Mitzi Moments

Author: Mitzi

my godson is a genius…

By on February 20, 2008 in tapped out

Now I know that everybody thinks that their godchild is special. But for the record, I KNOW that my John Junior is beyond special. Matter of fact, I’m scared of this child. Every time I turn around he amazes me… Case in point, today- I’m talking to his mother about what’s new and improved in my little jelly bean’s world (Yes, that’s what I call him).
Here’s how our convo went:

Mitzi: So how is JJ doing in school?
KD: “Things are great. JJ had his first parent teacher conference… the pychologist had to explain to his teachers why JJ is the only child that goes to the quiet box and stands on his head.”
Mitzi:“Um KD… why is my godson standing on his head when he gets sent to the quiet box a good thing!?!?”
KD: “Because that’s the way adults tone it down in yoga. And your godson was just showing the teacher that he is trying to pull himself together.”

Tone it down? Yoga? Who is this little boy with the craziest smile ever?
Come on, I double dog dare you to try and beat that.

the shameless self-promotion continues…

By on February 20, 2008 in mama gotta eat

I know some of you don’t believe me when I say I’m working hard (err-um Mommy, Shayla, Torrence, Tarez) but alas, there is proof. The article that I recently wrote about how the nosediving American dollar almost ruined my vacation to Monaco for Odyssey Couleur Magazine is now available.
For those of you too lazy to go out and find a copy (and I know who you are), here’s the link to my story:
http://www.odysseymc.com/dying-dollar.html

PS. If you love to travel half as much as Carmen, Carla and I do, allow me to highly recommend you cop a subscription to this ASAP.

this chick is the worst…

By on February 20, 2008 in made for the maury show

Okay, for the record I’m a big supporter of the older woman younger man hook-up scenerio. Nothing says happily satisfied thirty year-old woman better than an eager to please twenty-five year man. But there’s a limitation to the stupidity. And I am offically tired of female teachers molesting their teenage students. Like seriously, what in the world can a grown woman see in a fifteen year old-boy besides puberty?

Read about the latest candidate for mandatory sterilization:

And is it just me or does she totally look like that desperate chick at the bar who couldn’t pay somebody to take her home at the end of the night? You know, non-descript facial features, sloppy body, whatever hair and clearly nothing good going on in her life… Boo.

drumroll please….

By on February 19, 2008 in mama gotta eat

Okay peoples, it’s finally up on amazon.com!!! Woo Hoo!!! Now is the time to pre-order your copy of my new book, HOTLANTA!

The first of a three book series, HOTLANTA is best described as an African American version of Gossip Girl with a murderous twist. I promise you’re going to love it and if you don’t well… feel free to post all the reasons why right here on my blog.

But seriously, I need all your support to make sure this series has some Sweet Valley High-esque longevity…. so GET TO ORDERING!!! Buy a copy for you, your sister, your cousin and your cousin’s best friend.

Here’s the link:

Oh and did I mention that when you pre-order on amazon, there’s a discount? ‘Nuff said.

don’t f*&! with angry white women…

By on February 19, 2008 in that sense of entitlement

Just when you thought a year in jail might’ve humbled the big M… According to the Associated Press, Martha Stewart has just bought out Emeril:

“The New York-based media and merchandising company founded by domesticity maven Martha Stewart announced Tuesday that it bought the rights to the Emeril Lagasse franchise of cookbooks, television shows and kitchen products for $45 million in cash and $5 million in stock at closing. The final price could rise to up to $70 million if certain benchmarks are achieved.”

$70 million dollars? Forget Hillary, this old broad is no joke. Mark my words, come 2012 its gonna be all about Oprah for Pres and Martha for VP, word up!

Read the rest:

the oil truck driver is my new bff

By on February 19, 2008 in going to hell in a handbasket

So I’ve been sitting here all day feeling totally unmotivated. You know, like when you just can’t get anything done? I woke up with every intention of washing up last night’s dishes, going to the gym, washing my hair, responding to the 101 emails that I receive everyday and possibly even starting to write this book that’s due on May 1st. And despite all my good intentions, the only thing I seem to be able to do is curl up in a ball on my couch and talk on the phone.
Now I admit, there are days that I suffer from delusions of grandeur where I convince myself that I am a skinny wealthy housewife who can spend all day eating Hostess Chocolate Cupcakes and watching Maury instead of being productive. But today wasn’t that day.
Turns out that today, I actually have a a legit reason for my slacker behavior- I AM FREEZING. It’s 36 degrees and I have no heat or hot water. What in the world? Of course I don’t want to type, my fingers are numb. Of course I can’t wash up the dishes or even bathe, I aint got no hot water. Basically, I’m paying over a 1K a month to be cold, stinky and unproductive. Good grief. And jsut when I was making plans to start sleeping on the kitchen floor in front of my oven doorwith the dog, the oil truck showed up. Seriously? At 5p? Don’t they know I live among Dominicans and we can’t last two secs without heat let alone all day!!! If this keeps up, I may have to go get a job.

time for mighty to go home…

By on February 18, 2008 in i'm not ready to be a grandmother

As you can see, a picture speaks a thousand words but I have to say, I’m going to miss the little noisemaker. Probably not as much as my slutty dog, Drama but still….
Once I got past the non-stop barking/ peeing/ all round bad behavior, Mighty was actually not that bad of a small dog to have around. And I have to say, he definately held his own against my neighbor’s pitbull. Who knew?

lil’ lisa turned 30…

By on February 18, 2008 in Uncategorized

and considered this is a valid excuse to book a fly hotel suite, get her friends twisted on liquor and cupcakes and then flash her thigh in my pictures… And you know what? I concur. Thanks Shorty Rock!
But on a more serious note, does another girlfriend turning the big 3-0 mean I’m really an adult? ‘Cause not for nothing, I’m nowhere near having the meaning of life figured out and firmly believe in calling my mom at least twice a day for answers. And it seems like every time I turn around another friend is turning 30+, getting married or-gasp- getting knocked up. Am I the only one who feels super pressused to pull it together?
Speaking of getting my life together, I should probably mention that I’m currently featured as a talking head in BET’s ‘Top 25 Celbrity Break-Ups’. And I say this only b/c folks are always yelling at me for not keeping them updated on the latest and greatest in my work life. So there you have it, I’m on BET spewing ‘ish about celeb break-ups (which is super ironic for reasons that will remain unsaid- you do the math).
DISCLOSURE: not really sure what had happened with my hair but I do love the way my make-up and outfit look onscreen. The twins were working the usual magic in the v-neck Malandrino knit dress… LOL.

only me…

By on February 15, 2008 in why we as a people can't get ahead

It’s official, I’m a crazy magnet. Either that or I’m a breathing example of the old adage- the road to hell is paved with good intentions. So this afternoon I decided to run into Pathmark to grab some ground beef so I can make my all time fave Friday night dish- tacos. I’m thinking, not only is cooking my food healthier than eating out, it’s a also good way to save money. Besides, it’s only one item, I should be in, out and on my way in ten minutes top. Right? Yeah, right.
Depite the fact that I sped through the fruit/ veggie section and grabbed my ground beef in a single swoop, I headed smack into a check out line 5 FOLKS DEEP. And all I can think is, ‘It’s 3.30 in the afternoon. Doesn’t anybody on 145th Street have a damn job???’ Since there was nothing I could do short of shoplift, I take a deep breath, turn on my Ipod and try to relax. Thirty minutes later (yes, as in 3-0), I’m just within striking distance- one person away. AND THEN this broad in front of me who’s been acting like she doesn’t hear her own baby crying it’s lungs out for the past half an hour pulls a bag of MIXED grapes out of her cart!!! I almost fainted. Who in the world doesn’t know that you have to separate the grapes by color and seed? It’s 2008 people, COME ON. but wait on it- then ‘ole girl starts to ARGUE with the checkout chick. Talkin’ about she always mixes her grape and how she wants to speak with a manger. At this point it has now been FORTY-FIVE minutess of waiting. I started to have visions of snatching the bag of grapes and smacking her and the snotty nose baby upside the head with it.
Omigod, all this for a pack of beef? And as I’m sure you can guess- I dont even want the stoopid tacos anymore.

i’m such a cheap date

By on February 14, 2008 in love be a cellulite cream

As I prepare to drag my butt to the gym to continue to fight the never ending battle against my tummy and thighs, it occurs to me that today is Valentine’s Day. And aside from the well meaning texts and emails from supportive girlfriends and a possible call or two from the not so well intentioned ex-boyfriends, I’m not getting squat on this blessed Hallmark holiday. Sigh. But it’s actually okay because what I really, really, really want for V-Day, I’d probably never receive. What is it? Well since you asked, aside from two dozen roses, a funny card, diamond earrings, a BMW 6-series drop-top and a trip to Tahiti with my ten closest friends; All I really want is some Bliss FatGirlSlim cellulite cream.

Why of all unromantic things in the world would I want FatGirlSlim cellulite cream you ask?

Simple: Because there’s nothing I dislike more than diet soda/food/ shakes/ plans/anything and working out. And even if it’s not doing anything, slathering this bad boy on every day makes me feel good dammit. Which is more than I can say for excercise.

Paying my gym membership every months pains me like child support like I was Eddie kicking down Scary Spice. The sight of an elliptical machine makes my my head hurt like the photos of the pantyless tragedy that is now Britney Spears. Every sit-up makes me want to slap the taste out of some skinny chick passing me with me coordinated workout outfit. I despise pilates. And I have never, ever, ever acheived that mythical state of runners high that people insist exists. On the contrary, when I see people jogging in the park my first thought is – ‘Look at those fools running to their deaths.’ I know, I know, not nice. But if it makes you feel any better I’ve started to pray on it, literally.

Every morning, when I say my morning prayers I add a line or two about the need for self restraint around chocolate, and the desire for a miraculous warp speed increase in my metabolism. Shallow? Possibly. Honest? Definately.

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