Mitzi Moments

Mitzi Moments

viagra is the devil…

By 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 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 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 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 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.

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