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It's Because I'm Black, Isn't It? |
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| I
certainly hope this entry doesn’t get me in trouble. It’s the Jeffersons
metaphor that started it all, though—just so you know.
I emerged from the Extravaganza feeling… well… tired, to tell you the truth. But it was a great birthday. My birthday
was a hoot. (It might have even started to venture into hootenanny
territory, but I reigned it in.) I had the greatest e-mail box, bursting
with electronic postcards, happy well wishes, a gift certificate to amazon.com
(boo yah) and rengu, including a particularly clever one from Shmuel.
It's also funny that when I asked if I could quote him, he replied:I forgot I was even awarded two cheesy awards graphics, one of them mere milliseconds after I posted my entry.*grin* Thank you!
The first is the coveted “Could be Worse” award, from Jason, whose e-mail to me ended, “If you give a man a fire, he’ll be warm for a day. If you set a man on fire, he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.” First: that’s funny. Jason=funny. Second: I am now aspiring to win the even-more-coveted “Couldn’t Be Worse” award. In my efforts to attain this, I will be scrapping this page and creating a new one with a bright pink background and MIDI sounds, probably of the song “Mmm Bop”. Everything will be animated, and all site content will be on one, extremely long and slow loading, page. It will include very bad rhyming poetry and pictures of puppies. Every topical reference will be at least three years old. And there will be rainbows. The second award (the millisecond one, generated by Saundra instantaneously) is, I think, just because I turned 25. I love it. I didn’t even have to work for that one.
On Tuesday I got two huge, gorgeous bouquets of flowers at work: one from Matt and one from Abby. I don’t know why they sent them to me after my birthday, but I guess it’s just carrying on the Extravaganza. I then went out with Bruce and Danielle, who took me to Fridays, yum. (One of my readers actually went to Fridays, too, and told the waitress their friend was named Monique, and it was her birthday. Can you believe that someone actually did that? That's the greatest thing ever.) After dinner, we went to a racetrack type place where you zoom around in little cars. The Grand Prix race was fun, although I had some issues getting out of the car (my legs were wedged in there or something). I tried to casually hop out, ala Bo and Luke Duke, but it didn’t work so well for me. I now have a blue bruise on my thigh, which I frantically banged against the steering wheel in order to avoid getting trapped in the grand prix car, like: “Look at the fat girl stuck in the car! Get out the camera, Ned!” Then we did the Slick Track, which was fun, scary, and kind of funny. I kept getting hit by these gangsta guys and my car kept getting spun around and facing the wrong way. I just sat there, holding the steering wheel, completely petrified of trying to turn the car around with everyone else speeding in my direction. Bruce and Danielle just drove by, laughing at my pathetic confusion. Abby would have peed in her pants. After we got off the ride, we stood around waiting for Danielle to finish her cigarette. There is a sign there that reads SLICK TRACK. From the side, it looks like it says SUCK TRACK. “Oh, where’s that?” I asked. “The Suck Track, for people who suck. That’s the one for me!”
Then there was last night. Last night, I slept. We-e-ell, maybe not right away. Actually, first I played my game. I got the “official strategy guide” from Bruce, which RULES, and I downloaded some new skins and stuff from one of the resource web sites. I gave Bruce and Phil a sugar mamma and made them rich and built a mansion. Then I created a whole new family. (Iain, ignore the implications of this statement. It’s a family of lemmings. Just keep that in mind.) The new fam includes a Hooters girl, Danny Elfman wearing a Nightmare Before Christmas shirt, Mar and Kate, and Marz, the lead singer of Renfield. Marz is dressed like Captain America, which is actually how he dresses when onstage. (Well, he dresses like various superheroes, actually, but Captain America is one of them.) There are also two kids. The first is a “mini-goth” kid with little buns of hair on the side of her head, who I named Pippi. The second is a black boy dressed like a sorcerer, who I named “Leroy Harry Potter.” Ha! That reminds me of Leroy’s Answering Machine. Tim once called a wrong number and got the answering machine of a guy named Leroy, obviously of the black persuasion. (Actually, he was of the “street cred” black persuasion, if you know what I mean.) Tim was so amused that he kept hitting redial until he had the outgoing message memorized, and could recite it to me in a perfect rendition of Leroy. Of course, soon enough I had it memorized, too. “Hello. Dis is Le-roy. I’m not home right now. So leave yo’ name, numba… and ‘what it is’… and I’ll get back to ya.” Obviously, the highlight of this message has always been the “what it is” part. It actually sounds more like “Whuht it ihy-uzzz” but even phonetically, it just doesn’t do justice to the man. The myth. The legend… The Leroy.
Don’t you know anything? Get the black man to break in! Get the black man! I can get into a Mercedes in five seconds. You think I can’t get into one of these? Just go get the black man!~ Mike the Insurance Adjuster. One of our courier boxes could not be opened, and everyone in the office tried but couldn’t do it. Mike pulled out a screwdriver and broke into it in about half a second.
1. I might actually have a nice voice. My singing wouldn’t suck, and my poetry readings would sound totally good. 2. I could say “props” without having people (i.e. my sister and cousin) laugh their asses off. 3. I could weigh anything and still pull it off. I don’t know why that is, but it’s true. 4. I could wear a turban on my head without looking like a sad wanna be white girl. I love those turbans. 5. I could make black jokes without embarrassing myself. Such as when I answered the door the other day and welcomed Tim with an accidentally loud, “Hey, negro!” Now I’m afraid all my black neighbors hate me. Next time, I think I’ll go with, “Hey, cracka!” just to be safe. 6. I wouldn’t have to change my name to be ethnic. A lot of black girls are named Monique. 7. I could quote my favorite line from Blast from the Past every time I looked in a mirror. “Oh my stars, it’s a Negro!” Although, that line is only funny if you are white. So maybe that’s a negative. I’ll have to work that one out. 8. I wouldn’t be so damn white. This white Irish freckled thing has got to go. 9. I love black family gatherings. Every single one I’ve ever been to has made me wish I had a family like that. There’s just a certain spirit and energy about the culture that I love. 10. I’m already black on the inside. Word. (Bonus Reason: I absolutely love gospel music. Or, as Matt puts it, “Black churches are amusing.” But I find them genuinely uplifting.)
So tonight, I have to pay my bills and maybe straighten up my room, catch up on phone calls, and do a whole bunch of other bullshit stuff. It looks like I have another couple of job interviews lined up for next week. Of course, they are for administrative assistant positions. Blech. Like I really want to be administrative assisting at some crap company in downtown L.A. or some insurance company in the West Valley. I’ll tell you what really pisses me off. I’m smart, you know? Destined for success. And yet, I’m still in the Job from Hell. Then there’s that bastard Tim, who gets every job he interviews for without even trying, because he’s so fucking brilliant and he knows all this computer stuff that is so in demand. He just got invited to a hiring conference for a weekend, where the company is putting him up in a hotel and wooing him, and at the end of it, they’ll throw at least six figures at him in an effort to get him to work for them. Sometimes I feel like Weezie and George Jefferson, before they got a piece of the pie. |
What
I'm Reading:
My game's strategy guide and Three to Score.What I'm Writing: This sentence.
Orange.Journal Quotes of the Day: I couldn't decide...Random Tidbit: 1. Ironically, someone from the school that rejected me has been going through my archives. Hi, person! I don't blame you. I just hope you went straight to the graduate office and kicked some ass.Days Until My Birthday: 362 |
