hope she's workin somewhere w a cool breeze...

So this is what the redesigned Wonder Woman cartoon looks like, huh?

*struggles to find something nice to say*

Yeah no, I'm not a fan. She just seems extremely pale, super slimmed down, way more conservatively dressed and her overall vibe so damn dark. Like forreal, what's really hood with the burgundy colored lipstick in 2010 and black dog collar? And please don't get me started on those random square-toed boots. Hellloooo.... don't you think by now, Wonder Woman would've upgraded her shoe game to a fly ass pair of stiletto boots??

BLANK STARE

At the end of the day, I don't understand the need to even update her to this extreme. Not for nothing with Beyonce, Lady Gaga, et al, making leotards and tights acceptable day wear, it's extremely plausible that she'd still be running around kicking ass in a shiny vintage onesie with stars on her booty.

Shoot, if you were the superhero, wouldn't you?

speech, speech...

Oooh-ee, it's good to be me today. Not only did I finally get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep last night, but I woke up in one healthy piece to celebrate the 12 year anniversary of my liver transplant! Yep, TWELVE YEARS. Can you imagine? WOO HOO!!!

*cartwheels across the living room*

Now normally, I'd spend this day running the streets with my mom or BFFs. BUT in light of the recession, an impending bar examination and recent births, I'm forced to stay my fast ass at home and accomplish some work. Le Sigh. But before I return to the grown-up portion of this 2nd life...

I wanna give a quick shout to all the people and things that have helped me see another year:

-God... for blessing me in more ways than I'll ever know. Good lookin' on the save this past summer. It was definitely a little nervous but as always you came through.

-Elsa... for being my being my sounding board. I know I be talking a straight hole in your head but if not you, who?

-My Entire Family... I never underestimate the importance of knowing the origin of my craziness. Not to mention all the great home-cooked meals you guys have provided along the way!

-My Meds... I realize that very transplant recipient isn't lucky enough to find the right combination. I appreciate every handful that I've swallowed.

-My Friends... Ya'll knuckleheads inspire, motivate and amaze me with the non-stop shenanigans. I am so blessed to have folks in my life that I can depend on to flip a table or two when i'sh hits the fan. In return, I promise to change all names and incriminating details when I drop the tell-all.

-My Mentors... I stand on the shoulders of giants, especially when it comes to my career. 'Preciate all the fab women and men who have talked my scary behind through my moments of crisis.

-My Agents... Your subtle threats get me up and working every morning. I appreciate your steadfast faith. And any moment now, I pinkie swear to deliver on those proposals.

AND MOST IMPORTANTLY

-The Brazee Family... Your selfless generosity during a time of unspeakable tragedy is the reason that I am here today. Truly, there's not a day that goes by that I'm not aware of the second chance that I was given because of your loss. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

*curtsies and exits stage left*

its all so clear now....

So in case you weren't keeping score: the devastation in Haiti remains unabated, the oil spill continues to gush in to the Gulf waters, Nikki Minaj won 3 BET awards without being able to spit a rhyme in front of the live audience and now we've got Russian spies (that "looked like regular Hispanics" to their brilliant neighbors) living in Montclair, NJ

Blank Stare.

With all of these going ons, it only makes perfect sense that one of the police officers that participated in the unwarranted shooting of Sean Bell is now counter-suing his family. Mm-hmm, of course it does.

Now, if you'll excuse me while go cop Ron Artest's new album. Because the way things are headed, I fully expect him to nominated at next year's Grammy Award Show.

*slowly sips the kool-aid*

i remember...

Today marks the one year anniversary of Michael Jackson's death. How times flies.... And yet, 365 days later his death still doesn't feel right. The circumstances were just a little too shady, 50 years old felt just a little too young and I will always believe that there was way too much music left inside.

Damn.

R.I.P Michael. You were and continue to be the GREATEST.

those are some great shoes...

Whew! Good gracious it's hot outside!

*fans self like the fat ladies at Sunday service*

Now, I'm not complaining cause Lord knows I'll take a 90 degree day over the miserable winter cold every trip. Howsomever, this type of muggy heat seriously affects my ability to concentrate. Kinda like I have a heat induced ADD or some such nonsense... And the only thing I can think about is finding the nearest pool with a cute boys like Mechad Brooks popping up out the water.

Anyhoo, until my brain cools down , think I'm just gonna listen to music that makes me smile and keep trying to write something that makes sense.

Get into it.

how the mighty keep falling...

Tell you what, it is a BAAAAAD day to be Lawrence Taylor. Apparently, this morning the former Giant great was officially indicted for rape, committing a criminal sexual act and sexual abuse. So basically, dude is looking at a potential max of THREE YEARS in a box behind this tomfoolery.

SILENCE.

You know what... I. Can't.

When are ya'll Negroes with money gonna learn? STOP paying for ass from women of unclear purpose. STOP having unprotected sex with the same chick ya boy banged out at last year's all-star weekend. STOP bringing hookers to your real homes. STOP taking nekkid pictures on the cell phone you lose every other month. STOP wifen' out strippers, exotic dancers, studio rats or whatever you wanna call them. And TRY to act like you have a drop of God-given commonsense.

It's really, really not that hard.

On a lighter note, the above video courtesy of Miss Jia and the Anti-Bitch Antagonist is the answer to EVERYTHING this wonderful summer morning. Like the nice lady on the cell phone says when your call is connecting: Please enjoy the music!

he needs to thank his mama...

So I went to a party this past weekend and met the 16 year-old cousin of a friend. He's about six feet, super adorable, sweet but obviously young and more important, obviously underage.

Turns out, homeboy is dating a 20 year-old college junior. And wait on it... she's really cute.

PAUSE

Now you know, at first I was like WTF?? Why in the world would a junior in college (who could clearly date men her age AND older) want to date was a damn junior in HIGH SCHOOL? I don't care how freakin' cute he is... It made no sense. I was so confused.

But that was Saturday night, before I saw the above picture of Puff's son Justin chilling at the pool.

*blank stare with 3 looong blinks*

And for a hot second, I remembered all the energy that excited 16 years-old boys inherently have... Um, yeah. Can you say instant clarity?

Now, I'm not saying it's right or that I would EVER, EVER,EVER get down like that... at 34. But real talk, if 16 year-old boys had looked anywhere NEAR this developed back in the day, it might've been a different story.

*kanye shrug*

Charge it to the game.

eye on the prize & the crazy white woman...

So today is the first day of the Catherine Malandrino summer sample sale. Normally, I'd be dancing on table tops in eager anticipation of all the beautiful goodies that I was about to score at 40-60% off retail.

Howsomever, out of respect for my 2010 personal savings goal (oh you know, to have some sorta savings to leave behind for my kids when I kick the bucket), I will not be attending.

SILENCE

For those that know me and how happy those dresses make me, this is a tragedy that borders on epic proportions. READ: had it not been for the long, hard come to Jesus with my accountant AND my therapist, I'd probably put my damn self on suicide watch for the next three days.

*inhales deeply and exhales slowly*

Yes, it's that serious to me.

Perhaps the only thing helping me through my self-imposed shopping fast is the fantastic news that the third season of The Rachel Zoe Project featuring my favoritest fashion bish of all time, Rachel Zoe kicks off on August 3rd. WOO HOO!

And wait on it... come Fall 2011, that neurotic lunatic will be launching her own fashion line including apparel, accessories and shoes. OMG, I DIE!

*the angels start to sing*

Whew! Okay, frivolous girlie moment is over, back to work.

bout to cop ron's new single & a bag of tht indian yaki...

Couple of things and then its back to grind:

1. Congrats to the LA Lakers! I am not and will never be a fan of Kobe Bryant but one monkey don't stop no show. Like it or not, when it mattered the entire team dug in and managed to turn that game around in the 23rd & 1/2 hour. And not for nothing, Phil Jackson is one of my favorite professional coaches. So here's to Phil and one particularly psychic Laker fan, ya'll made the magic happen last night. Le sigh.

2. Vanessa Bryant and the bedazzled mini-Kobes were a lot. Like seriously? I swear her and them lil' girls were down on center court faster than freaking security! Granted, we all know Mr. Bryant told her to have that ass front & center if/when they won but still... Can you relax and stop throwing cut-eye while that man celebrates with his teammates? Jeesh. (Lord knows, if the 1st Lady of the Lakers was African-American, folks would be calling her clingy ass all kinds of emasculating right about now. SMH. That good-good hair works wonders, I tell ya.)

3. Ron Artest is everything to me today. So proud of that man for giving props where it's due and shouting out his therapist!! I can only imagine how much craziness that poor woman had to wade through before she got his mind on the right track. DEAD FISH EYES. Say what you want but maybe if a more athletes and "high powered" men (um yes, I put that shit in quotes for a reason) would carry their macho asses to therapy, there'd be less drama and confusion poppin' off. Looks directly at Michael Vick, Kwame Kilpatrick, Plaxico Burress, Lil' Wayne, Lawrence Taylor, T.I., and every fool ass Black man with a lil' money and influence that's been in the headlines for some extra preventable bullshit.

4. THE MOST IMPORTANT POINT of the entire post:If Rajan Rondo is need of any type of extra-curricular hand-holding/ comforting between now and next season, puh-lease be sure to point that adorable knobby-kneed boy in my direction. Not now, but right now.

Thanks.

filling my prescription early...

So today's the day the FDA decides whether to approve a drug to boost women's libido a.k.a. the highly anticipated Viagra for females... Interesting.

I see a lot of experts are on the fence because they believe a lowered libido in women is less physical than mental. And therefore, they feel it should be treated with psychotherapy or counseling versus medication. And quietly, they probably have a valid point.

But I'll tell you what- if God forbid, my libido ever slows down, I don't want to spend a single, solitary minute talking about wanting to have sex. Nope, not even one. Just gimme the damn pill and let me get back to getting it on.

DEAD FISH EYES

Seriously, can you imagine how many relationships and marriages would be saved if all a woman had to do was pop a pill and suddenly be turned on by their partner? Man listen...

Just LOOK at the majority of men you know who are in their late 30s, early 40s. How many of them have already noticeably deteriorated from rock hard, 6-pack toting, he-can-get-it-all-day, 20 year-olds into the extra comfy, soft tummy, man boobs and flabby arms cause the most consistent exercises they're doing are talking ish to their boys and lifting the remote control grown men? Mmm-hmm... Now wait on it, imagine what that's gonna look like at 65??

*grabs the smelling salts*

And don't get me wrong, I'm no more mad at the dudes than they are with us women. Change is a part of life. Fuck what Dr. 90210 told ya, having the body of a 21 year-old until the day you die is NOT NATURAL. I refuse to be working out 5 days a week for the rest of my life. No way. And neither should my husband. 'Cause when I'm 75 years old I d not want the man in my bed to be all hard body, knees, and elbows. Uh-uh, to hell with that. Yours truly is gonna need something nice and easy to cuddle up with on them cold nights.

HOWSOMEVER, if said soft & squishy man expects me to be gonna be playing find-the-penis under his 6 pound belly on a regular basis then a little picker-upper will probably go a long way. The End.

*drops the mic and walks away*

sunshine on a cloudy day...

Err-um, have you seen Jada on the cover of the new issue of Essence? Woah. Homegirl is H-O-T.

Even more fire is the 'Why I ♥ Being A Black Woman' feature.

Like seriously, what a breath of fresh air to see such a positive cover line on an already breathtaking cover! And guess what? The inspiring opener was written by my fabulous & prolific co-author Denene Millner. All I can say is: if there was ever a question, here is your answer.

I know there's a recession and all but take my word for it, it's worth the splurge. Purchase this month's issue of Essence. You will not regret it.

Another fantastic job 'Nene!

a little too sunnyside up is all...

So Drake's highly anticipated 1st studio album finally drops today...

*crickets*

Err-um yeah, think I'm gonna wait a minute on that one. Oh and let me be clear, not b/c I don't believe it has the potential to be a good album. I'm sure it will be more than fine. I mean, the kid is talented- overexposed- but certainly talented.

And speaking of overexposed, I honestly think I'm just a little tapped out on the emo-rap right now... Granted, first it was Successful, then it was the Best He Ever Had, next he was trying to Find Your Love, certainly there were Fireworks but now, it's Over.

BLANK STARE

I'm sure with enough airplay in the hood over the summer, I'll soon recover from this temp aversion. But for right here, right now, the whole 'I'm a suffered rapper who rhymes about running through young impressionable girls like a car wash b/c one random girl didn't support my dream & broke my heart into a ka-million pieces' has run it's course.

Thanks.

give that girl a standing (sol)o...

Wow, I really like the dress that Solange has on in this picture. Granted, I'm not so sure about the clunky shoes and absolutely HATE the disheveled afro weave with -gasp- bangs (that I'll bet you a ka-million dollars she thought completed the whole ethnic 'look') but still... I'm really, really feeling this dress.

*stands up and starts the slow hand clap*

Werk it Solo, WERK!!

Just so you know, the reason my admiration is blogworthy is because well... I'm not a fan of homegirl. Oh and even worse her Curious George-esque sense of style.

DEAD FISH EYES

Don't get me wrong. I understand that fashion is all about expressing individuality. And that being a true trendsetter means pushing the envelope, staying ahead of the curve and yada,yada, yada.... But whatever with all that. 'Cause at the end of the day, when I look at Solange and everything about her appearance and behavior scream one thing to me: 'passive aggressive whoring for attention'.

And guess what? I'd rather not.

Here's the thing: If deep down inside you want people to watch and obsess over your every move, then be about it. Admit you wanna rule the world and don't stop until you achieve superstar status. It's a lot... but I can definitely respect that.

What I cannot respect is the fake-out tomfoolery. You know, like getting knocked up at 17, attempting to justify a messy shotgun marriage by insisting he was your high school sweetheart when your ass were home schooled, randomly going off on journalist/reporters that question your choices, using a common haircut as a publicity stunt, singing 1.5 decent songs out of waaaaay too many and then pretending like you don't understand why folks are bothering to talk shit.

I'm just saying.

But back to the dress. I'm feeling like I need that article of clothing in my life. So if anyone could point me in the direction of the designer, I'd be much obliged. 'Preciate ya.

this aint a movie dawg...

Have I got a story for you...

So apparently my homegirl MB went out with some friend of hers that she hadn't seen in a minute on Wednesday night. Naturally, the night went long and the number of drinks prob added up. No judgement. At the end of the wonderful evening the two young ladies went their individual ways. Everyone got home safely.

Now, the next morning MB's homegirl wakes up a little hazy on whether she closed her car door BUT she distinctly recalls clicking the alarm. You know how the oddest details will stick in your mind the morning after a good time but you can't remember major stuff? Like you won't have the faintest idea what the name the person you were making out all night with but you'll remember they had on a really nice watch? Exaactly.

Much to MB's friend's relief her SUV is in the same place she left it the night before. Praise god for the little things, right?

Anyhoo, she gets in her car. And almost immediately, she notices a distinctly sour odor. Like any normal person, she starts looking around the passenger side floor to see if she spilled any food the night before. Nope. Nothing. So she's like okay well, maybe I just need some ventilation in here. She starts the car and opens all the window. Running a little late at this point, she makes mental note to hit the car was, gets herself together and begins to back the car out of the parking spot. Homegirl looks up in the rear view mirror...

AND SEES A FREAKING HOMELESS MAN DEAD ASLEEP IN THE BACKSEAT OF HER TRUCK.

*throws up in mouth while simultaneously dying of fright*

Mind you, this negro wasn't sorta sleep. His ass had figured out how to lay the 2nd row of seats down so he could be SPRAWLED the hell out across the back of her car!!!

Can you f'kin' imagine?? Honestly, I would've pissed in my pants if that 'ish happened to me. And worse you done closed the door and locked yourself in with the seat belt?? OH HELLS NO!!!

I'm happy to report that MB's girl is much more courageous than I. 'Cause instead of pissing on herself or even calling the police, she was focused. She simply jumped out the car and started screaming at dude to get the hell out of her whip. Which he did... slowly. Talking about, 'My bad. The door was open and I was tired.'

Um, I'm sorry. Did he just say, he was tired?

BLANK STARE W/ 3 LOOOONG BLINKS

See, this the kinda bullshit urban legends are made of. And like I told, MB- I'm just glad that dude was a hard sleeper. Cause can you imagine if he woke up before she looked up in the rear view mirror??? SMH.

senselesstragedy.com

psst, i'm a rattler...

So freaking excited! Today I'm going to be one of the esteemed featured panelists at the Abyssinian Development Corporation's COLLEGE, HERE I COME Youth Forum! Woo Hooo, go Mitzi! Get busy! Go Mitzi! (insert image of me doing the cabbage patch mad hard)

So basically, instead of doing boring grown-up work, yours truly will be spending a good portion of my day at Thurgood Marshall Academy for Learning & Social Change discussing the importance/ benefits of obtaining a higher education with 75-100 impressionable middle school kids. (READ: dazzling them with my craziest PG-rated college stories and totally bragging my behind off about how awesome it was to attend the BESTEST HBCU in the universe, Florida A&M University).

CANNOT WAIT.

lifetime supply of condoms, birth control & nicotine gum please...

OMG, today's video just broke my heart.

Like seriously, how do we live in a world where a grown ass man thinks turning his 18-month year old son onto cigarettes is not a big deal- 'cause the kid still looks healthy to him. Meanwhile, the wackass mother insists there is there's nothing she can do about the now 2 year-old's 40 cigarettes-a-day habit. SMH.

But wait on it, why does baby Artie know EXACTLY what he's doing!?! Talking about he will only smoke one brand. And if he can't get his cigarettes he throws a tantrum and bangs his head against the wall. What the hell?

BLANK STARE as visions of backhands and multiple ass whoopings dance through my brain.

Right.

And not to be funny but... who's paying for all them damn cigarettes? 'Cause last time according to the article in the NY Post, the father is a fishmonger (READ: glorified fisherman) and all ya'll are living in a damn hut somewhere out in rural Indonesia.

FAIL.

How's this for an idea? Instead of kicking out for Artie's cancer sticks maybe, just MAYBE they should slap a nicotine patch on his back and try using that money towards some t-shirts that fit the lil' fatty.

No offense.

long way from the drummond's crib...

WOWOW... so Gary Coleman's scary snaggletoothed ex-wife done sold photos of the man on his death bed to The Globe tabloid ???

PAUSE

Real talk? I'm actually at a loss. I don't even know what to say to that... Who does that???

CONTEMPLATIVE SILENCE

And not for nothing, here my dumbass was trying to give that maniacal lookin' bish the benefit of the doubt since we all know Gary used to whoop that ass coming and going. Okay? But crazy is crazy...

I mean, first it was the call to 911 where she straight up tells the emergency services operator that she absolutely will not go help resuscitate Gary because "there's blood everywhere and its just too much." Then come to find out, homegirl wasn't even married to the little man no more. Next, she's all up on TV denying rumors of involvement before folks even had the presence of mind to start talking? And now, she's fighting the family over burial rights!

DEAD FISH EYES

Lord... Jesus be the next Lifetime movie of the week.

i hate his striped t-shit...

Well alrighty then... It seems that Gawker has allegedly identified the latest 'hot new dance craze' called Surra de Banda. Mmm-hmmm. Now under normal circumstances, I wouldn't pay a mainstream blog like Gawker much atention when it comes to pinpointing a hot new anything that relates to people of color but as soon as I read that it's a Brazilian dance and even better, the name translates to "ass licking" I was all in.

Don't judge me dammit.

Anyoo in the interest of time, I'm going to skip over the back alley black sheet/backdrop, the purposeless pleather belt hanging idly around homegirl's waist, the intriguing jiggly movements her saddlebags were doing all on their own and the fact that any actual dancing she attempted sucked. Because honestly, this post is bigger than this rhythmless fashion challenged child.

Instead, I'm gonna focus on one simple concern:

What kind self respecting man is going to willingly sit down and allow any woman to SMASH his complete face into her ass??

BLANK STARE w 3 LOOOONG BLINKS

And I mean to say, homegirl is jerking the HELL out of dude and clearly giving him all kinds of unexplainable shoe burn on the side of his neck. And still, he's just as calm and smiling... looking like a straight nutjob.

No offense.

Please believe, every time homeboy's nose disappeared between her cheeks I literally gagged. I mean I'm all for some occasional aggressive foreplay between consenting adults but what if she mistakenly farted or some such nonsense???

*pinches nose and backflips into a bedazzled Walmart casket*

why we can't win...

So I'm flipping through the NY Post and come across an article on former uptown drug lord extraordinaire Frank Lucas (dude portrayed by Denzel in American Gangster). Apparently, as if the film and documentary weren't enough, some nice publisher has decided to pay good ole Frank to pen a tell-all about the rise and fall of his million dollar-a-day heroin empire.

*deep eye roll*

Now don't get it twisted, I'm not mad at Mr. Lucas for finding a way to keep the gravy train rolling. Shoot, if they're cutting checks just to regurgitate the same stories then by all means have at it. It's just a small part of my conscious isn't so sure how much we should continue glorifying his lifestyle considering we're smack in the middle of a recession. Cause not for nothing, there are way too many desperate folks already out here trying to turn a dollar into 15 cents. Okay?

But I'm getting old, and my nerves are bad so perhaps that's just me...

And to be fair, ultimately the NYP's write-up does make it seem like Frank is very remorseful of the long term impact that the heroin boom had on folks in Harlem. You know in between, detailing all the negroes he punked, broads he smashed and dollars he tossed away cause he had it like that. But I digress... The important thing is that nowadays instead of slinging Blue Magic, Frank is producing music with his son, Frank Jr. while working on a non-profit for inner-city kids with his daughter, Francine.

*cues the shiny happy music*

Aww! Don't you love a redemptive happy ending? Well almost...

Last month, Francine's mom and Lucas' "soul mate" and wife of more than 40 years, Julie Farriat, was busted on drug-trafficking charges in Puerto Rico.

DEAD FISH EYES

once a killer....

Oh shoot, oh shoot, looks like its the end of the road for Joran van der Sloot! Homeboy done got caught in Chile and that ass is about to be deported right back to Peru.

Ironically, the entire time I was down in Aruba, everyone- locals and fellow visitors alike stayed talking about Natalee's murder in hushed whispers. Five years later, People were still super freaked out by what happened. And seriously, there were so many different opinions on what really happened- sex trafficking, thrown off the cliff, accidental drowning and subsequently eaten by sharks.... the list was endless. But at the end of the day, there were two things we were able to agree upon:
1) Drunk teenagers + remote islands + wealthy psychopaths= epic FAIL

and

2) Not nary one of us wanted to be 'Nataleed' while getting our fun in the sun on.

DEAD FISH EYES.

Here's hoping dude sits in a tiny Peruvian box for the rest of his life.

thank you for being a friend...

It may not have the breathtaking panoramic ocean view but I gotta say, I am happy to be back home in the hood. Say what you want, but nothing says love like being accosted by your neighbor's two playful (but overgrown) pit bulls as you struggle down the hall with luggage.

DEAD FISH EYES

Clearly, there was a lot going on while I was getting my tan on... Gary Coleman done bumped his head and died, Israel is blockading folks in the Gaza, Natalee Halloway's murderer struck again, Detroit Tiger Armando Galarraga was robbed of a perfect game by the ump, the freaking oil spills on and now to add insult to injury, Rue McLanahan a.k.a Blanche from the Golden Girls done passed away. Damn.

Yo, I freaking LOVED the Golden Girls.

Not for nothing, I'm gonna need another day to readjust to all of this...