothing—or, bet yet, lack of clothing.

He explained to me that he was one of BLOW WHITE’S SEVEN WHORES:

Sleazy, Easy, Slutty, Bitchy, Horny, Sticky, and… COCK!

The most brilliant costume I’ve ever seen in my life. Each of these whores came into my world and showed me the TRUTH of Halloween—it’s about creativity, expressing oneself as a strong black woman/man/trans and wearing little more than a codpiece.

As I relished in the beauty of the moment and sang “Wade in the Water” with my new massas, I tall figure caught my eye. It was—No, it couldn’t be! Yes—it was!

Actor Jeff Hiller!!!!!!!

You may recall from my previous posting on the musical extravaganza Bernice Bobs Her Mullet, that Jeff Hiller is my calcium boost, gay icon, and actor/comedian extraordinaire. I have been drawn to his art since seeing him perform in the UCB group CREEP, where is I was drawn to his height, his rapier wit, and subtle-yet-effective fashion sense. When I saw him as Draycott Deyo in Joe Major’s magnum opus, my friend crush grew deeper. And now, it could become real.

I instantly stopped Jeff in his tracks, as he made his way over to the birthday boy. I told him my name, showed him my cotton balls, and told him I would be his surrogate, should the need ever arise. I spoke in run-on sentences, explained how I had TiVo’d the two commercials he’s currently featured in, and called him “Massa Hiller.”

Jeff could handle the truth!!!!!!! He laughed, he didn’t fear the blacktress, and he was everything I dreamed he’d be. After letting him say his hellos and work the room, I moved in again, apologizing for my intensity. I asked him about his craft, how he became so self-actualized (and tall), and what I could do to get out there as a blacktress. I told him I would be the Mel to his Flight of the Conchords. His response:
“Oh, you mean my friend Kristin?”

SHUT THE FLIP UP! How could he just drop that Nagasaki bomb on me like it wasn’t no thang?! I lost it, I had to be torn away and escorted to the underground railroad so that I could go home.I think he thought I was drunk.

I wasn’t.

But I think I may have finally found my baby daddy.

Everyone who reads this should look Jeff up on MySpace and totally become his friend. Tell him Sojourner sent you. He’ll know what it means.

Okay, back to work on the plantation!

Peonage Perpetrators

Am I the only one who has heard about this madness?!

Apparently, a southern black family was kept in slavery until the 1960s, under a practice known as peonage!!!

Oh, hell to the no!!!!

See, y'all just thought Sojourner was another angry blacktress, but this shit is fo' real!

FO' REAL!


News of this oppression comes on the heels of another oppression in my life: apparently, some internet gentlemen callers have found the blog and I've got to run around and explain myself.

Ain't it just like a white man to turn Sojourner's empowerment into his sob story?

Honey, if you can't handle Sojourner's Truth, stay off the plantation!