Category: work it white girl

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.

There are a lot of really, really, really good reasons to end up in jail: rape, murder, assualt, sex trade trafficking, multi-million dollar white collar crimes, domestic violence, and the list goes on. But adultery? Eh, not so much.

Apparently, a married British woman and her jump-off were arrested after her estranged husband took it the next level and tipped off the po-po that she was getting her swerve on at a 5-star hotel. But wait on it… As if the embarrassment of being snatched up by the cops in the public lobby of a hotel wasn’t enough, both were promptly sent to jail for an entire MONTH behind that mess. Mind you, the couple had been separated and in the process of getting a divorce for a hot minute.

Woah. Can you say, hi hater?

Hmmm… did anyone watch that documentary ‘Farrah’s Story’, aka the Farrah Fawcett Death Watch last Friday night? Anyone? Anyone?  Anyone?

Yeah, me neither. And it’s terrible, ’cause back in the day I used to L-O-V-E me some Charlie’s Angels.  But on the forreal, forreal, I can’t get  into the idea of watching someone with a terminal disease suffer to death. Been there done that, err-um no thank you.
Granted, I totally sympathize with the whole need to call attention to the lack of resources available to fighting colorectal/ anal cancer any way possible.  But have we as a people become so desensitized to tragedy and death that an angel has to puke her guts on the camera for folks to give two cents? 
Jesus be a bit a of home-training… just a little bit.

Damn Elizabeth Edwards! Why don’t you tell us how you really feel about your husband’s affair, mistress and the illegitimate daughter he now has??

Seriously, how many years has it been since the former Senator John Edwards dropped outta the presidential race because his mistress came forward with his love child? And his ole girl still ain’t ready to let it go?? Hmm, guess the answer to that question would be a resounding HELL NAW since she’s written an entire book about her husband’s messy extra-marital affair and how it basically obliterated his entire political career (under the guise of being an inspirational self-help guide, of course).

But wait on it… now she’s making rounds in TIME magazine and on Oprah’s couch to throw John even further under the bus; I mean, promote her new project. Hee-hee. Talking about, “I’ve seen a picture of the baby. I have no idea. It doesn’t look like my children, but I don’t have any idea.” Um, did she just call that woman’s child, IT???

Damn, that’s cold.

On the forreal, forreal, I feel horribly for Elizabeth Edwards. I can’t imagine what it must be like to discover that your husband is cheating on you with some no-count, golddigging, bottle-blonde while you’re trying to beat breast cancer. And then the whole messy situation is played out in the headlines? Yikes, no thank you.

But not for nothing… if she’s still so pissed, why stay? White woman in distress, don’t you know the whole world belongs to you? Pack yo shit, get your child and bounce. Otherwise ma, go sit down. Whatever you do, please stop hatin’ on the side-piece- it just make you look bitter. And Lord knows you already look like the cryptkeeper besides that man; no offense.

In yet addition of ‘White Women Are SO NOT Handling the Recession Well’- Whatchu know about old school Dallas star, Victoria Principal a.k.a Bobby’s wife Pam Ewing pulling a damn gun on her maid because wait on it… Maribel was taking too long to walk the dog!!

What in the crazy ass-demanding-impatient-pinktoe hell??

It seems the poor domestic engineer took the spoiled Shih-Tzu out for a walk and that little bad ass just wouldn’t drop her load. By the time the two finally returned to the ranch, ole girl was wildin’ out. On sight, Victoria pulled a gun out and ordered Maribel to get the hell off the damn property ‘fore she pumped that ass full of lead. (Okay, maybe she say it exactly like that, but you get the idea).

Humph, humph, humph, I tell ya… Jesus be the melanin that provides coping skills.

Mind you, Pam is currently training to become a civilian astronaut on Richard Branson’s commercial space flight venture, Virgin Galactic. Just so we’re all clear- this woman can’t handle the everyday pressure of her maid taking five minutes too long with the pooch but she wants to head out into space??
I swear ‘fore God I couldn’t make this mess up if I wanted to!!

Okay seriously? White women are not , I repeat, they ARE NOT handling the stress of the recession well AT ALL!

What you know about a prominent attorney Park Avenue attorney/ well-to-do Westchester mom getting so sick & tired of her pre-teen daughters’ bickering that she kicked BOTH of their asses out of the car and drove the hell off???

Like seriously? Picture this frazzled white woman (see photo), pulling over to the side of the road in her expensive ass SUV/car and screaming at the top of her lungs- “BOTH OF YA’LL LIL’ GOOD-FOR-NUTHIN’ HEIFERS GET THE HELL OUTTA MY CAR!!!”

OMG, I can’t even breathe I’m laughing so hard right now. Bump that, I’m WHEEZING like a damn asthmatic!!! Cause you know, that right there is some end-of-the-line, to-hell-with-timeout, I’m-kickin’-you-out -I-don’t-kill-ya’ll-dead type ish!

Wait on it tho… While the 12 year-old was able to run, catch up with mom’s car at the next light and beg her way back in; not so much for the little sister. That one got left behind

But instead of carrying her ass home (like any halfway intelligent Black kid would’ve done), the 10 year-old went dry snitching to the cops. And when Ma-Dukes came to pick her up from the station, the po-po arrested that ass for endangering the welfare of a child.

Jesus take the wheel, I am DONE.

Oh-wee, it’s a hard time to be a white woman, huh?

First, old girl in Florida shot the back of her son’s head off to “save his soul.”

Then poor Luan De Lesseps, the countess on “The Real Housewives of New York” (the tall, funny acting chick who used to be a regular ass nurse in CT until she landed the hubby and then got all brand new on folks), was informed via email that her gravy train was leaving her for a much younger woman of (gasp) color. Which really, really sucks when she’s got this new autobiographical etiquette guide entitled Class With the Countess: How To Live With Elegance & Flair to promote (because clearly they’re giving away book deals like water). And wait on it… why is the book all about how seduce and hang on to a man. Hilarity!!

And now, on the other side of the country, the patron saint of poor white trash Gov. Sarah Palin is catching a bad one back in Alaska. In addition to the ongoing public fighting with a freaking 19 year-old kid just cause he knocked up your fast ass daughter and left her and the baby high and dry to do appearances on Tyra; apparently her fellow lawmakers aren’t feeling her new ambitious attitude at all. Um, you giving speeches in Indiana while folks is trapped in Juneau trying to balance the state’s budget?? No maam. Them rednecks ain’t having it. In response, they’ve stripped a bunch of her little pet projects like the natural gas pipeline from the proposed Senate budget and started talked junk to whoever will listen. Uh-huh, just like that….

What can I say? Jesus be the melanin that sets me free.

Okay so just when I thought it was going to be a quiet day in the headlines, I peeped this article about a deranged FL mother shooting her own kid to death because wait on it… the looney toon honestly believed she was Satan. And that by murdering her child, she was ‘saving his soul.’ Um yeah, write that down.

Apparently, 44 year-old Marie Moore took her 20 year-old son to a shooting range, waited for him to get settled in the practice range booth and then proceeded to blow the back of  his head off. 
Check out the above photo that was captured on the security camera… Just. Like. That.
Now here’s my main problem with this madness-cause there are just so many things wrong- this chick had a history of schizophrenia. And apparently, she had tried to kill herself in the shooting range before. Why in the slack-ass-FL-state-gun-law-hell was this nutjob allowed back up in the spot???
I swear, it’s like nowadays they got tighter security in a damn mall department store than a shooting range. Sigh. 
Jesus please ring the bell, we need to stage an immediate do-over on that one right there.

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.

Good lord, the pink toes never cease to amaze do they?

First they were shopping in secret and now that, surprise, surprise, this whole “recession thing” hasn’t gone away, they’ve formed an anonymous support group for the girlfriends of finance guys!! No really, I’m not even kidding. I swear I couldn’t make this up if I tried…

According to the NYTimes, the group of NYC women refer to themselves as Wall Street Widows and the name of their support group is Dating A Banker Anonymous. And in case you were wondering, there’s an open invitation to any woman who fits the following criteria: “if your monthly Bergdorf’s allowance has been halved and bottle service has all but disappeared from your life.” Seriously? Just so we’re clear, you’re complaining about the change in a lifestyle that you’ve become accustomed to BEFORE you even got married??? Oh my goodness, that is so gangster!

The members meet once or twice weekly for brunch or drinks at a bar or restaurant to commiserate on how the plunging stock market and depressed economy have turned their former type-A, cocky, super human, richass finance boyfriends into whimpering, needy, erratic BROKEASS nightmares. Talking about, they’re moody, up all hours of the night checking the Blackberry and wait on it- aren’t exactly performing in the bedrooms. YIKES.

Good luck Becky Sue…


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