do over please...

So Lady Gaga debuted the video for her latest single, "Born This Way" this morning.

Mmm... yeah. BLANK STARE

Granted, from what I heard from those who actually bothered to suffer through last night's award show, it's probably way more exciting than the Oscars. Howsoever, me no likely at all. Wait, I take that back. I actually do love the bra and panty set that she's prancing around in but other than that... eh.

And you know, it's not even the ridiculous rip-off of a Madonna song that bothers me the most (although it is pretty awful), I just really wish she would get a new choreographer. Watching Gaga jerk & jiggle her body around for over seven minutes wears me the hell out. And worse now that she's wearing flat shoes.

*shrug*

I'm jussayin.

he ain't no kinda friend...

So last night the bestie forwarded me an article from the Detroit Free Press Newspaper. And I swear, it is the craziest story I've heard all week. Okay, wait. I take that back. It's the SECOND craziest behind presumptuous ass Ginny Thomas leaving stalker voicemails. But anyhoo I digress...

Apparently, this past Tuesday afternoon, a Detroit man shot and killed a would-be carjacker when the assailant tried to stick him up at a gas station. The victim, Omar Mixion was filling up his Escalade (BLANK STARE for still pushing such a ridiculous gas guzzler in 2010) when 20 year-old Kenyon Reese Jr came up from behind and demanded the truck at gunpoint.

Well, turns out Kenyon wasn't the only one packing heat that afternoon. Your man Omar has a license to carry a concealed weapon. And so he refused to give up the keys to the Caddy and 'ish went DOWN straight wild, wild west style.

When it was all said and done, the wanna be jacker was dead and Mixon was hospitalized with hits under his eye, in an arm, leg, through his hip and backside.

N-U-T-S.

So THEN, the article goes on to report eyewitness testimony from a woman who happened to be inside the gas station when all the madness erupted. And I quote:

"Lonya Smoot said she heard the gunshots when she was in the gas station buying a lottery ticket Tuesday night, playing her favorite four digits: 1-0-1-1. **

'The manager said, 'Hit the floor!' Smoot said. 'And that's what I did.'

The station attendant, she said, locked the doors from the inside, but a woman inside who was with the carjacking victim yelled, 'Oh my god! That's my man!' and he let her outside.

Smoot said the other woman came back in with another younger woman and a child. Smoot said she believes both were in the SUV when the would-be carjacker tried to steal the vehicle."

And while police confirm the eyewitness's account, turns out Omar's wife Brenda Mixon and her children were NOT part of the aforementioned group of women and child at the gas station when the incident occurred.

SILENCE.

But wait on it... Here's the BEST part. And I quote:

"Brenda Mixon said she doesn't know who was with her husband, who initially denied that there was another woman present.

Right now, Mixon said, she wants to focus on getting her husband of 10 years and father of her two children better.

'When he gets better, then I will talk to him about everything else,' she said. 'That's my husband, that's my heart, that's my best friend right there.'

She said she's glad her husband was carrying a gun.

'Whoever has a CCW, do not be afraid to use it,' she said."

BLANK STARE w/ 3 LOOONG BLINKS.

So essentially, you co-signing on your man's trifling ass getting into a shoot out at a freaking GAS STATION over a piece of shit Escalade (insert image of the whole place exploding into high hell) while he's chilling with his jump-off and her kid?? And that's your best friend?? Sweetie, what the HELL kinda friends do you have??

*nosedives into the shallow end of the pool*

Yo. As for as I'm concerned, Omar deserves every bullet he took for that reckless ass shit he pulled. Quietly, he really needs to go to jail for public endangerment. Can you imagine how many people could've been killed just because his ego was too big to give up the truck?? SMDH.

Oh and as for his retarded, low-self-esteem having, co-signing wife?? She is EXACTLY why even the most random, average men continue to believe it's cool to behave badly in relationships. Yeah, I said it. 'Cause for every decent woman that says no to the nonsense, there are HUNDREDS of Brendas willing to look the other way even when the craziness lands on the front page of your freaking local newspaper. Talking about, 'that's your heart and when he gets better, you'll talk about everything else.' SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT, good luck. Had Omar been married to me, after 10 YEARS and multiple CHILDREN, there wouldn't have been a home for him to return to whether we 'talked' about it or not.

Bet that.

*drops the mic & walks away*

**But, before I go, why are they reporting on this woman's lottery number picks?? DFP staff, I'm gonna need ya'll to tighten up on those writing skills ASAP. Thanks.

guess wht my next giveaway is gonna be...

Although to the naked eye it may appear that I'm slowly perspiring to death in this record breaking heat and humidity, thanks to the lovely folks at The GAP, I'm already chilling in the Fall.

Yessir, because in addition to last week's adorable distressed cropped jean jacket (that you actually still have one day left to enter & win a free one HERE), I just received a pair of their new denim leggings.

Can I tell you? No bullish, I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. Like budget be damned, I'm so about to go buy an additional pair immediately.

They feel just as thick as last year's 1969 Premium jeans (which remain at the front of my closet) and like your fave pair of leggings are super duper tight. Super. Duper.

READ: it fits every shape imaginable but we'll ALL have to wiggle a lil' something to get into them.

Did I mention that at full price they only cost $69.50?

Pish, c'mon son. I'll see you in the checkout line.

paging ted & peggy bundy...

I'm convinced celebrity marriage and divorce are the new American Apparel leggings and off-the shoulder t-shirt.

No, seriously. What else could explain the latest tomfoolery that is Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston's engagement announcement? Talking about they took Tripp for a walk and voila, they're back in love. Um, didn't I JUST see Levi clowning the shit out of the entire Palin pack on Kathy Griffin's 'My Life on the D-List' two seconds ago???

DEAD FISH EYES

And let's not even get started with Ochocinco's dating show, The Ultimate Catch. Which for those who missed the hour and a half long premiere it's basically the 2010 Flavor of Love with a better looking buffoon for these nickel and dime hookers to chase. Mmm-hmm, yeah I said it. The man is a wealthy B-U-F-F-O-O-N.

But regardless of what I think about Chad's personality and proclivity for coonery, there is one thing that I will commend the Pro-Bowler for- he keeps it 100.

When it comes to dating, there are two things he's never made any bones about:

1) he not attracted to Black women

2)he's treats all women like expendable objects

Three days later and I'm still laughing my ass off at the memory of the shocked expression on the faces of all the pretty, young, excited Black girls in the original group of 85 contestants as he walked up and whispered ever ever so gently, "Sweetheart, you're cut." You know, like he really cared about their feelings and shit. And then, in the very next breath he green lights this plastic looking white woman who I swear to God/Jehovah/ Allah looks old enough to be his damn mother.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

I am so not mad at him. And I don't think Black women should be either. Nope, not at all. Like my mom always reminded me, why share your toys with someone who doesn't like you? Fuck that. You don't want me, I don't want you. No hard feelings, it is what it is. Onward.

Think of it like this: Now, those same pretty girls can take that all that fresh weave (that probably cost all of of their rent money for the next 2 months) to a club and find a fool who'll appreciate their $55 metallic spandex pants.

the year of the downgrade continues...

And to think, I was worried that missing out on all of last week's Oscar Grant and LeBron James craziness was going to leave me with nothing to discuss this morning.

*mails a thank you card to Terius Nash*

Sigh. Oh The Dream... Getting caught on the romantic rendezvous in the Caribbean with your slutty personal assistant? Really? Does it get more cliche than that?

I must say the images of Terius in his beachwear glory: extra snug pink-n-white striped board shorts, jiggly man-boobs and Buddha gut with the dark permanent side crease frolicking in the ocean with the equally sloppy body trick (how are you're supposed to be the sexy sidepiece w the loosey goosey tummy & unflattering flattering 2-piece, ma?) for the all of the paparazzi to photograph sickens me to my soul.

But I guess we shouldn't be that surprised that the Umpa Luma is this sloppy. His comments about Christina and their home life since she got pregnant have been nothing short of blatantly disrespectful. And that's to say nothing of the ignorant first single from the crappy ass album that he released last week, "Make Up Bag." Talking about, "If you ever make your girlfriend mad. Don't let your good girl bad. Drop five stacks on the make up bag."

Simple ass negro.

Granted, I've always thought Christina Emillian was kind of typical. You know what I mean: cute, marginally talented with some very obvious signs of gold digger tendencies when it comes to the men she chooses to date. *shrug* But still... ain't no lifestyle worth this type of humiliation. At the end of the day, homeboy put the ring on it. Knocked-up or not, the two could've just co-parented if he didn't intend to TRY to be monogamous.

Maybe LaLa and Melo were onto something by waiting five years to actually get married....

the new kanye...

On a whole, I didn't necessarily dislike the Oscars so much as I felt they were extremely predictable. We all knew Mo'Nique was going to receive a well deserved win and with all the backlash from his notoriously messy divorce and Svengali ways swirling, I also kinda understood it was time for James Cameron to take an L. And quite honestly, I didn't love most of the dresses... Um, Zoe's too big purple Can-Can dress? No thank you.

But one thing or rather person I was SO not prepared for was Elinor Burkett, the out-of-control, chubby Willy Wonka looking white woman who bumrushed the stage and pulled a straight Kanye on hapless director-producer, Roger Ross-Williams. No sir, that one COMPLETELY caught me off guard.

Just as the poor guy was about to start speaking, out of nowhere this busty red-head snatched the mic and began to talk over him. LOUDLY. And unlike Kanye, this bish didn't even give the mc back, Nope, she keep it going till the traveling music started to play.

*crickets*

It's being reported that Burkett was one of the original producers of the winner of the Best Doc Short Award, “Music by Prudence,” follows Prudence, a disabled woman in Zimbabwe with an incredible singing voice. And that Williams and she had some sort of fall out over the direction of the film and was removed. A year ago.

*Dead Fish Eyes*

All I'm saying is, all's fair is entertainment and humiliation. And if the entire world can hold a grudge against Kanye and stay crying a river for poor Taylor Swift, then there better be some tears shed for 'ole dude. READ: Either Rog is now entitled to have his own best year EVER with folks just GIVING him project money and film awards whether he actually has a anything work producing (just like they GAVE Taylor Swift's semi-talented ass all those Grammys) or I don't wanna see this chick at another Oscar ceremony for at least the next 5 years. The End.

PS. Peep how in the very beginning Mama Williams blocked Burkett from getting out of the aisle and following behind her son. HEE-Larious!

not really that funny...

Another day, another new tidbit about one of our fave celebs- so Mo'Nique and her husband (who I must admit is rather charming looking) have an open relationship, huh? Interesting.

And according to the NY Daily News, apparently I'm tardy to the party on this bit of Hollyweird info.

Honestly, it's not for me to judge. If you're cool with your husband sleeping with other women and he's cool with you having sex with other men, so be it. I don't have to crazwl into that bed with either of the two of you at the end of the night. Whatever keeps peace in the home. But is it just me or is something a little off/ sad when one spouse is so adamant about being faithful within the union as she/he shrugs' off the other's dalliances? Mmm-hmmm...

Check it out the quote that made me pause:

"Let me say this: I have not had sex outside my marriage with Sidney," the Academy Award nominee says in this year's 29th Barbara Walters Oscar special. "Could Sid have sex outside of his marriage with me? Yes. That's not a deal-breaker."

Really Mo?

*serious side-eye*

Sigh... It just seems like there was a better way to word that, no? Like maybe she could've said, 'I've been so busy with my new film projects and TV show that haven't had the time to have sex outside my marriage'... or SOMETHING. Anything that would've stopped it from seeming like while you have no interest in sleeping with other men besides your husband, he's allowed to do whatever in the hell he feels like (because you'd rather turn a blind eye than break-up). You feel me? Or am I just reading into this too much?

it hurt my heart and my nose...

Oh God, so I went and saw a preview screening of the movie Precious (based on the book Push) yesterday evening at the Magic Johnson Theater on 125th...  All I can say is JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL.

Mind you, I am a complete book snob (no surprise there). As far as I'm concerned, no movie will ever be a better experience than an author's original version.  BUT, I gotta give it to twisted ass Lee Daniels, this 'ish right here is damn good.

Forget about the graphic nature of the story's content (extreme poverty, sexual/physical abuse, illiteracy, obesity), the mere visuals ALONE made me wanna simultaneously cry and vomit.  Seriously? Harlem has NEVER looked so dirty, Monique so goddamn deranged or an obese teenager's skin so freakin' SWEATY from the mere act of breathing. 

Call me crazy but there were moments when I actually felt like I was starting to SMELL the stink of greasy fried chicken and salty pig feet coming off of the screen. *Blank stare*

So while you probably won't leave the theater feeling anything but depressed, disgusted and in my case in desperate need of a shower,  DEFINITELY go see this movie as soon as it hits a theater near you.  

glutton for bitter punishment...

So clearly, I don't have anything better to do but make random 20 second appearances on Tiny & Toya and put myself through unnecessary changes. With that said- DRUM ROLL PLEASE- I have finally decided to give up white sugar.  Um yes, please feel free to applaud. Because those who really, really know me and this greedy sweet tooth of mine, understand how above and beyond the call of Mitzi this move really is.

  

And no, I don't have a good reason at all.  I think I just want to try something new and healthy... Naw, that doesn't even sound like me. Waaaay too wholesome. I probably just want to have something to talk about. LOL, yeah that's more like it.

But we shall see how far I can get with this one. Cause its was already a close call when made myself a simple cup of tea this morning. Don't you know, I damn near had to pour the entire bottle of honey into the cup for it to be sweet enough for me to drink?? And between you , me and my wallet, honey is too damn expensive to be running through bottles like that.  Mmm-hmmm.

So we shall see, cause Lord knows, Mama got a speeding ticket to pay for...

triple whopper and diet coke, please

Hmmm, so the New York Times is reporting that Manhattan is the thinnest county in New York State. Apparently the average across the state is 60% and we're at an impressive 42% low.

Can't say I'm uber surprised with all the models, artists, Euro-trash, Stepford wives and beautiful Chelsea boys fa-la-laing all over the damn place.  But what is interesting is how honest the folks they interviewed about being skinny were about how they felt about the socioeconomic implications of being overweight.

"My mom says, 'The smaller the dress size, the larger the apartment,'" said one Upper Eastsider.  

Well damn, tell 'em how you really feel ma. Right?

Mind you, although I thought some of these chicks were doing way too much for me to co-sign (so what you're saying is, you're 5-foot-8, 119lbs and you're not tossing your cookies after every meal?  Really?). I gotta admit, I definitely identified with one of the interviewees- Simon Doonan, 56, the creative director of Barney's.  Good ole Simon was the only person honest enough to attribute the borough's obsession with weight to straight up, simple and plain, FEAR.

 

"Or closets are filled with all these expensive clothes that are like swords of Damocles, because we may not fit into them anymore." Preach.  

Cause the good Lord knows, my closet may only be filled with H&M, random sample sale finds and a couple of cute pieces from the GAP (gotta get the shout out in) but I damn sure can't afford to replace nam stitch of it right about now. 

SO until the majority of the styles at Target start to cater to the short and curvy (and please believe I check in on a regular basis), I too will be unabashedly dragging my butt to the stinky NYSC and trying to make the magic happen.

and it don't stop...

So the morning after the wedding, I was so exhausted there are no words to describe.  You know that borderline hysterical, everything hurts from the ends of my matted hair to the chipped tips of my toenails type feeling? Where you really, really wanna cry but there's no rational reason to do so?  Yeah, that's where I was with it. 

But since it was my BFFs fantastic 44th birthday, I had to drag my ass down to APT to help her properly ring in another year.  And lemme tell you, Joan Morgan is beyond. She was working the most scandalous sequined mini and wearing down the dance floor like it was the 80s. Shoot, if this is how good it's gonna look 10 years from now I can't wait. 

consider my sweat your gift...

As of today there are t-minus 67 days until Toya's super sexy 2nd wedding. And since my lil mini-me has decided that she wants her bridesmads to wear specially designed super short, very low-cut, fitted cocktail dresses, Operation Pull-It-Together is in full effect.

First, there were three weeks of the crazy 6.30a bootcamp workout to jump start the mission. Although I've done bootcamp in the past, that sure didn't make going back remotely easier. Real talk? I still don't know how I managed to wake up and get out of my house by 6.10am 4-days a week. 'Cause if you don't know anything else about me, please understand this: I am not the one for the early mornings. But praise god, somehow we made it through. And now, I've committed to daily hot yoga and at least 4 days of cardio at the gym.

Okay, bump what you heard about feeling more relaxed, detoxed and zen-like after bikram yoga. I'm gonna keep it real- that b.s. is kicking my ass coming and going. Seriously? I feel like 2 cents. From my toenails to my scalp, every inch of my body hurts. I can barely make it home before falling on my face. Ain't nothing relaxed, or zen-like about me. And let's not even talk about the gym... OMG, this morning I was on the elliptical machine for 15 minutes sweating and heaving louder than the 350lb woman on the machine next to me. Mind you, my resistance level was only 5. WTF?

So the next time you wanna know why I'm not thrilled to be in one of my very closest friend's wedding, lemme tell you- it's not the money on a dress I can only wear to a club in Miami or Vegas. It's not the hours of my life lost stuffing envelopes with save-the-date cards. Or even the big ass hole homegirl has talked in my head with all the wedding day drama. Nope, all that is water under the bridge. The core issue is the damage control.

It's trying to find a waistline that I haven't seen since the summer of '08. It's eating an orange when what I really want is a warm chocolate chip cookie (or two). It's the bars of deordorant that I'm going through trying to hide the constant state of stink I find myself in. Dammit, I'm tapped out!

For the record, I will so not be offended if any of my peeps decide that they don't want to be in my wedding (whenever the hell that actually happens) because they're soft and squishy. Just keep it real. Not only will I understand, I promise to save you a second slice of the cake.

somebody needs to smack fire out that lil boy...

So there I was minding my business trying to read up on this new nine minute miracle cellulite cream (that quietly, I'm sooo about to spend a $100 dollars on as soon as this recession ends) when I heard about the Chris Brown/ Rihanna beatdown incident report. And I have to tell you, after reading the entire report- this is so not okay.

Dude, Chris Brown beat Rihanna like she was a straight up stranger. Like forreal, forreal? Bouncing her head off of the car window, punching her in the eye, the head, the arm, leg AND then biting her? What in the hell? Did he momnetarily lose his mind and confuse for a car jacker? I'm just saying... Cause I just can't comprehend what in the unholy domestic violence hell this punkass 19 year old was thinking when he threatened to "really beat your ass when we get home!" Word? Forget what you heard, that little dancing fool needs to go sitdown in a jail for at least six months to think about what he did to the woman he's steady professing to love.

Oh and no Kanye et al, I do not think he deserves another chance. At all. So be clear, if I hear any of ya'll enabling ass celebs come out and support him, I'm boycotting you too.

And I intend to start the prayer vigil for Rih-Rih and her sense of self-worth ASAP... cause clearly despite all the fame and money, there's something missing in her life. And whatever it is, it compells her to return to a relationship w/ a man who beat that ass like a dude because HIS MESSY BEHIND got caught with the inapropriate 3-page text from the sidechick. Can I get an amen?

don't let the spandex fool ya...

My god when is the summer coming? This cold weather is K-I-L-L-I-N-G me I tell you.

It's gotten so bad, I don't even believe the sunshine when I see it. It's like: yeah, yeah, yeah all them blue skies and rays of light are just trickery to get me to leave my warm and toasty apartment for the frigid outdoors. Damn that. Like I always say, can't nothing good happen below 75 degrees.

On the flipside, in anticipation of the day I actually get to wear a sundress or pair of shorts, I've decided to re-enlist in my local bootcamp workout program- AGAIN (http://www.truecontrolfitness.com/). Yeah, yeah, I know, why in the world would my lazy ass voluntary wake up at 5.30a just to be worked out like an endentured slave for 90 minutes four days a week? Ummm.... cause bootcamp is way cheaper than replacing the cute clothes. And there's nothing uglier than the ill fitting baby-t. Mmm-hmm, exactly.


Thankfully, this program is only three weeks long (as opposed to the normal six week session). So praise the Lord, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Sorta.... Check back in with me next week after we've hit the track to do countless wind sprints and I attempt to run a mile and a half in under twelve minutes.

Pray for me ya'll...

3 miles is mad far...

Ever complain about something so much, the very sound of your own voice starts to become annoying? Well that's exactly the point my girl Toya and I reached about our recent "I'm so happy all I do is eat" weight gain last week Wednesday.

Cause truth be told, most folks battle with those annoying 'last 5 lbs' when life is good. But that 7th or 8th pound? Those are beyond annoying. Those are the straight game changers. Let me explain: With 5lbs, your jeans might rub btwn the thighs and leave embarrassing indenture marks on your waist. With an extra 8lbs, your ass is popping buttons and begging the doctor to deduct a pound from the scale for the paper gown and sweat socks! See? It's too much.

I know, I know, in the grand scheme of things, 8 lbs is nothing when people everywhere are dealing with much more serious weight/ health issues. Look at poor Oprah for Chrissake... all that money and home girl is tipping the scale at 200lbs??? Uh, uh you got more people than this O. Speaking of which, where is Gail? Why isn't her trifling behind taking the cookies out of the cupboard? But I digress.

I assure you, this is bigger than simple vanity. This is really about being a bunch of lazy cheap asses. Hoenstly, with the economy going down the shitter, who da hell has the extra $175 to replace a pair of jeans just cause you couldn't say no to that chocolate souffle at Campo? Mmm-hmmm, I didn't think so.

With that said, Toya and I came up with the bright idea to train for a 5K run. We figure if there's something to accomplish, we'll stay on our workout/ better eating habit regiment forreal, forreal this time. Sounds believable, right?

Well here's the thing, she and I are both instant gratification whores that can't wait longer than two seconds or we're off the little red wagon. So we've decided to stage our very own race and even picked a date (drumroll, please)- THIS Saturday, December 16th.

Yes, you read that correctly. 10 days from the initial conversation and a mere 2 days from now, Toya, myself and I about six other mutual girlfriends who generally only run to sample sales and from the rain after getting the hair did (you didn't really think we were going to put ourselves through this craziness alone did you??) will be running/ walking/ dragging our behinds around NYC's Central Park Resevoir in the freezing cold in the 1st ever Race To Save Our Thighs 5K Run to raise awareness to the fact that cuteness kills.

You love it, right?

from 1 normal person to another...

True to my word, I did manage to watch the VS show last night. I must say, it was much, much better than I expected - even if I didn't get a glimpse of Karolina's missing belly button.

I liked the backstage action-especially when one model's costume zipper popped right 4 seconds before the finale and every damn body started freaking out. I am def loving the high-waisted undies. Although we should all be clear that w/o a flat tummy those will look crazy. And whomever that beautiful brown girl with the bangs is (Jessica White?), she's officially my new girl crush for '09.

Howsomever, as expected there were some undeniably questionable aspects to the broadcast- starting with like the ridiculous amount of Heidi Klum air time. Sure ole girl's English is much improved thanks to the past 4 seasons of Project Runway, but there is a reason she says all of five sentences per episode. And not to start no mess but am I the only one that noticed that Usher "I-only-sung-2-songs-but-I'm-dripping-in-sweat" Raymond was performing sans wedding band? Mmmm-hmmm, I'm just calling it like I see it. Oh and last but not least, I definitely could've done without the montage of models discussing the 'lamest pick-up lines guys have ever tried on them'. Talking about, "Just say hi, my name is.... A formal introduction never fails to impress. We're just like the normal people..." Really sweetie? Are you just like the normal people?

time to ride out...

Well, lookee here- seems the saddlebags have it. A solid 63% would rather have (or date) a woman who bears the burden of stretch-marked saddlebags than deal with a noticeably flat butt. Mmm-hmm... I know that's right.

'Cause here's the thing, no matter how fantastic the 36% of your legs look, nothing in the world overrides flatback (just ask Paris Hilton or Cameron Diaz). There are no miracle jeans tight enough to hide the fact that your neck runs into your ankles. And I'm not even gonna go there with the bikini bottoms.... I mean what are you gonna do, keep your back to the wall your entire life? No sir. All I can do is wish you good luck and an interesting collection of thongs.

As for me and my saddlebags... Well, we'll be wearing Spanx and running on the treadmill until we straight collapse like Isaac Hayes- no offense. And if God forbid, that lifetime supply of Fatgirl Slim cellulite cream really doesn't make a difference, there's always dim lighting and dermabrasion.

press play...

It looks like the voyeurists have it- 57% were A-okay with being immortalized on video as long as you retained full custody of the tape (wait, are they even tapes nowadays?). And what can I say? If you like it, I love it. So by all means, go ahead and get your Paris on. I think it's fantastic that your self esteem is that unshakable. Just please be sure to try and tone those soft and squishy parts before hand to avoid unnecessary jiggle (if it's a spontaneous decision- dim the lights), DO NOT look into the camera (nothing says faked orgasm like having one eye open), and for god's sake find a safe hiding place for the memory cards (I'm thinking a bank safe deposit box is probably most appropriate).

In the meantime, until I completely forget all the hometraining that Elsa painstakingly instilled (with a very wide leather belt), I'm sticking with the 42% who don't need physical proof of our ability to turn it out. First and foremost because I genuinely believe memories are the best pictures (isn't it funny how you never remember the cellulite when reminiscing on good times?). But also because, as many of my friends know, I tend to be a bit of an overachiever. Which is fine when you're talking about work and team sports (who doesn't want to win?). But for something like this, not so much. Knowing myself, I'd wind up overanalyzing instead of appreciating the whole act. I can hear myself now: Do you think my back was arched enough? Does that color bra makes me look fat? Are my knees ashy?

Sigh, it's way too much pressure.

if i only gain 5lbs...

I will be beyond a lucky camper. I have eaten so much over this past weekend, I am scared to try on my safety jeans- you know the ones that are 3 sizes too big, made entirely of cheap spandex and that you pack just in case (as it often will with my greedy behind) the eating gets out of control? I am so about to be the one woman Sisterhood of the Traveling Sweats as I hustle back to NYC this morning.

The best thing about going to visit good friends that live far away is the building excitement. The worst thing? The letdown when it's time to leave. Whenever I arrive at the airport, I always feel like the bad seven year-old totally pouty and unable to grasp the concept that we'll see each other again. I hate good-byes. Damn a new iPhone, when is Apple going create travel portals so that I can get back and forth in the blink of an eye?

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?