Mitzi Moments

Wow, I really like the dress that Solange has on in this picture. Granted, I’m not so sure about the clunky shoes and absolutely HATE the disheveled afro weave with -gasp- bangs (that I’ll bet you a ka-million dollars she thought completed the whole ethnic ‘look’) but still… I’m really, really feeling this dress.


*stands up and starts the slow hand clap*

Werk it Solo, WERK!!

Just so you know, the reason my admiration is blogworthy is because well… I’m not a fan of homegirl. Oh and even worse her Curious George-esque sense of style.

DEAD FISH EYES

Don’t get me wrong. I understand that fashion is all about expressing individuality. And that being a true trendsetter means pushing the envelope, staying ahead of the curve and yada,yada, yada…. But whatever with all that. ‘Cause at the end of the day, when I look at Solange and everything about her appearance and behavior scream one thing to me: ‘passive aggressive whoring for attention’.

And guess what? I’d rather not.

Here’s the thing: If deep down inside you want people to watch and obsess over your every move, then be about it. Admit you wanna rule the world and don’t stop until you achieve superstar status. It’s a lot… but I can definitely respect that.

What I cannot respect is the fake-out tomfoolery. You know, like getting knocked up at 17, attempting to justify a messy shotgun marriage by insisting he was your high school sweetheart when your ass were home schooled, randomly going off on journalist/reporters that question your choices, using a common haircut as a publicity stunt, singing 1.5 decent songs out of waaaaay too many and then pretending like you don’t understand why folks are bothering to talk shit.

I’m just saying.

But back to the dress. I’m feeling like I need that article of clothing in my life. So if anyone could point me in the direction of the designer, I’d be much obliged. ‘Preciate ya.

Have I got a story for you…


So apparently my homegirl MB went out with some friend of hers that she hadn’t seen in a minute on Wednesday night. Naturally, the night went long and the number of drinks prob added up. No judgement. At the end of the wonderful evening the two young ladies went their individual ways. Everyone got home safely.

Now, the next morning MB’s homegirl wakes up a little hazy on whether she closed her car door BUT she distinctly recalls clicking the alarm. You know how the oddest details will stick in your mind the morning after a good time but you can’t remember major stuff? Like you won’t have the faintest idea what the name the person you were making out all night with but you’ll remember they had on a really nice watch? Exaactly.

Much to MB’s friend’s relief her SUV is in the same place she left it the night before. Praise god for the little things, right?

Anyhoo, she gets in her car. And almost immediately, she notices a distinctly sour odor. Like any normal person, she starts looking around the passenger side floor to see if she spilled any food the night before. Nope. Nothing. So she’s like okay well, maybe I just need some ventilation in here. She starts the car and opens all the window. Running a little late at this point, she makes mental note to hit the car was, gets herself together and begins to back the car out of the parking spot. Homegirl looks up in the rear view mirror…
AND SEES A FREAKING HOMELESS MAN DEAD ASLEEP IN THE BACKSEAT OF HER TRUCK.

*throws up in mouth while simultaneously dying of fright*

Mind you, this negro wasn’t sorta sleep. His ass had figured out how to lay the 2nd row of seats down so he could be SPRAWLED the hell out across the back of her car!!!

Can you f’kin’ imagine?? Honestly, I would’ve pissed in my pants if that ‘ish happened to me. And worse you done closed the door and locked yourself in with the seat belt?? OH HELLS NO!!!

I’m happy to report that MB’s girl is much more courageous than I. ‘Cause instead of pissing on herself or even calling the police, she was focused. She simply jumped out the car and started screaming at dude to get the hell out of her whip. Which he did… slowly. Talking about, ‘My bad. The door was open and I was tired.’

Um, I’m sorry. Did he just say, he was tired?

BLANK STARE W/ 3 LOOOONG BLINKS

See, this the kinda bullshit urban legends are made of. And like I told, MB- I’m just glad that dude was a hard sleeper. Cause can you imagine if he woke up before she looked up in the rear view mirror??? SMH.

senselesstragedy.com

So freaking excited! Today I’m going to be one of the esteemed featured panelists at the Abyssinian Development Corporation’s COLLEGE, HERE I COME Youth Forum! Woo Hooo, go Mitzi! Get busy! Go Mitzi! (insert image of me doing the cabbage patch mad hard)


So basically, instead of doing boring grown-up work, yours truly will be spending a good portion of my day at Thurgood Marshall Academy for Learning & Social Change discussing the importance/ benefits of obtaining a higher education with 75-100 impressionable middle school kids. (READ: dazzling them with my craziest PG-rated college stories and totally bragging my behind off about how awesome it was to attend the BESTEST HBCU in the universe, Florida A&M University).

CANNOT WAIT.

OMG, today’s video just broke my heart.

Like seriously, how do we live in a world where a grown ass man thinks turning his 18-month year old son onto cigarettes is not a big deal- ’cause the kid still looks healthy to him. Meanwhile, the wackass mother insists there is there’s nothing she can do about the now 2 year-old’s 40 cigarettes-a-day habit. SMH.

But wait on it, why does baby Artie know EXACTLY what he’s doing!?! Talking about he will only smoke one brand. And if he can’t get his cigarettes he throws a tantrum and bangs his head against the wall. What the hell?

BLANK STARE as visions of backhands and multiple ass whoopings dance through my brain.

Right.

And not to be funny but… who’s paying for all them damn cigarettes? ‘Cause last time according to the article in the NY Post, the father is a fishmonger (READ: glorified fisherman) and all ya’ll are living in a damn hut somewhere out in rural Indonesia.

FAIL.

How’s this for an idea? Instead of kicking out for Artie’s cancer sticks maybe, just MAYBE they should slap a nicotine patch on his back and try using that money towards some t-shirts that fit the lil’ fatty.

No offense.

WOWOW… so Gary Coleman’s scary snaggletoothed ex-wife done sold photos of the man on his death bed to The Globe tabloid ???

PAUSE
Real talk? I’m actually at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to that… Who does that???

CONTEMPLATIVE SILENCE

And not for nothing, here my dumbass was trying to give that maniacal lookin’ bish the benefit of the doubt since we all know Gary used to whoop that ass coming and going. Okay? But crazy is crazy…

I mean, first it was the call to 911 where she straight up tells the emergency services operator that she absolutely will not go help resuscitate Gary because “there’s blood everywhere and its just too much.” Then come to find out, homegirl wasn’t even married to the little man no more. Next, she’s all up on TV denying rumors of involvement before folks even had the presence of mind to start talking? And now, she’s fighting the family over burial rights!

DEAD FISH EYES

Lord… Jesus be the next Lifetime movie of the week.