Mitzi

viagra is the devil…

By Mitzi on March 23, 2009 in desperate cry for help, going to hell in a handbasket, honorary white woman, i'm not ready to be a grandmother, pocket full of dirty tissue, tapped out

Hold up, wait a minute! What you know about two old ass women coming to blows in the middle of the street over some 72-year-old piece a man?!?!?!

According to the police report filed by 78-year-old (yes, as in 7-8) Edith Mitchell: she was chillin’ in a car with her boyfriend of two years when some unnamed 73-year-old woman rolled up popping junk about that being her man and started punching poor Edith in the head!!! Mm-hmm, straight thumped her out.

Now you know, Edith ain’t get to be 78-years-old by mistake so she carried her ass in the crib, grabbed her shotgun and came out guns a-blazing on some old school western, let’s get it poppin’ bee-yatch type nonsense…

Unfortunately, the side chick was a little quicker on her feet than good ‘ole Edith. Apparently she snatched the shotgun from Edith and fired a shot. (Damn, just like that.) Thankfully, she missed Big E and no one else was fatally injured. Um, feel free to pick your face off the floor right now.

Okay seriously? There are sosososo many things wrong with this situation, I don’t even know where to begin. Forget the fact that there were two geriatric females slap boxing in the street. Lemme ask you this, where the hell was the alledged boyfriend when all this craziness was happening?? What, was he too old to get involved? And how in the world do you explain to your kids and GRANDkids what had happened to you? Uh-uh, I can’t.

Jesus come get your bey-bey kids…

just be sure to wrap it up…

By Mitzi on March 20, 2009 in feedback

Some time ago, I posted the poll question: Have you ever suspected that a friend’s boyfriend might like boys too?

And while a precious 44% claim to have never noticed, don’t you know 55% of you said unfortunately yes?!?!?! Good grief. How heartbreaking is that? And you know a percentage like that only begs the question, should you say something? Humph, lemme tell you something…

I think the most important rule to being a good friend is knowing when to speak and when to mind ya bidness. Yeah, and I meant it just the way you read it: 1-800-Mind Ya Damn Bidness!

Serious bodily harm or cold, hard, I-caught-that-fa la la ing-fool-on-my-camera-phone withstanding, my personal motto is: If you like it, I love it. If you love it, I adore it. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart, I don’t care how tight we are I’m so not the one to get involved… Why?

Certainly not because I don’t care about you. Because I honestly do. I love all of the women in my select circle of friends. And more than anything, I want each and everyone to win. In fact, I want everyone I know to get exactly what they want in life. Now if that includes a good for nothing partner who’s embarassing the shit outta you- so be it.

Listen- If you wanna front like you don’t know he’s playing a role every time he opens his glossy lips, me either. If you wanna pretend that you don’t see him rolling his neck and sucking his teeth harder then our whole crew, I’m the black Helen Keller. If you wanna act like you don’t understand that those couple of years he spent upstate figuring out what he wanted out of life was really inside of a prison getting bent over by Big Bob, I’ll turn off the reruns of Oz when you guys come over. If you choose to ignore the extra hard “url” everytime he says, ‘Guuuurrrl please.’ So be it. I keep earplugs in my purse at all times anyway.

Cause when the shit hits the fan, ain’t nobody blaming Mitzi for breaking up their happy home. Believe that.

you know you’d TIVO it too…

By Mitzi on March 20, 2009 in desperate cry for help, made for the maury show, pocket full of dirty tissue, work it white girl

Amy Winehouse’s father Mitch released a statement calling his lil’ pride & joy a “stupid girl” for claiming to still love her estranged husband/ partner-in-crack Blake Fielderman. While I applaud him for what I assume to be the pinktoe version of tough love (cause you know a black father would’ve been beat her ass back into rehab about five years ago when the problem first started), don’t you think we’re past the point of name calling?

I mean, from what I can see, the only thing seperating Amy from the homeless lady on the train that smells of pee and old period blood is a residual check. No offense.

Personally, I think Poppa Winehouse should call Key-Key Cole’s mom Frankie and ask her to help the family stage an intervention. Cause Lord knows Frankie’s got the inside track on how to deal with drug drama.

And call me selfish but I really, really hope they’ll turn the whole thing into a reality show. You something like, Saving Amy-The Day the Winehouse Shut Down. Mmm-hmm, and then the world would finally get to see what happens to that dusty beehive when they toss her 10 pound ass into shower. Shoot, I’ll bet my lucky drawers that trainwreck would be bigger than Flavor of Love season 1!!

Sigh. Well, until the season premiere, check out the before and after Amy photo gallery attached to the article about Poppa Winehouse’s quote. So disturbing.

In fact, I may have just thrown up in my mouth. Excuse me please.

consider my sweat your gift…

By Mitzi on March 18, 2009 in cuteness kills, love be a cellulite cream, miracle on 169th street, pocket full of dirty tissue, too old for the road

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.

i’d rather cut off cable…

By Mitzi on March 17, 2009 in going to hell in a handbasket, Mitzi- all day every day, pocket full of dirty tissue

So apparently the sale of sex toys is down in France.

Accordimg to the Reuters (cause no, I don’t make this foolishness up) “at ‘Big Eropolis,’ an erotic fair that opened on Friday near Paris and bills itself as the biggest of its kind in the world, attendance was healthy but stall owners said customers were not spending as much as in previous years. ” So basically what you’re telling me is that nowadays people can only afford to buy one Mandigo sized dildo as opposed to the dido, body paint, handcuffs, vibrating ring and so on?

It’s offical, times are hard my people.

its my two cents…

By Mitzi on March 13, 2009 in feedback

On the forreal, forreal, undearneath all the sarcasm and side-eye, I’m a total romantic at heart. Like, I want to be wined, dined, swept off my feet, fall head-over-heels in love and spend the rest of my life acting a fool over how good my man is to me.

Now then, in my quest to find the man that makes all the above and then some happen, I’ve come to accept (begrudgingly) that I might actually have to look outside of the island of Manhatttan. And I’m not even talking Hobeoken, NJ here. What if you finally meet ‘The One’ and he/she lives in oh I don’t know, let’s say…. Japan? Mmm-hmmm, Konichiwa bitches!

If the individual said, ” I love you. Come be with me. Don’t worry, I got you.” Could you just pack it up, kiss the ‘rents and bounce, WITHOUT a job in place??

I’m not gonna say great minds think alike BUT I’m definately rolling with the 69% who answered the poll question with a resounding ‘ain’t no way.’ As much as I love the idea of loving you, my nerves are too bad for all that believe in the dream nonsense… especially during this so-called recession (cause we’re no longer claiming it). I’m so not about to be left trying to piece my life back together this late in the game because I pressed pause on my financial independance when I joined your squad. Oh hell naw, it’s too real in field. And I dont wanna have to call my cousin to come kick your ass cause negroes wanna play those “you can only take what you came” with games.” Uh-uh no thank you.

As for the 30% who are down for whatever and willing to move without a second thought, I don’t know what to say… On one hand, I applaud you for the faith and courage to still believe in happily ever after despite the dismal dating realities our generation faces. But please believe, I’m already rolling my eyes in anticipation of the day I receive the “Mitzi puh-lease come get me, this fool is trippin'” call. Yeah, I said it. Cause I don’t care if dude (or the female) is ballin’ outta control, at some point he’s gonna trip and mention the fact that he’s carrying you. And if you’re any friend of mine, it will pop off. And then what?

Granted, I’m not saying that I won’t eventually get my ducks in a row and come… I’m a true believer that when the right person comes around, it only makes sense to go hard. But I ain’t going no harder than my pockets will allow. Forreal, forreal.

they’re crying in trailer parks nationwide…

By Mitzi on March 13, 2009 in it's in the genes, made for the maury show, pocket full of dirty tissue, that sense of entitlement

Lookey, lookey here- guess which unwed teenage mom just called off her farce of an engagement? Ding, ding, ding- you guessed it: worthless ass Bristol Palin aka Patron Saint of Poor White Teenage Trash.

As if anyone was surprised. From day one poor Levi Johnston has worn the blatant ‘woah is me, I’m just an innocent teenage redneck. How in the moose hunting- Budweiser drinking hell did I mess around and knock up my jump-off’ expression on his big, flat, playdough face. Walking from press opt to press opt like the only thing he wanted for Xmas was a paternity test… Damn shame. I’m just glad homeboy finally smartened up and bizz-ounced.

Of course, can’t be mad at Bristol for trying to spin the breakup. Releasing the crazy statement about “unnamed people trying to take advantage of her family’s fame” as the reason why things fell apart. Yeah, okay honey bunny. Why don’t you go sit your special behind down and look at Russia?

negroes and flies…

By Mitzi on March 13, 2009 in going to hell in a handbasket, honorary white woman, tapped out, why we as a people can't get ahead

Between preparing for, hosting and recovering from the BFF and baby’s visit, I’ve been a tad out the loop. Which is the reason, I’m just now getting around to reading the story about the recently released text messages that stoopid ass Kwame Kilpatrick sent out on his government issued cell phone. And to be quite honest, we might all cringe at the arrogance of his behavior but on the low, low…

What you know about Kwame killin’ them hoes PROPER?

According to the court documents, there were 682 pages of text messages sent! Um excuse me, who got time to send that many damn text messages? Am I the only one who wants to know when the hell was this man ever WORKING??

Beyond the ridiculous number of texts, how ’bout what they actually said? In one breath he tells Christine Beatty (‘ole girl that’s still locked up behind this mess, while his ass was released early) that she is the “wind beneath my wings.” But like three exchanges later, he wants her “to talk to me while I do you. Tell me to lick faster, softer, higher, lower, etc.” Okay, perhaps I’m a little slow, but how you go from quoting Bette Midler to talkin nasty??

Then wait on it… 10 messages later, he’s telling the 2nd sidechick, Natasha Dooley that “my dick needs to be sucked. It’s been a while.” Oh yeah? Is that so Mayor Kilpatrick?

Granted, while all the above foolishness is popping off, the First Lady a.k.a Ms. I-Will-Beat A-Hoe’s-Butt-in-the-Mayoral -Office-If-I-Catch-U-Screwing-My-Husband inquires about the status of her Navigator. Jesus haf mercy.

Tyler Perry come get the script to your next straight to DVD movie!

Sidenote: Apparently, Kwame is now suing SkyTel for releasing the text messages. Umm-hmm… Talking about he wants $100 million for the violation of his privacy and constitutional rights. I swear I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to…

off to see the little mermaid…

By Mitzi on March 11, 2009 in i'm not ready to be a grandmother, miracle on 169th street, Mitzi- all day every day

So after much ado, Shayla and Sklylar Ann Marie (a.k.a Sam) arrived for Sam’s first ‘Big Girl’ trip to New York. YIPPIE!!! I am thrilled beyond belief to have the BFF around.

But for the record, as much as I love, love, love me some Sam; I am sososo clear that everybody (specifically yours truly) ain’t able. Who knew so many questions can be asked in the span on of day? Damn that, one minute? Sam’s energy level is unbelieveable. She’s like a non-stop Energizer bunny- going, going, and still going. For the record, hell hath no fury like a four year-old without her midday nap.

What is most amazing to me is how calm Shayla is about everything. Oh, you fell down? No problem, just get up. Oh, you want to be carried up and down steps? Up you go. Oh, you want to scream/ whisper the same secret 30 times in my ear? Feel free. I promise you she was calmer than a Jedi Master- unforreal.

And to think that crazy woman has 14 children and 0 help??? Sheeeit. Good luck.

remember the food stamp…

By Mitzi on March 10, 2009 in it's in the genes, keep hope alive, using our powers for good

Oh weee! You know the recession is real when the rich folks start to get nervous. Mmm-hmmm…

Ain’t nothing more telling than billionaire investor Warren Buffet on CNBC talkin’ bout, “the economy fell off a cliff.” Oh yeah? And this is new to you? Wow, must be nice to be so insulated…

But the good news is my people, we are built for this. Yes sir.

Because unlike the pinktoes who are just now trying to figure out the value of a discount and what it means to cut corners, me nd my mine been nigga-rigging the hook-up for years. And everbody and they mama knows how to make a dollar outta fifteen cents. Word up.

1-800-Stay Focused!

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