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.

Heath Ledger and Brad Renfro--R.I.P.

I think this is how he looks in heaven.

Today, at 3:35pm, Heath Ledger was found dead in a Soho apartment belonging to Mary-Kate Olsen. He is survived by his ex wife, Michelle Williams, tiny tot daughter, and…ME.

Coming immediately on the heels of the death of young actor Brad Renfro, this blow is too much to take. As Katie Walsh put it, “the middle-schooler in all of us is crying.”

How right she is.

I blame Mary-Kate Olsen and her pill stash--and that damn masseuse for not getting there sooner and giving him his happy ending.

Renfro and Ledger were actually quite similar: young, talented, kinda dirty-hot, they seemed under the Hollywood radar but still got into their fair share of trouble. Ledger took a sharp turn as a family man (that’s the way white people say “baby daddy”) and Oscar-nominee for Brokeback Mountain.

Heath, I must say, I wish I could quit you….because now, you’ve left me with no choice. Cause you’re dead.


Renfro started out as a young tyke with an old soul, beginning in The Client. I had such high hopes for him once he kicked his drug habit.

Unfortunately, my hopes and dreams are dashed and deferred--as usual.

I'm sorry, readers, I honestly do not have the words. I'm sure to die of osteoporosis, as all the tall drinkable glasses of milk are rapidly turning sour. I mean, Heath and I discussed our love (in my head)-- you know I like an Australian, and his chiseled jaw has always won me over. His divorce from Michelle only proved that we would be together soon.

I guess now, I'll just have to wait until we get to walk the red carpet in the sky.

Brad, this may be how you looked recently,

but you'll always be this plucky little boy to me.

HEATH LEDGER: 10 Things I LOVE ABOUT YOU

10. Your versatility: From bad ass high schooler to rugged gay mountain man, you always had me going.
9. Your love for the BK: Instead of going Hollywood, you went to Brooklyn and decided to make a low-key life.
8. The fact that you made an honest woman out of Michelle Williams-- we all know about her days slutting it up on the creek.
7. Your hobo wardrobe: You looked like a bum even though you had a million bucks... just, you know, so the actual poor people wouldn't feel bad.
6. Your delicious accent.
5. A Knight's Tale and Cassanova: Clearly, you'll make anything for the right price. I respect your morals.
4. Your accent.
3. You're not afraid of a full-on sex scene with another man.
2. Your accent.
1. Um....TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU. Best. Movie. Ever.

Teeth-The Movie: aka VAG-ILANTE JUSTICE

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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!

Someone Down Under....I'm Talking to YOU!

Bless me readers, for I have sinned.

My internet stalking skills have been taken to new heights.
It has been 12 years since my last confession.

I have added a lovely feature to my blog that allows me to track visitors. I can tell from whence they came, how long they perused my truths, and what prompted such a visit. I’ve found this to be exciting, ego-boosting, and hilarious, as it is quite interesting to see how people all over the world have stumbled upon this page. Some of searches that are likely to lead you to Sojo:

1. If you're in Malaysia ask Google: what to do if my cat is in mating season

2. Go to Yahoo! And look up “black greeks soundz”—clearly this got someone to my post on my favorite bar, SOUNDZ, and probably something on the fedora-wearing, fur shrug-giving Greek loser.

3. If you’re looking for a gay men diary blog, the blacktress is your best bet.

4. Someone somewhere searched the phrase no love for hos-- I mean, who does have love for hos? Not this blacktress!

5. My new favorite came today, from someone in NYC. They were on Google searching the following: wifey which one are you urban poems.

The thing is, I use the word wifey sparingly and Sojo doesn't even appear on the first page of the Google search. This implies that someone perused the offerings available and said to him/her/hirself, "Hmm....Diary of a Mad Blacktress....that sounds like a place where I could get some urban poems." They were probably sorely disappointed to find that my only urban poem is an "Ode to Harry Potter."

Random search phrases aside, I have also noticed another interesting pattern among visitors. Someone in Sydney, Australia, has been reading my blog on a daily basis. Who could it be????? Could it be the man who inspired this post? I only know two people located in that city, and I doubt the other one has such daily blogging time available, the way a web designer would.

This is intriguing and I'm haunted with unknowing. So I write this post, in an attempt to draw my Australian reader out--smoke him/her out of her hole, as GW would say.

Show yourself, Australian. Leave a comment, show some love, send me a kebab--or a kangaroo.
Sojourner knows you're out there.

2008: The Year of Boo-ification

My procrastination has continued into the afternoon. Here is an excerpt from a conversation I had with my gay husband. I think one read will show you why I think everything is better with gay men.

Me: i'm hornier than a boy scout at camp after lights-out
like, wtf
JJSiii: HA
Me: that's my new line
i think i should copyright it
JJSiii: It seems to be a common problem these days
the terrorists done dropped a horny bomb on the US
Me: HAHAHAHAH.
JJSiii: it'd make sense
I mean, every gay man I know keeps talking about how they get boners all over the place
And they are not alone.

….. There was an hour of time when I psychoanalyzed text messages from the photographer and had to be talked down—it’s not particularly interesting.

Me: my luck with men in the past year (i mean, you know) has been rough.
JJSiii: it's 2008
I decided that this is the year of boo-ification
I was convinced it was going to be with one dude
and out of nowhere, there was a boo in my face
This is THE YEAR OF BOOIFICATION.
Remember that.

I will, JJ. I will NEVER FORGET.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm just being pessimistic and things are going well with the Photographer. He did seem to like the fresh-baked apple pie I brought out on Saturday night.
And the sex I gave him.

Is This Appropriate?

Hey there gang,

I've taken procrastination to a new level this morning: I am looking on my magazine's website and reading comments on old articles I wrote. The purpose this activity serves is twofold: I get to avoid listening to my voice mail messages AND I get to feed my ego. While my own self-absorption is nothing new (hello, this is my blog!), I thought I would write because I just saw the best comment ever and had to share it with you.

So, I write a feature where I interview a different artist each month and bring them to interweb fame by posting their work and writing about their "process." One of my favorite guys was a cattle rancher who does portraits of cows and bulls--clearly he is a man of many talents. I was just re-reading his piece for old time's sake and saw that someone posted the following comment:

Love the article. It's beautiful. I remember all the great times we had together. Especially the cow we skinned. I didn't know you exercised racehorses!!!!! Wish we could go back and do all the great things at the ranch one more time.

Please tell me you caught that third sentence!!! "Especially the cow we skinned."
Now, I don't know what kind of shady dealings this artist/cattle-rancher is up to, but I didn't think skinning cows was part of the job description. In fact, I think part of ranching means you help cows grow and give them tons of grass--and then later make them hamburgers at Johnny Rocket's.

Okay, you may be thinking, "Sojourner, maybe this is a private joke between two friends; after all, skinning cows is a little too gross." Initially, I was tempted to agree, as this was the only way my brain could process such weirdness. But upon closer inspection (cause I have that kind of time), it's clear from the sentence structure that the author doesn't think such a statement is strange. It's sandwiched between two compliments, and there's no dash, italics, or funky font--or even a smiley face icon or "haha!"-- to imply that this is meant to be humorous. The person is clearly referring factually to an event in the past that was good times.

Either way, I think it's completely unprofessional for this "friend" to post about such activities on a major art publication's website. This is supposed to be the artist's moment of glory and it's being overshadowed by the fact that he skins cows with friends for fun--and whatever else would make this person want to "go back and do all the great things at the ranch one more time."

Okay, is it just me, or does that last sentence make you think there may have been some sort of Brokeback Mountain-style orgies taking place on the ranch?