All Hail the Queen: Beyonce’ + Tumblr = Life.


I have BIG news (for those of you who have been residing under a rock)...BEYONCE. HAS. A. TUMBLR. Yesssssssssssss girl….Bey has posted over 3000 photos from her personal archives. Okay…maybe there aren’t 3000 per say, but there might as well be. I feel like there are that many (in my heart). The notoriously private Beyonce’ Giselle Knowles has given us Stans/fans yet another amazing glimpse into her personal life. It’s the greatest Easter miracle! Okay, second greatest.

You can see all sorts of photos of me and Bey on vacation, me rubbing her pregnant belly, us just talking…hanging out…ya know, just being sisters. Oh, my bad…that’s Solange, not me. Tomato, tomatoe.

In any event, I took the liberty of compiling a list of singers Bey’s Tumblr just sh*tted on...and outsold.

Those who Bey did it on: Ciara (sorry CiCi this is business, love you tho), Keri Hilson (f*ck Keri Hilson!), Christina Milian, Cassie (Puff asked me to add you), Monica (okay not you girl…I like you), Brandy, Keyshia Cole (although I must say I do not want it with you girl), Ashanti (who??), Fantasia (I don’t feel bad about adding you to the list because I know you can’t read this)…and all the rest of you runners-up…bow down…kiss the ring…curtsy…do whatever the f*ck you mere mortals do when in the presence of greatness…cause she’s back. Queen Bey gave you hoes 9 months to challenge her thrown. And you did absolutely nothing with it.

Bey tried to told you she was “strong enough to bare the children…then get back to business!” She was warning you tired floozies. But no…you didn’t listen. So, whatever happens from this day forth…remember, you brought this on yourselves. And I mean, she is not even technically back yet. How you let a chick assassinate your relevance whilst on maternity leave?! Ya’ll weak!


S/O to The Queen Bey, the Honey Beys, the Digger Beys, the Bumble Beys and the Never Gonna Be Beys.

Note: Even though Mary J. is shucking and jiving in that chicken commercial, I wouldn’t dare add her to the list of hoes Bey is effortlessly slayin‘. I am crazy…but I am not THAT cray. I didn’t add A. Keys either. I like her. Even tho she pissed me off with that Swizz Beatz stuff. But hell, Mashonda wasn’t in the studio with him making them beats! I didn’t add Rihanna either because I am not only a Stan, I am also in the Navy. Anyone else I didn’t add to the list was excluded in error. Hi haters (aka wasps)! 

Bey being Bey



Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick

Like most people, I’ve always looked at Scott Disick as nothing more than the King of Douches. But, I’m not gonna lie…ever since Kourtney and Kim decided to take New York…Scott has been growing on me like a fungus. Yes, I admit it…I have been secretly falling for this dude. He’s charming (in an asshat kind of way), an exquisite dresser, and actually pretty witty. I thought it best to keep quiet…as my feelings for him were transforming from disgust to quasi-admiration. But, after seeing the “Dream a Little Dream” episode of KKTNY, I can no longer contain myself. Ten minutes into the episode I fell head over heals for Scott Disick. I luh he. And I don’t care who knows! The episode was sprinkled with a bit of this and a bit of that (like Kim’s delusional dive into the recording studio/music industry) but the main attraction was Scott..and….(wait for it)….HIS CANE.

When questioned by a member of the illustrious Stalkerazzi about what the next BIG thing in men’s fashion would be, Scott answered with three little words: the walking stick. Onlookers will tell you, it was love at first sight betwinxt Scott and his stick. Throughout the episode, Scott and his beloved cane were seen strolling through the streets of New York City, at home cozying up by the fire, and spending a plethora of quality time together. Taking a page out of her sister Kim’s book, Kourtney became insanely jealous when Scott’s stick started receiving more attention than her. As any mature woman would, Kourtney decided to hide the stick. Of course, being separated from his cane set Scott into a panic. After searching high and low, then calmly threatening to toss Kourtney’s expansive/impressive shoe collection out with the trash…Scott and his stick were quickly reunited. Me thinketh the reconciliation of Scott and his walking stick in super slo-mo, with Leanne Rimes‘ How Do I Live playing softly in the background, was definitely in order. The producers clearly didn’t feel the same.

In any event, the only things better than Scott and his cane playing an impromptu game of indoor stickball together, were the unforgettable statements he made regarding his amazing stick. I have taken the liberty of listing my favorites here, David Letterman style. They appear in order from awesome to ass-tastic and are as follows:

5. “My cane has gone missing…it’s obvious who took it”

4. “I don’t go anywhere without my cane, you know that”

3. “What did the cane ever do to you?”

2. “My stick!! I’m back”

1. “My great granddaddy was a pimp”

If Scott’s walking stick isn’t given a spotlight in the intro of the show, there is no justice in this world. I bet the walking stick has a better singing voice than Kim anyway.


Skinny Jeans < Skinny Genes

I try to make it a habit not to partake in things that do not fit me based on description alone.  i.e. skinny jeans. I'm a lot of things…but frankly, skinny isn’t one of them. Now, I had my skinny day in the sun. But an overcast of about 25 lbs has long since clouded that day. I actually lost about 15 lbs a few years ago and simultaneously found the courage to attempt the skinny jean. After all, if Kate Moss can wear them...*blinks* The skinny jeans experiment went over quite well back then. Subsequently, I found the weight I lost back then (it was hiding in my fridge next to the Ben and Jerry’s) and my one and only pair of skinny jeans now mocks me from the corner of my closet. They think they’re so hot in all their skinny wonder!

I have grown to loathe the skinny jean which appears to have only been created to serve a life sentence as the bane of my existence. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse…The Gap (of all places) decides to go ahead and design…get this…the “really skinny pants”. That’s right folks…skinny is no longer in vogue...apparently really skinny is where all the action is now. Who wants to be really skinny anyway? Really skinny doesn’t have any friends…really skinny isn’t popular or even believable unless you're on a runway in Paris. I say down with really skinny and its stupid pants! It’s high time someone created fat jeans! What about ‘can’t lose this baby weight pants’? Or even Freshmen 15 capris? I know many women who would benefit from the ‘things just aren’t the same trouser’. It’s time for pants to adhere to people’s circumstances!



Somewhere Along The Line…I Feel Like I Heard the Word Bitch


As a Basketball Wives enthusiast, I was overjoyed by the latest installment. 30 minutes of pure fuckery. For those who haven’t succumb to the mind numbing, fooleywang known as Basketball Wives…here’s a summation. Set in Miami, the show chronicles the lives of 5 (sometimes 6) women who have been associated with a NBA player at some point in their lives. Now, don’t let the name fool you. Only one of the ladies is actually a “basketball wife“…and she is likely to be divorced by season 3. Since her soon to be ex-husband is now retired from the league…she doesn’t even technically meet the criteria either. Alas, we give The Real Housewives of (Insert Place Here) a pass on this, so we shall do the same here.

Meet the cast: Shaunie (see: Shaq) is the leader of the pack. She acts as narrator, mother hen, and sometimes drama ring leader. Evelyn is the resident bitch and ex-fiancĂ©’ of a NBA player. Jennifer is the docile, doormat who is unhappily married. Suzie is the racially ambiguous, apparent recovering thumb sucker, who was once engaged to/with 2 kids by a NBA baller. Tami (lord have mercy what happened to her!?) is the ex-wife of a ball player. Last (and yes least) Royce is an ex-NBA dancer, baby mamma of some player, and an all-around horrible dresser.

To bring you up to speed, season 2 opens with Shaunie moving to Miami for an extended stay, whilst her 18 kids are with Shaq (see: nanny) for the Summer. Another notable happening is the ostracism of Suzie out of the inner circle due to her loose lips re: Evelyn‘s sexcapades in Sin City. Suzie should know better. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas (unless you don’t use protection). Jennifer is still stuck in a marriage that is on a speeding train…destination: nowhere. Royce has managed to shake her horrible reputation and convince some poor sap to by her man. And Tami - the newest “wife” is inducted into the Circle of Trust. Now you may remember Tami from her stint on Mtv’s Real World. But that was in a land long ago and far away before she was rich then poor, married then divorced, happy then bitter. Tami has replaced Gloria “That’s What’s Up” Govan who was apparently too good to return for another season (let her tell it). Yet, manages to sneak in a cameo before the opening credits.

Action: So Jennifer and Evelyn are sitting around being their normal fabulous/catty selves, when Evelyn drops the petty bomb. They have been purposely omitted from the guest list of a fundraiser *gasp*. Since the event is being hosted by yet another NBA ball player’s baby mama, who they have exchanged words with in the past - the invite oversight is deemed intentional and inexcusable. So they do what any classy, socialite would do…oh wait, that’s the real housewives…this is the real hoodwives…Jen and Ev choose to forgo the high road and crash the fundraiser. The type of poise and grace Evelyn displayed when she sailed passed the doorman elegantly uttering the phrase “we know we’re not on the muthf*cking guest list…get the f*ck out of here“ cannot be mimicked or learned. This type of class is only bred, passed down from generation to generation.

As the ladies who were invited sit around cackling about the absence of Ren and Stimpy…as if on cue, in walks Jennifer and Evelyn…feeling like a million bucks…looking more like $425 combined. Suzie…fresh out of exile, sees her best superficial friend turned nemesis (Evelyn) saunter in. Being the courageous warrior she is, she politely gulps down her Rosette and heads for the hills. Royce who has made the unfortunate mistake of placing an entire bag of Yaky 2B atop her head, stands frozen in horror. Shaunie mutters something to the key of “aww hell”. And the hostess (only known to me as Raefar Alston’s BM) just stands there…blank faced and stupefied.

As their first order of business, the ladies do what any respectable party crashers would…they march over to the hostess and demand an explanation as to why they weren’t invited. As if the presence of the uninvited guests wasn’t enough, Tami - who is clearly on the wrong end of her daily meds…instantly becomes agitated (although this whole thing has absolutely positutely nothing to do with her). Tami - in what she calls “a ghetto move in the 1st place”, decides it best to take her shoes off…because she is “drunk and her feet hurt”. As someone who has been known to take a shoe or two off in the middle of a shindig, I don’t take issue with this…especially since Tami’s shoes were clearly plotting against the cohesiveness of her outfit. In her defense, when you are wearing a blue dress of unknown origin whilst carrying a pink satin purse…you clearly have no smart place to go in shoe selection.

Anyway…once her unpedicured feet hit the cool tile of the Viceroy floor…both comfort and evil set in. Looking for a soft place to land off her alcohol (and what appears to be at least 2 different prescription pain killers) high…Tami attacks Jennifer. A few episodes ago, upon hearing that Tami was once homeless and on food stamps, Jennifer made the mistake of telling the other “wives” she had never seen a food stamp before. In all of Tami’s bitterness…she managed to take this asinine tidbit of information pertaining to someone else’s life as an insult.

As most indignant women, with horrible weave jobs do…Tami chose not to address this the gazillion times they were in intimate settings together…she wanted to pick JUST the right place to confront her. I mean honestly, can you think of a better place to address this than at a charity fundraiser? Jennifer calmly explains to Tami that she was picked up in a Porsche from junior high school and is not ghetto…ergo, she has never seen a food stamp. Shoes off, 12 sheets to the wind, certified platinum ghetto card validated and in her pocket…Tami calls Jennifer everything but a child of God. When this does not bring the satisfaction she seeks, she resorts to attacking Jennifer’s troubled marriage. Because as a divorced woman herself, the first thing Tami should do is make another woman heading down the same path feel bad about it. Duh. In the midst of Tami’s verbal assassination…she thinks to herself (in a confessional weeks later) “somewhere along the line…I feel like I heard the word bitch”. Although she has used this word to describe Jennifer at least 13 times in 5 minutes, this is below the belt for Tami.

Seeking vindication, Tami unsuccessfully resorts to a physical altercation. The funniest thing to me was that somewhere in the midst of this, someone else ended up in possession of Tami’s purse. And they were holding it the way you would hold someone else’s dirty undies you just picked up off the floor. Anywho…security intervenes, swiftly placing Tami in a Full Nelson as she is escorted out of the building. After the fundraiser is ruined, Jennifer and Evelyn flee the scene…but not before Jennifer declares this is THE ghetto-est fundraiser she has ever been to! How would she know how to properly identify ghetto? She’s middle class. *rolls eyes* The hostess (who is now nowhere to be found), was rumored to have locked herself in the ladies room where guests say she was heard crying hysterically through the door. Okay fine, I made that last part up…but it could happen.


Phaedra: A Tragedy in Five Acts


Act I:
I can’t stand Phaedra Parks. I almost want to begin and end this post with that one line…but I won’t. The streets have been calling for me to address the newest edition to the Real Housewives of Atlanta for some time now. I’ve held off because every single time I hear her speak, I’m rendered speechless. I literally have know idea where to start.

Act II:
It’s pretty humorous to me that Phaedra and her husband, Apollo, are both named after characters in Greek mythology. Luckily we have a front row seat for this ghetto modern day tragedy. I thought long and hard…and came up with not one but two positive things to say about her. Honestly, they are more so facts than my opinion, but here they are: Phaedra is a prominent entertainment lawyer. She also has a couple degrees under her belt. Problem is she won’t let anyone forget it. Ever. Phaedra and her degrees (as my pal Jen pointed out) are a reminder that you can go to school but you can’t buy class. She puts the T in tacky. Since I am plagued with the burden of proof…I offer her baby shower as Exhibit A. One word: gross. Surely Phaedra had some unfinished business from her wedding she wanted to address at this shower. She even wore one of her old bridesmaid dresses to show she meant business. I thought it was pretty classy how she reused her wedding bouquet as hair accessories for the shower! Now that’s thinking outside the box. The dance with Dwight was nauseating and quite inappropriate. I mean she’s spinning and dipping while 10 months pregnant. The purpose of the ballerinas was a huge question mark for me. But she is a lover of the arts…and most people don’t celebrate the arts quite enough. *blank face* I don’t feel like I can conclude the shower recap without mentioning the strip of rhinestones she donned on her lids. Those little touches are what makes her so sophisticated, don’t you think? Let’s not forget her maternity photo shoot. That pickle. Class all the way baby! Nothing says picture perfect moment like you and your recently paroled husband who is still trying to shake the gay rumors, sucking on a big dill pickle together.

Act III:
I started writing this before Bravo aired the episode Phaedra gave birth and the mystery of the due date was solved in. My disgust for her has only grown since then. You are a grown, allegedly respected woman…and you thought you could lie to the entire world, specifically to 4 other women who are all mothers about how far along you are!? MAYBE…and I mean maybe…if Phaedra wasn’t the size of a double wide trailer home, they would have believed her. In the words of Sheree “Who was she fooling? I've had three kids. I know what nine months pregnant looks like”. Phaedra, you ain‘t gotta lie to kick it. She should have just said please don’t tell my momma I’m 13 months pregnant.

Act IV:
I almost spit coke (okay it was CranApple) upon learning that Phaedra and Apollo continued their Greek tragedy by naming their kid Adonis. Ayden Adonis…but still. They really should quit while they are ahead. But if they decide to have another spawn…and it’s a girl, I definitely think they should name her Medusa.

Act V:
I sincerely hate that Phaedra in all her country-ness, ignorant mutterings, and complete void of taste is supposed to epitomize the smart, successful, professional black woman. Phaedra is single handedly undoing everything I have been doing at work with the white people. White people: please mute the TV when you see her on the screen. Phaedra Parks is buffoonery personified.

In Greek mythology, Phaedra drank poison in the final act. We should be so lucky.


Girl Bye


I don't know how late I am...but apparently Melody Thornton *hears 'WHO!?' from crowd* - (the black chick from Pussycat Dolls)- took to Twitter to accuse Ciara of jacking her alleged swagger.  Girl stop.  If you had a swagger...Ciara wouldn't bother jacking it.  And little girl how dare you...we all know Bey was the 1st to grab her ponytail in a bytch please stance.  I know you dare not go at Bey...but really you are out of line for even addressing Ciara via the Twitters.  You need to stay in your place...and now that you aren't in PCD anymore...I'm not sure where that even is.  I mean...you're cute in that racially ambiguous type of way...and apparently you have enough talent to be a glorified back up singer/dancer...but you have to know when you have aimed to high pookie. Don't let it happen again. Thx, MGT.

Of course Ciara's psycho Stans immediately attacked Melody and she recanted. Speaking of Stans...BOOM!


Do Buffalos Have Wings?

Jessica Simpson comes up short
Oh Jess. We’ve had some really good times. Which is why I put this off as long as possible. But, after the stunt you pulled on Project Runway I can no longer turn a blind eye. Admittedly, I’ve been a little angry with you since the divorce. I never understood why you filed in the first place. But that’s not why we’re here today. I supported you when did your little beauty around the world show…I (almost) bought some of your clip in weave…and I laughed behind your back instead of in your face when they said you were a Cowboys’ curse. I even bought a pair of your shoes…which proves I’m clearly over any feelings I may have been harboring since the divorce. But, I have been silent far too long...

First of all, you’re in a safe place. Everyone here loves you. Jess, I understand being on the losing end of the battle of the bulge. So, I’m not here to attack your recent weight gain or your obvious falling out with the gym. However, I would like to point out that you're a mere 5’3” and don’t have much room for expansion. Anyway, I have come here today to discuss your fashion sense…and perhaps to question your common sense. For whatever reason you’ve decided to go it alone without the help of a stylist. I disagree with this decision, but there’s not much I can do about it. Now, we’re in a good place with your shoe and handbag selection…but the rest of your dress game is what we like to call “a hot mess“. In your defense, when you were a teensy bit smaller (say 20 lbs) you mainly wore underwear and bikinis…so clothes are new to you. Since I don’t like to complain without bringing a solution to the table, I’ve taken the liberty of putting together a little checklist for you. Go ahead and take a look at this before leaving the house…

If I take 3 consecutive steps, will I break a bone?
Gentle Reminder: If so, your dress too long. The answer is NOT higher heels.

If wearing separates…do I have on bottoms?
Gentle Reminder: Pants are your friend.

Do I have on high-waist pants?
Gentle Reminder: Not ALL pants are your friend.

Do I look 10-15 lbs bigger than I am?
Gentle Reminder: We are going for flattery not fattery.

Have I lost my mind?
Gentle Reminder: If you have to think about it…start over.