Mitzi Moments

Mitzi Moments

translator please…

By on February 24, 2009 in desperate cry for help, going to hell in a handbasket, tagging out, why we as a people can't get ahead

See now, this is that bull. Why is Keisha Cole’s greasy crackhead mama Frankie about to star in her OWN reality show? Mmm-hmm, apparently Frankie and Ke-Ke’s trashy sister Neffy have flown the coop and landed in their time slot on BET. Uugh.

Jesus be the ebonic subtitles on the bottom of the screen.

Oh and wait on it… apparently Frankie is also “writing” a book tentatively titled, 2 Sides of Every Story. Really??? I swear the definition of the word “writing” just gets broader and broader every day.

don’t let the spandex fool ya…

By on February 24, 2009 in cuteness kills, it ain't easy, love be a cellulite cream

My god when is the summer coming? This cold weather is K-I-L-L-I-N-G me I tell you.

It’s gotten so bad, I don’t even believe the sunshine when I see it. It’s like: yeah, yeah, yeah all them blue skies and rays of light are just trickery to get me to leave my warm and toasty apartment for the frigid outdoors. Damn that. Like I always say, can’t nothing good happen below 75 degrees.

On the flipside, in anticipation of the day I actually get to wear a sundress or pair of shorts, I’ve decided to re-enlist in my local bootcamp workout program- AGAIN (http://www.truecontrolfitness.com/). Yeah, yeah, I know, why in the world would my lazy ass voluntary wake up at 5.30a just to be worked out like an endentured slave for 90 minutes four days a week? Ummm…. cause bootcamp is way cheaper than replacing the cute clothes. And there’s nothing uglier than the ill fitting baby-t. Mmm-hmm, exactly.

Thankfully, this program is only three weeks long (as opposed to the normal six week session). So praise the Lord, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Sorta…. Check back in with me next week after we’ve hit the track to do countless wind sprints and I attempt to run a mile and a half in under twelve minutes.

Pray for me ya’ll…

pay upon delivery…

By on February 20, 2009 in feedback

A friend of mine from high school is pregnant with triplets. Yes, you read that correctly- TRIPLETS. As in 3 growing babies inside of 1 (what used to be very small) body. Jesus. Just looking at the ultrasound photo made my uterus hurt. I’m not even kidding you. But wait on it… what’s really really nerve wracking is tht they already have a daughter who’s not even 2 years old. I know it’s Friday so let me help you do the math-that’s FOUR kids under the age of THREE in ONE house? I can’t even imagine the amount of screaming and crying and dirty diapers… uh-uh. Ain’t no way in the world. As far as I’m concerned this girl is a freaking SAINT… And Jesus be a dead battery in the baby monitor.

To be quite honest, like 68% I can easily forsee initiating a vasectomy conversation with my husband/ the father of my kids. Cause once we’ve reached maximum capacity, haven’t I earned the right to enjoy unprotected sex at some point in my life?Not to mention, nobody likes those kind of surprises. No thank you.

As for the 31% of you who don’t think you can fix your faces to say anything, I’ll check back with you after an unplanned child or two or three. Mmm-hmmm, you know what my old college health professer used to say… It’s all fun and games till the bunny dies.

Cause forreal, forreal, what are you gonna do, get back on the pill? Use condoms for the rest of your life? I guess get your tubes tied, huh? No offense but don’t you think, it seems a little unfair to carry the total birth control burden in a marriage? I mean, this is more than your jump-off or someone you’ve been dating for a while, right? And after being pregnant for 9 whole months and actually giving birth, why in the Lord’s good name should we be the one to get our tubes tied? Boo.

I say, its time for men to step up and take one for the team. Let’s just consider vasectomies the new push tax. And no worries guys, we’ll be happy to help you ice it down the morning after.

ain’t nothing wrong w an encyclopedia…

By on February 19, 2009 in going to hell in a handbasket, it's not a game out there, tagging out

So we’ve all heard about these shady college recruiters trolling social networking with the sole intention of catching kids in incriminating pictures and subsequently ruining their entire lives, right? You know the trajectory: a promising, all American, straight-A student whose done everything the right way her entire life doesn’t get accepted at the school of her choice because of a random topless photo she took with the Mexican pool boy during Spring Break in Cancun. Instead she is forced to stay home, attend a community college and wait tables for book money. Fast forward 5 years and she’s now the town drunk who’s always hanging out at the local bar talking about how she was voted Prom Queen? Straight tragedy.

But what you know about the Facebook Sabatoge?

Wait on it… that’s a new trend where cutthroat teens are now SENDING college recruiters the links to incriminating Facebook photos of their fellow peers just cut down on the competition! Take that, take that!

Mmm-hmm, you know what I think? Hell hath no fury like a stressed out, overachieving teenager trying to get into their first choice school! I thank my lucky stars every damn day that there was no such thing as cell phones, social networking or even an internet when I was in high school. Forreal, forreal.

Cause seriously? As far as I’m concerned, if the grades and extra-curricular are correct, the rest shouldn’t even matter. Damn the series of keg parties you and your friends organize in the school parking on Saturday nights. As long as you can sober up, put on a suit, and talk a good game when that snooty recruiter came for the home visit on Sunday evening, you deserve to go to college. This is America goddammit.

1-800-missing…

By on February 18, 2009 in cuteness kills, keep hope alive, too old for the road

Um hi. I’m looking for my waistline, have you seen it? It disappeared sometime shortly after August and hasn’t been shown any kind of definition since.

I’m beginning to worry because according to the all the damn catalogs and invitations that keep flooding my mailbox, bikini/ wedding season is around the corner. And considering I don’t have a baby to blame there’s really no excuse for the bulge that insists on making its prescence known over the top of my jeans. Not at all.

So seriously, if you live uptown and belong to NYSC, please holla at the kid. Cause I’m in desperate need of a focused workout buddy to help with the search.

CATEGORIES