Monday, September 29, 2008

so this is what its come to...

So this past Friday night, after the debate (because I sure wasn't about to miss Obama tearing McCain up for nothing), I headed down to Room Service for this Puma party for Usain Bolt my boy Ed told me about.
SIDEBAR: You know you're not socializing enough when the party promoter that you used to see every other day including the weekend's jaw straight hits the floor when you show up at the velvet rope. And the only thing he can think to say is, "DAYUM Mitzi! What are YOU doin' out???"

But I digress... So, once inside the club I promise you, not even 5 minutes passes before some random peroxide Goldilocks pushes past and slaps me in the face with her dried out tresses. And I'm instantly reminded why I stopped coming out to these industry events in the first place. Luckily, Ed was there to keep me from making a beeline for the nearest exit. God bless his heart. "Let it go, she don't don't have no home training," he advised. And I tried. I even found an an old hanging partner of mine, Sandy that was out on the prowl with her crew and tried to relax. And can I tell you, God truly protects babies and fools in 4 inch stiletos. Just as the ache in my arch was gonna force me to throw in the towel, Chuck materialized and asked whether I wanted to sit down. Amen, Hallelujah! Before you could say free champagne, Sandy, her nameless Latina girlfriend, nameless Asian girlfriend and I all made a beeline for the VIP section.
So now I'm sitting on the couch, talking smack to Sandy and wondering how much longer my old bones are gonna last when out of NOWHERE, this perky looking girl walks over to the table and is like, "Hey ladies, do you wanna meet Usain Bolt? Just follow me!" Excuse you? I wasn't sure what homegirl was talking about but it couldn't hurt to go look right? I mean I was wearing the extra fitted purple sweater dress. Might as well make the most of it.
Next thing I know all four of us were ushered into the super tiny VIP-VIP section and people were shoving drinks in our hands, taking pictures and trying to get us to make nice with the world's fastest man (who by the way looked super overwhelmed with his entire immediate family surrounding him like the secret service and throwing mad shade at all the 'fast' American women). It was very much like back in college when you joined the hostess committee to welcome all the new promising athletes... wink, wink.
To be honest, I don't think I lasted ten minutes beyond the hello. My nerves were too bad. I kept thinking about all the places those photos will go in cyberspace (for perfect example, see above). I know I read The YBF, how bout you? So. Not. Cute.
In retrospect, I'm not quite sure how I should feel about what happened. On one hand, it's a lot to be on the ho train at 32. But then on the other hand, it's kind dope to be young enough looking to be on the ho train at 32. No? You tell me...

Thursday, September 25, 2008

rattler fo' life...

I woke up this morning feeling kinda funky. Not in the literal- you ain't wash yo bootie/ brush the teeth- way. It was more emotional. Like very much fussy and sad, you know? So my knee jerk reaction was to cast blame on the crappy weather and neverending clutter in my apartment. So to ward off the blues, I immediately set about cleaning up. And I cleaned from the kitchen on back, deadline be damned, I cleaned my house today. And still, the funkiness remained.

Then I happened to gance at my calendar and it all came together. This weekend is the Atlanta Classic!! Where my illustrious alma mater Florida A&M University (the dopest HBCU in the country) will be whooping all up on Tennessee State University like a red-headed stepchild while all my old ass college friends will be simultaneously getting drunk and actin' up like it's still 1997 up in that piece. Cause we what? Bleed Orange and Green! And when it's all said and done- ain't no party like a FAMU party!!!

I on the other hand, will be stuck here in New York City, trying to earn a living and keep the lights on. Sigh, sure hope the homies remember to pour a little liquor out for the kid. I got you next year!

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

it made my eyes hurt...

Yep, I went to see the movie, The Women this past Saturday. And let's just say it wasn't the best acting I've ever seen (could Meg Ryan's bloated lips be any more distracting? Or Jada Pinkett-Smith behave like more of a caricature of the butchy lesbian?). Howsomeva, it wasn't necessarily the worst (can we all agree anything featuring Nicole Kidman a.k.a the patron saint of long suffering, sun deprived, frail white women who always need rescuing is a waste of your hard earned $10.50?). There were definitely a couple points where I laughed, got involved and even felt an emotional tug which is pretty much the point of these chick flicks, right?
But I will say, what the movie really made me do was start thinking about the lack of Black women on the big screen. Aside from your quarterly Tyler Perry release, Black actresses don't seem to be working at all. And I know they exist because I see Meghan Good and her girls hosting the opening of every third Dunkin Doughnuts around the world. It's like there's an unspoken movement in Hollywood to return to the days when Black women (not the Eva Mendez/ Halle Berry/ other bone that they toss us in the girlfriend or adulteress role) were never seen. And that really sucks.

Sigh. So much for me plotting on how to become America's Next Desperate Housewife. Clearly, there's still a lot of work to do... Otherwise the only TV show my goddaughter is going to see her image reflected in on the 101th season of I Love New York. Boo.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

i am woman...

Okay I have to take a moment to say how freaking proud of myself I am!!! After too many years of delaying (and jumping on other folk's internet connection), this past Friday I FINALLY bought my own Linksys router!!! WOO HOO!! And wait on it, I even connected it myself! Now for those who know me, I am absolutely technologically challenged. So in retrospect, that might not have seemed like a huge deal to many, for me it was the stress equivilant of picking an outfit for that first date with a cute boy.
Naturally, because I am a living breathing exapmle of Murphy's Law, I followed the installation CD, hook it up, it works for all of 20 minutes (read: long enough for me to throw out the box) and then na-da. No signal in the bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, not even on the living room sitting beside the freaking thing. Only some cryptic message saying that the network address wasn't established. I was in total denial. I assured myself, "oh no there's just a blip in my building. I'm sure it'll be on first thing in the morning." Let's just blips don't happen. SO I tried to simply disconnect everythign and re-install the CDs. Nope. Now the computer is saying that the router needs to restored to its original settings. WHAT?
So now, I'm sitting there thinking I have the worst techie karma in the universe. I send out a frantic email "I'm about to kill myself if you don't stop what you're doing and help me" email to my boy James who builds websites (or something fantastic like that ). Mind you, he was on vacay. And proceeded to work myself up into a panic attack- "Oh god, why do I always have to buy the faulty equipment? This is what my lazy butt gets for trying to do work and watch Oprah," on and on I went.
I am not ashamed to admit that I spent a good 20 minutes feeling sorry for myself before it occurred to my dumb butt to simply READ the printed information that they provide with the router (we writers can be a little dense that way). AND voila! At the very bottom of the page, there was an 888 service number with an ACTUAL customer service person on the other side! A wonderful woman had walked me through fixing my router in a little under an hour for FREE! Cause you know they tried to coax me into letting their computer tech remotely access my computer and do it for me for $10- CROOKS.
Long story short, I'm nowcoming to you live from the middle of my bed. Eat your heart out folks!

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

tick, tock, tick, tock...

Every once in a while my hormones do this funny thing where they take over mind and make me think that among other things (like chocolate, sex, chocolate), I want to have a baby. Mind you, this is definately on my to-do list just not before I finish establishing my career, traveling the world oh and yeah, meeting Mr. Right. But I gotta admit, when those hormones start to act up; every ex-boyfriend in the phone book suddenly starts to seem like "the one who got away." So to avoid any unnecessary, "I just wanted to see how you're doing" phone calls that I'd immediately regret as soon as I pressed talk; I decided to spend time with my godson JJ. And can I just tell you what kind of birth control an above average intelligent, hyper three-year old boy is?
In a matter of five hours, John Aiden ran me RAGGED. Mind you, it's not like I was alone, his mom was there with me the whole time. And yet, I still felt so very alone. The extra loud tone of voice (apparently 3 year-olds can't distinguish between their inside and outside voices as yet), the non-stop questions (why, why, why?), and the constant RUNNING (every time I let go his hand to answer my phone, he took off). By the time I FINALLY dropped his little butt off, I needed a time out and some serious sedatives.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

you heard it here first...

So J-Hud done left her longtime janitor sweetheart and gotten engaged to 'Punk' a social climbing Harvard grad who was one of the I Love New York Season 2 reality show contestants (read: he watched the first season and STILL thought it was a good look to be part of the stupidity). Lord haf mercy! Where are her friends? Damn that, where is her TIVO? Cause all she had to do is watch one episode of that tom foolery and there NO WAY in the world she would even consider this a viable option. I mean MY GOD. Yes, it is hard out here for a single black girl but goddammit it aint THAT hard!!!! This wave nuevo wearing idiot broke down CRYING about how much he loved trashy ass Tiffany Pollard and now, you wanna call him your man??? Why? Why must I cry????
For the record, 'Punk' ain't nothing but the African American Kevin Federline. He's about to run through homegirl, spend/steal all her money and leave her crazy. Stay tuned for the inevitable photos of J-Hud on the side of the Santa Monica Freeway wailing out "You Gonna Love Me!!!"

love is in the air...

So this past weekend I attended Anne & Andy's wedding somewhere in the woods of Pennsylvania. And I have to say, it was probably one of the best weddings I've been to in years. Everything was really simple and no-frill- I mean, the vows were exchnged were in a state park and the afterparty to the reception was a bonfire for god's sake. You really should've seen me hiding behind a station wagon in the busy parking lot as I struggled to change into my push-up bra and dress b/c we were running too late to stop at the cabin beforehand. Not city sexy at all. Now as most of you know, I'm all for the big, break the bank, go hard or go home, my super wedding ceremony/reception set-up but it was obvious that being beside a waterfall in the middle of nowhere was exactly what the two of them envisioned for thier wedding and it made all the difference. Both Anne and Andy were so happy it literally radiated off of them. For a moment, I got so caught up, I started to consider flipping the script and getting married in the woods too. But then I quickly remembered who my peoople are and I pulled it together - FAST. I could hear Karina now- "Um Mitzi? And exactly how am I supossed to climb over the stones in my 4-inch heels?" Or Shayla, " You know Steve and I are not hanging out in dark woods with the babies. Ever." And then there's my beloved Tia Puchi who ain't sleeping in nobody's tent/ yert if you paid her a million dollars. She'd be like, "Um, I don't think so. This ain't Iraq. You best to find me and the dogs a proper hotel pronto chica!" No, it just isn't gonna happen for the kid.
But seriously? The best part about the whole experience? Getting a front row seat to all the debachery that occurs behind the scenes at white weddings. MY GOD. I never really understood just how real the premise of The Wedding Crashers is. It felt like the entire reception was full of single people plotting on a hook-up with someone that they met less than five hours earlier. It was like, "I'm drunk & single and so are you. Let's make-out." Add to the equation, that we were in thewoods and I swear, it was like Woodstock 2008 at the bonfire- keg and all. Too funny!
If only Black weddings were this much fun... Sigh.

Friday, September 12, 2008

it's about that time...

Okay party people, it's about that time for you to log back onto! After five long months, the second book in the HOTLANTA series- IF YOU ONLY KNEW is on sale not now but RIGHT NOW.
The official drop date (read: when it will be on shelves in bookstores nationwide) is actually October 1st. So pls prepare yourself for the string of shameless self promoting e-blasts and posts on my blog around that time. But puh-lease, feel free to be ahead of the curve...
It's time to be a friend (and keep Mitzi off the cheese line). Log on NOW and purchase your copy TODAY! And then, here's the really important part, tell someone that I don't know about it! I can only keep this cha cha line moving with your support.

public service announcement...

Attention, attention!
I know some of you have been asking/ wondering what ever happened with the African American Literary Award. Unfortunately, at this time I do not know whether or not HOTLANTA won this year's award. According to official website, the polls are closed and the winners will be announced at the Award ceremony on September 25th. So stay tuned Mitzi-fans, I'll have an answer for you in t-minus 14 days!

And again, thanks for all of your continued support.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

watch your back...

Okay, so let's keep it all the way live. The REAL reason that I hate the fall is because it is the inevitable time of reckoning between me and my damn jeans. I swear, I can go an entire late spring/ summer without ONCE wearing a pair of jeans- nothing but dresses, skirts and shorts for yours truly. But come September, the gig is up. And there is NOTHING worse than trying to pull up those "safety" jeans (you know the ones that should ALWAYS fit, come hell or heavy period) and them feeling extra snug on the thighs. That pinch of the button and the inevitable soft-squishy spillage over the top EVEN when you're holding your break reduces even the most resillient/ SECRET reading/ I love my body self-esteem to shambles.
As if the self esteem damage wasn't enough, it also forces me to make the hard choices- should I kiss the extra dinner/drinks money good bye and purchase new jeans that fit comfortably OR get back on the crazy workout plan and kiss the actual dinner/drinks good bye ('cause who has the energy at the end of the day).
Sigh, what's a curvy girl to do?

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

another one bites the dust...

You ever have a friend that you just KNOW will probably A) never get married or at the very least B) never in a million years get married before you? Sigh, Dana was that friend. Don't get me wrong, LOVE me some Dana but you talk about the super cute, hella funny, charm the drawers off anything moving within 20 feet? Gurl... couldn't do nothing be glad he was my boy and not a former heartbreak.
And I'll admit it- I startedn to tear up as I watched him walk down the aisle this past Saturday. It was like a straight out of body experience. Thankfully, our mutual friend Christina (and a fellow single girl) was sitting beside me and she looked equally as freaked out so I know I wasn't havig a purely selfish moment.
On the brightside, once I got past the whole 'OMG, Dana Doggett is REALLY getting married before me' thing, the reception was the straight open bar, good food, jump off. The party MC came with a dancing entourage and a ton of props- whistles, cowboy hots, maracas, tamborines, neon glow sticks, afro wigs, jester hats and lots of tomfoolery. I swear I danced until my feet hurt and then two steps more.
When it's all said and done, I'm so happy for my boy (that'd the back of his big head on the cha cha line). Tawana (you guessed it, the one with the white dress) is a great person and god bless her heart for taking it on. Now if only they'll agree toschedule a recommitment ceremony jump-off with that same party MC every year, it'll be all to the good!

my favorite two-letter word...

So last Friday night was my girlfriend Monique's surprise 30th brithday party (she's the one in the black). And although she insisted that she was surprised and happy to see all her friends come out in her honor, during the mandatory "thank you for being my friends" toast Monique admitted that turning thirty felt "kinda weird" for her. And to be quite honest, she even looked a bit dare I say-freaked out with her new status on the other side on the twenties?!?!
It's so funny to me how differently people react to aging. On the complete opposite end of the spectrum from Mo (who for the record actually has a fantabulous job, husband, apartment, etc.), I was THRILLED to turn thirty. As those who joined me for the extravagant bday bash can attest, I was beyond hype to usher in the new era. And I promise you, two years later, not a thing as changed. I love being grown. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have finally truly harnessed the power of the word "no." And I am excercising this right on a daily basis with my countless "not really," I don't think so," "I disagree," "not so much," "not so fast," "not even on a dare"and my all time fave "actually, I'd rather not." There's nothing in the world like opting opt of something or someone that in your heart of hearts, you KNOW you want nothing to do with. Sigh.
So come on, say it with me- um yeah, NO. Ha! You know it feels good.

Friday, September 5, 2008

at least we raised over $40,000...

After spending the two nights of watching the Republicans belittle Barack and insult the intelligence of everyday Americans, my nerves were beyond bad. And while I know the most powerful thing I can give the good Senator is my vote, me and the crew plunked down our litte donation and headed to our very first group Obama fundraiser. And it was... interesting.
First of all, it took me about thirty minutes and four complete outfit changes to figure out what appropriate afterwork business attire looks like- Somehow, the sweat shorts and ripped tank top that normally wear aroud the crib seemed a little too casual. Go figure. Now keep in mind, there were two donor levels- either $25 or $100. Um, what you know about the a/c only working in the $100 donor's VIP room? By the time the speaker, Carla Harris (I've been told she's a prominent investment banker hit the stage), it looked like she'd just stepped out of a sauna. The sweat was just sliding down her face as she extolled everyone in the room to vote for Obama. Huh? I thought the reason we were there was because we had already decided to vote for Obama? Shouldn't she have been telling the suited up "I work in finance. Here's my card" masses to go out and find that pinktoe from Iowa that they went to business school with and convince them to vote for Obama? I'm just saying. But before I could really contemplate this discrepency, D-Nice jumped on the turntables and the whole thing turned into a Thursday night party at the Latin Quarters. Lord, give me the strength... Somehow, I don't think that getting your 2-step on is exactly part of the Obama/ Biden campagin strategy but you know how we do.
My mom insists that I get nervous too quickly and that I should have more faith. But I think that's easy for her to say... when things go sour and Sarah Palin is snatching books on evolution out public libraries nationwide (did you know that as a Mayor, Palin banned certain books from her town's library?)and forcing seventeen year olds to get married (did you see that poor boy's face?), Elsa can just bounce back to Panama. I on the other hand, don't speak a lick of Spanish or make enough moola to even move to a more gentrified part of Harlem let alone out of the country. So forgive me for feeling like I have more to lose when I hear John McCain's crazy can't remember how many houses he owns ass talking like the recession is something that I made up in my mind.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

unpacking is the hardest part...

Gotta say, for a moment this whole Sarah "rabbit-out-the-hat" Palin situation looked like a swift kick in the neck to the Obama ticket. Afterall, she's like an uneducated middle American dream- 80s hair clip and all. Married to the high school sweetheart with five kids, conservative, anti-abortion, just green enough to matter and gangster (gotta give homegirl props for trying to strong arm the state police into firing her ex-brother in law).
But upon closer inspection-you've got the eldest son who was a "bit of a hot head" that's now enlisted in the army, the knocked-up 17 year-old daughter playing hide the tummy with the Down's baby and my fave is the amazing, supportive, union member husband who she couldn't wait to introduce as a world class snowmobiling champion. Only to find out dude has a DUI under his belt and a bit of a drinking problem.
Well alrighty then. Looks like it's gonna be a bumpy ride to November.