HELL TO THE NAW

Longing to be lazy

2006-05-04T21:24:00.000-05:00

I love me because no one else seems to want to. It's MAY and I have been such the slacker with this whole Blogging process. GOD I SUCK!! I'm coming back though. I needed a small break to shop and get myself further in debt. Now I am ready to blog about the whole experience. Tomorrow I am off to DC for the weekend for a housewarming party (don't get me started on that mess. A gift registry? WHAT?) and a debutante ball! I will be back on Monday will several tales of woe I assure you. I haven't had sex since December and Brooklyn Boy keeps trying to blow up my spot so I am one ansy DIVA these days. LAWD HELP ME!! Actually, I don't want any of him at all. Been there done him. Anyway, I hope you all are well and I will blog a little something real soon!!

SMOOCHES!

Don't miss me too much...

2006-04-23T22:00:00.000-05:00

I'll be back shortly!!

DIVA

Blog Bitch

2006-03-17T15:31:00.000-05:00

Ms. Dee told me to blog. OK, here it is. I blogged trick!! You happy? Oh and I bought another purse. A KOOBA! Traguc ain't it?

Have a good weekend!!

Hair Did

2006-03-15T10:35:00.000-05:00

I have to go get these tresses done. NEW GROWTH screaming all over my head.

Alas there is always some loud mouth chica up in the shop creating drama with her wicked words of wisdom so I am sure I will have a story to tell when I return. The bitch better stay out of my face though. That is all I am saying.

Blah

2006-03-10T12:11:00.000-05:00

It's Friday and there is still no news about my trip to Miami. Woe is moi. Not much blogging to be done today because I have to watch the ACC tourney and cheer on my man J.J. Redick. I love me some him. He has been having a tough time shooting the ball as of late therefore he needs me. So I will leave you with two musings for the day. The first being my new fav weekend slogan

BUSH IS THE DEBIL

The second being the lyrics to my new fav song, "Butterflies" Yes ACE is still on my brain. YUMMY and MAIWST

All you gotta do is just walk away and pass me by
Don't acknowledge my smile when I try to say hello to you, yeah
And all you gotta do is not answer my calls when
I'm trying to get through
To keep me wondering why, when all I can do is sigh
I just wanna touch you

[Chorus]
I just wanna touch and kiss
And I wish that I could be with you tonight
You give me butterflies inside, inside and I

All I gotta say is that I must be dreaming, can't be real
You're not here with me, still I can feel you near me
I caress you, let you taste us, just so blissful listen
I would give you anything baby, just make my dreams come true
Oh baby you give me butterflies

[Chorus]
I just wanna touch and kiss
And I wish that I could be with you tonight
You give me butterflies inside, inside and I
I just wanna touch and kiss
And I wish that I could be with you tonight
You give me butterflies inside, inside and I

If you would take my hand, baby I would show you
Guide you to the light babe
If you would be my love, baby I will love you, love you
'Til the end of time

[Chorus]
I just wanna touch and kiss
And I wish that I could be with you tonight
You give me butterflies inside, inside and I
I just wanna touch and kiss
And I wish that I could be with you tonight
You give me butterflies inside, inside and I
I just wanna touch and kiss
And I wish that I could be with you tonight
You give me butterflies inside, inside and I

Remember, Butterflies was written by Floetry, not that freak of nature Michael Jackson so it is OK for me to like it. Enjoy the weekend.

Wednesday Chatter on Thursday afternoon

2006-03-09T08:46:00.000-05:00

OK ACE I Have Finally come around. YOU HAD ME AT HELLO last night!!

That's Ace up there. Ain't he fine? MAIWST!!

There was so much that I was supposed to get done yesterday yet I did absolutely nothing. I was supposed to be running errands and working up the courage to call my editor and ask him to send me to Miami for this Martina Hingis interview. Instead, most of the day was spent being sad over the dearly departed and IMing with folks including that damn Brooklyn boy. He came at me early in the morning on Tuesday with his nonsense. Shortly thereafter C-Note joined in, except she was having a fit because I was IMing with that fool and she wanted me to have no part of it. Poor C-Note. She is trying her best to keep me out of harm's way yet it seems that I am intent on driving that damn train to disaster. Tisk Tisk!! All day Tuesday she kept screaming, “LEAVE HIM ALONE!!” or “Don’t listen to him” or “He’s not still bothering you is he?” or “You can do so much better” Today it was, “You aren’t IMing with a certain guy are you?” and “Don’t do it DIVA!!” Actually the whole scenario would be funny if it weren’t so pathetic. This whole scenario gets her in a tizzy every time. On the possibility of the three of us hanging out C-Note had this to say this morning,

"I WOULD VOMIT at the site of him trying to be all cool and organic around you and then you batting your eyelashes and smiling at him would then have me to dry heaving!!!"

Damn girl, tell me how you really feel. TOO FUNNY!! See, Brooklyn Boy just broke up with the girlfriend with my same name so naturally he headed to the hills to try and hook up with good old DIVA for some T&A. Subtle isn’t he. He is convinced that I am going to give up the goods. But as I said before I am not sleeping with him. (I will say it out loud as may times as I can to prove my point Dammit!!) He is getting none of this Blackberry Cobbler. I I am not even in the mood for sex right now. This drought that I am going through is a welcomed relief if you ask me. I need to be having sex with my husband not some one-nighter like Brooklyn Boy. Plus I burned Lisa (my left boob) with the curling iron last week and there is still an awful scar there so there is no way in hell I am getting butt nekkid for some dude with Lisa ailing the way she is. Poor, poor Lisa. And to top it off I went to Bloomies yesterday to try on some dresses for Vegas and caught a quick glimpse of myself in the three-way mirror and I was not feeling the image that I saw staring back at me. DAMN, my body looks a mess. I know I have been slacking at the gym but DAMN!! Plus Wendy and Lisa are bigger than ever. I must the only girl on the planet who weighs like two pounds but who has boobs bigger than Texas. They are more huge than ever these days and I hate it, hate it, hate it. I look like one big nipple. There will be no sexing with my body in this condition. Gross!! Still, Brooklyn Boy swears up and down he is getting some of this Snatch. Pervert!!! He wants to meet for a drink tonight. No thank you.

So I have to run most of my errands today in between doing my shit at the mag. I did manage to get my eyebrows done yesterday Thank God. I have to take my new Chloe bag to the store to get it treated… OOOOOPS!!! Did I just say I bought a new bag? Uhhhhhh, Damn. Ughhhhh yeah I bought a bag last week that was way way way too expensive. Think mortgage payment expensive. Yes I am broke but I bought it anyway. It’s soooooo fly and cute and sooooo DIVA-ESQUE. I know, I am an awful pathetic creature who cannot get a hold of her finances. It is the truth. Even J-Boogie wants to have an intervention regarding my shopping. But I cannot help it. I dream about this stuff all day long. I am always piecing outfits together and studying fashion magazines and dreaming of myself walking the runway. Shit, I had to stop myself from also buying a Kooba bag but I have to replace my shitty cell phone first so that bag will have to wait. The Chloe bag is cream colored for goodness sake so I have to get it treated so it won’t get stained by some drunk cow on the street forcing me to shoot myself. God, I am pathetic. The women at Bergdorf’s thought I was some baller’s girlfriend. Asking me, “do you live in the city? What does your husband do? Is he on a team?” Bitch please. I work and I pay my own bills. Would she ask some little white girl that question? I think not. See, It’s racial man, it’s racial. I can't even buy a damn bag without the eyebrows being raised. People love to hate on brown folks I swear. Fuck her though. Chloe and I will be great together. Oh, next week is my Finnish Goddaughter’s birthday so I have to get her some Dora stuff and send it to Europe in time for the party. Toys R’ US here I come.

So it occurred to me late last night that I miss someone. See, this further proves that I am in a total pathetic state. I am missing this person and it is just sad sad sad, becaus e this person was awful to me. Fucking prick!! Still, I am missing said persong so what does that make me? SAD!! However, there will be no contact from me whatsoever because Brooklyn Boy notwithstanding I do have some pride. So I will suffer in silence and get over it like I always do. (And friends please don’t call me asking me about who I am talking about. If you do I will hang up on you.)

In two seconds I am going to talk to my editor about this Miami trip. Makes no sense that he won't let me go. He just sent two people to Florida for basically the same type of stuff so I have no idea why he is being shady with me. If gives the go ahead then I am going to bring Bea along so we can get some sun and get rid of some of this horrible paleness that has been plaguing our hue this winter. Wish me luck!!

Back to my new love Ace. I don't care what anyone says. That boy sang the hell out of that song last night on Idol. And I don't even like Michael Jackson (pedophilia ain't cute people!!) but Ace did right by that Butterflies tune. Essence Atkins had better watch out because DIVA might steal her man for real. GO ACE!! With your sexy self. Chris and Elliott are still my favs but Ace is just so damn cute. And that falsetto? MMMMMMMMPH!!! MAIWST!!!

*** Just found out two seconds ago that Floetry actually wrote Butterflies. So it appears that I don't have to hate the song after all.

Another Loss and Lost Souls

2006-03-07T17:37:00.000-05:00

Daily Scoreboard

SI - 1
Barry Bonds - 0

I usually don’t bring out tears throughout the day until at least noon or after I have had something to eat. Today, however, I got started rather early when I awakened this morning to learn that Dana Reeve, the widow of my beloved Superman Christopher Reeve, lost her bout with lung cancer Monday night. She was 44. Forty Fucking Four. Just awful. I used to always admire Dana’s loyalty and devotion to Christopher after his accident as she was always by his side fighting the good fight with him to beat his paralysis. She was the poster child for the "For Better or For Worse" line that thousands recite every year when they say their vows. Still, on the idea of people like myself seeing her as a saint for never wavering and forever staying by her husband’s side she once had this to say,

“It's hard to see other people do what we used to do," she said. "Even hold hands. Even, you know, I look at other couples laughing . . . a husband sort of flipping his wife's hair. Yet it is hard for me to be thought of in that way [as a saint] Of course I'm doing this. What other option is there? What happened was a truly terrifying, life-altering thing, and my initial response was just like being hit by a bucket of water. But he is my husband and this is what love is and I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Gold Bless Her!! Her passing is even more somber when you think that in a matter of 17 months young Will Reeve has lost both his mother and his father. My prayers go out to him and the entire Reeves family. Sad, sad, sad.

So, folks have been asking me about them fools Three 6 Mafia and the Oscars for the past two days. To be honest with you before the Oscars were broadcast on Sunday night I had never even heard of those guys. Well, maybe I had heard their name in passing in references here and there but I could not identify one of their songs if you paid me. When it pertains to contemporary hip-hop I’m with the rapper Common when he once said, “I Used To Love Her,” meaning I use to love hip-hop. Back in the day it used to be light hearted and fun but now I see it as an excuse for boorish behavior and degradation. In any event, folks wanted to know my opinion of Three 6 Mafia and their Oscar win. First of all, I did not watch the Oscars. I refused to watch because I am sick of seeing rich folks celebrate themselves. With all of the awards shows and red carpets and $100,000 gift bags and after parties there is just too much, “Isn’t it great that I am rich and famous” going around. Call me a hater or whatever but I have better things to do with my time, like celebrate my own fabulous ass or watch Project Runway. Still, J-Boogie and I were at work on Sunday and she was in her office watching the Oscars when all of a sudden she started screaming and cringing when Three 6 Mafia won. I wanted to see what all of the commotion was about so I switched to ABC real quick on my TV. Of course I switched back after about 20 seconds of watching those guys gyrate and speak in a language that I was unfamiliar with. I swear to God I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. I just shook my head and flipped back to my Law and Order: SVU marathon. Nevertheless, over the past 48 hours everyone has been talking about those boys from the Mafia and their date with Oscar, some singing their praises while others have been denouncing their existence. MY, MY, MY!!! There’s nothing like the topic of race, rappers, and the image of black folks in the public sphere to spark some much needed social debate. I think I became most incensed by this whole debate when I heard this young man at work say that he was glad that Three 6 Mafia won because barriers have now been broken at the Oscars and in Hollywood. Barriers Have Been Broken??? “At what costs?” I wanted to scream. Is tearing down the blue wall of rejection at the Academy of Motion Pictures worth the Souls of Black Folk? I Just find it so exasperating that yet again Hollywood decided to showcase and celebrate the worst aspects of black life and put it on display for the entire world to see and make a mockery of. With all of the trials and tribulations that plague black folks on the daily I just think there are more pertinent things in our culture that beckon our focus and attention and celebratory efforts than the day to day anguish of a pimp. As for the Mafia themelves.. Am I really supposed to be happy that The Mafia is on stage running around like King Fish from Amos and Andy and showing their GRILLZ every two seconds with that big old cheese grin? I think not.

After initially refusing to watch the Oscars I indeed went back and watched The Mafia’s performance and again I was left shaking my head. The first thing that came to mind was that I was watching a 21st century minstrel show. But then I thought it was even more complex than that. Now it appears that we no longer need white folks on stage in blackface making fun of black life and culture because it seems that we as black folk are willing to take the stage in plain view and make a mockery of our damn selves. During the 19th and early 20th century when minstrel shows were popular it was the White man’s curiosity that proved a powerful motivator in keeping the shows trendy and profitable. Minstrels were patronized by people who wanted to see blacks acting spontaneously and foolishly in their natural environment, as if they were novelties in a museum on exhibit. Fast forward to 2006 and that is exactly what I saw happening at the Oscars. A bunch of white people in suits watching the clownish black men on stage shuck and jive and clown around like they didn’t have the good sense that God gave them. After it was was all over Hollywood's finest could be see running around smiling and saying, "It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp" wink wink. I mean really, men on stage dressed as pimps and women in the hot pants and rabbit furs like hookers and hos running around singing about how it’s hard out here for a pimp? Hideous. I find myself just as angry every time I see that fool Bishop Don Juan showing up at awards shows and being celebrated and rewarded with accolades from celebrities as if he has done something great for mankind. This man is a brutal misogynist who is responsible for the abuse and subjugation of women all over!!!! Yet there we are inviting him to the BET awards and giving him a mic. UNREAL!! I know the song and performance by The Mafia were supposed to be in the context of the movie Hustle & Flow but it seems that this image of pimps and gangsters has become an archetype as it pertains to the black community. Even though my friends and I come from middle class homes and have post graduate education, good jobs, and are positive influences in the community our lives and our culture are forever associated with the poor, unrefined, dim-witted part of American culture. The only place many people around the world see our way of life, black life, is through the arts: movies, television, and music. Yet it seems that the lasting image that is brandished across these mediums is one that shows blacks as pimps, gangsters, whores, drug dealers and criminals and for that I cannot celebrate and be happy. Don’t get me wrong I am always an advocate for black people as we strive forward to be successful and make our mark in society. Therefore I always want to root for our folks in situations such as the Oscars when they have the opportunity to be rewarded for their talent and hard work; For this reason and this reason alone I am happy for Three 6 Mafia. However, for this ceremony and the way they seemingly exploited black life and black culture once again I couldn’t celebrate. This time the blacks in question were representing a criminal element that is always associated with my folk so I couldn’t just stand up and cheer and be merry. I just kept thinking to myself when are we going to start demanding that people respect us and show us as civil and intelligent members of society? I feel like when the freedom fighters constantly sang we shall overcome back in the dat they meant that one day we as a people would overcome the stereotype that black people are about nothing good and would never be nothing good. Whether we want to admit it or not image is everything, and we have to be so careful about the way we position ourselves in society and in front of larger audiences because it gives them a key as to how we want others to see ourselves and how we want them to treat us.

Meeting Gilbert Grape

2006-03-06T16:18:00.000-05:00

OK ladies I have a very eligible bachelor for you. His name is GILBERT ARENAS and he plays for the Washington Wizards!! He is such an adorable little sweetheart that I just couldn’t help but pinch his cheeks. He’s such a doll. Aside from Charles Barkley he is probably the best NBA interview that I have ever done. Very colorful and personable. Such a doll for real. And get his he is looking, searching, and yearning for a ladylove. He made me promise that I would get the word out that he is "All Alone On A Sunday Morning" so if anyone is interested in keeping Sir Gilbert company they should pack their sexy selves up and head on down to Washington, DC and snatch honey up ASAP. I would do it myself except Sir Gilbert is all of 24 years old, and unlike Mr. Miguel I am not trying to train up a child. 24 is way tooo young for the DIVA, even if Sir Gilbert has a $60 million contract to go along with his cuteness. 24? Seriously, I couldn’t imagine. I am barely dealing with the Stud and he is all of 25. DK Fresh just turned 30 and he drives me nuts as well. Come to think of it, all of the men in my life drive me batty and most of them are 29 or older. Given that, I am not trying to have a 24-year-old jack me up. Still, Sir Gilbert is a cutie for sure. I am trying to convince The Girl With The Big Forehead Out In Colorado to move to the East Coast to keep Sir Gilbert company. She is all of 26. 24 and 26. They should have a few things in common. If she were smart she would take my advice and hop on Sir Gilbert and leave those zeroes out in Denver alone.

So I am back from DC and all in all the trip went fairly well even though it was very short. The Wizards were cool, Sir Gilbert was a fantastic interview, Nutmeg treated me to a very cute sushi lunch, and my sis JR did not get on my nerves at all. Tres fab indeed. However, there was one small glitch in the trip caused by that damn VC. I am thoroughly pissed at that damn Vince Carter because he apparently screwed up an interview that I was trying to get with both him and Antawn Jamison. It seems Don Carter told Antawn not to do the interview which made DIVA looked real stupid with her tape recorder. Can you say ass? Hmmmm… I sincerely hope that I got false information and that this was indeed not the case. However, when I stepped to Antawn in the locker room to interview him about the story this was his response,

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! NOOOOOOOOOOO!! I don’t talk about my personal life. And Vince told me not to get involved in this so I am going to have to say no."

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa??? You can’t speak and make decisions for yourself? Hmmmmm… I am going to have to go talk to the Nets PR person about this mess. See, I told you that VC was a bitch in my side. DAMN HIM!!!!!!!

So I just got off of the phone with Ms. Dee and it just occurred to me that DIVA is going through another celibacy spell. (We were talking about sex and I realized that it has in fact been a while) Quite pathetic actually but what’s a DIVA to do? There is absolutely no man in my life right now. DK Fresh is a pain in the ass and the Stud-Boy is all the way in DC so that leaves me with nothing. The chances of me going out to meet some new guy to start dating are very slim at this point. I hate meeting new people. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I am a creature of habit. I like things that are familiar and recognizable and comfortable so the prospect of going out and introducing myself and my so-called life to some new person does not sound appealing to me at all. It is probably because of this warped sense of isolation that I often find myself creeping back with people from my past who are a complete waste of time (i.e. BROOKLYN BOY. NO, I have not messed with him C-Note even though he has been blowing up my IM. That was just an example.) I’d rather sit at home and curse at that grimy Santino on Project Runway and root for my girl Chloe than go out on a date with someone new. Yuck Yuck Yuck. C-Note and I have been on Match.com since January trying to find some husbands and while she is having a ball going out on dates here and there with several cute little fellas I am sitting at home rolling my eyes at all of the faces that come across on my computer screen. AS IF!!! Most of those dudes are not my type at all. DK Fresh is the only guy that I have hung out with so far from Match and I have to tell you, based on my experiences with him it ain’t looking to good for any future dalliances . We have only gone out once yet we squabble and debate over silly stuff all of the time. (He IMs me all damn day asking if he could SHAG me. The answer is NO BITCH!!) It’s soooooo exasperating. At this rate, I will be a virgin again by this time next summer. Still, maybe the dry spell is good for me. The last person I was intimate with turned out to be a complete bust (He’s probably chilling in CA still blaming me for everything that is wrong in his life. OH, the Hex of it all!!!) so I am just going to sit tight for a while and keep my goodie bag closed. If I appear to be extra BITCHY as a result of CLOSED sign on my door please forgive me.

Revenge of the Nair

2006-02-28T13:02:00.000-05:00

This blogging Diva has been very busy and very lazy as of late. I am tired of working. Seriously. This job at the mag is driving me batty, hence the elongated break from the blog. At this very moment I am finally off to DC for that damn Gilbert Arenas story. Yes, I was supposed to go last week but the damn PR people fucked that up so I am making the mad dash to the train station in like five minutes. I guarnatee you I will be late. However, I wanted to blog a little and share a crazed Davey Jones story before I left because… well because he is just crazy but at the same time hilarious. Yes, he stalks me but still. He is funny (and crass) as hell sometimes and it just makes me laugh to no end.

So last week Davey Jones calls to tell me some story about some girl he was messing with and how she grossed him out to the max. Like to here it here it go:

“Nani, you know I have never been all that crazy about white girls but I have decided that might be the way to go from now on. Black girls acts so ghetto and cheap sometimes that it really fucks my shit up I am telling you. This girl Shanie that I was messing with came over last night to make me dinner and spend the night. Actually she cooked some good vegetarian lasagna so I was pleased with that. But then when we were getting ready to fuck and shit she totally blew me. I mean not like that… OK yeah she gave me head but then she did something that was so nasty I had to kick her out. She was giving me some decent head and shit so I was like ‘all right I’ll suck her off before I fuck her, no problem.’ Well she lies back on the bed and spreads her legs for me and I noticed that she is already kind of wet and that her pussy has some creamy shit on it already. I was like, ‘Damn she’s trying to cum already? I haven’t done anything to her yet.’ So I lean in to start eating her out and then I nearly gagged. Her shit tasted like bitter paste! I was like, “UGGGGGGGGGGHHH, what the fuck is that on your pussy?’ At first she tried to play it off and fake like she didn’t know what I was talking about. So I dabbed my finger down there and then made her taste my finger. This bitch was like, ‘OH SNAP!! THAT MUST BE SOME LEFT OVER NAIR FROM EARLIER!!! I USED SOME NAIR BEFORE I CAME OVER BECAUSE I WAS GETTING KIND OF BUSHY.” I was like, “NAIR? WHAT THE FUCK? WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST WAX YOUR SHIT?” She was like, ‘Waxing costs too much when I can get the same results with Nair for $5.” Nani, who the fuck still uses Nair? Niggas!!”

Now I won’t even get into how racist and ridiculously prejudicial that story is because I think it speaks for itself in that respect. However, racist Davey Jones aside, THAT WAS SOME OF THE FUNNIEST SHIT I HAVE HEARD IN A LONG TIME. I literally choked on my frosted mini-wheats while he was telling me that shit. NAIR? TOO FUCKING FUNNY FOR WORDS!! God, that Davey Jones is a nut in a half. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that mess. I would have paid to see that episode for real. And truth be told, with the way he treats women he deserves to get some good old Nair in the mouth from time to time. Hilarious!!!

OK, now I have to book for the train. Hope all is well with everyone. I will try and check up on everyone's blog and post some stuff of my own from the Nation's Capital. Until then, HOLLA!

Tis Friday, What Say You?

2006-02-17T13:09:00.000-05:00

I say that I am ready for the weekend. Perijantai is Friday in Finnish. (A little Finnish 101 to carry you over the weekend) It's been a so-so week but I am ready to PARTAY. Bea left for the All-Star game this week so I am out here on my own. Tonight I will go have some drinks and find some trouble all by my lonesome near my apartment. Grey Goose can you hear me? Tomorrow, I think I am supposed to meet DK Fresh for lunch in Midtown somewhere although he keeps changing the time. I told him that I would have lunch with him at a public place in hopes that he would keep his little PP in his pants and not scare the people with his pelvic gyrations. Hmmmmmph!! Actually, he isn't as bad as I make him out to be but he really does talk about sex a lot. I guess that means that he is awful in bed huh? People who feel the need to talk about it all of the time cannot be any good. Oh well, at least I'll get some free grub for lunch. Tomorrow evening I may hang out with Ms. N, my old trainer from NYSC. She wants to get into some drunken debauchery while at the same time yelling at me about my workouts. Hmmmmph! I have been to the gym three times this week already so she needs to hush. Plus, I am about to start my "HELP DIVA GET LIPO FUND" so soon I will no longer need the gym. If anyone wants to send me donations (minimum amount being $1000) let me know and I will get you my PO BOX address pronto.

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH SHIT!!!!! My editor just told me that next week he is sending me to DC to interview Gilber Arenas of the Washington Wizards. What is this you say dear evil editor? A free trip home? Surely you Jest!!! HAHAHA HOOORAY!! Stud-Boy here I cum... ooooops I mean come. I have to go marinate on the plans for next week for a while. In the interim have a good weekend. Holla!

Twice As Nice

2006-02-16T15:36:00.000-05:00

Happy Happy Birthday Lily and Anna. My dear friend K-Mart gave birth to twin daughters yesterday, Lily Katherine and Anna Charlotte!! WOW!! I am sooo psyched, however, I am sure Ms. K-mart is dead tired. Since she carried these two darlings in her little tummy for 38 weeks and had to refrain from tipping the bottle the entire time I promised I would bring her some margaritas in the next coming weeks to get her party started again. With three little ones in the house now (the girls plus three-year-old son Will) I am sure she is going to need as much alcohol as she can get. Hang in there girl, help is on the way. In the interim here is a poem that I found for you.

What Are Little Girls Made Of?

Girls are made of sugar 'n spice,
Everything sweet, & everything nice,
Girls are ruffles, bonnets, and bows,
Dimpled smiles and dancing toes,
They're tears and giggles, dolls and curls,
That's how it is with little girls.

- By Unknown Author

So today was supposed to be a big day around these parts for several reasons. Mainly because the folks here at the mag were going to find out today if anyone had been fired. So far it seems that everyone's job is in tact. Thank GOD!! Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing one of those Swimsuit Bitches being escorted out the front door. HEIFERS!! Those lying heifers do not deserve to keep their jobs. Still, Ms. Dee and C-Note will not be getting the axe so we should all pour some Grey Goose in their honor.

Actually, my mag's swimsuit issue hit the newsstands this week. A less than stellar performance by the swimsuit staff if you ask me. This year's issue is like the Jim Crow of Swimsuit Magazines: The damn thing is lily white and the two black models that they have in the thing are basically at the back of the magazine. Didn't Dr. King say something about let freedom ring? Why are all of the brown folks chilling at the "back of the bus" in swimsuit? A mess indeed. I am sure we all have that Swimsuit Bitch to thank for this.

I was supposed to go on a date tonight with DK Fresh, however, I am no longer sure if it's going to happen. I am kind of not in the mood and he may have to work late. Plus he is getting on my nerves because all he keeps talking about is whether or not he's going to get the chance to shag me or not. AS IF!! Like, can't I get a drink and an appetizer first? JESUS. I haven't even met the dude yet and he's already talking about getting my legs up in the air so he can pound my kitty kat. THE NERVE!! MEN ARE SCUM. NOT CUM, SCUM. See what you have to look forward to Lily and Anna? A life filled with men trying to get at your NANA all of the time. MERCY!!

Wednesday Chatter

2006-02-15T12:26:00.000-05:00

Although I did not have an "official" Valentine yesterday to take me out to dinner at Nobu and shower me with his love and dickyness all night long, I did get quite a few Sweet V Day wishes from some cute folks here and there. My devine Stud-Boy with his little cute self said, "If I were in NYC right now I would definitely be your Valentine." Boy hush your mouth. Actually he said some other tittilating stuff but this is a PG rated blog so I will keep that shit to myself. HEHE! This other guy DK Fresh quipped, "I envison you as my perfect Valentine until the day I die." WOW!! Marry me right now you fool. OK, so what if we haven't been on a date yet. I love him already. Even the infamous Brooklyn Boy and I shared Valentine's Day niceties. "Happy Valentine's Day Babe!!" he said. Right back at you playa. Just remember to keep your distance. (And NO C-Note I am not going to sleep with him so just hush up over there and quit rolling your damn eyes.) Alas, for every well wish I received yesterday from the fine fellas I also got at least one psychotic diatribe from that fool Davey Jones. Someoned needs to put a muzzle on that clown. He called me at least seven times to boast about his hot date for the evening. Who really gives a shit? At seven in the morning this motherfucka left me a message saying, "I started to send you roses today but decided against it. It's not like you would make a good Valentine anyway." HA! I LOVE YOU TOO DAVEY JONES!! Asshole. Hope your date turned out to be a guy named Willie in drag with a big old PP for your behind. (You like my use of PP there Mr. Miguel?) Still, despite that fool I had fun all by my lonesome yesterday and loved every minute of it.

So my favorite pick me up show of all time, American Idol, returned to the tube last night. I swear I have no idea what my life would be like if I didn't have Idol. How on Earth would I make it through this so called life without it? What else would make me laugh to the point of nearly relieving myself in my own clothes? Last night was full of Bitchy "Your group sucks and I don't want to be in it" drama and "Brokenote Mountain" renditions. The contestants even found a way to screw up The Four Tops's "I Can't Help Myself" by frequently fucking up the lyrics!! However it was the queens in the house that had me on the floor dying. It doesn't get any better than watching a pair of gay twins stomping around like two-year-olds and making complete fools of themselves on national tv. Especially since we know that them fools are now sitting pretty in jail for identity fraud and car theft. First there was Queen Twin Numero Uno, Terrell, who was fussing and cussing all night about how his group went to bed early rather than rehearse all night. Even had the nerve to scream into the camera, "This is the reason why I DON'T DO GROUPS!!" Bitch, then why are you even on Idol in the first place. You know that they have a group competition every year. Plus, shouldn't you be taking care of that nasty ass pimple on the side of your face? That thing was singing a puss filled song of its own on his left cheek all evening. YUCK-O-ROO!! However, the absolute best was when Queen Twin Numero Dos, Darrell, decided that he was going to curse out the Idol judges for not sending Terrell through to the next round.

"I am very disappointed. I would like to thank you guys for the opportunity but my spirit has been broken. You guys are not going to crap on my talent because I know that I have it. I did the American Idol because I was told that this was not the place for a person like me and my brother and I beg to differ. This is the end of the road for me. I am going to go home and me and my brother are going to get our album finished on the music that we want to do and then we will see you guys at the top." As he walks off he says, "Nobody will do that to my brother I don't care who the fuck they are"

WOW! Way to stand up for your Queen Twin. Except, your brother didn't get cut like you originally thought. The judges sent Terrell through to the next round afterall. So he did all of that bitching and posturing for nothing to which Terrell later cried, "You shouldn't have done that Darrell. You shouldn't have done that. Now you've got to go in there and apologize and get us back into the competition." HA!! I love it. If it were left up to me I would have told both of their non singing asses to get the hell out of dodge and go back to where they came from. Two snaps and out you go!! Still, the shit was funny as hell.
Aside from Idol I have been glued to the Olympics since Sunday. Yes I am sports nerd so it would make sense that I watch this stuff, but how can one resist the fierceness of Olympic Hockey and the DIVANESS of Johnny Weir and all of his princessness competing in figure skating? It's all great stuff I tell you. Hercules, Hercules, Hercules!

Oh with all of the Love, Idol and Olympic talk don't think for a second that I have forgotten about The Fuhrer himself, Dick Cheney. Cheney's slow and unapologetic public response to the accidental shooting of a 78-year-old Texas lawyer is turning that quail-hunting mishap into yet another political liability for the Bush administration. Who'd A Thunk It? Maybe godd old Cheney should start watching American Idol and then he wouldn't feel the need to run around shooting people. Except, rogue republican administrations always get into trouble so we shouldn't be surprised by all of this nonsense. Let me just say this to Mr. Cheney (as if His Evilness would ever read this very liberal blog.) Sir, you are employed by the American people. You are not a monarch; and you are not a Pope. YOU SHOT SOMEBODY!! You have seriously wounded another human being and caused his heart to stop going pitter patter for a few seconds. The news was kept from the public by your staff for an entire day. The man is in intensive care. There are many serious questions about the incident in question: What happened immediately thereafter? Why the decision to keep everything a secret for so long? Were you drinking before or during this incident? The least the American people deserve is your own account in public in front of the press corps. Why all of the secrecy with every damn thing that you do? And who the fuck do you think you are that you should not be held accountable for your actions? I swear I am so sick of this adminstration and all of their lying and coverups that I don't know what to do. They basically give us all the finger while they continuously break the law. At this rate, we'll be lucky if we even survive to see another election in '08. We could all be blown to bits by then by the Fuhrer and his cohorts.

I have to go now because Mr. Miguel sent me a link to Colin Farrell having sex. I can't wait to watch it and get all hot and bothered. At least one of us is getting some.

WHY LOVE?

2006-02-14T12:48:00.000-05:00

"Love is the ability and willingness to allow those that you care for to be what they choose for themselves, without any insistence that they satisfy you." -Wayne Dyer 1940-, American Psychotherapist, Author, Lecturer

People are always surprised when I tell them that I love Valentine's Day. Why they are shocked I don't know. Am I supposed to hate it simply because I am single? AS IF!! I refuse to be one of those hardened bitches who think simply because I do not have a Valentine I have to go around and rain on everyone else's parade. Quite the contrary. In a world in which we experience so much hatred, bloodshed, inhumanity and sadness on a daily basis I am happy that we can at least pause and set aside one day to love and celebrate one another. Am I without a Valentine today? Indeed I am. However, there are some folks out there whom I love, accept me for who I am, and make me happ. For that I am very grateful. Love somebody people. Even if it's just for today.

"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more." -Erica Jong 1942-, American Author

As Promised, BITCHFEST 2006

2006-02-10T16:48:00.000-05:00

I had every intention of posting yesterday, however, given all of the drama involving Bitchfest 2006 I decided to wait and see how things would play out. Well, as of today there has not been a definitive resolution to the situation which doesn’t surprise me. Still, I have to let it all out. Like to here it? Here it go.

Wednesday 12:00 pm

It’s Wednesday and DIVA is stressing something awful because those fuckers at NASCAR just called me to say that they cannot deliver the drivers that they promised for this week’s round of interviews because they are pissed at the fact that my mag refuses to plug the driver’s sponsors in the Pop Culture Grid. Absolute Bullshit!! First of all, I told those fools all along that there was no way in hell that my editors would agree to plug the sponsors and give them free advertising. We are a sports magazine and we write and publish sports stories. If you want a plug for your sponsor then buy a damn ad page. Fuckers! Plus, they are the ones who came to me practically begging me to find a way to get their drivers into the mag. So for them to pull this shit at the eleventh hour nearly sent me into a tailspin. So instead of getting my cute little self ready for the Carmen Marc Valvo fashion show at 3:00pm, I instead have to scramble and try to find some other athletes to do the interviews for this week or risk having my editor slit my throat. At this point there is a real possibility that I may have to miss the fashion show and go into the office to handle this work business. Chaos indeed.

Wednesday 1:00pm

Some how, some way DIVA finds five other athletes to do the interview so the work problem is presumably solved for now. As a result, I hop into the shower and proceed to get ready for the show. Now I know my daily rhetoric tends to be filled with conceit at times, however, I am not lying when I say that I pulled all out of the fly shit in my closet for this show. Sheer Chloe blouse, skin tight Rock and Republic Jeans, Knee High Lace up Michael Kors boots, Marc Jacobs faux fur, Marc Jacobs bag. Plus my hair was finally done. I was DIIIIIIVVAAAAAAA to the nines and loving it. It was the least I could do considering I almost had a heart attack just and hour earlier. Plus, given the fact that I was forced to miss the Michael Kors show earlier that morning because of those damn Swimsuit Bitches, I wanted to make up for it by being FIERCE for Carmen Marc Valvo. Mission accomplished.

Wednesday 2:50

DIVA, along with several other fashionistas, is standing in line (INVITE IN HAND) inside the tent at Bryant Park waiting for entry to the show. Before entering the actual show you have to stand in line to get your seating assignment from the event organizers. When I reach the front of the line I am ushered forward to a nice young lady sitting at a computer waiting to look up my name and company affiliation. I give her my name, DIVA, and magazine info and after a few clicks on her keyboard she squirms and says to me, "Uggggh, I’m sorry but I don’t have you here. It says that you never RSVPd." Surely you jest!! Not RSVP? Are you insane? I kindly tell the young lady that I most certainly RSVPd a week prior and that I even called on Monday to confirm my reservation. The young lady smiles and asked me to wait while she consulted with her supervisor. Fine no problem. After about two minutes the very flamboyant Carmen Marc Valvo PR guy comes forward and the young lady in question alerts him to the situation at hand. Then the PR guy steps to me and tries to give the DIVA his own Diva attitude.

PR GUY: OH NO HONEY, WE CANNOT LET YOU IN. WE WERE TOLD BY THE SWIMSUIT EDITOR AT ___________ MAGAZINE THAT YOU DO NOT EVEN WORK THERE SO WE HAVE REMOVED YOU FROM OUR LIST. I NEED YOU TO LEAVE THIS LINE AND THE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY.

Wait, Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?

DIVA: EXCUSE ME? THERE MUST BE A MISTAKE. I MOST CERTAINLY WORK FOR _____________ MAGAZINE AND I CAN PROVE THAT TO YOU RIGHT NOW.

PR GUY: MAAM. I DON’T NEED YOU TO PROVE ANYTHING TO ME. THE SWIMSUIT EDITOR SAID THAT YOU DO NOT WORK FOR THE MAGAZINE AND THAT WE SHOULD NOT GRANT YOU ENTRY. IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM YOU NEED TO CONTACT HER. (At this points he turns away from me) SECURITY!!!! SECURITY!!!! I NEED YOU TO ESCORT THIS LADY OUT!!

OK. I am just going to pause right here because writing this mess out is getting me all fired up again.

PAUSE! RELAX, RELATE, RELEASE!!!

Now you know I was pissed to the heavens. I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing from this dude. The whole room at that point went silent and I could tell that every eyeball in the entire tent at Bryant Park was on me. "JUST LOOK AT THIS WOMAN TRYING TO SNEAK HER LITTLE WAY UP INTO FASHION WEEK! LIAR LIAR MICHAEL KORS BOOTS ON FIRE," is what they were all thinking I am sure. It was a mess for real and I swear I was about to drop my shit right there and bust the windmill out on that PR guy in front of everybody. The DC girl was about to come out of DIVA. HOW DARE YOU IMPLY THAT I AM NOT LEGIT!!!! THE NERVE!!! The heart palpitations were going full blast in my chest and my face was getting way too hot for words. So the Swimsuit Bitch called Carmen Marc Valvo and told them that I didn’t even work for the magazine? OH THESE BITCHES ARE SHADY FO SHO. Fortunately for me, the very nice security man who escorted me out of the line did not force me to leave the tent. He had other things to worry about I guess so he left me alone. Still I was madder than hell so I decided to wait at the end of the line to see if I saw either one of the Swimsuit Bitches. I was ready to take my earrings off and fight them right then and there. I mean, it’s one thing to have an attitude about someone else being invited to a show but to have the audacity to call Carmen Marc Valvo and imply that I am a fraud and that don’t even work for the magazine? WHORE!! I have been at the magazine longer than the editor in question so I don’t even know what the hell she is talking about. That Bitch works on one issue a year for the mag, THE SWIMSUIT ISSUE. She doesn’t even edit any text or pick pictures. She simply chooses the models, locations, and photographers and that is it. I come into the office every week and bust my caramel ass to work on our weekly mag so I don’t know what the fuck she is even talking about. She has nothing to do with the main magazine so she had no right to try and speak on my behalf and tell people that I was not on the staff. SKANK HO! Furthermore, I get invitations to press events, shows, luncheons, dinners all of the time. Some of them are sports related, however, most of them aren’t. Last week I got an invite to some yachtsmen’s awards dinner sponsored by Rolex. I also received and invite to some art exhibit down in Soho sponsored by Estee Lauder. Again, one sports related event and one on the opposite end of the spectrum. Where does it say in my contract that I have to get permission from someone at the magazine before can I attend any of this stuff? It doesn’t. My job as a reporter is to keep my eyes and ears open and go where the stories are. And trust me, even if I did have to consult and editor over any of this stuff it most certainly would not be some stiff bitch who sits around and puts skinny girls in bathing suits all day. Again, she has nothing to do with the main magazine and therefore nothing to do with any aspect of how I do my job. Period!! I swear to God I was ready to kill her. Luckily for both of us she never showed up to the line. She was probably already inside the show chilling in my damn seat.

Wednesday 3:15pm

A very pissed off DIVA goes home and gets on the phone and e-mail and IM and tells anyone who would listen about the injustice that just occurred. I was yelling into the phone at C-NOTE. Writing profane e-mails in all caps to all of my friends on the Eastern Seaboard. I was so upset and embarrassed that I wanted to cry but I couldn’t because I was way too irate for tears. I wanted Blood. I planned to send that bitch at Swimsuit a scathing threatening e-mail to cuss her out. However, C-Note didn’t want me to do that because she thought the editor would forward the note to my boss and then I would get in trouble. Rather, C-Note wanted me to confront her face to face. Out of the question. I am telling you there is no way I could have gone into that woman’s office without doing the windmill on her and carving her crotch out, thus causing me to be fired. Bad idea for sure. Another editor at the mag, who is a very good friend of mine, suggested that I talk to my supervisors in the morning and then write a very "smart" letter to the Swimsuit Bitch and cc all of the editors involved. Sounded like a good plan to me so that is what I agreed to do. Still, I was up all night seething with anger. Of course this would have been the perfect time for my loved one to take me out to dinner and buy me diamond earrings and make passionate love to me in an effort to calm me down. But wait, there is no loved one to speak of so DIVA was handling this one solo. Still, I kept telling C-Note, "I need a drink and some good dick to calm me down after this one." Needless to say I got neither.

Thursday 11:00 am

A very tired DIVA goes in to talk to her supervisor, Frack. Frick is away in Turin for the Olympics so while he is gone Frack is in charge. I tell Frack the whole story about my fashion week disaster at the hands of the Swimsuit Bitches. I tell him about the drama behind the Michael Kors invite and how I was the bigger person and agreed to give the Swimsuit Bitches that invite only to later be stabbed in the back and made a fool of at the Carmen Marc Valvo show. Well wouldn’t you know, Frack was none too happy about my tales of woe. In fact, he was furious when I told him that the Swimsuit Bitch told those PR folks that I didn’t even work for the magazine. "SHE DID WHAT?????" was his response. After going back and forth with Frack about the details of the deception we both decided that it would be better if he stepped in and handled things instead of having me, a lowly reporter, do it on my own. He agreed to call Carmen Marc Valvo to find out what happened and what was said and then address the Swimsuit Bitch himself. "Great Idea," I said. Good old Frack to the rescue.

Thursday 2:00pm

So Frack calls me into his office to tell me about the conversation that he had with those yahoos at Carmen Marc Valvo. It seems the PR people told Frack that it was their intention to only have the swimsuit staff on the list. Upon hearing this Frack told them that was fine, however, he saw my invitation and it didn’t say DIVA Swimsuit magazine. It said DIVA _________ Magazine therefore meaning they sent me a legitimate invite and I had every right to be there as a member of the media like everyone else. At this point I starting yelling, "If they want only swimsuit staff to come that is fine. That is their prerogative. However, I never said I worked for swimsuit. I would never tell people that I work for that mess. And the Swimsuit Bitch had no reason questioning why I was on the list to begin with. It had nothing to do with her." Of course Frack agreed. I suspect that she probably told them that I did not work for the swimsuit magazine, however, I never said that I did. The invite did not specify swimsuit at all. Again, it said DIVA _________ magazine. At the very least why not call me and find out what is what before you refuse me entry into the damn show? Frack reiterated these sentiments to the PR guy by explaining that I never represented myself as working for Swimsuit, rather I identified myself as a reporter for the main magazine so there never should have been a problem especially since Swimsuit Bitch has absolutely nothing to do with the main magazine and has no say so as to which events the staff at the main magazine has the right to attend. WOW!! I was impressed. Score one for Frack. The PR guy then had the nerve to ask Frack, "well why would a sports reporter want to go to a fashion show in the first place?" to which Frack responded "well she works on our lifestyle section of the magazine and athletes attend these events all of the time and there could have been a story there. Serena and Venus were at the shows on Monday and some NBA players were at Marc Jacobs on Wednesday (info that I had to give Frack because he knows nothing about fashion shows.) We send her wherever the story may be. She was there legitimately on business and she never misrepresented herself." The PR guy was like, "Wow, sports is not my thing so I never thought about it from that angle." He claimed that he was going to call the Swimsuit Bitch and find out exactly what happened and then call Frack back." WOOOOHOOOOOO. Point two for Frack. In the midst of all of this, a very angry Frack called Frick in Italy to let him know what was going on and he too was pissed off. Again, Swimsuit Bitch had no right to interject and lie and say that I do not work for the magazine. VOODOO HEX TO THAT BITCH!!!!!

Friday

For now, it seems that the PR person has yet to call Frack back so Frack is running around the office screaming about being dissed by Carmen Marc Valvo (Frack who actually has no idea who any of these fashion folks are. He was like "Carmen? Who is she?") It’s kind of funny actually. I have calmed down quite a bit, but I cannot promise that the claws will not come out if I see that Bitch in the hallway. Plus on top of all of this Frack has been soooo sidetracked because he is in charge of the floor for once in charge for once so he forgot to turn in my timesheet today which means that my next paycheck will be worth about two cents. Broke DIVA again. And of course my editor is furious because only two athletes have done the interviews for my section this week (I need two more.) What month is this again? With my string of bad luck this week it sure feels like a crappy August rather than a merry February. Again, I need a drink and a stiff one piercing my flesh to make me feel better but I doubt I will have either. Just way too bummed and too broke for any of that.

Wednesday Chatter About How We Gleefully BEAT Our Children

2006-02-08T11:52:00.000-05:00

GO LEFT! GO LEFT! GO LEFT RIGHT LEFT!!! HIT EM’ UP NOW GO LEFT! GO LEFT! GO LEFT RIGHT LEFT!! I almost choked watching that fool James, A.K.A. Ghost, embarrass himself on American Idol last night. Honey what was that? Too funny for words.

Before I go off on today's official diatribe let me just get this out of my system. I HATE PR PEOPLE!!!! FUCKERS!! I HOPE THEY ALL ROT IN HELL. They always promise that they can get you this athlete and that athlete. They spend all damn day blowing up your phone with this mess and then BOOM, they drop the bomb that they cannot deliver the people. Unreal. My editor is going to kill me. Sigh!!

So I spent most of my Tuesday sitting in the damn high chair at the beauty salon. Why oh why does it take brown folks all damn day to get their hair done? I mean really, who wants to spend all day at the hairdresser’s listen to a bunch of feeble minded chicks gossip? My appointment was at 11:30. Well, guess what time I left? 5:00!! Mercy. As soon as I walked in the door with my protein shake in hand I knew I was in for a long afternoon because there were three people ahead of me, two of whom were getting touch ups. On a Tuesday? I thought this type of over scheduling only happened on Saturdays. DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!!! I of course, was there to get the color retouched on these roots of mine and to get my ends trimmed so that meant I too would be spending a lot of time in the hot seat. Sigh! Thankfully, Ms. M keeps her beauty shop stocked full of thought provoking reading material so in addition to jamming to A Tribe Called Quest on my iPod, I spent most of my time reading the New Yorker, New York Magazine, and Vogue. OK fine, I read Vogue for the fashion layout but still. It’s Fashion Week and I needed to cram. It was time well spent all things considered. Even though the topics of discussion for the day were starting to get on my last nerve.

First there was the “Would you marry for money question?” Well duh? I always laugh when people are shocked by my answers to that one. It’s like, “Do you expect me to marry for broke?” (Enter that fool Kanye West here. “I ain’t saying she’s a Golddigger”) And anyways, why should someone else care why I married so and so. No one’s business but my hubby’s and me. Next was the, “Why would you spend so much money on a pair of jeans?” Well Bitch why should you care how much money I spend on my jeans? Who made this money? DIVAAAAAAAAAA!! Case closed. Then came the whole argument about disciplining children in which one lady was proudly talking about beating her seven-year-old son with her belt buckle for talking back to her. Whhhhhaaaaa???? A belt buckle? And people wonder why folks are so violent when they reach adolescence and adulthood. I almost called social services on the bitch myself. How barbaric!! Initially I tried to stay out of the conevrsation by urning up the volume on my iPod and drowning out the noise. Didn't work. Next thing I knew I was rolling my eyes and sucking my teeth as I listened to this other woman talk about how she beat her daughter on the train because she ditched a class in school. Are we sure we are actual humans people? When it became apparent that I was not laughing and agreeing with the rest of the flock in the shop one lady asked, “What’s the matter with you?” Of course I responded with, “I just find it odd that you think assaulting a child is such a jovial topic of discussion.” The room got quiet. Then the other woman blurted out, “She know she got beat.” Yeah Bitch if you only knew. Initially the topic came up in a discussion about all of these kids here in NYC who are being abused and killed by their parents or guardians. Then it turned into a, “THANK GOD THE MASSA TAUGHT MY MAMMA HOW TO BEAT ME!!” Unreal.

I realize that people have varying philosophies about how to discipline kids with some thinking that striking a child is an effective form of punishment. I am not one of those people. I fall on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. As someone whose own mother used to beat the crap out of her I can honestly say that the only thing I gained from my mother’s blows to my head was a loathing hatred for the wench. It is one of the main reasons that I do not talk to her even today. Beating or hitting me as a child never stopped me from doing anything. It only made me more resentful and spiteful and made me long for the day when I could stand up to my mother and retaliate and beat her ass which finally happened when I was 17. I swear to God as early as seven years old I used to dream about killing that heifer. I had so much more love and respect for my father who never laid a hand on me but who spent every waking moment interacting with me and talking to me about everything regarding life and how things should be done. I grew up never wanting to disappoint him or have him angry with me. I always wanted to please him. My mother? I couldn’t care less what she thought about me. Why would I care about someone who hit me? To me she was a crazed bully. I never gained any respect for her with all of that yelling and screaming and hitting going on in out house. And trust me, my parents fought constantly over the abuse which usually happened when my dad was in hospital for his cancer and other ailments, putting more strain on the household. No one will ever be able to convince me that striking a child is an effective form of parenting especially in most cases when the parents don’t even take the time to sit down and talk to their children and explain to them the difference between what is right and what is wrong. There is no situation that changes the act of hitting someone from a wrong thing into a right thing whether it be an adult or a child. Hitting a child transmits into a pro-violence attitude. Just take me as an example. Why on Earth do you suppose that I am so quick tempered and ready to beat someone’s ass all of the time? Because that is how mommy dearest always dealt with me. Studies show that in most cases children are often hit for behavior that is not bad behavior but for behavior that relates to needs for attention, nutrition, sleep, and exploring, i.e. the child is acting out because they are lacking in another area.
.
There really are some things that spanking teaches,
As parents whack their child upon the breeches.
Kids learn that it's the proper thing to do,
When someone's bad behavior makes you stew,
To HIT them really hard and make them holler.
But just make sure the one you hit is smaller!
They learn that those who love you also hit you.
That's why, your battering spouse, you should submit to!
And should that spouse whack you and cause you pain,
Return to them again, and don't complain!
They learn that "he who hits hardest rules the house."
If you don't believe it, go read Murray Straus!

That’s a poem from my 2004 journal about hitting and abuse. Again, I just do not get the logic behind it despite the fact that everyone in my family seems to be so happy that they were beaten as children. The stories they tell are insane. (Tales of people getting hit by two by fours for leaving the front yard and all of that nonsense. Again, the idea that The Massa told them that it was OK to act like crazed animals in the jungle) Needless to say, I will not marry someone who does not share my same philosophy on parenting. I would kill some man if he laid a hand on my child. Simple as that. When I voiced this opinion to the Neanderthal group in the shop one lady responded, “Well what kind of man you gonna find that lets you tell him how to treat his kids?” His kids? Bitch please. Did he go into labor over said kids? Did his water break? Did he have a mucus plug gushing down his leg? Fuck no. Besides, I am marrying his ass for money remember? I ain’t asking him to parent my kids. Hmmmmmph!! Wait, how did this become a lecture on corporal punishment and parenting? See this shit just gets me fired up man.

So yeah, once I finally got out of there I was oh so grateful that my hair was now all one color and no longer two toned despite the exasperating conversation. (Again, my dark roots and auburn ends were just not doing it for me.) My only other gripe is that I think Ms. M went a little slap happy with them scissors of hers because my tresses look a lot shorter than they are supposed to. HMMMMMPH indeed.

Nevertheless, today is fashion show day, i.e. a possible showdown in Bryant Park with those Swimsuit Bitches. I may not go afterall because I have to clean up this NASCAR PR mess before my editor scalps me. Still, there is no doubt in my mind that the PR people at Carmen Marc Valvo will seat us all together so I should prepare myself for Bitchfest 2006 if I do attend. I am sure it will be fab regardless. One way or another.

Grin and Bare It

2006-02-06T14:03:00.000-05:00

Sometimes the forces of evil are just determined to come and get me and make me be a stank DIVA. However, this weekend I was having none of that. I was determined to smile all weekend. You see, I decided to have a good weekend despite the fact that one of the girls from the Swimsuit portion of our mag started screaming bloody murder over my Michael Kors Fashion Show invite. I decided to have a good weekend despite the fact that Brooklyn Boy, YES THAT BASTARD BROOKLYN BOY, decided to start randomly sending me text messages for no reason. I decided to have a good weekend despite the fact that the little Irish guy that I used to mess with decided to contact me after six months just to say that he missed my boobs. I decided to have a good weekend despite the fact that there is yet another leak in my bathroom causing the floor to be mushy and wet. See, the forces are against me I swear.

On Friday afternoon, while in a particularly delightful mood, I got a visit from one of the girls who works here at the swimsuit issue of my mag. She and her pregnant self came prancing into my office to inquire about whether or not I actually got an invite to the Michael Kors show because she in fact did not receive hers.

Swimsuit Girl: Hey, Hi. I’m "J" by the way…

WHY SHE FELT THE NEED TO INTRODUCE HERSELF AND TELL ME HER NAME IS BEYOND ME. WE STARTED AT THE MAGAZINE AT THE SAME TIME BACK IN 1998 AND WE HAVE WORKED TOGETHER ON NUMEROUS OCCASSIONS WHEN I HELPED OUT ON SWIMSUIT SO SHE KNOWS WHO I AM.

DIVA: Ughhhh, I’m familiar with you "J"
Swimsuit Girl: So yeah did you get some invites for the Michael Kors and Carmen Marc Valvo shows?
DIVA: Yep, sure did.
Swimsuit Girl: And they were addressed to you and they had your name on them?
DIVA: Yes. They were addressed to me. Why are you asking?
Swimsuit Girl: Because I didn’t get my invites to the shows and when I called the PR people at Michael Kors they said that DIVA RSVPd for the show and I thought maybe my invite got mixed up in your mail.
DIVA: I doubt that seriously seeing as how both invites were addressed to me

AT THIS POINT I PULL OUT MY INVITES AND THE AND THE ENVELOPE THEY CAME IN AND SHOWED THEM TO HER.

DIVA: Not sure where the envelope for Michael Kors is but here’s my invite and envelope for Carmen Marc Valvo with my name on it. As a matter of fact, Carmen Marc Valvo sent me an invite to their fall show, as well as a Xmas card back in December. I got the invites for these two shows in my mailbox last week and they were both addressed to me.
Swimsuit Girl: And now you’re on their list huh?
DIVA: Well it appears that way doesn’t it?
Swimsuit Girl: I guess so. Just not sure why you are on the list.
DIVA: One of life’s mysteries I suppose.

So Swimsuit girl exits my office and I kind of laugh to myself at her nerve. Why am I on the list? Girl I ought to cut you for that one. How is it my fault that you didn’t get your invites? And don’t you think that I would know the difference between some mail addressed to me versus some mail addressed to "J?" Unreal. Well, about an hour later I got an e-mail from the head swimsuit editor herself saying the following:

I have just confirmed from the public relations person at Michael Kors that "J", my associate, and I are the only two people from _________ magazine that are invited to their show. The invitation that you have must have been mistakenly put in your mail. She had asked me if we could get that invitation as she feels uncomfortable with invitations floating around.

Mercy!! Of course you know I was pissed to the heavens after receiving that silly correspondence. Wanted to walk right over to that editor and give her a piece of my mind. Again like I don't have a brain and wouldn’t know the difference between an envelope addressed to "J" versus and envelope addressed to DIVA. The shit had my name on it: D-I-V-A!!!!! Mercy!! I was about to loose it for sure. But before I reached my boiling point I stopped for a second and thought about my mood. I thought, "You are supposed to be in a good mood for once DIVA. Do not let these Swimsuit wenches get you all bent out of shape." Seriously, if they want the invite girl just cough it up. There is no need to start any drama over something so foolish. And truth be told, attending the fashion shows is more in tune with "J’s" job than it is mine, seeing as how she is an associate editor for Swimsuit. Plus there is no telling what type of drama would ensue if I refused especially in a time when this company is looking for reasons so fire people. I can see it now: The Swimsuit Bitches in a fit of rage because DIVA refused to give "J" the revered Michael Kors invite, make a trip to the bosses here at the mag claiming that DIVA in fact stole the invite and that is how she received it in the first place. Next thing you know, DIVA is kicked to the curb, out of a job and homeless!! Maybe even get some NYPD cuffs slapped on my wrist for my trouble. AS IF!! You know it could happen because these bitches are cut throat for real, especially given the tacky way they approached the whole situation in the first place. "I’m just not sure why you are on the list." They certainly were implying that there was something more sinister on the part of DIVA. Well clearly I am too smart to fall into that trap. So yeah, I agreed to give up the Michael Kors show and hand over the invite to "J". If it’s one thing I have learned in my 31 years on this planet is that you have to pick your battles and this was definitely not a good one to try and fight. Still, just to be sure, I called the people at Carmen Marc Valvo to see if I was in fact supposed to be on their list and they replied, "WHAT OF COURSE DIVA. WE LOOK FORWARD TO HAVING YOU!!" Turns out that three of us, DIVA, "J" and the Swimsuit editor are all on the list for Carmen Marc Valvo so you know they will probably seat us all together. That should be interesting indeed. I will try my best not to slap one of them if they roll their eyes at me.

Then there was Brooklyn Boy. Mercy again. I thought that fool was history for good. Apparently not, because he decided to start texting me on Friday afternoon.

"I KNOW I HAVEN’T SPOKEN TO YOU IN A VERY VERY LONG TIME. I KIND OF MISS YOU. JUST WANTED TO SAY HI AND THAT I HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL"

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? WHY? As Mr. Miguel said, "Sweet message until you realize who it is coming from." Yuck!! Go Away!! Leave me alone. Goodness, at first I didn’t even recognize the number. It took me like thirty minutes to figure out who was texting me. (A quick call to C-Note cleared that up) I assume that he and his girlfriend of my same name (although she is not a DIVA) must be having some problems thus forcing him to call me for comfort. Or he could have been smoking some weed or playing with the white powder and had a flashback to when I laid it on him at the crib. Either way, I am not trying to get mixed up with that fool again. Hmmmmmmph. Oh and the little Irish Man? Yuck to him to. I haven’t spoken to that fool since like August. So why is he texting me talking about he misses my boobs? Please. He really needs to sit down. What was it that I used to say? MEN ARE SCUM. NOT CUM. SCUM!!

Oh and there was water all over the floor in my bathroom on Saturday because the shower is leaking again. I didn’t even yell at the Super this time. Just greeted him with a smile and some big brown puppy dog eyes when I reported the problem. Smile DIVA!! SMILE!!

Despite all of these dimwits trying to bring me down, I went ahead and had a relaxing weekend anyway. Drinks with Bea, push-ups at the gym, watching my favorite shows, and guzzling a gazillion protein shakes. Oh and my main man BIG BEN won the Superbowl and Grey’s Anatomy was FIERCE!! Hooray for a relaxed weekend. Now I can be my grumpy self for the rest of the week.

Feeling Good

2006-02-03T12:54:00.000-05:00

It’s Friday and for some strange reason I am in a lovely mood. I have absolutely no idea why and I am sure that it will pass soon because it isn't often that DIVA is in a good mood. It’s not like I have any hot dates lined up for the weekend or I like am planning the mother of all shopping sprees at Barneys or Bergdorf’s. In fact, it’s probably the complete opposite. I have no social plans for the weekend and I am too broke to even think about shopping. Well… let me rephrase that. I am too broke to shop right now. Of course I am thinking about it. I am always thinking about it. I have to find a hot dress to dazzle the folks and be the baddest bitch in Vegas for my trip in April. So yeah shopping has been on my mind but I at least have a couple of months before I begin stressing about that. Still, I am in a decent mood and I don’t know what to do with myself. I'm actually smiling. Imagine that. Maybe I’ll try to convince Bea to join me for a drink this evening. It’s warm out so there is no need to be all cuddled up in the house moping over those hideous humans with penises. Or maybe I will take my little self to the movies to finally see "Good Night and Good Luck" or "Syriana." Hmmmmm… nooo I would much rather throw back some Grey Goose as opposed to going to a movie. We’ll see. Maybe this bad girl will just sit back and smile for once and enjoy her mood.

Still, since I am feeling so lovely today I will share with you one of my favorite quotes for the week:

"Love, caritas, will always prove necessary, even in the most just society. There is no ordering of the State so just that it can eliminate the need for a service of love. Whoever wants to eliminate love is preparing to eliminate man as such. There will always be suffering which cries out for consolation and help. There will always be loneliness. There will always be situations of material need where help in the form of concrete love of neighbor is indispensable. The State which would provide everything, absorbing everything into itself, would ultimately become a mere bureaucracy incapable of guaranteeing the very thing which the suffering person — every person — needs: namely, loving personal concern." - Pope Benedict XVI.

In other words, we all need to love and be loved. So go out and find some love folks. Holla!!

See How Big My Baby Is Getting?

2006-02-02T22:26:00.000-05:00

I just had to post this pic. This is my sweetie Tai Shan. He was born at the National Zoo in July and I absolutely love him. I cannot believe how big he is getting and I wish I had time to run by and see him when I was in DC last week. You see as a young girl growing up in DC I fell in love with Ling Ling and Hsing-Hsing, the Giant Pandas who were a gift from the People's Republic of China and who captured the nation's hearts back in the 80s. Together Ling-Ling and Hsing-Hsing had four panda cubs, all of whom died shortly after birth. You know I cried like a baby when each of those cubs died. However, now little Tai Shan is here and doing well and I couldn't be happier. He's such a cutie pie.

Let Them Be

2006-02-02T15:25:00.000-05:00

I am warning you that I am about to get preachy. It’s 2006 and the amount of bigotry and hatred that still exists in our country towards people who may be different or unconventional absolutely floors me. This morning while I was taking my late ass to work on the V train I encountered two very ignorant men fiercely discussing what they called, "THE WORST THING A SON COULD DO TO THEIR FATHER." Here we go folks!! Apparently, one of the guys in question feared that his son may be gay or is following what he called, "a faggot lifestyle," and he vowed to "beat the fag out of him" and "kick him out of his damn house" before allowing the son to announce such an atrocity to either himself or his wife. Mercy!!! When asked by the other gentleman why he thought his son was gay he replied, "Cause he just don’t act right. You should see how he be switching and shit around the house. He ain’t got no right to be that way and bring that shit into my house. My ancestors did not die for this." Lawd help! You know I was just sitting there rolling my eyes and chomping at the bit, totally offended by this fool’s ignorance and feeble-minded disposition. At the same time I couldn’t help but to feel a strong sense of sorrow for the son in question here. I mean seriously, do we really believe that the worst thing a son could do is come out of the closet and announce that he is gay? So I guess you wouldn’t mind then if you found out that your son was a pedophile who liked to rape and sodomize little children on the daily. What about if he was a serial killer who went around taking the lives of innocent women around the country for the hell of it? Oh wait, maybe he could really impress you and be a big time drug lord, you know a real Nino Brown type of guy who supplies an entire race of people with crack and profits off of their demise. Mercy!!!! You know it is this type of rhetoric that just makes me want to spit. As if this poor kid doesn’t already have enough going on his life without having to worry about his father beating his ass an abandoning him because he may be homosexual. What happened to loving your child for who he is and raising him to be a respectable and civilized member of society? Again, this whole conversation got me so upset. Upset to the point where I was starting to get all anxious and hot. I remember how my brother felt when he was a teenager and my parents forced him into therapy as soon as he came out of the closet. I remember his shame and his confusion and his uneasiness with who he was and how he hated himself because no matter how much counseling he got and how much he prayed he couldn’t be who they wanted him to be. Of course when my brother died in 1996 several members of my family acted like they were so sad and hurt by his passing. What they should have felt was shame. Shame for making his short time on this Earth so tumultuous and depressing. I see the same thing happening to this young man whose dunderhead father cannot see past his own prejudice long enough to love his son. Well, once I left those fools on the train I started thinking back about a speech Mrs. Coretta Scott King made back in 1999 in which she addressed fighting for the rights of gays and lesbians as a part of the Civil Rights Movement. (Of course Coretta is on my mind again out of guilt because I forgot all about her on Monday!!! Bad Diva!)

"I still hear people say that I should not be talking about the rights of lesbian and gay people, and I should stick to the issue of racial justice. But I hasten to remind them that Martin Luther King Jr. said 'Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.' I appeal to everyone who believes in Martin Luther King Jr.'s dream to make room at the table of brother- and sisterhood for lesbian and gay people. Homophobia is like racism and anti-Semitism and other forms of bigotry in that it seeks to dehumanize a large group of people, to deny their humanity, their dignity and personhood. This sets the stage for further repression and violence, that spreads all too easily to victimize the next minority group. Gays and lesbians stood up for civil rights in Montgomery, Selma, in Albany, Georgia, and St. Augustine, Florida, and many other campaigns of the civil rights movement. Many of these courageous men and women were fighting for my freedom at a time when they could find few voices for their own, and I salute their contributions." - Coretta Scott King, in 1999 at the 25th Anniversary luncheon for the Lambda Legal Defense Fund.

Enough said. I am going to have my protein shake now to calm myself down.

More Wednesday Chatter

2006-02-01T15:15:00.000-05:00

With all of the confusion yesterday regarding layoffs and job eliminations I simply forgot to mention the passing of Coretta Scott King. For shame for real. As a woman of color I should have know better but as usual I got caught up in my own mess. My sincere condolences to the King family. RIP Mrs. Coretta!!

Oh and since today begins the 28 days of Black History Month you all should check out a documentary airing on PBS tonight (Wednesday at 9) titled "AFRICAN AMERICAN LIVES," hosted and narrated by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. My friend Julia's fiance' directed and produced the first segment and I hear that it is very insightful and engaging so check it out if you have time. Go to http://www.pbs.org/wnet/aalives/ if you want more info and other time listings.

Actually, my anxiety from yesterday has mostly subsided. I make it a point to not be upset about something for more than 24 hours unless of course you have certain people who are constantly in your face whining about old shit. As far as the layoffs go, my mag seems to be OK. I have been told that they are still seeking out folks to voluntarily take the buyout, however, they claim that there will be no involuntary layoffs either way. So we shall see. As for Ms. Dee and C-Note, I won’t know the particulars of their situations until Feb. 14. So the waiting game continues.

On the political front it seems The Shirt Has Hit the Fan in DC as Cindy Sheehan, mother of a fallen soldier in Iraq and consummate pain in George Bush’s side, was ejected from the House of Representatives gallery before Bush’s State of the Union speech last night for wearing a T-shirt bearing an antiwar slogan. Sheehan, who was invited as a guest of Rep. Lynn Woolsey, D-Calif., was carried away in handcuffs and charged with unlawful conduct, a misdemeanor. Seriously people are we in America or are we dealing with Castro in communist Cuba? Since when is free speech conditional on whether or not you agree with the President? Sheehan’s T-shirt read, “"2245 Dead. How many more?” Where is the threatening language in that? She sacrificed her own flesh and blood for this ridiculous war and unless she entered the House with a picket sign and had her arms flailing screaming bloody murder with threatening words then she should be treated with some respect. Mercy!! And Sheehan was not the only one ejected last night. Beverly Young, wife of Rep. C.W. Bill Young of Florida and chairman of the House Defense Appropriations subcommittee, was removed from the gallery because she was wearing a T-shirt that read, "Support the Troops Defending Our Freedom," a shirt in support of the war!!!! The guards thought that it was a protest shirt and asked her to leave. WHAAAAAAAA??? INSANE!!! This while dumb dumb Bush is on the panel preaching the exact same message, “SUPPORT OUR TROOPS?” These folks are idiots for real. What happened to freedom of speech and civil liberties? It’s like we are living in the early 20th century under the rule of Mussolini and Stalin. Unreal.

On a more jovial note, guess where DIVA is going next week? Just guess!!! FASHION WEEK!!!!! HOOOOOOOORAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!! I actually got my invites last week but with Uncle JTR’s funeral on my mind I forgot to mention it. Needless to say I am a very excited little DIVA. This go round I got invites for Michael Kors, Carmen Marc Valvo, and Chaiken. Hercules, Hercules, Hercules!!!!!! Unfortunately, Bea will not be able to roll with me this time because the shows are on Tuesday and Wednesday vs. the weekend and she cannot take the time off. Me? Tuesday and Wednesday are my days off so I don’t have to take any personal days for these events although you know I would if I had too. When Bea and I attended Fashion Week in the fall we had a fabulous time in our seats as Ms. Naomi Campbell and her infinite beauty wowed us. I can’t wait to see what the showstopper will be next week. Although, there is a slight chance I will miss the Chaiken show on Tuesday because I really need to go get my hair done and get these roots taken care of. I need a touch up on my hair color something awful (these dark roots are just hideous) and there is no way in hell I am going to be around the world’s true fashionistas with my hair looking a mess. Last time I was sitting next to a bunch of queens (Ms. Jay from Top Model was one row behind me) who were cutting up on everything that had the nerve to walk by and not be STRANGE’. So we shall see about that one. Of course I am broker than broke so there will be NO new outfits purchased for this mess. I will simply retrieve my clothes that have been sitting in the cleaners since October (trifling I know, but the dry cleaners is my second closet) and find something to wear. I definitely want to rock my Michael Kors boots at the Kors show for the masses. Other than that, I really don’t care too much about what I wear. Ain't nobody taking my picture and most of the guys in attendance are gay anyway so the chances of me catching a man at these shows are next to none. Still, I am very excited.

Lastly, DIVA had a crazy dream about Stud-Boy last night. No idea what that shit was about and where it came from. I woke up this morning like, “What the hell?” Way too much friction and licking in that dream for my taste. The last thing I need right now is to really start liking that skurred fool so Study-Boy I am warning you. Poof be gone from my nocturnal bliss or else I will put the hex on you. Oh wait, hexes are mean and hurtful. I forgot!! Bad, Bad DIVA!!

When Pink Is Not So Pretty

2006-01-31T16:32:00.000-05:00

This is going to be short and sweet because I am trying to keep myself calm while at the same time helping others reduce their stress levels. Black Monday has struck again folks resulting in sad and tumultuous times at Time Warner, the parent company for my mag. In an effort to cut costs and reduce spending Time Warner is enacting massive layoffs and budget cuts, i.e. FOLKS ARE LOSING THEIR JOBS!!! In December, on the eve of the end-of-year holidays, Time Inc. cut 105 staffers in what was called a sweeping reorganization and streamlining of the company's top executives. Yesterday we were notified that 66 more staffers had been laid off with dozens more expected to be offered severance packages to leave. In all Time magazine will lose at least 10 editorial employees with Money and Sports Illustrated also among the titles being affected by the layoffs. Wait, what????? These are my magazines, my co-workers, and my peeps!! Lawd have mercy Marc Jacobs this is all an absolute mess for real. While I am not immediately concerned about my own job safety (although you never know I too could get the axe any day now) I am definitely concerned about my friends at Money and Time as well as other mags within the company. The following is a memo that was sent out to the staff at Time Magazine yesterday:

We need to reduce the number of staffers in the following three guild-covered (union) categories: editorial assistants/receptionists, writers and correspondents.

Anyone in these categories interested in having a confidential conversation about a severance package should contact Kate Weiss in HR at extension 8618. We are looking for up to a total of ten volunteers across the three categories.

Volunteers can put up their hands anytime in the next two weeks. If we do not have enough volunteers by Monday, February 13, we will begin a process of involuntary layoffs.

A similar yet more terse e-mail was sent to the staff at my magazine yesterday and needless to say it sent everyone in a tailspin. Who really wants to lose their job or be forced to sit around for two weeks and wonder whether they will get the axe? I swear people were going through our magazine’s masthead and looking at who may be in jeopardy of being laid off and who may be safe; Who is a permanent staffer vs. who is a part time employee. The whole process of giving people the axe and forcing others to wait around for an extended time before learning their fate seems barbaric and archaic, however, under union rules the company has to accept voluntarily buyouts for two weeks before it can start laying people off involuntarily. People who take the offer get a payout calculated by a formula involving some mix of current salary and years of service. If a minimum amount of people do not take the voluntary buyouts, then heads will start to roll and people will lose their jobs. Or if Time and other magazines gets the ten people that they need they may still have to layoff some people if the salaries don’t add up to the numbers they need for their quota. (i.e. If 10 secretaries who make next to no money accept the buyout then there is no way they will meet their quota.) DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!! Currently my friend Ms. Dee is in jeopardy of losing her job at her mag and C-Note is afraid that her whole magazine will fold altogether because her staff is so skeletal they cannot afford to lay anyone off and still run the magazine. Just one big old mess indeed.

In the midst of all this, I really don’t understand why some of the big wigs in the company don’t come off of some of their salaries in an effort to save money and prevent people from losing their jobs. Folks within the company who make seven figures and get thousands of dollars in bonuses and spend money on lavish trips and hotels and parties are sweating us common folk for pennies? Give me a break!! How is firing a secretary who is making maybe $30,000 a year going to save the company money when you have executives and editors who do next to nothing and who make maybe ten times the amount of what said secretary makes is still sitting on the payroll? This is all unreal. Hmmmmmph!! Please pray for the folks that were laid off yesterday and for anyone else who may be in jeopardy of losing their job. Ms. Dee and C-Note keep your heads up and try not to stress too much. My fingers are crossed for you as well as myself for real!!

DC Comics

2006-01-30T15:10:00.000-05:00

"So what if you have to take the train in the morning. I’m quick so I promise we can do it and I’ll have you back in time for you train." – A very drunk and cute little Stud-Boy trying to MACK to DIVA.

Isn’t he adorable? LOL!! I’m talking about my cute little Stud of course. That shit had me cracking up all night. Yes, DIVA spent another evening hanging out and pouring a lot of liquor with the Stud-Muffin down in DC. He’s such a cutie. However, before I get to my night out with a Stud part deux I’ll first address some family info and other goings-ons from the National’s Capital this weekend. Uncle JTR’s funeral was a drama free affair. Thank Marc Jacobs for that. The entire ceremony was very subdued and classy. No crazy folks acting a fool in the pews, no family members fighting, no cousins speaking in tongues (again, no such thing) and no little girls climbing the seats trying to jump into heaven. Oh and there was no TD Jakes or any other celebrity evangelist trying to get into our pocketbooks. A regular reverend from a regular Baptist church in the city performed the eulogy for Uncle JTR’s homecoming and he was short, sweet and to the point. Just lovely. Again, the service was somber yet tasteful. Thank Goodness. Just what the DIVA ordered. However, there was a small bit of drama at the repast. First of all the damn thing was too long. The funeral and burial services were over at 12:30. Well then why the hell did DIVA get home at almost 5:30pm? Because folks just wouldn’t stop eating and talking and reminiscing about the old days, "When we were coming up," as they called it. Mercy!! I sooooo wanted to go home. I had been up since 7 and was tired as hell. My sister JR soooooo wanted to leave and get her hair done. And my cousin Biggie had to be at work by 6:00. So the three of us were just sitting there like, "GOOD GOD CAN WE GO NOW????" Unfortunately for us the repast was at some restaurant waaaaaay the hell out in Forrestville, MD (DIVA rarely does Maryland) and since we all came over in the limo we couldn’t just up and leave in our own cars and go on our merry way. Sigh. So I was left there sitting for hours, about to keel over because I was tired and needed a nap. Some woman from my old church was there and tried to imply that I was a heathen because I don’t go to church. I have been called worse Ms. Thing so if you think my feelings are hurt then you are highly mistaken. Then there was my cousin CB4 who kept getting on my damn nerves. That fool was about to get smacked for real. CB4 is like the guy in your family that you swear is really a molester who hasn’t been found out yet. He is a straight up stalker who wouldn’t get out of my face. Kept asking me if he could give me a hug and saying I was looking GOOOOOOOOD and inquiring about some damn text message he sent me over New Years and asking if I knew his number by heart. Yuck!! Dude you are my second cousin so stop being gross. Plus I am 31, not 10. I will beat your ass if you even think about touching me. Then he tried to invite himself up to New York to visit me saying "he knew I was lonely up in the big city by myself." OK PERVERT!! Leave me alone. I tried my best to stay away from him all night while he tried his best to corner me every chance that he got. VOMIT!!! Still, all in all the service was nice and I enjoyed my family despite that fool. Rare sentiments from DIVA for sure.

Now for the partying.

On Friday night I hung out with Nutmeg. We had dinner and then chilled at the local bar and tried not to get molested by this drunk old man who wouldn’t get out of my face. There is nothing worse than a scraggly sixty something year-old man hanging out at the bar, salivating and trying to pick up young women. YUCK!!! Had the nerve to have a wedding ring on his finger. Double YUCK!! I am sure he thought he was cute. Not even close. After the funeral the next day I met up with Mr. Miguel and Stud-Boy down in Dupont Circle for a night of frolicking and debauchery. HA!! Despite nearly beating this trick down in the street for yelling at me and my friend C-Ruth and Mr. Miguel bailing early because he drank too much on an empty stomach (don’t be scaring me like that dude!!!!) I had a ball. Did I mention how adorable Stud-Boy is even when he is obnoxious and drunk? Must be them eyes. That swagger!!! He was a mess though. First the Stud, Mr. Miguel and I were cracking up at the lame chicks trying to learn how to belly dance at Cafe Citron. Pure Comedy!! Again folks, what is with all of the shoulder and neck movement? You should be gyrating in the pelvic area, the tummy, the crotch, the booty. For the love of God leave the neck alone!!!! It was hilarious.

At the next spot The Stud Kept trying to pick a fight with these guys at the upstairs bar by stealing their 8 Ball at the pool table. WHY STUD? WHY? He just kept bothering those guys and picking up the 8 Ball and putting it in his pocket. I thought a fight was going to ensue for sure. It was funny though. Then one of the girls that was playing pool came over and said something to The Stud about being rude. Hmmmm… A very drunk DIVA did not appreciate this girl stepping to Stud so I politely told her to mind her business and get to stepping which prompted Stud-Boy to scream at the poor child, "HA, SEE MY GIRL IS GOING TO FUCK YOU UP!!" A mess indeed. He was drunk and loud and belligerent and for whatever reason I thought it was the cutest display ever. I kept taking pictures of his crotch with my cell phone while he was hopping around yelling at people. Yeah, I definitely need to get a life. See this is why there should be at least one sober person in the group to try and reign in some of the foolishness and absurdity. That should have been where Mr. Miguel jumped in and cooled things off except that fool got way too drunk and had to go home before he hurled on everyone. The Nerve. Still Mr. Miguel has been yelling at me all morning in reference to Stud-Boy saying, "U should have fucked him. U should have worked him out." Yes, yes I know. It’s not like the Stud didn’t ask a gazillion times. The boy gets a little frisky and bold when he starts putting the Jack Daniels in his system. However, there was no way in hell I was going home with that fool, no matter how many times he promised to have me home in time to catch my train in the morning. NO WAY JOSE!! I do have some shame. I still maintain that good things come to those who wait so you just keep hoping and wishing and praying my little Studness.

Oh yeah, I got into it with some chick outside because C-Ruth was trying to park her car and there was this girl standing in the middle of the street presumably trying to save a parking spot for her friend. C-Ruth called me and told me to come help her because some chick was bothering her. When I arrived outside sure enough, there was this portly little thing standing across the street in the aforementioned space with C-Ruth’s car bumper all up in her crotch. Uhhhh, no bitch this is not going to work. So a very polite DIVA walked up to the girl:

DIVA: (very calm) Excuse Me…
Parking Spot Bitch: (not so calm, actually screaming) I done told your little white friend that I am saving this spot for my girl so you had better…
DIVA: Uggggggh, I know you are not yelling at me. You had better lower your voice and back up and show some respect when you address me or we are going to have a serious problem right here and right now.
Parking Spot Bitch: (calmer tone): I am saving this spot for my friend cause she is pulling around.
DIVA: (as the friend pulls up): Well you know what? Since you friend just pulled up then obviously she is going to take the spot now. However, in the future you should be mindful that what you are doing is illegal and could probably get your ass run over or thrown in jail so I would advise you not to pull this stunt again.
Parking Spot Bitch: Whatever, I am trying to save a spot…
DIVA: I see what you are trying to do. And if we called the police on you do you think he would care? You are not allowed to be in the street holding up traffic and blocking parking spots.

Bitch. If I were C-Ruth I would have tried to back up over her ugly ass. And what does C-Note being white have to do with anything? The nerve. Hmmmmmmph!! In the end C-Ruth decided to do valet parking rather than drive around for hours looking for a space. Cool! She also mentioned that even if the girl had given her the spot they probably would have keyed her car in anger. People really do that? See this is why I do not drive. Too much drama for real.

So another family burial and another weekend of grey goose and revelry down in the books. It was a good time for sure. BTW, Stephen the Married Guy and I are basically done with our friendship. Sad? Perhaps. But that fool needs some alone time to realize that everything is not about him. At least not when you have me as a friend. Of course he is probably saying the same thing about me. Grand ain’t it.

And In This Corner, Ms. Oprah Winfrey

2006-01-27T01:52:00.000-05:00

I probably should have live blogged this post yesterday, however, I was too busy watching in awe as things were unfolding on the television that I couldn’t even move. Sometimes TV can be so great, that is why I love it so. Of course I am talking about the Oprah Winfrey/James Frey showdown that appeared on the tube yesterday. It was FANTABULOUS!!! For those not in the know James Frey is the author of A Million Little Pieces, a purported memoir about Frey's life and his descent into hell as a result of years of drug and alcohol addiction. Frey’s book received critical acclaim and was seen as a source of inspiration for millions suffering the ill effects of drug addiction. Supposedly one of the more harrowing sections of the book describes how Frey underwent major dental surgery without the benefit of anesthesia or painkillers (he allegedly fought the mind-blowing waves of "bayonet" pain by digging his fingers into two old tennis balls until his nails cracked.) Subsequent to the surgery Frey wrote that he boarded a plane bound for Chicago and was covered with a colorful mixture of spit, snot, urine, vomit and blood. He maintained that as he boarded the plane he was wanted by authorities in three states, was without an ID or any money, had his face mangled by the surgery and was missing four front teeth. Frey, it appeared, was on a steep descent from a dark marathon of drug abuse. Eventually his stunned family checked him into a famed Minnesota drug treatment center where a doctor promised he would be dead within a few days if he started to use again, and where he eventually spent two agonizing months in detox. He also maintained that he was arrested and thrown in jail for 87 days and that his friend Lily committed suicide by hanging herself while he was in rehab. A very compelling tale indeed. Except, we now know that most of it is not true.

You see, a few weeks ago the Smoking Gun went public with a report claiming they had proof that most of Frey’s memoir was a pack of lies. They maintained that he was in jail for two hours, not 87 days. That Lily committed suicide by slitting her wrist, not by hanging herself and that there was no proof that Frey ever had a root canal sans Novocain. There were also some other lies in his story that were pointed out here and there all packed nicely together to make Frey look like a big fat LIAR! YAWZER!!! For Shame, Mr. Frey For shame. Of course these revelations sent the literary world into a tailspin because after being selected for Oprah’s book club in 2003 Frey’s memoir became a national bestseller. Initially, Frey steadfastly maintained his innocence and said that what he had written was in fact the truth. Enter Oprah, who also defended Frey against allegations that he was a liar, even going as far as to call Larry King to say that she stood by her man. The whole scandal was turning into a bloody mess indeed. Not since former NY Times writer Jayson Blair admitted he fabricated a good number of his articles a few year back has the literary world been in such turmoil.

So Frey shows up on Oprah today with his publisher in tow to explain things and tell his side of the story and do damage control. Except Ms. Oprah, it seems, was no longer defending him. Ms. Sophia was pissed beyond words that this newbie had the nerve to get caught lying on her watch and that her credibility suffered because she chose to defend him. So both Frey and Oprah were going to duke it out on the tube for the world to see. Now normally I do not watch Oprah. Over the past few years her show has just rubbed me the wrong way on many fronts that I chose not to watch. However, when I saw the scowl on Oprah’s face during the previews for this show I just knew I had to tune in. Who could turn down a pissed off Oprah? Well thank Marc Jacobs I did tune in. The showdown was the best live television I have seen in a long time. Again Oprah, who I often find to be a bit self-congratulatory, self-aggrandizing and preachy, was excellent today. Hercules, Hercules, Hercules she was fantastic. She had the same venom in her eyes today that she had when she confronted Ms. Celie with the infamous, “YOU TOLD HARPO TO BEAT ME!!!!” It was that great.

Oprah began the show with a brief recap of the scandal surrounding A Million Little Pieces and then talked about her phone call to Larry King in which she defended Frey. ''I regret that phone call. I made a mistake, and I left the impression that the truth does not matter. To everyone who challenged me on the issue of truth, you are absolutely right,'' she said. Then after a commercial Frey appeared on the panel and Oprah started digging into old boy like he was a T-bone steak. “I really feel duped,” she said. “More than that, I feel you lied and betrayed millions of readers.'' Then she started grilling him point-by-point on the particulars of The Smoking Gun's report. ''Most of what they wrote was pretty accurate. They did a good job,'' Frey said. He admitted for the first time that he was only in jail for two hours, not 87 days. He was not in jail, as he wrote, when Lilly committed suicide. ''I made a mistake,'' he said. He also admitted that he lied about how Lily killed herself. “Why did you have to lie about that?” Oprah beckoned. He claimed that he was just altering the details of her story. Oprah said, “No, you were lying!!" Frey admitted that he altered (lied) details about every person in the book. OK dude, you just admitted it. Told the world that you are a certified liar. It is at this point that I start to sweat and wonder why this fool is even on Oprah. Clearly nothing good is going to come out of this for him. Nothing but an old fashioned ass whooping. Where are Frey’s PR people to handle all of this mess? His lack of charisma and inarticulateness throughout only served to heighten his shame and lack of credibility. And where are his lawyer’s? Why do they have their client assed out in the open on national television about to get ambushed? Seriously was there no one in his corner to advise him that this was not the way to go?

Of course Ms. Oprah kept right on gutting his ass. When asked if his account of dental surgery without Novocain was true, Frey said, ''I wrote it from memory.'' At this point the audience sighed. Frey conceded that it may not have happened as he remembered it. Oprah all but rolls her eyes and then calls him a liar again asking, “so why didn't you just write a novel?” Asked if he ''conned us all,'' Frey said no because ''nobody's contesting that I was a drug addict.'' Still, Oprah insisted, ''you are a liar and you presented a false person.'' Man Alive! She must have called him a liar at least 20 times throughout the show. I couldn’t believe it! I kept calling J-Boogie and screaming into the phone, “ARE YOU WATCHING MS. OPRAH RIP THIS BOY TO SHREDS??” It was like watching Tyson whoop up on nuckas in the ring back in the day. Frey kept sulking and shrieking and backing up and Oprah kept going in for the kill and bopping him upside the head.

In taped segments, newspaper columnists Joel Stein, Stanley Crouch, and Maureen Dowd each gave Frey verbal spankings. My girl Maureen said Oprah should revoke her Book Club seal from Frey.

When Frey's publisher, Nan Talese, came out to defend him she came across as just as moronic and fraudulent as Frey himself. Talese claimed to have learned about the inaccuracies in Frey’s book at the same time as everyone else, through the Smoking Gun report. “But should I ask more questions?” she stupidly asked. “YES!” Oprah fired back. Duh Bitch! Talese then said this “whole experience has been sad.” Oprah snapped back, “It’s not sad for me. It’s embarrassing and disappointing and both of you should be ashamed!” WHEW!! Once again, I am on the phone calling J-Boogie trying to dissect what I am witnessing.

Then Washington Post columnist Richard Cohen comes on. Oprah praises him for calling her ''deluded'' after her call to the Larry King show. Cohen tells Talese, whom he says is a friend, that she should hire a cheap fact-checker, who could have determined in half an hour that Frey's opening account of boarding a plane with a bloody hole in his face couldn't be true. ''How did this guy get on a plane like this? I can't even take a third piece of luggage on board.'' The bigger question here is, “Do we honestly think that the flight attendants would have let someone on board in this condition? With a bloody t-shirt, snotty nose, and mangled face and no ID? PUHHHHHHLEASE!! Again Oprah turns to Frey asking, “Do you think you made a mistake or lied?” Frey almost whispered, “Probably both.” Yeah dude, PROBABLY. Oprah then asks Frey if he could do things over, would he want a disclaimer in the book? He says no, but he would’ve written things “differently.” Oprah shoots back, "differently as in not lied?" Frey just shrugs before saying, "I would have told he story differently."

Indeed, the comment The New York Times' Frank Rich made about this whole incident being a "slippery slope" was very important. If Frey changed the length of time he was in jail and the way someone committed suicide, what else did he change? And in general, what falls on the side of what's okay to change? Listen, I have no problem with a memoir relying on people's memories and some of them being hazy and perhaps not accurate. Like if you say something happened on Flatbush Ave. when it really happened on Nostrand Ave. That small error can be forgiven because it really doesn’t change who characters are, their actions, or the outcome of the story. But it seems Frey totally made things up and embellished parts of his memoir to make the story more compelling and to sell more books. That's not a hazy memory... that's fiction. How can you remember that you were in jail for three months when you know your ass was only sitting there for two hours? Again, that’s fiction. Why not just call it that? If for some strange reason he didn't want to do that, why not put some sort of disclaimer in the front of the book? I believe, and as Oprah proved, the answer to these questions lie with the publisher who I suspect told Frey that he would sell more books if he presented his book as a memoir rather than a novel. Afterall, non-fiction sells far better than fiction. I am sure looking back, Mr. Frey is sitting there thinking about all of the shoulda, coulda, wouldas while the folks at Doubleday sure wish they had hired a fact checker or inlcuded a "based on a true story" disclaimer on the book. However, the selfish part of me is oh so glad that this whole thing played out the way it did. I mean, this was just great television folks and I enjoyed every sensationalist minute of it. Some may say that Oprah appeared like a pompous bully. I say to hell with that noise. That liar deserved every minute of that public beatdown!

Going Broke For Travel

2006-01-26T16:03:00.000-05:00

I am happy to say that Diva is back on the train folks. One big Hooray for that. I just couldn’t fathom another journey this weekend on the ghetto bus to get to DC so I’ll be taking the very expensive Acela train for Uncle JTR’s funeral. Yes the $212 price ticket is a bit much (vs. the $40 for the Greyhound,) but for my piece of mind it is worth it. I can almost guarantee that there won’t be any fistfights over seats on the Acela or any pipeheads in the back of the train smoking weed or any old men screaming about which movie he wants to see. Those episodes were just too cras for words. Plus the last time I took the bus home for Xmas in December a homeless man followed me around the bus station in DC and started taking his pants off. I thought I was going to vomit. Luckily Nutmeg’s car was parked right across the street so I all but sprinted to her Nissan Altima screaming bloody murder. The DC bus station is in a not so nice part of town so you are bound to see anything when you arrive there. So yeah, this go round the trip should be smooth sailing indeed and I can’t wait to sit back in my seat and ride in style once again. Diva used to take the train all of the time but last year I had to cut back and start taking the bus for a while. I mean when you are dropping a grand here and there on purses and boots and parties and so much other nonsense while still coughing up $1350 a month for rent and several hundreds in student loan money something has to give right? Well the bus worked and helped out for a while but it is now so ghastly I guess I have to just cut back on the shopping for a while in order to clear some space in the account for the train.

Still the train ticket to DC was not the most expensive ticket I had to purchase this week. My friend DW is having her 30th birthday bash in Vegas this April so I had to drop some Benjamins for that mess as well. Cost of the ticket? A whopping $430!! Can you stand it? When Bea first told me that price I thought my lung was going to collapse. $430 for a domestic ticket in coach? I have never spent that much on a ticket for travel in the U.S. in my life. And I don’t even like Vegas really. I mean I had a great time when Bea and I went last year for her aunt’s 50th birthday but that was because we had a suite at the FOUR SEASONS that we didn’t have to pay for and because her aunt did the whole weekend up right. I mean dinner party one night at the Four Seasons and then a patio dinner party the next night at the Venetian and then partying at the Bellagio and the Palms. We were doing the damn thing out there. This time around will be a little different. First of all we have to pay for our own hotel, which is fine I suppose. DW booked some rooms at the Wynn, which is very nice I hear. However, when I asked Bea yesterday how much the rooms were she said DW told her $800 per night. I almost peed on myself. Surely you jest! $800? Our hotel in London wasn’t even that much money. DAMN!! 800 bones? Well, I immediately called the hotel to find out what the deal was. It seems that DW is on some other type of crack because our rooms are $379 per night, not $800. Why she told Bea $800 is beyond me. Even with the hotel mess out of the way Bea and I still have to keep our fingers crossed about how everything turns out while we are out there. I mean DW and her crew ugghhhh, well let's just say they party a little differently than we do. They want to be all up at the BIG BALLER’S Party or at So and So Celebrity’s house chilling in the pool and sipping MOET at the jacuzzi. Yeaaaaaah NO! That is soooo not me. Not Bea either. I am not going to some celebrity’s house to sit nekkid in the pool and then be carnally taken advantage of while high on drugs (I say drugs not because I do them but because you know they like to slip shit in people's drinks.) For all I know somebody could be video taping that mess and knowing my little diabetic self I would probably have a butt nekkid seizure on someone in full view on the roof. No Thanks. Again that is just not me. But DW, however, she loves that type of vibe. It's like she is still living the wild life of an 18 year old sometimes. If that is the case in Vegas, then I can see DIVA coming down with a mysterious case of the 24 hour Ebola where I end up staying in my $800 room all night. Still, I love Ms. DW to death and will try my best to show up and celebrate her birthday with all of the Grey Goose I can carry.

Nevertheless, I am still not done with all of my ticket purchasing. I have two weddings to attend this year, one in Boston and one in Colorado. I figure maybe another wedding or two may be added in there somewhere so that could be four wedding trips total. You know how folks want to get married all of a sudden these days in the most outlandish spots. Plus, I am sure Bea is going to want to go to Hawaii or the Caribbean this year so we can get out tan going. She and I have not done a vacation just for ourselves where we do nothing but drink and lay on the beach in over six years. Hmmmmmph!! Plus I was planning a trip to Cabo San Lucas for New Year's. (My reasons for wanting to go to Cabo will never be revealed here. And no it has nothing to do with plastic surgery. Let's just say that I am no longer going and leave it at that.) Then there is my annual month long European excursion in July. Mercy. Can you say $$$$-CHA-CHING???? Tickets to London and Finland are always expensive. Last year I dropped a $1000 to get to Helsinki. Mad loot indeed. But I just have to go see my Finnish babies so there is no way I can bail on Europe either. $$$$$$$$$ As a result I may not be able to buy a purse all year. DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! THIS WAS SUPPOSE TO BE THE YEAR OF THE CHANEL BAG and the fly ass Gucci Heels!! But that mess may have to wait. I have places to go and folks to see. Thankfully I don’t think I will be attending NBA All-Star this year, although if I did go it would be a work expense. That mess is for the birds. I have been to four of those suckers and let me tell you, I would rather have a V-8. Too many groupies and pimps and johns running around for my taste. Poor Bea has to go for her job though. Tisk Tisk. I am sure I will be hearing all kinds of tales of woe on that one.

Anyway, let the brokeness begin. DIVA will be traveling all over the place this year with about two cents in her pocket. I guess it pays to see the world huh?

Wednesday Chatter

2006-01-25T14:36:00.000-05:00

"HE REALLY NEEDS SOME CHEESE WITH THAT WHINE. LIMBURGER CHEESE. ITS SMELL IS JUST AS FUCKED UP AS HE IS!" Diva's very bitchy friend Yo-Yo. Preach girl, preach!

OK, I smell a rat. Ann Nesby’s granddaughter auditioned on American Idol last night and sang her face off. I mean that girl blew. But if she could sing like that all along and if Ann (Ms. Sounds of Blacknes, I have three Grammys) is your grandmother then why the hell are you even on Idol? I mean that little child saaaaaaang!! Reached in her poom poom and pulled out some Billie Holiday for the masses. She Better Work!!! I still don’t get why her grandma couldn’t hook her up though. I mean we all know how fickle and tone deaf the American Idol audience can be so it is not a guarantee that she is going to make it far in the competition. Hmmmmmm… I see I am going to have to start voting this year. As for that skank bitch, Rhonetta Johnson, who was talking trash about my girl Paula Abdul well I will be handling her fat ass just as soon as I finish blogging here. I mean the nerve. She had the nerve to step to Paula with, “You are a has been! You will never be famous again.” Bitch at least she did her thang already and had a career. Your life on the pole at the Gold Club does not count as stardom. Trick BEE-ATCH. She looked like a Hustle and Flow reject. Don’t worry Paula. You know I got your back. Still, despite all of the notalent wanna bes Idol had me cracking up all night. Oh, the fun of it all.

So far, today has been very laid back and uneventful. I've done nothing but gossip with my friends all damn day. Just the way I like it. I mean, it is my day off after all. Still, I need to get some work done in the next few hours. I have to call ABC broadcasters Michele Tafoya and Suzie Kolber to see if they want to do that stupid Pop culture quiz. I am sure both of them will decline. Sucks being me I suppose. Actually, I am rather sick of this whole “special section” of the magazine that I work on. It’s for babies. Oh well, beggars cannot be choosy I suppose. In other news, something is wrong with my friend Bea and for some reason the child will not tell me what it is. She has been in pain and has been going back and forth to the doctor for the past month. I just received an e-mail from her saying that she went to the doctor again today and will tell me everything tonight. Poor thing. However, what gives Bea? Aren’t you the same little Missy that was a part of the Invasion crew who took over my apartment a month ago when I had the diabetic episode? The same one who rode in the ambulance with me to the hospital (and was flirting with that annoying EMT guy the whole way there?) The same missy who made me promise to keep you abreast of my health ailments so that she would always be in the know if something was wrong? Well it works both ways my dear. If something were to happen to her (HEAVEN FORBID) I wouldn’t have a clue as to what to tell the doctor. She won’t say a word. HMMMMMPH!! Come off it Bea. I am your girl (your best friend in the whole world I know. At least I better be.) So I need to know what’s going on. Hope she is OK for sure.

C-Note and I have been looking at pictures of awful plastic surgery victims in Hollywood all morning asking WHY????. For shame people. Lil Kim? Nuff said. Vivica Fox? She looks a hot mess. Those lips, that nose, them cheeks, those boobs!! Ewwwwww!!! She doesn’t even look like herself anymore. I would never let anyone butcher my face like that. Never, never, never. Don’t mess with the money bags people. At least with lipo or a tummy tuck you can hide that shit if something goes wrong but the face? No such luck at all. Tisk, tisk. Hollywood is just all botoxed, tucked and pulled to death. And it ain't pretty folks.

Excuse me while I scream into th phone. My sister JR just called me to nag once again about when I am heading down to DC. Didn’t I tell you yesterday that I was coming on Friday? It seems she has a hair appointment at nine o’clock in the AM on Friday and wants to know where I will be. Well common sense should tell you JR that I will not be getting to DC before or around 9:00am. Mercy. Just go get your pretty locks done and I will talk to you later. Stop nagging me. OH, and then the Stud-Boy was talking shit to me yesterday as well. LOL!! With his cute self. Had the nerve to accuse me of being the drunk one on the night we hung out. Please!! I wasn’t the one that was about to let it all out over the bar. Hmmmmph!! He claims he wants to hang when I come in on Friday. Yeah, yeah haven’t we all heard that one before. Maybe I’ll get to taste those cute little lips of his this time around. Since I now know that he is a boob guy I will have to throw on a Wendy and Lisa top for his ass.

Wendy? Yes Lisa. Is the water warm enough? Yes Lisa. Shall we put it on Stud-Boy Friday night? Hell Yes Lisa!

HA! That will be some mess for sure. Lastly, some folks are surprised that I have no clue who TD Jakes is. Well, believe it or not I do not do religion. It is not my thing (Yes I am a Marc Jacobs wearing HEATHEN!!!) so I have no idea who some of these religious heads are if they came around post 1992. In ’92 I was till being forced to go to church. Now the only church I have is in my room when I am listening to Mint Condition. OK I have to get started on these interviews. Holla!

Preparing For the Send Off

2006-01-24T13:32:00.000-05:00

So Uncle JTR’s funeral is this coming Saturday in DC. That means I have a little breathing room in terms of travel and can at least go to work on Thursday for the edit meeting at the mag. I’ll probably take Friday off and head down to DC that morning, hang out with Mr. Miguel and possibly Stud-Boy that night and then put on my Grim Reaper outfit (AKA Chloe skirt, Marc Jacobs blouse, and Jimmy Choos) on Sat morning for the funeral. It’s all so unsettling really. I can already feel the somberness and chaos of the upcoming weekend taking effect. Too many members of my mom’s family in one place is not a good thing, at least not for me. My sister JR called yesterday to say that everyone (my mother and my aunts) is a mess, crying all over the place and cooking way too much food. She also said that our family from down South was coming in by the droves for the festivities and bringing with them lots of pork. Mercy. Just send us all to an early grave with that unhealthy stuff why don't you. Funerals and all of the misery and sorrow that accompany them just put me in a foul mood all around. I would much rather mourn my uncle by myself rather than show up for this public display of grieving. Still, I have no choice but to be there so I will try my best to keep my emotions in check because lord knows I have to be strong for everyone else as they go through their stuff. When my cousin (JTR’s daughter) died a year ago I thought my one aunt was going to pass out in the limo on the way to the church because she was carrying on so much. During the actual ceremony my other cousin jumped up and starting shouting and gyrating in her seat and speaking in tongues (whatever that mess is. There has never been any documented proof that "speaking in tongues" is anything more than jibberish. Saw it all on National Geographic) for a full 15 minutes. Of course she was sitting right next to me, scaring me half to death as I thought she was going to fall right on top of me. LAWD HELP!! Then in the row behind us a young girl who looked no older than 12 started jumping up and screaming and beating herself in the head. Before she was done, she stood up in the seat and tried to catapult herself to the heavens screaming, "TAKE ME LORD!!!!" Again, I thought she was going to fall on me so both JR and I started ducking for cover. Then there was the drama involving my cousin’s friends and how they tried to take over the entire funeral. The head bitch in charge stood at the podium and was like “some of ya’ll so called family members walked right past me and didn’t even say nothing. That’s all right. God is gonna get ya’ll for that.” Uhhh, excuse me do I even know you? Sit down before you get swung on in God's house!!! I thought my aunts were gonna jump up there and snatch her bald headed for sure. The absolute nerve to pull that shit during a funeral. Then to top it all off we had the very vulgar, ghetto preacher in the house giving the absolute worst eulogy I have ever heard.

“You women need not let these niggas run all over you. You need to make them take responsibility. You need to tell them, ‘NIGGA AS LONG AS YOU ARE HUMPING MEEEEEEEEE YOU HAD BETTER RECOGNIZE AND BE A MAN AND PAY THESE DAMN BILLS”

Now how that shit is appropriate to say in a church, let alone at someone’s funeral is beyond me. My jaw dropped straight to the floor after hearing that foolishness. I thought my aunts were going to kick his ass as well. My mom’s father was a minister so she and her sisters know how preacher folks are supposed to act. Clearly they are not supposed to be on the pulpit talking about niggas humping people. A mess indeed. Hopefully, Uncle JTR's send-off will be a much classier affair. From what JR has been telling me the entire clan down there in DC is taking all of the arrangements very seriously. There will be black limos this time instead of the bama ass white ones we had for my cousin's funeral. The repast will be catered and held at my aunt's house. (Last time we were in the basement of some church eating what tasted to me like KFC!!!) JR also claims some character named TD Jakes or some such is doing the eulogy and that some famous DC choir will be singing. I have no idea who this brother named Jakes is. I just hope he keeps all of the obscenities to himself. Sigh, funerals and death are just not my thing at all so hopefully this one will be over rather quickly so I can get my drink on and pour some liquor for Uncle JTR.

So tonight begins another round of American Idol. I cannot wait for that shit. Should be a classic for sure. I have my tissue all ready for the tears of laughter. Ann Nesby's granddaughter is performing. Why she needs to be on Idol is beyond me. Why couldn't Ms. Ann herself hook her up with a deal?

My cute little hand is much better today. Thank God the skin on the inside of your fingers is thicker than the rest of the body. I went to the medical center at work yesterday and the nurse gave me some nice little ointment and band-aids to put on. Now I am feeling no pain. Hooray for DIVA!!.

Oh and some people are still whining about the blog. As if I really care. I have to bury my uncle so leave me alone.

Oh The HEX Of It ALL

2006-01-23T13:08:00.000-05:00

OOOOOOOOOUCH!! I can’t type for shit this morning because I burned my damn hand reaching for the curling iron. My shit is on fire. Like a dumb ass Diva grabbed the flaming hot end of the curling iron instead of the handle. YOWZER!! Ms. Dee thinks it’s funny. Voodoo hex to her!! Oh wait, I shouldn’t be putting the hex on people. It may hurt their feelings. May make them cry. What an awful DIVA I am to do such a thing. Putting Hexes on people!! Mixing with the afterworld. Bad, Bad DIVA!!! HA!! More on that and the awful with doctor that I have become later.

So the grim reaper is back in my life. My sis JR called yesterday with news that our uncle JTR passed away over the weekend. Awful! JTR is my mother’s older brother, and has been the patriarch of my mom’s family for the past 40 years. His daughter died in ’04 and upon hearing the news he had a severe stroke. He hasn’t been the same since. So once again I am headed back down to DC for a damn funeral. DEATH is just awful. I wish there were a way that death itself could die. That my friends, would be ideal.

Yeah, so aside from the death in the family I had another crappy weekend. My boys down in Durham, the Duke Blue Devils, lost. Andy Roddick was sent packing from the Aussie Open by some fool from Cyprus. The doctor called with the results from my blood work saying, "Ms. DIVA your HOOBAGLOBEN CC was a little high so I want you to take two extra shots of insulin throughout the day." BITCH!! As if I really want to stick my self with a needle two more times. Mercy!! And then Stephen the Married Guy sent me another e-mail in which once again the contents were enough to make me just want to shit all over the floor. This time he is telling tales of woe because, GASP!, he found the blog and was highly hurt and upset by some of the things that I have been writing about him. OH CRY ME A FUCKING RIVER!! First of all, as I have said on numerous occasions this is my blog. My domain. This is the place where I put down my thoughts and how I am experiencing things as they happen. I will never apologize for the words that I put down here. MY BLOG, MY THOUGHTS, MY EXPEREINCES, MY LIFE. Never will I let anyone manipulate the words that I document here. If you don’t like what you read here then you don’t have to read it. PERIOD. I told that boy months ago when he first asked me for my blog address that I didn’t think he would like some of the things that I wrote about in this space. Each time he has asked me for the addy I have always said the same thing: I am not giving it to you because I am sure you are not going to be able to handle what you find there. But like a hard headed little five year old this child didn’t listen and went looking for the blog on the internet and is now upset by what he found. BOO FUCKING HOOOOOO!! It’s like someone who opens your diary and then gets angry for what you wrote. Again, he got what he was looking for and I will not apologize for anything. You know my dear friend Bea refuses to even read the blog because she is afraid of what she might find. Smart Girl. The thing that pisses me off the most is that he is not even the least bit concerned about why I feel the way I feel or why I felt the need to go off on him here. He could care less about any of that, about any the displeasure I have been experiencing throughout all of this. All he wants to talk about is betrayal and lack of trust and all that jazz. HMMMMMMPH!! The Nerve for real. OH, and the hex? Mercy. He actually thought the hex was real. That I was really doing seances and running around putting spells on people. Unbelievable!! So now I am a fucking witch doctor!! Needless to say I was not a happy camper when I got that e-mail from him. Just another round of him whining and pointing the finger at others. ENOUGH! I am done with this whole mess for real. Where is Kelly Clarkson?

How come I never hear you say
I just wanna be with you
I guess you never felt that way

But since you've been gone
I can breathe for the first time
I’m so movin on
Yeah yeah
Thanks to you
Now I get
I get what I want
Since you've been gone

You had your chance you blew it
Out of sight, out of mind
Shut your mouth I just can't take it
Again and again and again and again

That's right DIVA. Flush this mess right out of your system. Still pissed off though. HMMMMPH!!!

OK, this hand hurts like hell. I have to go to medical on the 40th floor to get this shit treated before I start hollering. Holla!!

OH NO SHE DIDN'T

2006-01-20T14:36:00.000-05:00

"My mother didn’t teach me about Golddiggers. So I grew up just giving my shit (NA-NA) away for free!" K-MART, Diva’s very suburban Chappaqua friend.

Folks, I died laughing when K-Mart said that shit to me yesterday. Too funny for words. So over the past 24 hours I have received several e-mails from people asking for my opinion on the whole Antonio Davis incident in Chi-Town. It's funny how every time something wild happens in sports, especially in The NBA, I get bombarded with inquiries for my opinions on the matter. More often than not, whether it involves a man or a woman, I am usally screaming, "THAT BITCH IS CRAZY!!" This case is no different. For those not in the know, Antonio Davis plays for the Knicks and during a game against the Bulls the other night he left the court and went into the stands because he thought his wife, Kendra, was being attacked by a fan. Hmmmmm… Here we go again. Well, after reviewing the footage of said incident and speaking to one of our writers who was actually at the game I only have this to say: Ms. Kendra, take your ass somewhere and sit down!!!! Why the hell are you all up in that man’s face like that? Truth be told she is lucky that fool did not swing on her. Y’all know that there are a lot of men out here who do not have the good sense that God gave them and who would no hesitate to hit a woman, especially one who has seemingly violated their personal space. Granted, I think it is ridiculous that the fan involved here, some guy named Alexrod or some such, is now trying to sue the Davises for $1 million over this whole mess, but Ms. Kendra was definitely in the wrong here folks. The Knicks were playing at Chicago, meaning they were not the home team so of course there are going to be people in the crowd talking shit. That’s just the way it is. How many times have we all been to games and cursed and screamed obscenities at the other team. If you don’t like it, stay home. Everyone knows this. So what the hell is wrong with you Ms. Kendra that you felt the need to get out of your seat and go two rows up to accost this man simply because he was rooting against your husband’s team? Surely you jest. Maybe he did call Antonio an expletive or two. I don’t doubt that. But in all honesty who cares? This comes with the territory. As long as the man was not directing any verbal communication with you personally then you don’t have anything to worry about. (The guy didn’t even know who she was.) I am sure that you have heard much worse before Ms. Kendra since your husband has been in the league for fourteen years. In any event, she decided that she had been offended and stepped to old boy mouthing off, thus causing a verbal altercation to ensue. At one point you see Ms. Kendra gyrating back and forth and touching the guy on his shoulders and arm. Then you see Alexrod yelling back at her before motioning for the security guard to intervene. (Witnesses say he kept telling her to sit down) Even that wasn’t enough. Ms. Kendra gives him another piece of her mind with the guard standing right there. (According to witnesses she was angry that Axelrod was talking mess about Antonio in front of her children who were at the game so she stepped to him saying that she was his wife and that she wasn’t going to have it. Again girl, sit down!!) This is the scene that Antonio saw from the court, in which he thought his wife was in despair. While I cannot say that I blame Antonio for coming to his wife’s aid based on what he thought he saw, I still maintain that this is the main reason why you cannot have players going into the stands. Yes, he thought his wife was being attacked. Even went as far as to say that he saw the man grab her and saw the wife fall back. Well, from the video footage I saw of the incident (oh it pays to work at a sports mag) none of that happened. If anything he probably saw the security card stand up in front of her and try to assess what was going on but what Antonio thought he saw, didn’t really happen. His wife was the aggressor throughout, and after repeated pleas for her to sit her little self down she refused. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed and Antonio didn’t go all Ron Artest on someone, but again this shows you why players need to stay on the court. What they think they are seeing from 100 feet away may not be the case and making a rush to judgment and charging the stands could cause a riot. The sad thing is, M. Kendra was there with her two children and some of their classmates, which means that she made a spectacle of herself and her husband in front of all the young ones. WHY???? Again, this was a road game so she should have expected it to be a hostile environment. Girl next time why don’t you just sit up in the sky box and eat some jumbo shrimp, sip on a martini and call it a night? That would be the best solution here from now on don’t you think? Cause lord knows now she has a target on her head and if any of these internet gossip sites are true she was already known as a certified trouble maker so why even bother with the common folk? (Word has it that she once stepped to Latrell Sprewell. I guess he decided against choking her.) Just go sit down some place nice and plush and put your feet up and root your BOO away from all of the hoopla. Shit that is what I would do. Who wants to sit with a bunch of crazy raucous fans, even if you are really one yourself?

It’s Friday and I swear I am staying in the house tonight. I am broker than broke so there will be no partying for me this weekend. Still, I wish those who are headed out for a weekend of partying a fabulous time. Just remember to pour some Grey Goose for me.

They Brought Me To Tears

2006-01-18T13:34:00.000-05:00

That’s right Serena, beat them bitches down!!

Excuse me while I wipe away these tears. You see, my eyes have been overflowing for the past two hours and I don’t think I can stop. I just finished watching last night’s season premiere of American Idol. It was truly amazing and all that I hoped it would be. I just couldn’t stop laughing and crying at those fools. Just Hilarious! This one girl had the nerve to get on stage and sing “The Humpty Dance.” Girl, no you didn’t just bust out some Digital Underground. HA!! And then there was the idiot who sang, “I Shot the Sheriff… But I didn’t shoot the deputy!” A mess. Somebody hand me some tissue!! Then came the uber tan teen with her trashy ass mother who was inexplicably missing her front tooth. Yuck. Oh and of course she couldn’t sing a lick either. Sigh!! It was all enough to make me roll over in both laughter and tears. What’s with all of the gimmicks and gyrating and shit people? Why can’t people just get up there and sing? Fool why are you dressed like the Statue of Liberty? Or the other fool who was dressed like a damn pirate? Or the other dude who was dressed like Pippi Fucking Longstocking with his hairy ass legs? WHY????? And why don’t you know the words to Lady Marmalade? Patti should slap your face for having the nerve. Oh and can you believe some Bitch had the nerve to get up there trying to sing my Kelly Clarkson breakup song!! The Voodoo hex to her for real. And what kind of friends do you have that would let you get on national television and make a damn fool of yourself like this? Just a mess all around. Too damn funny for words. I will say this, if you ever feel down in the dumps or like life is just not worth living anymore just sit down, relax, and watch American Idol. That shit will cheer you up for sure. I swear I am still wiping away the tears.

So the NYC is wet and nasty today. RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY!! It has been raining since around 11 last night and it does not appear that it will stop anytime soon. Damn, damn, damn!!! Diva has tons of errands to run. I need to be in the streets getting shit done!! But I absolutely loathe walking in the rain getting all wet and sweating my hair out so I will be staying in all day for sure. Of course I’ll go to the gym tonight because my ass needs to work out (actually my ass is quite firm but I have a bikini to put on in April) but that’s it. There will be no prancing around the city at all for me today.

Oh and I think the Voodoo hex on Stephen the Married Guy is working. Apparently he and the wifey had a to duke it out in court yesterday and from the sound of things, it did not go in his favor. I wonder if she got the cool $1 million that she was asking for. I wonder if she got the $1.6 million apartment? HA!! That would be too funny. Sad of course because he is sad, but funny as hell because I keep warning people to watch out when I put the hex on them. No one listens. HAHA!! He is crying right about now for sure. I am sure he will text me or call tonight and tell me all about it. Hmmmph!! Truth is a month ago I would have felt a little sorry for him. Now I am just like, “Tisk Tisk sucks being you doesn’t it?” Maybe that fool should just watch American Idol and call it a life. HA!! I have no sympathy for anyone today. Not even my damn self. And you know I have no use for a broker than broke Stephen the Married Guy. I am doing just fine being broke by my damn self. So this whole mess could be over sooner than I thought. Hehe!!

Tomorrow I am headed to Chappaqua to visit my dear friend K-Mart. K-mart is living the good life ya’ll. Husband making bank and who absolutely adores her. Big old house in the suburbs. Cuter than cute three year old son. Ohhhhhhh, the life!!!! Now she is about two weeks away from giving birth to twins so I need to take my little behind out there and see her before her life becomes oh so complicated with all of them babies. Should be fun. K-Mart is my girl for sure!!! Plus Bill Clinton lives right up the road from them. Excuse me while I go stalk my main man Bill.

Upstairs Bitches, Meet A VERY ANGRY DIVA

2006-01-17T14:40:00.000-05:00

Wow, it’s only Tuesday but there is sooo much going on that I don’t even know where to begin. I’m tired because I had to work on Dr. King Day (we almost never get Mondays off at the mag) and because I have been up all night feuding with my upstairs neighbors. Let me tell you about these bitches. For some reason those trolls think that it is cute to be stomping around, banging on the walls and moving furniture at all hours of the night. The shit has been going on, albeit to a lesser degree, few a couple of months now but they have been out of control the past two nights. Sunday night, or should I say Monday morning I had to get out of my bed at 4:45am and go upstairs and tell them to knock that shit off.

DIVA: (pounding on the door) It’s your neighbor downstairs in 2D
Upstairs Bitches: (whispering) who could be at the door at this hour? Should we answer it?
DIVA: I know you’re up because I can hear you whispering so open the door!!!
Upstairs Bitches: (finally opening the door) Hi.
DIVA: Good Morning. It’s almost five o’clock in the morning and I like most sane people I know are trying to sleep. Could you please stop all of that stomping and banging on the floor and moving furniture back and forth? Some of us actually do try and get some sleep at this hour.
Upstairs: Oh yes. Sorry!

Sorry? OK. She is lucky I didn't smack her little ass. Instead I decided to just calm down because I didn’t want to be seen as the angry black girl in the building, but come on!! Sorry? Honey it is damn near dawn and you are making racket like you are at Harpo’s Juke Joint at midnight. I was soooo pissed. But wait, get this. The noise never stopped. When I got back into bed them bitches started that shit up again. Unreal. I decided not to go back up there for fear that someone would get hurt this time around. I just grabbed my earplugs and tried my best to close my eyes and get some ZZZZZZs. Didn’t work. I got no sleep at all that night. Before I left for work that morning I decided to leave a note for the SUPER about the situation and give my landlord a call. Of course the landlord didn’t answer so I left her a message. Not like I really expect her to do something because she is about as useful as a holey condom. Well fast-forward to Monday night. Diva comes home from a long day at the mag, pissed because she was unable to March On Fifth Avenue and celebrate Dr. King like the rest of the freedom fighters, only to find a note underneath the front door. The trolls upstairs left me a note:

To Whom It MEY Concern,

Hi. We are you neighbors in 3D. Today the Super came to our apartment and yelled at us saying that you complained about us making a lot of noise in the night. We do not understand what you are talking about. Maybe you are trying to make trouble for us. We do not want trouble. We have done nothing to you. We would appreecate if you did not tell lies about what we are doing in our place to get us thrown out. That is not nice and not good neigbor.

Thank you,
3d

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA????? Now can you all just see the rage overcoming my body? The steam coming out of my ears? My nipples getting all hard? First of all, learn how to fucking spell before you take the time to write someone a note. Second, are you bitches crazy???? What the fuck do you mean you do no understand what I am talking about? What, you think I just like getting up and climbing the stairs at five in the morning for the hell of it? Quit making all of that damn noise!!! Unreal!!!!!! You know I was pissed. I thought the heart palpitations that were suddenly taking over my body were going to kill me for sure. I was livid. So of course I dropped my bags and marched my little ass right up them steps to 3D, note in hand, ready to confront those trolls yet again. See, I hate it when people force me get all Naomi Campbell psycho, ready to bust out a phone and clock a NUCKA in the head. But clearly that is what I was about to do.

DIVA: (Pounding on the door) It’s your neighbor from 2d
Upstairs Bitches: (whispering) I think she is back
DIVA: HELLO? YES I AM BACK!
Upstairs Bitches: (Finally answering the door) Hi
Diva: Did you leave this note underneath my door.
Upstairs Bitches: Yes. The Super came here.
DIVA: That’s right he came because I told him about all of the damn noise that you have been making. You think I came up here last night at five in the morning because I just wanted to say HI and welcome you to the neighborhood?
Upstairs Bitches: We were working on something here and we stopped it when you left.
DIVA: STOP YOUR DAMN LYING!! You did not stop after I left. You kept right on banging around an waking up the dead which is why I contacted the Super. I don’t give a shit what you were doing!! It’s five in the morning. Have some respect for your neighbors.
Upstairs Bitches: We don’t want any trouble.
DIVA: There won’t be any trouble if you stop making all of that damn noise. The next time I have to come up here I am going to call the police. MY sister works at the 17th precinct around the corner and she will be here in two seconds flat so I am warning you for the last time, CUT THAT SHIT OUT!!!!! AND DON’T BE PUTTING ANY MORE NOTES UNDERNEATH MY DOOR EITHER!!!!!

Sigh. Now I am the crazy black bitch in the building for real. Of course my sister does not work for the NYPD. That would be my old trainer Ms. N. Still her ass would be here in a heartbeat to handle them dumb bitches. Were they stupid or what? Why lie and try to act like you are the one that has been wronged in this situation when clearly it is I who has been offended. You woke me up with all of your noise and now you are implying that I am falsely accusing you of something and trying to get you thrown out? Sorry Bitch, But DIVA clearly has better things to do than be concerned with your little troll of a life. HMMMMMMMPH!!!!! Needless to say, there was SILENCE for the rest of the evening. The nerve for real.

Other things that have pissed me off in the last 24 hours:

*MY True Religion jeans arrived and do not fit. Fuckers are too small. SIGH! Now I have to send the damn things back an hope they have my proper size.

*ESPN and all of its negative commentary about the Williams Sisters during the Aussie Open. Mary Carillo must have asked Serena to lick her cootie and Serena turned her down because all she does is talk shit about Serena and her game. Then last night the commentators had an Aussie celebrity reporter on the panel talking about how everyone is Australia is, "talking about how big Serena's bum is and saying how awful she looks. One radio station is offering a prize to see who can guess the size of her bum." Excuse me? Fuck you bitch. I thought this was supposed to be serious sports coverage. I am writing a letter to ESPN today. FOR REAL!!

*The NY DAILY News ran a pic of a dead child in her coffin on the front page of the paper this morning. That is just cras, sensationalist, and foul!!!

*Chris Rock calling EVA Longoria Chico and The Man at the Golden Globes last night. Uggggh, OK RACIST!! Black folks would have been up in arms for real if some white comedian yelled, “GOOD TIMES!!!” when Halle won her shit. Just a mess.

*This fool GM trying to steal my NASCAR story for himself at the mag. I am not even going to get into the details on this one because I could really lose it for sure. Let’s just say DIVA is about to beat his ass and leave it at that.

OK, maybe I need to go take a valium. Just too mad for words about everything. I will say this, them Upstairs Bitches had better recognize and keep that racket down. HMMMMMPH!!! Now I have to go eat my frosted mini wheats and try to calm myself down.

My Night With A Stud

2006-01-16T00:57:00.000-05:00

Venus Williams, Girl What Happened?????

I was supposed to post a great little entry here on Friday for you, my blogging audience, but alas I was thwarted by that whiny motherfucker, Stephen the Married Guy. That fool sent me some bullshit e-mail Thursday night that catapulted me into a wicked tailspin so by the time Friday morning rolled around I just didn’t have the energy. After having several fits of rage all night I just wanted to sit on my bedroom floor and be mad and drink Grey Goose. I mean seriously, there has to be something better out there for me to be all up in arms about besides Stephen the Married Guy. Shit, my new pair of True Religions still haven’t arrived. I should be worrying about that mess. But nooooooooo, I have to sit here and deal with someone who has the nerve to send me a typo-filled e-mail at midnight in which he is squirming around and vaguely implying that I am driving him mad with my sexy NA-NA yearning for him. Had the nerve to ask the question, “Can you just be my friend right now or is that not in your nature?” Whaaaaaaa? I’ll tell you what’s in my nature you fucking prick. It is in my nature to give your ass the old Rhode Island Avenue beat down. I mean really, THE NERVE. I thought I was going to lose it for real folks. I had to call Mr. Miguel in on that one. (Since Mr. Miguel loves Stephen the Married Guy so much then I felt he should be the one to deal with that mess. At least calm me down before I killed him. )

Now if I had blogged on Friday I probably would have been bitching about another dude in my so-called life, Stud-Boy. That fool stood me up on Thursday night. Hmmmmph!! After I rushed home, got a Brazilian wax, and took a long ginger shower to get ready to go out with this fool he has the nerve to bail? Sigh! Is it me or is Diva like the plague all of a sudden? It seems I can’t even pay someone to be around me. BOOHOO!!! The shit is just unreal. Needless to say, it wasn’t a good evening for the Diva. Just mad about every species walking around with a penis. Woe is moi.

But wait, what is this? It’s Friday and my phone is ringing? Why it’s Stud-Boy calling to apologize (Uh, Sorry) for bailing the night before and asking if I could come out on Friday’s Eve? Could it be? Yes it was. He wanted to hang and drink Grey Goose with me. Shit why the hell not? I definitely needed to get out of my house before I cut myself over the crazy Married Guy so I said, “OK, fine I will meet you Stud-Boy!” I was supposed to meet him at 7 but since he has been bailing on me for months I decided to make him wait. Yeah Bitch, you wait around this time. Of course he kept blowing up my phone to see if I was coming. HAHA!! I finally showed up at 9:30 at the crappy dive bar on the Upper East Side to meet Stud-Boy and his host of merry friends. And yes he is still a STUD. Such a cutie. However, instead of being all skurred as he normally is this fool was actually trying to flirt. Could it be? HA! Yes it was. Asking me if I was trying to get my cherry busted after I requested one of the little red robins for my drink. Telling me that he would put something in my throat when I said I was choking on a piece of lemon. Boy you had better watch out now!! Diva is a woman who’s horny and scorned so don’t make me jump on you. As for his friends? Didn’t like them too much at all. This one girl looked me up and down like she wanted to jump me when I walked in the door and gave him a big old hug. Bitch don’t hate. Just go to the gym and work that cellulite off and you should be fine. Then there was this gay guy, MAX-EM, who was trying to be all over Stud-Boy. Boy he is my Stud so please back the fuck up.

Luckily I was able to convince His Studdiness to leave that shitty bar and follow me to a much cooler spot, Opal. My neighborhood bar is tres tres fab folks. Just ask Mr. Miguel and the Girl With The Big Forehead out in Colorado. Every time they visit me they insist on hanging out at Opal and shutting that shit down. So I took the Stud-Muffin to my fav Midtown liquor spot to drink and be merry with me. And to my surprise we had a ball. First of all, The Stud-Muffin is an absolute sweetheart. Just as sweet as Hawaiian Punch. Why he has girl problems is beyond me. Again he wasn’t the least bit shy this go round. And when he drinks he is less skurred and more on the flirty side for sure.

Stud: You think I’m scared? Fine. Let’s go to your place right now and settle this.
Diva: Settle what?
Stud: You know what.
Diva: Ughhh no.
Stud: I’m serious!
Diva: Ughhh no.

Dude, what are you doing? Again, don’t make me jump on you. With your cute self and them pretty eyes. YUM!! So yeah, the two of us held it down at the bar all night. Me drinking my famous Grey Goose and Cran, The Stud Muffin drinking shots of Scotch. Scotch? OK I see you Baller. Actually, it turns out he may have had one too many of them little Scotch thingies because around one o’clock the Studness looked at me and said, “I don’t think I can make it?” WHAAAAAAAAAA???? Sweetie, YOU CANNNOT get sick at the bar. Not an option. You are all of 6’4”. There is no way I can carry your tall ass out of here so you just need to get yourself together right this minute. Lucky for me he drank 1000 glasses of water and did just that. Was good as new after about an hour. Whew!!! All in all we had a fabulous time. I tried to get him to dance but he was having none of that. No rhythm whatsoever. Poor thing. If he would just move his hips and leave his shoulders and neck alone. Mercy!! Oh and he was loving my tatoo. (Yes I am tatted. My tatty is like 10 years old now. Where does the time go?) He kept trying to rub it. FREAK!! Most of the girls in the house we loving them some Stud-Boy and trying to figure out what he was doing with my fine brown ass. (Yes the Stud-Boy is white.) Fuck em!! Don’t hate on my caramel!! One dumb bitch asked me if she could talk to him.

Dumb Bitch: Are you guys together?
Diva: No he’s my brother.
Dumb Bitch: Your brother? Really?
Diva: Yep. Biological. Same mother and father.
Dumb Bitch: (looking at both Stud-Boy and myself to try and see the resemblance) WOW! Knarly!!! So can you tell him that I think he’s hot and that I'd like to chat?
Diva: NOPE!! I don’t want him talking to your ass.
Dumb Bitch: Huh?

Dumb ass. He could have been my husband for all you know so back up Bee-Atch. Then there was the bartender who was trying to be all on my Stud. Another Bee-Atch!! Honey, he’s only talking to you because he wants some free drinks. And anyway, my boobs are bigger and prettier than yours so don’t get it twisted. Then there was the fat girl in the satin green shirt that was trying to whisper sweet nothings in his ear with me standing right there. Big Mistake. Apparently, The Stud does not like girls with a little (or a lot in her case) of junk in their trunk. He almost puked in her face when she flashed her stomach his way. I mean right in her face he was like, "UGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!" Too Funny! Then there was the other girl who had the nerve to ask if he was mine. Mercy!!! Yes Bitch he is. See me rubbing his head? See me playing with his ear? Then there was the slick black guy who stepped to me after looking My Stud up and down and every which way but loose.

Slick: Hey baby, you with him?
Diva: Yeah baby, but I can be with you too!!
Slick: Word?
Diva: Yeah Daddy.
Slick: OK, I’ll be right back. I gotta give my boy his drink.
Diva: Yeah Daddy, try not to hurry.

More like No Daddy. Leave me Alone!!! Sheesh. Why was everyone trying to break us up? Why can’t I just be at the bar with My Stud all night? It 2006!!! The Swirl is alive and well people. The Nerve for rel. After flirting back and forth with each other and then watching others try to steal my Stud we finally left at around 2:30. I wasn’t all that sure if he was feeling my caramel sundae and I think that he wasn’t sure if I was down with his marshmallow cream so we both just hugged it out and went on our merry ways. No humping, no kissing, no nothing. Sad ain't it? For sure. Mr. Miguel is mad because I didn’t put it on him but I wasn’t in the mood really. My mind was kind of elsewhere.

Elsewhere meaning Stephen the Married Guy. (who by the way is not even on the Stud radar) I answered his damn e-mail as soon as I got home. Yes I was drunk, but he deserved a very vicious tirade from the Diva. I let his ass have it. Now today, on his birthday, he is apologizing 1000 times over and saying, “I'm sorry. I never meant to imply that it was all you and all your fault. I am the one to blame.” Yes my dear, you sure are. It’s all your fucking fault and you know it so please stop all of this mess before I castrate you. Mercy!! For now we are "friends" again. We'll see how long that lasts. If only My Stud lived here to save me from this misery.

So that was my weekend. Lovely huh? Fighting with the Married Guy yet again and getting nowhere with Stud-Boy. SWEEET!! Oh and someone, a supposed friend of mine, had the nerve to e-mail me and ask me why I always blog about Stephen the Married Guy saying that it makes me seem desperate. Wait one sec while I take off my earrings and get me some Vaseline. What the fuck did you say??? Again, whose blog is this? DIVA’s!!!!!! My blog my thoughts. I write about the shit that is on my mind, the shit that I am going through. This is the Real World honey, you think you know but you have no idea. Again, my blog my life. Yes in the real world we deal with shit and put up with people that drive us crazy. If you don’t like it take that shiftless weave on your head elsewhere and find something else to read. The nerve for real!!! This from a person that can barely put two sentences together. She is a math wiz so she wouldn’t be able to write anything even if you paid her. Hmmmmph!! And I hope she does get mad at me for calling her out. Wench!!

Mr. Small Penis, Santino and Marion Barry: The Enemies Are Among Us

2006-01-12T14:25:00.000-05:00

So yesterday I was sitting down in my room, minding my own business, trying not to do the NFL work I was assigned to do and reading this week’s issue of New York Magazine when I came across the following excerpt in a story about Craig Newmark, founder of Craigslist.

"You cannot trick me, Small Penis, into thinking you are large—by pounding away like a jackhammer. In fact, when you do this—I almost totally forget about you . . . It is true, Smally, that when I first saw you I did not get that certain rush of glee and pupil dilation that a giant cock will cause… You will never fill me in that ‘good lord YES’ amusement-park ride way."

How boisterously entertaining was that shit? Believe me I almost spit my food out when I read that mess. Have you ever seen anything funnier? Apparently some chick posted this in the Rants and Raves category on Craigslist about her man’s little pee-pee. HA!!! Too Funny!! There is nothing worse than some guy with a penis the size of a finger nail trying to boink away at your pretty NA-NA. Yuck!! That excerpt sounds like some shit I would have written about that fool Weird Guy back in the day. Talk about itsy bitsy, teeny weeny. Weird Guy whose real name is… a-----. HA!! No I would never write his real name here. But that excerpt could describe him and all of his non-glory for sure. I wish we were still friends so I could send it to him and make fun of him. HA!! I think I am going to print that shit out and post it up in my office. Hilarious!!

And no I haven’t written my NFL story yet so stop asking oh evil dictator of an editor. I will get it done today, Thursday, right after I finish blogging and watching Dr. Phil at 3:00. I am a mess I know but I do have my priorities y’all. Plus the Panthers will probably lose in the playoffs this weekend so then the whole point of the story will be moot anyway. Hmmmm… I know I am a mess. But I am still in Kelly Clarkson mode so I should be excused. Stephen the Married Guy calls himself not talking to me? On IM all evening without even a "Is that Thang Still Wet?" No HI, no Hey, no nothing? The nerve. That Bitch ass Motherfucker has some nerve. Hmmmmmmph!!! As Mr. Miguel said, I am a bitter party of one. I can feel the Voodoo Hex taking over his ass right now. The wifey is going to clean him out during this divorce and I am going to love every single minute of it. She’s going to get the $1.6 million condo, the car, the stocks, the ring, and the multi-million dollar payout. I hope your ass is in the welfare line this time next week Stephen the Married Guy. HAHAHAHAHAHA! And yes I hope they depose my ass so I can tell everyone under oath the awful things you used to say about your poor sweet wife. Poor poor wifey. I wish I could be her new best friend. See, there is nothing worse than a DIVA scorned. Hmmmmmmph!!

OK, so my new favorite show on TV is Project Runway. Move over Tyra, there is a new Supermodel in town. Project Runway is fierce. The queens on that shit are soooooo bitchy. Flat out crazy they are. If you decide to watch it pay close attention to that fool Santino, who looks like the drunken wino down in the subway. Yes, he is talented with is needle and thread but that motherfucker is soooooo obnoxious and arrogant. Had the nerve to talk shit to the incomparable Michael Kors last night. It was sickening really. Michael Kors should have bitched slapped his ass and sent him packing. Plus, Santino looks like the last time he took a bath was around the days of 9/11 or something. Just gross, gross, gross. Last week he was all up in Nikki Hilton’s face trying to impress her and stuff. EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWW!! I thought I was going to vomit. I am surprised she even tolerated his ass. I would never let him touch me or make any garments for me for fear that I might catch something. Just plain old yuck he is. Still, the show is tres tres fab. Heidi Klum is just gorgeous with her pregnant self (she has since given birth to Seal’s son Henry) My favorite designers to be are Nick and Chloe. They better work.

Wow, my editor just called me and asked me some lame ass question. Whatever. I know that you were really trying to check on me and see if I was writing something. Yes I am writing. Just not for you at the moment. HEHE!! No seriously, I guess I should get back to work before he throws a fit and starts sending me e-mails that I cannot read. The sooner I am done the sooner I can get home and watch tonight’s dose of TV. On the lineup: CSI and Without a Trace. Thursdays used to be so much fun. But the with cancellation of Reunion and the end of Survivor, the Apprentice, and Making tha Band for the season I am left kind of short. Oh well.

OH, one more thing. Marion Barry tested positive for cocaine YET AGAIN!! For the love of God DC, do not elect this man to anything else ever again in life. He is a pipehead. Yes he did some good things when he was mayor (Mayor Summer Youth Jobs, etc) but how many of your tax dollars has he snorted up his damn nose or used to buy some time with some hooker on the point? Enough. Enough!!!

Silencing the Drill and Reconnecting

2006-01-10T19:49:00.000-05:00

Shhhhhhhhhsh! Do you hear that? Wait, you don’t hear anything? Nothing? HA!! That’s because there is nothing to hear. That’s because I woke up to utter silence this morning. No power drills, no chainsaws, no constant banging, no construction workers singing Luis Miguel at the top of their lungs at seven in the morning. Nope, all of that shit is gone. It seems the construction fiasco behind my apartment building has been silenced. Why? Because the damn building they were working on collapsed yesterday, injuring at least seven or eight construction workers and scaring the BEJESUS out of everyone in sight. UNREAL!!!! The shit was all over the news. Paramedics and ambulances all in my hood carrying out guys on stretchers with neck braces, broken arms, and fractured fibulas. Some of those guys fell 17 feet to the ground when the top three floors of the damn building caved in. 17 feet!!! Insane!!! See, I knew that noisy ass project was no good. Since when did it take a year and a half to re-do a brownstone? Hell they started work on a new high rise 40 story condo building around the corner back in June and that mess is definitely going to be finished before the brownstone behind my house is. Now that the damn thing has caved in it, seems that the shit will never get finished. Where is the justice? I guess I will enjoy the silence while it lasts because once all of the fines and violations have been cleared up I am sure those pesky little workers will be back to waking my ass up with all of their racket sooner than I can wipe my nose and say Jimmy Choo.

Well today is Tuesday and I did absolutely nothing today. I was tired. It was my first real day off in ages so I decided to be a bum and just chill all day. I was supposed to take these damn Xmas decorations down but clearly that didn’t happen. Actually, I was also supposed to be working on some more NFL shit but I refused (see, same old attitude in the ’06) I will take care of all of that mess tomorrow after I come back from the hair dresser. My editor wants me to write up some mess on one of the Carolina Panthers who has seven older sisters. Cute story? Perhaps. But not worth getting all hot an bothered over on my day off. So tomorrow it is. I will get on the phone and do my interview thing tomorrow (or actually today Wednesday which is when you will probably read this.) They also want me to do some mess on Vince Carter. Vince? SIGH, SIGH, and Sigh again. This is just unfair. Anyone who knows DIVA knows that the last thing on the planet I want to do is go into some locker room and interview Vince Fucking Carter. NO WAY. I’d rather have a pap smear. Let’s just say I used to love him and now I don’t. We used to be cool and now we aren’t. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ignored me if I ran up on him in the locker room with my recorder and started asking him a bunch of questions. How many times have we done the interview song and dance in the past? Tons!! I used to fly my little self all over these United States to interview that fool. We used to be mad cool. Now I would much rather keep my distance. I really used to love that fool but now I am just like, “AS IF!!!!” However, the MASSA says that I have to step to him and ask him about his wife (who’s sister is married to the Wizard’s Antawn Jamison) for this stupid story. Lawd Help!! As if I really want to ask Vince about his wifey. I don’t want to talk about HER!!! Hmmmmmph, he was the other Guy That I Thought I Should Have Married. That was way back in the day when DIVA was caught up in fantasy and not using her brain. Trust me I am glad I didn’t get involved with him. I do not want to be an NBA wife. Plus, he doesn’t have the greatest genes in the world and I need my kids to be cute. So no I am not still lusting after him. But still don't want to be in his face. Nevertheless, in the next couple of weeks Vince and I will be reunited again. Forgive me if I take a couple of shots of Grey Goose right before I walk into the Nets locker room for that one. Mercy!!!

So I am rocking Kelly Clarkson’s “Since You been Gone” as my break up song. I love that shit!! She has captured the essence of my feelings.

How come I never hear you say
I just wanna be with you
I guess you never felt that way
But Since U Been Gone…

You had your chance you blew it
Out of sight, out of mind
Shut your mouth I just can't take it
Again and again and again and again

Yeah that sums my shit up perfectly. Fucker!!

On the flip side, guess who is coming to NYC tomorrow (actually today because it is now probably Wednesday.) STUD-BOY. Remember him? My cutie from DC who is oh so skurred of the NA-NA. He is coming to the NYC for an audition and claims that he is going to call me so we can hang out. HA!!! I am not holding my breath for that one. Both Mr. Miguel and I think that he is going to flake as usual. However, if he does give me a ring I may have to whoop something up for him. I am still licking my wounds over my “break-up” with Stephen the Married Guy. (AND yes GP I really want you to put the Voodoo Hex on him. Do it right now!!!) But Stud-Boy could help me heal fo sho. Yummy Yum Yum!

Here We Go Again

2006-01-09T21:19:00.000-05:00

Will she or won’t she? Will she or won’t she?

Ms. D: Have you blogged yet?
Diva: I will do it by the end of the day

One week later…

Ms. D: Bitch when are you going to blog?
Diva: I promise I will blog today.

Two weeks later…

Ms. D: Just give me your damn password and I will blog for you!!!
Diva: No way!! You don’t have the juice. I promise I will blog today.

Two days later…

Ms. D: You blogged yet?
Diva: Ugghhhhh, no I promise…

Two days later…

Ms. D: I just read your blog… Oh wait, that shit was from two weeks ago.

OK, OK, just blog already Diva. Stop the insanity and the procrastination and blog bitch. BLOG, BLOG, BLOG!! OK, so here I am. Happy New Year folks!! It’s been like a month since I have been a integral part of blog world. I swear it hasn’t been because I was slacking… OK maybe that was it a little bit, but seriously a lot of shit has gone down in the past month. I’m talking near death experiences, hospitals, cocktail parties, friends with Bad Weaves, SEX (yeah the dirrrrrty dirrrrrty), XMAS cheer, Redskins wins, fights on the Greyhound bus, New Year’s cooking and drinking, more FUCK STEPHEN THE MARRIED GUY shots and all kinds of jazz. Plus I had to work all five days in a row last week, unheard of for this damn sports magazine but the Massa is cracking the whip. I almost fell out from exhaustion on Saturday because I had worked so hard all week. Yes my friends, the shit has been going down for sure here in the NYC. And let me tell you, through it all I have been as tired as fuck. I’m mean like old lady, crook in my back, needing a cane type of tired. By last Thursday I woke up screaming NO MAS! NO MAS!! I just wanted to bury head in the dirt like and ostrich and sleep, sleep, sleep. In fact, I thought I might never blog again. But here I am bloggin. I don’t think I can put off blogging any longer because Ms. D, Mr. Miguel, and The Girl With The Big Forehead out in Colorado would kill me for sure. They bug me about it every damn day. Actually, I am not even sure how much creativity I have in me today for a blog. I am Superdoopa (Fly) busy at this magazine and I am in a foul mood. Frolicking with good for nothing people named STEPHEN THE MARRIED GUY can do that to you. What a waste of my precious time he is. Actually though I've just been trying to find myself over the past few weeks. So much has gone on. Still I’ll try to give a quick rundown of what has been going on around these parts so you can see for yourself why I have been away for a while. OK maybe it won’t be quick. Sorry!

Let’s see the last time I put in a real post was on Dec. 6 and I was in my room seeing double, about to pass out. Well fast-forward to the morning of Sunday, December 11. We’ll start there.

12/11- Diva wakes up at around 11:30am, half nekkid on the floor in her room with no idea who she was or what happened to her. It’s Sunday, Diva is supposed to be up at nine and in the office by 11 so getting up at 11:30am is not cute at all. And no, I was not hung over. I did not go out the night before. Yet, my body felt like I had been shaking my shit till dawn while consuming an entire bottle of Grey Goose with some shots of bourbon on the side. I could barely move and I couldn’t talk. I didn’t even know what day it was. It took me literally 20 minutes just to stand up and put some pants on. When I finally made it up I staggered into the kitchen and yelled at my roommate. I thought she was a burglar. I didn’t even recognize her at first. I was like, "Who the hell is this bitch in my damn kitchen." She thought I was nuts for sure. After mumbling a few curse words at her I realized that I was probably going into diabetic shock (insulin overload) and that I needed some sugar pronto. My roommie filled me up with some Orange Juice, which my me feel better in a jiffy. I called the Pharmacy to talk to the guy that dishes out my prescription and see what he had to say about the matter. He confirmed my suspicion that I was suffering a hypoglycemic episode and that I needed to confer with my doctor about my insulin intake and make sure that I was eating properly. Well, I done told ya’ll fools that I couldn’t go to the doctor until they cleared up that mess with my bill so NO WAY JOSE was I calling him. So I shook it off, showered and took my ass to work where I finally cried when I told Bea and J-Boogie how I almost died in my sleep before waking up like a crack head on the floor. Just saying the shit out loud was so overhwhelming. A mess indeed.

12/12 Well I got off work that Sunday at around 11:30pm. I met Stephen the married guy at 2:00am downstairs and we walked and talked and made nice until like five in the AM. Crazy? Yes I know but I hadn’t seen him in forever and I needed to get a least a hug from somewhere after the hellacious night I had with the diabetes. At five AM I finally went upstairs and got into bed. I sent Stephen the Married Guy a text message but he never responded. I got pissed at the nerve he had for not responding and just turned off the computer and went to sleep. It was about two degrees in my apartment so I got up later to throw on some sweats and go to sleep. (Normally I sleep half nekkid with nothing but some skimpy panties on. SEXY SEXY DIVA!!!) Well the next thing I know it’s 1:00 pm Monday afternoon and I am in my room on the bed with some strange man in my face shaking me and screaming my name. WHAT THE FUUUUUUUCK??? DIVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA? CAN YOU HEAR ME???? Upon further review I noticed that there were about four people in my bedroom and five people out in the living room all stirring up some commotion. Again, WHHHHHHHHHHHAAAA????? It was like the twilight zone. Who were these people? Why were they in my apartment? Once again, I had no idea who or where I was. I couldn’t stand up and I couldn’t talk. Suddenly the strange bald headed guy began trying to make me drink something. ORANGE JUICE! He was shoving Orange Juice down my throat. I tried to fight him off (he could have been a killer or a rapist giving me a roofie and trying to get my goodies for all I knew) but I had no energy whatsoever. It was like I was shit faced drunk but once again, I was not out drinking the night before so that was impossible. After about thirty minutes of tussling with the strange people in my room I started to regain some of my sense, thanks to the orange juice. I finally recognized two of the people in my room as the building’s Super and his helper. The other two guys were the paramedics. As for the people in the living room, it seems that there were the two other EMT people who were chilling out there along with Bea and two of my bosses from work. I guess there was a party going on and they were all waiting for me to make my debut. DIVAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

No seriously, this is what happened. I had another diabetic episode in my sleep (insulin overload) except this time I never woke up and probably would not have woken up if someone had not called the paramedics. The paramedics were called when J-Boogie became concerned when she called me that morning at work around 11 to check in only to find that I still hadn’t come in. Very Strange for DIVA!! Given what I had told her about what happened the day before, she became alarmed and started blowing up my cell and my home phone trying to find me. Of course, I didn’t answer because I was at home in a comatose state trying to die it seems. By noon when no one had heard from me J-Boogie called Bea who said she didn’t know where I was either and that she thought it was strange because I hadn’t been online all morning. Then they called my Super to try and get into my apartment to see what was going on. He came in and found me in my room passed out; he was unable to wake me up so he called 911. At the same time Bea left her job and high tailed it to my place to see what the hell was going on. My bosses here at the mag did the same thing, hopping in a cab and heading to my crib in midtown. That is when the party started. Meanwhile, J-Boogie skipped her mammogram to come into the city to see what the hell was going on with me. She was a wreck, crying all over the place and who could blame her. Little Ms Diva was in trouble for sure. By the time I finally woke up everyone was in a panic because they didn’t know what happened to me and I was pissed because I didn’t know who the hell these people were in my apartment. I especially freaked out when I saw my bosses Frick and Frack in my living room. I mean really… Imagine waking up and there are not only random people in your house yelling in your face but also your livingroom is filled with the paramedics and your bosses standing there looking like someone just died. It was enough to send me over the edge. I started screaming and flailing my arms, "FRICK and FRACK what are you doing here? What happened? Why are you here?" It was all a mess. Then I started yelling at the paramedics because they kept saying that I wasn’t lucid and didn’t know what day it was. Dude, I don’t know who the hell you were and why you are here in my room so why would I answer your questions? And get the hell out of my underwear drawer!!! Have you no shame? (He was trying to find some socks for me to put on but still. You should ask before you go rummaging through people’s things.) About an hour later the paramedics carted a very weary Diva off to the ambulance for a trip to the hospital. LAWD HAVE MERCY!!! The whole situation was just surreal and awful. The damn paramedics couldn’t even get an IV in my arm in the ambulance. (And not because I was squirming either. Dude just didn’t know what he was doing. So I had two scars on my arm from the needles for nothing.) Bea came along to make sure everything was OK which I definitely appreciated. To me, she was the only person in the apartment that made any sense so I didn’t yell at her. In fact, Ms. Bea had a good old time in the ambulance sitting in the front seat flirting with the EMT guy. RAFAEL was his name. When I got to the hospital she said to me, "He was sooooo nice Diva!! And not too bad on the eyes. " HMMMMMMPH! That was the fool that kept saying I wasn’t lucid. Bastard!! I yelled at him in the ambulance and didn’t find his antics the least bit cute. Hmmmmmmmph!!!!! I ended up spending the entire day at the hospital crying a thousand rivers about how stupid I was for allowing myself to end up in the ER (by 4:00 they had me lying in the hallway with the rest of the yahoos.) It was all my fault because a month prior I changed my prescription and was unknowingly over medicating myself. BAD BAD DIVA!! I also felt horrible that I had so many people in a panic and worried about me. J-Boogie nearly had a nervous breakdown wondering if I was OK. C-Note thought I was a goner because she came to the hospital looking for me but I wasn’t there. They had discharged me already but they didn’t tell her that so she had no idea where I was. Everyone at work knew something bad happened to me but not exactly what. It was insane. Thankfully, in the end they didn’t have to admit me but I had to promise to call the doctor and make an appointment ASAP. I finally swallowed my pride over that long lost doctor's bill and went to see my doctor the next day. Of course he thought I was a complete loon for changing my prescription.

Dr. SWAZILAND: You did what?????????
DIVA: I started taking two daily doses of Lantus last month because I ran out of the other insulin and I didn’t want to come in here until the bill was settled.
Dr. SWAZILAND: OH, you’re cute. How many degrees do you have?
DIVA: Huh?
Dr. SWAZILAND: You heard me. How many degrees do you have?
DIVA: I have three
Dr. SWAZILAND: in what?
DIVA: BAs in English, Journalism and a Masters in English Education
Dr. SWAZILAND: So none of those are medical degrees I see. So what made you think you could diagnose yourself and change your meds?

OK, OK, point taken. I was being stupid and stubborn and almost died. Never again. Diva will be good and take her proper prescription and go to the doctor regularly from now on. End of discussion. Mercy,

12/17 Party Time. Fast forward to Saturday. Some folks thought that my little bout with diabetes and the orderlies at the hospital would mean that I would be forced to cancel the PARTAY!! AS IF! I was in the hospital on Monday and the party was scheduled for Saturday. That is five whole days in between. One thing had nothing to do with the other. And anyone who knows me knows that I am a firm believer in the mantra, "The show must go on" so there was no way in hell I was going to cancel my party. Not a chance!! Besides, the Girl With The Big Forehead was flying in from Colorado on Wed and Nutmeg was coming from DC on Friday and Mr. Miguel and his sis were driving up from DC on SAT morning and… well whatever. There was no way I was canceling that shit. My house, my party and I will be DIIIIIVAAAAAAA and I will be fierce, seizures and all. So Sat rolls around and the party is a smash hit as I knew it would be. I put on my sheer nude top and shorter than short skirt and welcomed about 30 friends into my little ass apartment to celebrate the holidays. I served chocolate martinis, crantinis, absolut cream sodas, bourbon meatball, smoked salmon, hummus, and other goodies. It was fun and everyone had a ball. Of course, Stephen the Married Guy was a no show. BEE-ATCH!! Spent like two hours straight calling me, telling me he was on his way but he never showed. Woe is me. After the party ended around 2:00 am we all headed to the corner bar/club to hang out. There we cleared the dance floor and shut the place down. Of course there was some drama. Always is. Some girl was trying to talk shit about Mr. Miguel and get all up in his business so the Girl With the Big Forehead spit her gum into the hood of her coat. I almost cried I was laughing so hard. Don’t be mad because Mr. Miguel can out dance your ass trick. HATERS I SWEAR!!!!

12/20 NYC City Strike. Them fools that work for the MTA went on strike and as a result Diva was paying $25 -$40 to run all over the city to get some booty and send out Xmas gifts. Mercy. This was the night that I met Stephen the Married Guy downtown at the very expensive Nobu. This was the "I’m sorry for not coming to your party dinner." Hmmmmmmmmph!!! Yes that fool owed me some dinner. Hence the Jimmy Choos he bought me. It cost me $25 to get down there in a cab. Then the cab ride back uptown to Stephen’s place to get my cootie wet was a whopping $40. $40? Good Grief. I hate the transit workers. Hate them, hate them, hate them. How dare you strong-arm me with this strike during the holidays!!! Anyway, Stephen the Married Guy and I had our moment or shall I say "several moments" throughout the evening. Turns out, he is a moaner and his ass got rocked. HAHAHA!!! I put the DA-DANG-GA-DANG on his Bitch ass. Hooray… well Hooray for like two seconds because as you know Stephen is a loon and will flake at any given moment, which explains why three weeks later we are barely speaking. FUCKER!!! I haven’t seen him since that night. All he does is whine about that damn divorce and alimony and who has this and who needs to give that back. BOOGER!! Who wants to hear that mess 24/7. Just divorce the chick and be done already so you can be with me. (He claims she wants a $1 million settlement. Excuse me while I choke!!! You banking like that Stephen the Married Guy? Maybe I will stick around after all.) Yeah the shit was good that night but not worth all of this worry and heartache. All we do is argue now. No loving at all. BASTARD!! Plus, he had a box of condoms that night which made me yell at him. If you haven’t slept with anyone since like the summertime and you didn’t know that we were going to hook up that night then why the hell do you have a big old box of brand new condoms sittinf in your room. Fucker. Bea thinks he is sleeping around. Maybe he is, although Stephen is a bigtime nerd so who knows. I do know one thing. If you guys love me at all then you will sit down right now and put the VOODOO hex on Stephen the Married Guy in my honor. Fucking Bastard.

12/23 After my tryst with that fool I finally made it out of the city to DC for Xmas. Nothing new to report there. My sister JR’s husband is still in jail, the Guy That I Should Have Married is still married to that Bitch from Spain, and the Greyhound is still very ghetto. On the way back up to NYC these two ladies got into a fight over a seat on the bus. One lady bought a ticket for both her and her baby so technically she had two seats, however, some other trick wanted the lady to move her baby so she could sit down. When she refused to do so the lady spit on her and they started brawling. BRAWLING. The crazy lady screamed, "I will fuck you and your bitch ass baby up!!" What the hell kind of stuff is that? Threatening a baby. Mercy. My ass really needs to get back on the Acela train to get away from these fools.

12/31 I had an all girls, male bashing party for New Years that was tres fab. Bea came, Nutmeg came back to NYC for the festivities, and our friend JJ was in attendance with her awful weave in tow. We had a ball. Although, a very drunk Bea used this opportunity to try and corner me and go off about Stephen the Married Guy. Wench!!! I love Bea to death but she was not going to win this argument with me. She tried but in the end I told her, "You had better stop huffing and puffing and rolling your eyes about Stephen the Married Guy. What if I marry his ass? Then what? If I see you at the alter acting up and rolling your eyes I will stop the ceremony fo sho and throw your ass out!!!" HMMMMMMPH!! Of course she is probably right about Stephen the Married Guy’s lame ass but I didn’t want to hear that shit right then and there. Not after I had been in the kitchen all day cooking up some fabulous grub for my girls. Just say Thank You for the food and leave my pathetic love life alone until the next day. Thank YOU VERY MUCH!!

So that is how I rang in the New Year. Oh, Stephen the Married GUY? His ass was in Chicago probably fucking some other bitch and telling her tales of woe about how much his life sucks. Shit that’s how he got me to like his ass so why not keep the story going. As for me? Now Diva is in the ’06 and so far I am still acting a fool like I was in ’05. Stephen the Married Guy and I had a fight last night, which means that nothing has changed on that front, I am still broke as hell, my job still makes me want to puke, and my eggs are still drying up faster than you can say HAIL TO THE REDSKINS. (They are winning by the way folks. FUCK the NY GIANTS. HEHE!!) At least my friend JJ finally got that horrible weave out of her hair. The chick had that mess in four almost four months. The shit looked like BUCKWHEAT for real!! It was awful. Bea kept trying to be nice about it and tell her politely that she needed to get her shit done. Me? I refused to talk about it. If you can’t look in the damn mirror and see that shit was whack then I have nothing to say. YOU DO YOU!!! Just don’t expect me to roll out in public with your ass. (Needless to say she finally got her shit done for New Year’s and she once again looked fab.)

So that is it for me. I saw death and told it to get out of my damn face. I romped with Stephen and am a mess over it once again, and my finances are still whack. See, same old Diva. New Year, same song. Now did you say you missed me? Are you sure?

See You in '06

2005-12-31T11:13:00.000-05:00

Hey All,

Diva (that's me) will be back next week in the '06 to dazzle you with the tall tales of my untimely absence. Until then, please have a safe new year folks!! (Oh and have a Grey Goose pour moi!!!)

Seeing Double

2005-12-06T18:42:00.000-05:00

42-0? Take that you nasty little Philadephia Eagles!!!!! HAHA!! Now if only my Redskins could win some games.

Soooo, my vision was waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay off today. This morning I woke up and couldn’t see for shit. I swear I was seeing double even with my glasses on. The screen said,

Jimmy Choos for Sale
Jimmy Choos for Sale

Everything was in twos. I called one of my friends at the mag and told him that I thought I was going crazy because I couldn't see which caused him to freak out and curse at me for not going to the doctor. Here we go again. I told you I can’t go to the doctor. We are in a dispute over a bill that I said I paid and they say I didn’t pay and until it gets resolved I am on my own. I think my double sighted-ness had something to do with being hungry or possibly taking too much insulin the night before. Either way the shit freaked me out something awful. I thought I was having a recurrence of a psychotic episode that I had way back when. Everything on the computer screen came across in two lines so I couldn’t see anything in reality. at one point I ran to the bathroom and screamed, “LAWD HAVE MERCY MARC JACOBS PLEASE DON’T FUCK WITH MY EYESIGHT!!” Finally I went back to my room, kicked my laptop, got back in bed, turned on some Coldplay, and took a nap. Chris Martin calms my nerves every single time I am upset. Thankfully, I woke up to find that my sight was restored. Whew!! I still have no idea what was going on with my orbitals. Scared the shit out of me though.

Besides stressing over my potential blindness I didn’t do much else today. I was supposed to be working on this NFL project for the mag but again, IT IS MY DAY OFF PEOPLE SO I CROSSED MY ARMS AND REFUSED TO WORK. HAVE SOME RESPECT FOR THE WEARY. I objected to doing any work today. Way too tired for that mess. Plus, I feel a bout of “I don’t have a man and I want to have a baby” depression coming on so the last thing I wanted to do was focus on some lame story about what footballers have planned for their lives after the gridiron. Who cares about that? Diva is childless. My womb is empty. I want to wallow in my sorrows and just be sad. Boo-Fucking-Hoo.

Alas, I do have to get some work done tomorrow which means that I cannot get my hair done which means that this new growth will have to keep right on growing for another week. The Nerve. But hey, I really do need the overtime so I guess I just have to waltz my caramel behind into the office tomorrow and get on the phone and start stalking the Tampa Bay Buccaneers PR people for info about their players. Have I mentioned before how much I hate PR people? They are all a bunch of good for nothings who give you the run around so I am sure I will be in a foul mood by the end of the day tomorrow. HMMMMPH!!

You know I was supposed to go out with Bea tonight. The same Bea who said on Sat that she had no money to go out so she wouldn’t be going anywhere besides my party until after the first of the year. Well, Ms. Bea decides today that she found a couple of quarters in her purse and that she wants to go to Café Wha? tonight to gobble up some wings and listen to some funk music. Sounds nice right? Right, except I really am the brokest baddest bitch out here and there is no way I can afford to be eating and drinking it up down in the village this week. So I had to come up with a lie as to why I couldn't go so I told her that I had to go to work today. For shame I know but I have to protect my quarters and my rep until next weekl!!! Plus Charlie Brown Christmas comes on tonight. There is no way in hell that I am going to miss the best holiday cartoon ever made for some greasy chicken wings that will clog my arteries and make me fat. Long live Charlie Brown!!!

Finally, I sent Stephen the Married Guy my final "fuck off" letter last night, not that he has responded to any of the other ones I sent. Woe is me for sure. Still licking my wounds over that mess. Oh and Saddam told the court to “GO TO HELL” today. That shit is comedy for real!! Holla!

Monday Crazies

2005-12-05T13:21:00.000-05:00

Superhead???? Can we please stop this insanity? I mean really!!!

Monday morning in the NYC folks. The air outside is crisp and chilly just the way I like it. Perfect weather to snuggle in. Some folks were whining because it snowed here yesterday but it really was nothing major, one of those wimpy snow showers that fails to pack even the slightest punch. Instead of partying hard, Bea and I stayed our caramel behinds in the house all weekend. We are both pitifully broke so there was no where to go except the living room couch. Again my party is next weekend so I have to save all of my quarters for that mess. Even Bea was like, "I have no money so my only social event for the season will be your party." As it should be. I promise it will be the party of the year my dear, I promise. The wardrobe for said party is basically complete except… I am obsessing about shoes. Can you believe it? I have no idea how many pairs of shoes I own (something like 50 or 60) but trust me when I say I should have something in that damn closet to wear with the Sheer Devil’s top, yet for the life of me I can’t stop feeling like I need to buy a new pair of heels. Lawd Help!! The Broke Diva knows that she cannot afford a new pair of shoes but the DIVA's DIVA is saying, "Girl you know you need to buy some new shit." DAMN, DAMN, DAMN. What is a Diva to do?

So I’m in the apartment getting ready for work this morning when my phone rings. I never answer my phone before noon so I just waited to see if the person would leave a message. Of course it was that fool Davey Jones. He can’t stand it that I have decided to fight back and call him at all hours of the night. Well today he decided to go way psycho, leaving me the most cryptic message ever.

"Nani, I’m sitting here looking at my call log on my caller ID for the past three days and I see that you’ve called me a total of 17 times. You miss Daddy don’t you? Well, I do not miss you at all except to hear you scream my name. I have alerted the authorities in NYC that you are stalking me. However, before I give my full statement and have them arrest you I promise that I will bend you over and let you feel the power. Don’t fret. It’s coming soon."

Thus begins my week of craziness. What a psycho. First of all, I have not called you 17 times in the past three days. Don’t flatter yourself. Try five times. Five times only because your ass kept calling me. And now I have you on my voicemail threatening me (yet again) so who is it exactly that is going to be carted off to jail here my friend? Fucking psycho. I will never let you bend me over. GROSS!! No telling what diseases you have by now considering all of the Hos you have bedded around the world. I’d castrate you something fierce before I let you touch me. Yuck!! And I have never in life screamed your name except to tell you to leave me alone or to call you by your birth name, "SHIT HOLE!!" I swear we are going to kill each other one of these days. Me, I think I would start by slashing his pretty face with my butcher knife since he talks about how fine he is so damn much. Bastard!!! However, before I kill him I have to wait and see what he gets me for Xmas. Here’s hoping my new Jimmy Choos are under the tree. HEHE!!

Just found out that one of my friends (Think HUGE ASS forehead) has been creeping on the come up since October. For shame my dear, for shame. Out of the blue she starts talking about some random dude she has been messing with for the past few weeks. I was like, "What the hail?" Yes Hail. That is the country emphasis that I added on to that shit to show how shocked I was. She has never mentioned this dude to me before and then BAM!!! All of a sudden she’s telling tales of hot butt nekkid sex on a platter? Oh the deception!!! Am I jealous? Hell Yeah!!! I am supposed to be the one with the slutty tales of ecstasy. Not anymore though. Now I couldn’t buy a night of carnal pleasure even if I tried. Hmmmmmph. That’s the way love goes.

Oh and Stephen the Married sent me a text saying that he is sorry for being a bad friend. Please. Is that all you have to say? Is that the lame line you gave to your wife before she filed for divorce? "Sorry that I have been a bad husband baby." Cry Me a River You Fucker!! Soooooooooooo done with that fool. The Diva is flying solo. In fact, I am sitting here in my office listening to my booty shaking mix of Beyonce/T.I./Sheila E. trying to Dust My Shoulders off. No more Floetry for me this week. I am no longer having a moment over that fool.

I was quite amused to learn that "my cousin" Saddam Hussein is still acting up this morning during his trial in Baghdad. (Mr. Miguel calls him my cousin. Why? I have no idea. I think he has a secret crush on Saddam.) I know this trial is serious business and is not suppsed to be fuel for fodder but I find it all quite laughable. I mean did we really think that Saddam was just going to roll over and die quietly? If we had any guts we would have gutted him already instead of displaying this mock of a trial. Saddam is nuts and the American Government loved him that way until about 1989 or so when he decided to bust some balls and invaded Kuwait. Now we have him on trial. This morning he screamed at the judge, "This game must not continue, if you want Saddam Hussein's neck, you can have it! I have exercised my constitutional prerogatives after I had been the target of an armed attack. by the United States. I am not afraid of execution. I am not afraid to die." HA!!! Since when have criminals been allowed to take over the court room with such public outburts of contempt? I thought we were trying to fashion Iraq's government like our own... you know a mini USA in the Middle East? If that is the plan then they had better take control of their suspects on trial. Before you know it Saddam is going to declare himself not guilty and take over Iraq once again. Wouldn' that just burst W's bubble? HEHE!!

So the rest of the week will be filled with stupid stuff for the magazine (interviews and such) and trying to finalize me menu for the party. I also need to get my hair done, eyebrows waxed, and get a facial. With what money you ask? I need to find a night job. Maybe become a Rockette or something like that.

Oh, the Superhead reference at the top of this post refers to Karrine Steffans, author of Confessions of a Video Vixen and well-noted "Video/Hip-Hop Ho". I know I am a little late with this (and no I did not read the book) but I just think that "Superhead" is the most degrading nickname ever. Superhead? As in, "you are on your knees giving super head?" Mercy!! Is this what it has come to ladies? And the fact that it is a self imposed nickname just floors me. Where is your self-esteem? Is that all you want to be seen as? Do you want your son’s friends to refer to you as Ms. Superhead? Mercy!!! Marc Jacobs please help this child. Why am I choosing to vent about this now? Because someone on the train was talking about her this morning and kept saying "Superhead this" and "Superhead that." I cringed each time. I would be so upset if that is what people across America were calling me. I mean, I got some "Milkshake" skills too but that doesn’t mean I am going to put a patent on the name. Sheesh!!

Sheer Nude

2005-12-02T16:58:00.000-05:00

It’s Friday all, and I would like to introduce you to some friends of mine. Meet Wendy and Lisa everyone. They will be on display December 17th at my little holiday soiree here in the NYC. I know you cannot wait to see them. No seriously, I went to Bloomies last night in search of the very sheer, very chic, devil’s blouse to wear to my cocktail party in two weeks. As I mentioned yesterday, the shit is expensive… like $268 expensive but I failed to find anything else out there that tickled my fancy so I am forced to go with this blouse. It will be the top of the year for sure. Well to my surprise not only did they have the Sheerness at Bloomies, but they also had it in my size. Very cool. So with my $25 off coupons in hand I made my way to the checkout register to make my purchase. There I encountered a very nice but very longwinded cashier named Emma. Emma, who had to at least be pushing 69, was all a flutter about the holiday season, Christmas carols, and the many sales items throughout the store. She kept saying over and over, "It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G is 40-60% off." I think she thought she was Nat King Cole making a Christmas album. She was sweet but a little off kilter. And to be honest, everything was not 40-60% off even though there were a lot of sales going on in the store. My very sheer devil’s top was not one of them,however, that sucker was full price. In any event, I handed Emma my "$25 off each $100 you spend" coupons which meant I would get $50 off of the Sheerness putting the total at $218. Still a bit expensive but whatever: my house, my party, my peeps, I gotta look good. Ironically Emma took one look at the Sheer Devil's Top and then one look at me and said, "OOOOHHH, you are going to make some young man very very happy." HA!! If only she knew. Sorry to disappoint you Ms. Emma but there is no young man to speak. Diva is once again flying solo. Anyway, so Emma rings me up and I expect her to say that my total would be around $237, which is the $218 plus tax. Imagine my surprise when Ms. Emma sings, "That will be $88!!" WHAAAAAAAAAAAA? $88? Was she serious? That's less than half the price!!! I didn’t know what was going on but I wasn’t about to ask questions to find out. I quickly handed her my credit card, waited for the approval and high tailed my ass out of there. As I was walking toward the escalator I kept thinking Ms. Emma was going to scream, "DIIIIIIVVVVVVVAAAAA, you had better bring your ass back here and pay what you really owe for that Sheer Devil’s Top." But she said nothing. She just kept singing in the wind, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas." When I got on the escalator I pulled out my receipt to see what happened. It seems since Ms. Emma kept talking so much about stuff being 40-60% off around the store that she got confused and just went ahead and gave me 60% off of the Sheer Devil’s Top after she already took the $50 off with my coupons. WHHAAAAAAAA??? Does that make any sense? Didn’t make much sense to me either but hey, who the hell cares. I got my top for less than half the price so I was happy as punch. Too bad I couldn’t get another pair of True Religion jeans for the same deal but I didn’t want to press my luck.

So I get the Sheer Devil’s top home and try it on, walking up ad down the runway in my living room. When I say that thing is sheer I’m talking, "Diva you are butt ass nekkid" sheer. Wendy and Lisa are in full view. You can see right through my nipples in this top. Yawzer, Yawzer, Yawzer! While I want my soiree to be a very festive occasion I am not to sure if I want to be on display for the folks the entire evening. Like, "Hey why don’t you have a nipple with that Martini Mr. Miguel…" No thank you. So I guess I have to make some adjustment so I won’t be totally sheer after all. I will be forced to wear a camisole underneath the blouse in order to maintain some level of respectability amongst my friends and co-workers. Although, you know I am going to go to sleep at night dreaming of the day that I can wear said blouse camisole free and with Wendy and Lisa out and about saying hello to everyone. I need a man dammit and men love breasts so I will keep the Sheer Devil's Top near the front of my closet just in case. AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! YAWZER!!!

Again it’s Friday Night and I will be home all by my lonesome. This go round the celibate streak it almost two months long. Impressive. I have decided that I am going to go for the record and hold out until next December. That would be something wouldn’t it? If I manage it I swear to God I am going to buy myself a mink coat. That’s some real incentive right there.

OH, The National Double Dutch Holiday Classic is this Sunday, December 4 at the Apollo Theater. Damn, I wish I could go. Unfortunately, my ass will be working all day. I was a double dutching fool when I was younger. Since I was on the teeny tiny side I was the speedster in my Double Dutch group, the girl who jump 10000 rotations in a minute. Damn I miss that stuff. However, you know ain’t nobody jumping any Double Dutch here in Midtown. Still, if any of you NYC folks aren’t busy on Sunday you should head up to Harlem and check these girls out. Holla!!

Like Trina

2005-12-01T13:21:00.000-05:00

"I made it to the final four so even if I don’t win this competition I know that I am the fourth baddest Bitch in America." –Bre, America’s Next Top Model

I'm representin' for the bitches
All eyes on your riches ...
I'm da baddest bitch what
Who's bad? Who's, who's bad?
Who's bad? Who's, who's bad?
(Shit I'm the baddest bitch)
Who's bad? Who's, who's bad?
Who's bad? Who's, who's bad?

Da Baddest Bitch- Trick Daddy and Trina

Well today I feel like the baddest bitch. Or maybe the Maddest Bitch!! Once again I'm mad at everyone. First up? DAVEY JONES. That fool has lost his damn mind. Borderline stalker. I wish I could just beat him over the head with my Prada boot right about now. This MOFO called my house three times in a row this morning at around 5:30am. And for what? Not a damn thing. No one died or needed bail money. He just wanted to harass me. First time he called he didn’t leave a message. The next two times he calls he is screaming into the answering machine, "NANI I know your ass ain’t sleep. Wake the fuck up!! And you had better not be fucking some dude up in t here either" Psycho. Just plain psychotic for no reason at all. I should have called the police. Instead I unplugged the phone and threw it into the living room where it crashed against the bookshelf, thus waking up my roommate who thought someone was trying to break into the front door. BASTARD!! He always does this shit and thinks it’s funny. I called him at ten this morning to see what his problem was and he has the nerve to say to me, "Nani I am at work. Please don’t call me with this mess at work." That about sent me through the roof. I cussed him at something fierce and then hung up on his ass. FUCKER!! Now I have to waste my precious time retaliating and prank calling him for the rest of the week. As if I don’t already have enough shit to do. But see, this is the back and forth that Davey Jones and I go through. Childish? Absolutely. But it is necessary because he always starts it and I have to defend myself. But rest assured when I call his ass at three in the morning he is going to be mad as hell and cussing up a storm. Would serve him right. Or maybe I should call him and really fuck with his mind and tell him about the ghost that was his damn twin brother that I saw a few months back on the Upper East Side. That would fix his ass. Hmmmmmmph!!

Stephen the Married Guy is dead to me… next topic.

OHHHHHHH, I saw another mosquito this morning, which explains the bite that I found on my arm at the gym yesterday. I am now starting to think that the end of the world is going to be caused by an attack of killer mosquitoes. It is November and those things are still around biting people. Could be because it was 60+ degrees here in the city this week, but still. I thought Mosquitoes went North for the winter. And my damn shower is still not fixed. I have been screaming about this for months. My building’s Super is a good for nothing and he is not getting any Xmas money from me this year. Leaky faucets, chipping tile, mosquitoes everywhere. It’s like my building has turned into a squatters den in the East Village. My house is not a happy home at the moment.

So now I am at my desk in my office on 6th Ave, once again trying to figure out what the hell it is my editor is trying to say to me. He makes no sense at all half of the time. Just a bunch if gibberish and misspelled words. I think he is trying to ask me something about NFL equipment but his e-mails are just not legible so I have no idea what this shit says. How is it that a magazine editor cannot spell and is averse to using spell check or picking up a damn dictionary? Unreal. And then we just had one of our infamous, not so useful reporter’s meetings here at the mag. A meeting that I busted my butt trying to make it in on time for, even though I knew it would be useless. As usual it was one big yawn and ended with my boss asking for the tenth time, "Does anyone have anything they want to add? Anything? Questions? Comments? " No fool, let’s just wrap this up and go. I have shit to do. Bad enough I had to stand in the back of the conference room next to that Bitch Girlie who as usual kept giving me her annoying glances and fake smiles. Go fuck yourself girlie. Oh wait, I forgot. You are scared of penis and your boy-toy can’t get it up past a pinkie so never mind. BITCH!! See, that damn Davey Jones started my day off in a foul mood and I just cannot recover. Although I hate Girlie and Weird Guy even when I am happy.

But in addition to being a grouch today I’ve got a lot of running around to do. I have got all of this research to do on these damn story ideas and then The Private Sale at Bloomingdales starts today ($25 off coupons) and I have to get my ass over there to try and find something to wear to my cocktail party. I go through this laborious process every damn year. It’s sickening really. The top that I want to wear weighs in at a whopping $268. Mercy. I am trying my best not to buy it but nothing else measures up. And since it is my party I have to be fab… I have to be the baddest bitch up in the joint. My house, my peeps, my party I'm DA BADDEST BITCH!! Looking at the pictures from last year’s soiree I have decided that I am none to pleased with the way that I looked. The white camisole that I was wearing made me look fatter than fat, as if Wendy and Lisa had just eaten a cow or something. There will be none of that this year, even though the $268 top is sheer so you may be able to see all of my goodies. Gasp!!!! Shit in these days when I am desperately trying to catch a man a Diva has to do what a Diva has to do so sheer top and peek-a-boobs it is. At least if I get it at Bloomies I can get $75 off with the coupons. That would at least take this ugly scowl off of my face. Then again, Maybe Not!

I'm representin' for the bitches
All eyes on your riches ...
I'm da baddest bitch what
Who's bad? Who's, who's bad?
Who's bad? Who's, who's bad?
(Shit I'm the baddest bitch)
Who's bad? Who's, who's bad?
Who's bad? Who's, who's bad?

Venting During the Commercials

2005-11-30T10:02:00.000-05:00

I have been up since six thirty in the AM watching all of last week’s shows on DVR. Does Diva need to get a life? Maybe. But like I have said before, I am serious about my TV Shows. So far this morning I have devoured two episodes of Prison Break and two episodes of Surface. Next up? LOST and then two weeks worth of both Invasion and Rome and then America's Next Top Model and then a National Geographic episode on the mystery of Monsers, as in the Loch Ness Monster and Big Foot. That is like seven hours of my ass being glued to the tube today. Not to mention, Dr, Phil at three and then the People’s Court at four. And HELL NO I do not watch Oprah. While I love me some Oprah Winfrey I refuse to watch her show anymore unless it is an emergency. (as in Terry McMillan and her very gay husband. HOW YOU DOING?) I get so sick and tired of Oprah's celebrity name dropping and talking about being rich that I want to slap her sometimes. And no I am not Hating. I am very proud of Ms. Oprah. When she cries, I cry. However, I can sooooo not relate to her when she constantly asks, “Isn’t being rich fun?” Bitch how would I know? Most of us are not billionaires Ms. Thing!!!!!! Anyway, so before I commit to becoming an absolute couch potato for the rest of the day I thought I would blog for a spell this morning and vent about some things that have been heavy on my heart for the past 48 hours. I didn’t have time to post yesterday because I was drifting in an out of nocturnal bliss, trying to re-acclimate my body to being not so busy on my actual day off. Plus, I had to deal with a very dear friend of mine sweating me for my blog address and trying to get me to divulge my deepest, darkest secrets. He got the blog address but the secrets? Please. A Diva never kisses and tells. I also had to chastise Mr. Miguel one last time for the white powder episodes. Alas, he and I will forever go back and forth over his over the top partying antics and my perceived bouts with purging and being a diabetic who consumes way too much alcohol and sugar. What can you do? We are both stubborn so not a damn thing it seems. Still, even as I was napping yesterday I had a lot of shit on my mind. I mean I just have to ask…Is it me or have our people gone half crazy? By our people you know I mean brown folks. It seems that as the end of the year draws near we have become a little more agitated than usual and have lost our damn minds. First there were them fools smoking weed on the damn Greyhound exacerbating my near diabetic episode. Then you have all of the men up here in the NYC killing their girlfriends and kids. One dude got his kid back from foster care and then wasted no time beating the poor child to death. Then there was the lady who, a couple of weeks ago, scalded her baby to death and then blamed her three year old for doing it. For shame Bitch, for shame!!!!!! Or how about the dude that has been going around the city raping and slashing poor women as they exit the train? Or the latest bout of insanity? Brotherman here in the NYC shot two cops (both black, but not that it matters) in two separate incidents in less than two weeks, killing one. Then, said brotherman has the nerve to get on TV and say, “I’s innocent. I’m sorry.” Fool if you are innocent then what the hell are you apologizing for? And don’t you know that killing a police officer is an automatic death penalty conviction in NYC, let alone shooting two of them? Mercy. Believe it or not, after being shot in the heart the officer still had the gumption to chase his attacker for two whole blocks before succumbing to his mortal wounds. Mercy. I am surprised that the culprit’s family has not been in the papers or on television screaming about how he was set up and about what a good man he is. Usually the mamma gets on TV and cries, “He’s innocent, he’s a good boy!!!!” Yeah right, with a rap sheet like that and CSI evidence to say otherwise? Enough! When will these fools ever learn? Far be it from me to become an advocate for the NYPD. However, a police officer pulls you over for running a red light and your first inclination is to shoot him in the heart? What the hell kind of nonsense is that? So instead of getting a measly ticket for your traffic violation you are now condemned to the needle, i.e. LETHAL INJECTION!!!!!! Just a waste. It’s enough to make me want to spit. I am so sick and tired of these brothers acting a fool and throwing their lives away for nonsense that I swear I am about to pull out all of this new growth sitting on top of my head. What happened to being civilized and wanting more out of life than a jail cell and another inmate's dick up your behind or down your throat? And what happens to the victim’s family… the widow of the poor deceased officer and his two kids? Just a mess indeed. I just feel so bad for that poor family. I really do. Wife just had a baby a few months ago and now she has to bury her husband. His mother has to bury her only son. All of this death and destruction for the holidays. Just stop it please. Stop feeding into the stereotype that we are all animals. Stop trying to jack me for my nana and my papers. I am trying to make ends meet just like you are. Sheesh!!!!

Oh and pray for Stephen the Married Guy or whatever it is that you religious folks do these days. He is just one big mess of tears and confusion. And yet I like him so what does that say about this Diva?

Now back to my television programs. Hollla!

Turkey Tales

2005-11-27T22:50:00.000-05:00

The theme for this post is: White Powder Kills!!

Damn it’s good to be back in the NYC. I swear I almost kissed the gritty slimy NY ground as soon as that Greyhound bus turned into the terminal this morning. However, if I had tried to bend over and kiss the ground I probably would have fallen flat on my face because my ass was two steps away from a full fledged diabetic seizure. It seems I decided to get on the bus yesterday morning with an empty stomach and no food on my person. Not good for someone who has Type 1 diabetes. So for four hours I sat on that damn bus with my hands shaking, praying that I didn’t keel over, even though my glucose levels were dropping faster than George W’s approval rating. Insane. Not the smartest ride Diva ever took, but it most certainly taught me a lesson. EAT SOMETHING before you hit the road Diva. Still, as much as I love DC I swear to God I was ready to come home even before Turkey dinner was fully over on Thursday. By the end of it all I hated everyone. Everyone!! The holiday week started on Tuesday with my sister JR getting on my damn nerves as usual, and it ended with my Greyhound bus being pulled over in Delaware because "our people" don’t know how to act. Unreal. Maybe I will be taking the train home for Xmas after all because it is obvious that some folk just can’t sit still on the Greyhound. Surprisingly, turkey dinner at my mom’s house on Thursday was the absolute least stressful event of the week. WHO KNEW? I thought for sure my mother was going to send me into quick convulsions after being in the house for a mere 10 minutes with her. Instead, she was cool beans. Didn’t even give her usual harsh critique. Just said, "Hi child," and kept on moving. Probably too worried about all of the hungry ass people that were about to invade her house. As usual way too much food was cooked. I am talking dishes that I didn't even get to sample because I was full and wasn't trying to overdo it. I mean, I have holiday outfits that I am trying to fit into so I am not trying to add the after Turkey poudns. Still, mamma was cooking.

White Powder Kills

So after being stood up by the Stud-boy on Tuesday I met up with one of my best friends from college C-Ruth on Wednesday. (Yes there is a C-Note and a C-Ruth in my life. However, the two ladies couldn’t be any more different.) C-Ruth and I were great friends and roommates for a while in college. Now she lives down in DC with her boyfriend. I haven’t seen her in forever, I even forgot her birthday back in September, so it was good to hang out and catch up with my dear friend. She had many tales about her family turmoil (parents just got divorced after 30 plus years), high hopes for getting engaged soon, and prospects for future career goals. Cool stuff of course, however, you know Diva being Diva, I was sitting there like, "Dammit another one of my friends is trying to get married? GOOD GOD." I don’t know if I can do another wedding. I am just getting over the trillion weddings I went through this year. This especially holds true for C-Ruth because not so long ago she was dating a young lady down in Virginia. Now she is no longer dating that She and is ready to get married to this HE and Diva is sitting there thinking, "But she has had two loves already!!! When the hell is it going to be my turn." Still, I love C-Ruth to death. I really do. She has been there for me in times when I thought I was ready to hurl myself over the edge for sure so if she is ready to jump the broom and tie the knot then I will be the first one at the altar ready to give her away. I just hope I have a date for the wedding.

As it turns out, C-Ruth lives around the corner from the Guy That I Should Have Married so after our dinner she dropped me off at his house so I could say hello and see the new baby for the first time. Breathe. I had been working myself up for this for weeks. Now, when I arrived at his house it was around 11:40pm or so and he was just getting back from dinner with his wife, Mr. Miguel, and some other friends. We all walk into his house and he goes to the back to get the beer and wine for the troops so we can pour some liquor while the wife hands off the baby and heads upstairs to go to bed. She didn’t even say goodnight. That’s right, the wifey left her three week old baby downstairs at almost midnight with a bunch of fools who were about to get their serious drink on. WHHAAAAAAAAAAAA?? Insane. Eventually I end up holding the baby and he and I are having a nice little time bonding. He is absolutely adorable. And of course he just loved me. It was as if he was looking up at me saying, "I know you are my real mommy. I feel it too." Smart Kid he is. However, after about ten minutes or so of maneuvering my glass of Chardonnay and my new pretend baby, the little one gets a little fussy because he needs his diaper changed. I head toward the kitchen to tell the Guy That I Should Have Married that the little guy was about to blow his top any minute because he was all wet but I was too late. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! A full fledge cry emanates from the little man’s mouth, surely waking up the entire house. I tell his proud papa that I will be glad to change the baby if he could just find me some diapers. Next thing you know wifey comes flying downstairs, however, she doesn’t come to retrieve the baby. She comes downstairs to say to me in English, "Could you at least put a blanket on the baby?" Then she storms off back upstairs. WHHHHHHHAAAAAAA???? Bitch are you insane? You must be half-crazy. And I thought you couldn’t even speak English. But more importantly your three-week-old is crying a river in my arms and you don’t even try to see what is wrong with him? You are content with stepping to me, spewing some mess about a blanket without even glancing at him to see what is wrong? She must be post-partum or something. Either that or she lost all the sense she may have had when she was having them contractions. Any sane woman would have been all over that baby trying to figure out what was wrong. Not this bitch. After rolling her eyes at me (and Mr. Miguel’s sister) she took her stank behind back upstairs and once again left us with the baby. Didn’t even give him a kiss. Eventually, the Guy That I Should Have Married found the elusive diaper bag and changed my tiny little friend and all was good. Yet as the night went on I was still perturbed at the nerve of that Bitch of a wife. One of these days she is going to get the Diva slap for sure. I wanted to just start singing some Pussycat Dolls, "Dontcha Wish Your Girlfriend was HOT like Me." He wishes. I know he does.

Remember White Powder Kills

After a night of being all too annoyed with the people in charge of raising my "newborn" I tried to put a smile on my face for Turkey Day. JR annoyed me because she spent most of the morning on the phone with her mother in law shooting the shit about turkey day recipes. Must be nice to share in the joy that your loved one is doing hard time. Oh how it must feel to love a jailbird. Anyway, so I thought my mom and I were going to go at it all afternoon and for that I wasn’t that excited to go over there. But yet I was HONGREE… ready to get my grub on so when we arrived at my mother’s doorsteps all I could think about was stuffing my face. I didn’t even eat breakfast that morning because I wanted to devote all of my time to the Thanksgiving feast. The plan was to stay at my mom’s until around eight and devour as much stuffing and fried turkey as possible and then meet up with Mr. Miguel and crew at the Guy That I Should Have Married’s House for the some liquor and after turkey frolicking. Well, my ride who was taking me to said house wanted to leave early so I left my mom’s at 7:00 and got to the next spot a little before eight. I walked in the door and greeted my "should have been" mother in law, father in law, brother in law, and other friends. The wifey’s mamma was in town from Spain so I had to be nice and speak to her too. (of course, she speaks no English.) I swear I must have been there for maybe 30 minutes before Mr. Miguel and his friend J are screaming about how the want to leave and go back to J’s hotel room because The Guy That I should have Married isn’t serving any real alcohol. WHHHHHHHAAAAAA??? Fool I just got here. Can I at least sit for a spell? Well my spell turned out to be twenty more minutes and then we were all out the door. We stopped at my should have been Brother-In Laws squalor of an abode to sip liquor and watch a cracked out Whitney Houston on being Bobby Brown. That whole show is just one sad train wreck. Well, next thing I know, all of the men rush to the bathroom to smoke weed. Seriously, how old are you guys? 10 minutes later the boys are out the door and headed to the HOTEL to have more booze. Me? I am trying to convince my Should Have Been brother in law to take me home. He agrees, however, on the way home gets a call from an old friend and we eventually meet that guy at the bar. We are there for like 45 min when it is decided that we will in fact join Mr. Miguel and J at the Hotel. Well, we arrive at the room and the booze is laid out like a party is going on. Actually, ain’t nothing wrong with that. Mr. Miguel has some nice tasting watermelon drink and J is drinking some other fly drink so I am content just sipping off of there stuff. Later, I begin my DJ gig and start regulating songs on the CD player. J annoys the hell out of me by saying for the 1000th time, "Diva you have lost a whole lot of weight since the last time I saw you." Uggggggh, nope not this DIVA. He says this mess everytime I see him. Honey, I never had a whole bunch of weight to lose to begin with so I have no idea what you are talking about. He thinks he saw an obese Diva the first time he met me which couldn't be farthest from the truth. Never been fat a day in my life. Maybe he saw Wendy and Lisa and just got confused. Well then at some point I notice that folks are disappearing into the bathroom for questionable periods of time. Hmmmm…I wonder why? Are they all having a big old peeing party? Not exactly. It is here that I will once again inject my slogan for the day. White Powder Kills! White Powder Kills!! White Powder Kills!! Shocking Indeed!! IT KILLS!!!!!! Needless to say I am not happy that I have to keep repeating this to folks but dammit these mofos just don’t want to listen. IT KILLS!! The Nerve!! I could have stayed ay my mamma's and delt with her ignoring me versus all of this running around trying to find stuff that is going to send folks to an early death. Hmmmmmph!!! Eventually the bad boys of Thanksgiving left to go to the club while I took my irate behind home in an overly expensive cab. So annoying!!!

WHITE POWDER KILLS… OH and Stephen the Married Guy has all but left the face of the Earth. NICE!! What is a bleeding heart to do?

In the morning JR wakes me up at like seven to let me know that she is about to go to the gym. Why the hell do I care? Why did you wake me up just to tell me that? Then when she gets back she turns on the stereo in the living room where I am sleeping and then goes back to her room and closes the door. What the Fuck is that? I swear my sister just tries to drive me insane and send me to an early death with all of her antics. Then she tried to say stuff about my mother and me. "Mamma was so happy to see you and that you came over to break Turkey with her." Shut it JR!! You know I screamed on her. If she was so happy she would actually pay attention to me for once in her life, maybe pick up the phone and call her daughter. My mother hasn't called me in seven years. In fact, the last time she called me was to ask for some money... No wait, my bad. The last time she called me was a month after I got out of intensive care for my diabetic seizure/diagnosis. She called to ask the now infamous, "HOW YOU GET SUGAR?" Hideous. Notice I said she called a month later. Heifer didn't even pick up the phone once or visit me whie I was half way dying at Beth Israel Hospital. I was there for eight days. No calls, no flowers, no nothing. Thanks, Mamma. The Nerve For Real. And JR didn't show up either. Too busy fooling with that deadbeat husband I suppose. Hideous!!!! So between JR and the horrible wifey and the powder boys at the Hotel, I was in a foul mood on Friday. I stayed in bed all day. Didn’t even shower. JR kept asking me, "Are you OK?" over and over again. UGGGGGGGGG, leave me alone JR. I just want to sit here with my scarf on my head and be mad. Plus, at this point I think Stephen is dead in teh street somewhere so how can I be OK? But nope, she just keeps right on pestering me, asking me question after question. I thought I was going to jump out of the window. I couldn't wait to get out of there.

Which brings me to my bus ride back to the NYC on Sunday morning. What a mess that was. I felt like shit because I had not eaten any food and was about to pass out. Then some fools at the back of the bus decide that is a cool idea to start lighting up some weed as we head back up I-95 towards the Big Apple. Great!! As if no one could smell that shit. As if the stuff is not illegal. You aren't even supposed to smoke cigarettes on the bus let alone weed. Needless to say the bus driver was none too happy about the herbs and doobies that were being smoked on her bus so after two warnings she pulled the bus over to the side of the road and called the cops. We sat on the shoulder for 30 minutes waiting for the cops to come and take them fools to jail. NICE!! GREAT!!! After a non-blissful turkey weekend in Washington I was stuck on the side of the road watching another set of brothers being sent off to jail for foolishness and stupidity. Hooray For My People! At least Stephen the Married Guy finally called. He is a nervous wreck. Divorce ain’t pretty people. Floetry had him on my mind all week. (two songs in particular : Let Me In and Feelings) Now we are trying to make up. We'll see.

Oh and one more bit of advice… White Powder Kills so leave it Alone.

Pre-Turkey Blah

2005-11-23T14:03:00.000-05:00

Well I made it down to DC in one piece, thank Marc Jacobs for that. Actually, the trip down wasn't that bad after all. Diva is flat broke so the method of transportation these days is the Greyhound. The shame of it all. I use to ride it big in First Class on the Acela train. But now my bank account can barely afford the $40 for the Greyhound. Woe is me. Fortunately, the bus was not crowded so I had a seat to myself. There weren't any folks acting crazy, or fighting, or stinking up the joint. Just a quiet ride down I-95 to my sister's condo on Connecticut Ave. A great way to start off the holiday. Before I left NYC I took the advice of Mr. Miguel and Ms. Georgia Peach and downloaded Floetry's latest CD. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!! That shit is the bomb diggity for real. Like heaven in my ears. I swear I was on that Greyhound nearly in tears listening to them girls sing "Let Me In" and "Feelings" sounding like sweet angels. Seriuously, I was having several moments for real. The shit is that good.

Of course, after all of those big plans that Stud-Boy was talking about the other night he turned out to be a bust. He in fact bailed, as I expected he would. What a loser. Dude, don't come a calling me talking about hanging out and so forth and then not show up. Hmmmmmmmph, I ended up drinking my sorrows away with Mr. Miguel at one of the neighborhood bars. It was cool I suppose. Nothing major or scandalous. We just sat back in the corner with our drinks and cut up on people all night. Hehe. I got in at a very respectable one in the AM. Now I am off to the mall to buy something for the Guy That I Should Have Married's new baby. See, I can be a nice Diva. I am going to make an appearance over at his house tomorrow after dinner at my mamma's and I don't want to show up empty handed. (Even though is wife never even sent me a Thank You card for all of the baby shower stuff I sent her. I guess they don't teach manners and proper etiquette in Spain where she is from.) Yeah, so I have to pick up something for the little tyke and then meet friends for dinner. I am tryin to keep myself busy so I don't have to sit up in the house with my sister JR all day and let her drive me crazy. There will be enough time for her to do that tomorrow. Actually, we almost got into it last night over politics. Her jailbird husband is a Republican and she was trying to tell me that not all Repubs are bad. "I know a few that are decent people" is what she said. PUUUUUUHLEAAASSSE!! Your criminalist husband is decent? Honey he has been in jail for a year for stealing people's credit cards, checks, and identities. Plus he owes almost $10,000 in back child support for his bastard daughter that he had with someone else while ya'll have been married. You call that decent? Mercy!!! I was two seconds away from screaming on her for real but I decided to just let it go. If you want to believe that the troll that you are married to is a saint then go right ahead. You just work that out with Jesus because I am done dealing with that mess. Sigh. Along with my sister's marital drama and my cousin Biggie's baby's mammas and all of their kids you can imagine how much fun dinner is going to be tomorrow. Can't wait.

Oh, still nothing from Stephen the Married Guy. Mr. Miguel thinks that something may have happened to him. Hmmmmmmmph, for his sake he had better hope that is the case. Nothing more dangerous than a Diva scorned.

Return of the Shy Guys

2005-11-22T09:57:00.000-05:00

I am a little hung over and pressed for time so I have to make this quick. I am packing up my stuff and heading down to DC to begin the wild and sure to be drama filled Thanksgiving holiday. I called my sister, JR, yesterday and tried to get her to talk my aunt into having turkey dinner at her house rather than at my mom’s. Of course she yelled at me and told me to get over myself. Easy for her to say. My mother actually likes her. Sigh. I guess I am going to have to just deal. I wish I had a prescription for Valium to help me get through the week. And again, JR had better watch it or I am going to announce to the entire dinner table that her hubby is on lockdown doing time. That would be great, to see my aunts' faces if I dropped that bomb on them. MMMMMPH, what a devil I am.

Oh Studboy, my sweet little 25-year-old Studboy IM'd me yesterday. I haven’t chatted with him in ages. He was off in Japan doing some tour or soemthing. Apparently, he wants to hang out tonight when I get to DC. Can you say Random? Studboy never intiates any outings. He's too shy and skurred. I am the one that is always trying to get him to come out and play with me and he is the one always blowing me off. He must think he is going to get some ass or something. If that is the case then he is highly mistaken. I am still soooo pissed at the XY chromosomes right now that intimate contact with a man is the LAST thing on my mind.

So I went to J Boogie and Ms D’s sister’s birthday party last night. Some little lounge downtown called Kush. The place was cute but I felt a little overdressed because a lot of people had on jeans and stuff. Me? I had Wendy and Lisa (my boobs) hanging out in a halter-top saying hello to everyone. To my startling suprise the US Open guy was there. The same US Open guy who never called me back after our first date about a month ago. So weird. He wasn’t on the Evite so I didn’t expect him to be there, but there he was. Ms. D saw him first and thought that he was someone else. I was like, “Noooooo that’s the US Open guy.” He and I chatted for a while and you could tell that he was all nervous, thinking that I was going to smack him for not calling me. I never brought it up right then. Trust me, I was not that pressed or upset that he didn’t call. Yes I think he’s adorable but it was only one date. Not like Stephen the Married Guy who had been attached to my damn hip for over two months but who now seems to be ignoring me. Anyway, US Openn Guy and I chatted and then he went one way and I went the next. Ms. D said Wendy and Lisa scared him away. Why? Don’t you like big caramel breasts in your face Mr. US Open guy? You know they were singing Prince's Computer Blue. "Wendy? Yes Lisa. Is the Water Warm Enough? Yes Lisa. Shall We Begin? Yes Lisa." After watching the belly dancer shake her shit, the DJ finally started playing some hip hop (she was playing some awful Indian fusion music before that) so everyone in my crew gets up to dance. We are working the stage and dropping it like it was on fire. Next thing I know, Ms. D is whispering in my ear, “The US Open guy cannot take his eyes off of you.” It seems he was in the corner on the other side of the room just staring away. For like 15 minutes!!!!!!! Dude? What is wrong with you? Just talk to me dammit. I hate when people just stare at me. It drives me up the frickin wall. But he kept right on staring, watching my every move it seemed. Finally I went up to him and start talking. I turned that uncomfortable mess right back on him. We talked in the corner for like 30 minutes about random stuff here and there, trying to catch up. He's really very sweet but just so damn nervous and shy around me. The most annoying thing ever. Then he had the nerve to open up his phone and show me that he still had my number. WHAAAAAAAA? "I said well honey that makes it even worse because you can't even use the excuse that you lost my number now can you?" Of course he turned beet red and was full of apologies after that one. We chatted some more and then at around one in the AM he was like, "I have to go." Some folks still have to work today. Me? I am getting my ass on down to DC so I can stay out as late as I want. Well he he did his little weird "let me stare at you because I don't know what to say" exercise. I was like, "Jason stop staring at me!!!!!!" Then he asked if he could call me. Sure you can call me, but I am not holding my breathe waiting for said call. Then he gave me a hug, kissed me on the forehead and then left. Aaaaahhhhh, the forehead kiss. So sexy but what the hell does that shit mean? Absolutely nothing. So yeah, nothing was resolved and he is still a shy, bumbling fool around me. Sigh, fucking sigh.

However, despite doing the shy guy dance with the US Open boy I managed to have a fabulous time. Still no word from Stephen. Yawn. Worrying about that mess and what is going on with him is getting old and so I am writing him off. Another one bites the dust it seems. One of these days I am going to get this man thing right I swear. Until then I guess I will just be out and about shaking my ass and making fast friends with the Grey Goose.

Frowning

2005-11-21T00:10:00.000-05:00

Hello, and welcome to your Monday. I hope your Monday is filled with lots of cheer and exaltations and 1000 bright shiny faces smiling upon you, presuming being surrounded by all those happy people wouldn't freak you out a little bit. It would freak me out because I hate happy people. No, I want people to be horny grouches like me. Happiness is for the weak.

So we celebrated Bea’s birthday on Saturday. After showering her with an endless amount of gifts, the new 31-year-old Bea and I got all dolled up and did our usual weekend party hopping around town. Yet, this go around I cannot say that I had a great time. Sadly I think I had a frown on my face the entire evening. I mean the night was just "OK" and my mind was soooo elsewhere. In fact, I was tempted to just bail and go home on several occasions but you can’t just dump your friends on their birthday. Maybe my mood had something to do with the fact that I had to pay $20 for a cab to get to the damn restuarant. Or maybe it was because people were being flat out rude to us left and right all night. Or maybe just maybe it was because I was soooooo pissed off at Stephen the Married Guy (still pissed actually) that I just wasn’t into hanging out. I just wanted to go home and try on all of the clothes in my closet and pretend that I was Naomi Campbell or Tyra Banks. Do the whole runway Diva thing and hype myself up. But it was Bea’s celebratory evening so I had to go out and be merry.

Bea and our other friend Jenny From The Block got to the designated birthday spot, a very crowded Tao, at around 7:30 on Sat evening and snagged two seats at the bar upstairs. I was late because I couldn’t find a damn cab to save my life. I must have waited twenty minutes on the corner by my house and then walked another four blocks in my new Chloe three and a half inch heels trying to find a cab. My little skirt barely hit my knee so I am sure folks were eyeing me like, "Look at this hooker trying to find a cab." One group of guys evening started whistling and hooting and hollering. AS IF!! After being more than a half-hour late I just hopped in a gypsy limo and paid $20 to go 10 blocks down the street. Unreal. When I finally got to Tao and went upstairs to meet Bea and Jenny From the Block I just wanted to plop down in one of those plush seas next to the that big ass Buddha statue at the back of the restaurant and get the Grey Goose flowing. DIIIIIIIIIIIVAAAAAAA!! However, Bea and Jenny from the Block were at the bar, not at a table, and they were only able to get two seats. Soooooooooo Diva had to stand. OK fine, not a problem because we all thought that a seat would open up soon. In fact, the couple next to us was waiting for their table reservation so we just knew that I would be able to rest my aching dogs sooner rather than later. Well, we thought wrong. Not only did the cute little couple next to us have to wait an hour for their table but when they finally did leave, this BITCH standing next to them scooped up their two seats for her and her boyfriend like white on rice.. "No hon, I am saving this seat for my boyfriend." WHAAAAAAAAAA?? You know I gave her the look of death. Who gives a fuck about your boyfriend when my feet are about to die in these fly ass Chloe Pumps? I have been standing here much longer than you and as for your boyfriend what ever happened to chivalry? As a man he is going to sit on his flat pancake ass while a sexy woman has to stand for hours and try to eat her food? I don’t think so. I could feel my pressure rising and my fist balling up. Well, just as I was about to scream on that silly Bitch Bea looked at me with her big brown eyes and was like, "Don’t worry Diva we can just rotate seats." WHHAAAAAAAA???? Basically, what she was saying was, "PLEASE DON’T CUSS THIS BITCH OUT IN FRONT OF EVERYONE HERE AND SPOIL MY BIRTHDAY." Sigh. OK, you win Bea. This is your night. I will keep my little mouth shut and not beat that Bitch down and ruin everything. Hmmmmph. As for rotating seats well of course I wasn’t going to make Bea stand up on her birthday. So there I was standing up for two hours trying to reach over Bea and Jenny From the Block to get my drinks and stuff my face with my lobster dumplings with my wooden chopsticks and tiny little plate. Of course I dropped two of the damn dumplings on the floor and kept spilling my drink. Food does not dangle well in chopsticks while you are reaching over people's heads. And the drinks just kept spilling as I tried to reach over and around Bea. I did, however, spill some of my Mojito on that Bitch’s boyfriend Thank God. Spilled right on his nice new shirt. Take that you fucker. And You know I looked at the Bitch like, "I know you don’t expect me to say excuse me." Trick. My feet were killing me. And to top it off the drinks at Tao were less than fab. For $15 they had the shittiest Peach Martinis and Mojitos that I have every tasted. Total waste. Tao used to be sooo great. Now the common folks have taken over and ruined it for the rest of us Divas. HMMMMPH. Of course when we got in the cab I checked my phone to see if a certain MOFO called. He sure had a lot of of explaining to do. But no calls no nothing.

So anyway, after Tao we went to some other spot called Ava Penthouse Lounge where the big bad brothers at the door were trying to give us a hard time about getting in.

Bouncer: Do you ladies have reservations?
US: Nope
Bouncers: Are you here for a party?
US: Nope
Bouncer: Hmmmm… Well it’s kind of crowded tonight and we don’t know if we have the space. Yo, T? Should we let these ladies in dog?
T: Man, I don’t know? You girls aren’t going to invite anyone else are you?
Bea: No, it’s just us.
Bouncer: Well, I am not sure. You ladies have to promise that you aren’t going to invite more people because we just don’t have the space.
Bea: We won’t. It’s just three of us.
Bouncer: OK, well I guess we can let you up.
T: Yeah, we really shouldn't be doing this because it's packed tonight.

OK. Fine fine fine just let us in already. Well, don’t you know that once we got up to the Penthouse it took only two seconds to realize that the joint was less than half-empty? WE DON’T HAVE THE SPACE? Are you kidding me? There was no one there!!! Sigh again. I just hate it when bouncers try to hype shit up like it is so crowded and standing room only, only to find out that the shit is empty. In any event, Bea did eeny meeny miny moe and picked from an array of empty couches in the back to plop down on while I headed to the bar to buy some drinks. Some lame looky-loo at the bar started talking to me, asking all kinds of random questions. "That's a hot skirt you have on. Let me guess? Nanette Lepore?" WRONG!!! What kind of pick up line is that? And I swear he looked like Napoleon Bonaparte. He was maybe 5’5" at best. Don't want no short, short man at all. Well, just as I was handing the bartender the money for the drinks and trying to swat Napoleon away from my hip Bea comes stomping up to the bar saying that one of the security people made her get out of the seats because they were reserved. In fact, we couldn’t sit anywhere in the joint because they were all reserved. Yeah Right. Just like the place is sooo crowded. Uggggggghhhhh. And then Napoleon wouldn’t leave me alone. What a fucking Nat he was. And then the bartender leaned over and yelled at Bea and I, "You girls need to get your drinks and move out of the way." Oh no she didn’t. Was she talking to me? These Bitches in the NYC sho had a lot of nerve this evening. Even sweet little Bea was about to cuss that Bitch out for that one. Move out of the way? That is what you say to me after I just spent $40 on drinks and gave you a three dollar tip? WHHHAAAAAA? I wanted smack the holy shit out of her. I grabbed my three dollars back off of the bar. Then Bea grabbed me and we finished our drinks and got he hell up out of there. I could have spent some mad loot up in there but not after all of that rudeness. And then Napoleon got a tude because I wouldn’t give him my number. Little man, please. I don’t want you calling me. Plus you didn’t even offer to buy me a drink. Just poof and be gone before my Chloe pumps step on you. And did I mention there was a man in the women's bathroom scaring the shit out of folks? Oh and checked my phone again, still no call from Stephen. I feel a voodoo hex coming on for the married guy.

The final "party" spot for the evening was the lounge at the Time Hotel. Actually my mood by this point was way foul and I just wanted to go home but again it was Bea’s birthday soiree so I just had to deal. Oh and yes I will admit right here that I checked my phone like 1000 times throughout the night to see if a certain married/soon to be divorced motherfucker called me. NADA. Not even a damn text. Fucker. So at the Time Hotel Jenny From the Block nearly passes out in her chair from drinking too much whisky sours, Bea is running her mouth a mile a minute about some mess, and some other lame dude steps to me talking about God knows what. Good Grief! Jenny From the Block cannot hold her liquor at all so I was sure she was one sip away from puking all over the place. For Bea's birthday last year Jenny From the Block puked all over the table at Nobu while Mos Def sat in the corner and watched in disgust. I swear she just opened her mouth without warning and let it all out on our table. GROSS! There was green and yellow guts everywhere. Now I was just praying that she wouldn't give us a repeat of her insides this year. And then the random lame guy on my left was truly getting on my nerves with all of his nonsense. He too was pissed because I wouldn’t give him my number. And like Napoleon before him, he too did not offer up drink the first. Had the nerve to be like, "I have a lot of important people calling me. I don’t just give my number out like this… You know I am kind of uncomfortable right now so can you just give me your number to make it even cause I never give my number out like this." Honey, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I ain’t really going to call you so you can keep your number. For Real. Again, Poof be gone. Can't I just go home already? Then Be starts whining about how she thinks we didn't leave the proper tip for our waitress. BEA!!!!! Girl, I done told you the gratuity was included. However, if you want to leave old girl some extra cash you go right ahead but no one is getting anymore money out of me tonight. At three o'clock Bea and I finally threw drunk ass Jenny From the Block into a cab and then headed out. I finally made it home at like 3:30. Still no call from Stephen, no nothing. Pissed off man. I am two quick seconds away from kicking his ass and then kicking him to the curb. Am I angry? Hell yeah. Don’t make me get all emotional and care about you and then you start acting a fool and bailing on dates and not calling and just being a typical fucking male. I mean c'mon. Is my sweet little Stephen turning into the devil just like the rest of them? Hmmmmph. The Nerve. And friends please save your I told you so's for another Diva because I don't want to hear it and you just might get cussed out if you say some shit to me right now. Actually, he is supposed to be my date for this party tonight but now it seems that I am flying solo to that shit after I already told folks I was the bomb and had a date. Hmmmmmmph Again. I have had it with men. Had it.

So yeah Bea had her birthday evening and I was in a bad mood all night. I hid it well though. Still, I just wanted to fight someone or cuss out one of the many rude people I encountered throughout the evening but I wasn’t allowed to. And people that should have been blowing up my phone weren't. And I bought some shoes that were way too much money and bought Bea one too many gifts because I am obsessed with giving the best presents ever. And I think I check I sent to someone is now lost in the mail. Yeah, that was my weekend. DAMN, DAMN, DAMN. Can you see that big old frown on my face?

Here, there, everywhere

2005-11-18T13:01:00.000-05:00

Just Got Paid. Friday Night… OK I got paid yesterday not today but still. It’s Friday and I am happy. Not sure exactly why I am so happy because once again I have a shit load of stuff to do, but Fridays are always cool beans with me so I am just going to smile. I think today will be much calmer than yesterday. Yesterday was like one of those jet set days that you read about in Hollywood. One minute I’m here the next minute I’m there but if you blink you may miss me. I was all over the place it seems. As a result, I was taking like fifty mini- naps trying to stay afloat: In the cab, in the airport terminal, in the bathroom. Yes, I fell asleep in the bathroom. In the women’s media bathroom down at the Panthers stadium there was a large leather couch sitting out in the open screaming my name. DIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVAAAAA!! I plopped down on that thing for what I thought was two seconds. Next thing I know, it’s 23 minutes later and I have crust in my eyes. A hot mess indeed. Here is a brief rundown of how the day went and why I was flirting with the sandman.

4:45am Hop in shower
5:50am Car arrives for airport
8:00am Flight leaves for Charlotte
10:15am Arrive in Charlotte
1:00pm Interview Steve Smith
1:30pm Interview Brentson Buckner
2:00pm Interview Kiery Colbert
3:55pm Flight leaves for NYC
6:45pm Party at Time Hotel
9:30pm Party at Opal
11:23pm Get stood up by Stephen the Married Guy
11:45pm FUCK YOU STEPHEN SHOTS!!
1:45am Post drinking food at Cafeteria
3:34am BED (after watching Survivor)

Insane. Yesterday was my dear sweet friend Bea’s birthday so I was trying to break my neck to get back into the city to at least have one drink with her. We will do our real partying tomorrow at Tao, however, you have to throwback at least one martini with the birthday girl on her actual birth date. In addition to that, one of my co-workers was having a going away party at this place in Time Square so I was itching to get out of Carolina and back to NYC. The PR people kept asking me, "So where are you staying." Staying? Please. I caught the first flight out of there. Stay for what? I’m from up North and I have partying to do. In fact it doesn't even feel like I went to Charlotte yesterday, that I flew there and flew back in like the blink of an eye. I am telling you I hightailed it out of that place like my caramel ass was on fire. Although, the weather and scenery down in Charlotte was gorgeous. A Beautiful, rustic fall day, just the way I like it. For that reason alone I would not have had a problem with staying for an extra hour just to take a walk around and breathe in some fresh air. The actual locker room/interview process went very smoothly though. The Panthers are a very classy organization, despite Rae Carruth and his murdering ass. (Believe it or not, I used to be friends with that fool.) Except, there is always some nut in the locker room who still can’t get his head around women being in there doing their thing. You see, there were a few players walking around butt naked because they had just gotten out of the shower. Upon seeing this, some reporter for the Charlotte Observer turned to me and asked, "That doesn’t bother you?" WHAAAAAAAA? I swear I have been asked this question at least 20 times since I have been in this damn profession and each time my answer is still the same. I looked at brotherman and politely said, "with all due respect I am 31 years old. I have seen a naked man before so NO it doesn’t bother me. Does it bother you?" Idiot. Why should it bother me? Penises are not new to me. I have seen them, touched them, caressed them, loved them. And trust me, I am not trying to holla at that random fool. Wasn’t even looking at his fat nekkid behind until you said something so what exactly is your point? I have a job to do just like you do. No one is here to turn this into any type of sexual experience so just stop it. Mercy.

Anyway, both mini parties last night were fun. Bea, who initially kept swearing that she wanted to be in bed by 11, kept asking for one more drink. Shit, I would have been too. It was her birthday and she was getting free drinks so go for it. Another round please!!! I By the end of the night I must have had like six martinis and one very nasty lemon drop shot. See, I told you I left Carolina to party. Of course you know I needed my french fries in order to fall asleep without puking so it was off to Cafeteria for some grub. Stephen the Married Guy? He was supposed to meet me at 11 for drinks. Instead he sends me a text saying that he is stuck at work doing some proposals and then has an early meeting with his divorce attorney so he can’t make it. Lame but whatever. I had a perfectly good time without him. We even took a shot in his honor (althouhg Bea is still not comfortable with the whole Stephen the Married gut thing. But who the hell is?) However, he had better watch out because it has been two weeks since I have seen him (He is an banker and he travels A LOT) and you know what they say… Out of sight of out of my fucking mind so don’t be sad if come Monday you are soooooo last week Stephen. HMMMMMMPH Indeed!!

The Guy That I Should Have Married is still talking mess about me moving into his basement apartment. Yeah, NO. In fact, HELL TO THE NAW. Why would I do that? That is just screaming drama. Even Jesus is shaking his head at that suggestion. The boy is insane. You chose your wife, now fuck her and be happy. Hmmmmph!

I actually have to do some work now so HAPPY FRIDAY TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!

Guess Who's Back

2005-11-16T22:02:00.000-05:00

I don’t even know where to begin. I swear my intentions were to take a couple of days away from the blog to get my shit together. Next thing you know a few days turns into DIVA HAS BEEN GONE FOR A WEEK! My goodness. A lot of times when I am not blogging it is because I am so burned out from working at the mag and dealing with my personal party girl/ trying to find a man/ attempting to remain sane life that I can’t even imagine writing anything. Fuck, it’s hard for a little brown girl out here in the city. I didn’t even realize that I hadn’t blogged in so long until someone asked me about it today and I was like, “OH SHIT!!!” LOL. Anyway, so here I am. Five days late and like $1000 dollars short. A mess indeed. A lot has happened in the past five days and then at the same time I feel like nothing much has happened. It’s weird how that works sometimes. I will try to give a quick rundown to catch everyone up, including myself.

Actually, I just got back from drinks with C-Note and let me tell you, she is no better off now than she was last week. When I saw her an hour ago her stress levels were as high as if she were trying to reach the heavens. This dude has got her all twisted back and forth with knots all in her stomach and heart palpitations going a mile a minute. And for nothing. NOTHING!! I mean she is stressing over the most miniscule stuff. I feel so bad because I have done the same thing like a trillion times in my 31 years on this here Earth and nothing good has ever come out of it. We are talking the whole should I call?, he hasn’t called yet, should I leave a message?, what did he mean by that?, does he think I am weird?, am I being too clingy? Why hasn’t he called?, drama. All of that type of bullshit that can drive the sanest beauty batty for sure. BREATHE C-NOTE BREATHE!! What else can I do? As much as I try to calm her down and make her take a deep breath I feel like a hypocrite because I do the same shit all of the time. I’m just less vocal about it. I keep that shit to myself because I am not trying to let the real world know just how crazy I am.

Which brings me to Stephen the married guy. Mercy. Is there enough time in the day to talk about this shit and decipher or attach a name to what the hell is going on with that mess? Probably not. I will say that the shit has gotten waaaaay too complicated in what seems like a matter of minutes. So much so that I had my own C-Notesque episode on Sunday. We finally had THE TALK. You know, the “WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING” kind of talk. I tried to avoid it for as long as I could because i just didn't want to deal. I just wanted to pretend that we were just friends hanging out until five in the morning every night. "The Talk" that usually has most guys bolting out of the door before you can say, “Show me your Dick!!!” But not Stephen. He swears that he adores me and cannot afford to lose me. Mercy. Are we dating? Ughhhhh… kind of, but that depends on how you define dating. Do we go out to dinner and hang out for drinks until 5:00am and sit up and talk on the phone and IM all night long? Hell fucking yeah. Stephen either calls me or IMs me first thing every morning and then at night before bed. Sweet huh? Have we had Hot Butt Nekkid Sex till six in the morning? Nope. Not even close. We have barely even kissed. BARELY! Stephen the married guy has never tried to jump on me or rip my clothes off or slyly wiggle his finger down my pants or anything of the shit. He’s been a perfect gentleman. Imagine that? Yet, I still always feel like a fucking jezebel floozy when we hang out. My sister’s husband is a lying cheating sun of a bitch and I have never in my life wanted to be the OTHER WOMAN so this mess is just unreal to me. I feel like his soon to be ex wife is lurking in the bushes waiting to pounce on us both. I even told him that if we ever ran into his wife one night it would be such a dichotomy for me because on the one hand I feel so bad for her because her marriage is basically over that I want to hug her and be her new best friend. Yet on the other hand if that Bitch steps in MY face talking shit then it is on fo sho. I will have to whoop her ass and send her packing. Awful ain’t it. Still, the divorce papers have been filed and I guess it will be over soon so I would imagine that I am going to wait it out and see what happens. However, I still feel crappy about it sometimes. Like what if we do get intimate and emotions start running amuck? Good Lawd that will be some shit right there. And Stephen? He is an emotional wreck more often than not. But at the same time he is like the sweetest most respectful guy I have met in a long time. Go figure. Leave it to DIVA to find a guy in the middle of a fucking divorce and a nervous breakdown.

WORK. Work is all out of whack and busy. Today (Thursday) I will be on an 8:00am flight to Carolina to interview the Carolina Panthers. More locker room babble with the sweaty NFL mens. Can’t say that I am too happy about it but my job is my job so whatever. I have an article online this week . Here is the address

(http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2005/magazine/specials/sportsman/2005/11/16/kim.clijsters/index.html) WOW did I really just reveal my name like that. Now I have completely lost it.

I also have an article in the magazine this week. However, I just found out that my article is not in all of the issues that are on the newsstands. My article is only in the issues that go to subscribers so all of my friends that are scouring the magazine shops looking for my shit will be highly disappointed. When I realized this small piece of info about my shit not being in every mag I broke down and cried on the train. I know I looked like the crazy girl on the train who couldn’t get her shit together but I didn’t care. I worked so hard on that story only to have my editor cut it by like 400 words. Now I find out that it’s not even running in all of the issues? Too much for this sweet black child to bear. The tears were just running down the face folks. Such is the life of a fake me out journalist. OK I am not really fake me out. I am legit. I have three fucking degrees. But still. I am pissed beyond words.

What else? Oh, I am still dreaming about the “guy that I should have married” and his brand new baby that should have been mine. I think that shit is on my mind again because I will see him next week for Turkey Day and it will take all of the energy in this little old body of mine not to lose it. Again, he has a wife, new big ass house, and brand new baby. GREAT! Oh and speaking of Turkey Day, dinner is at my mom’s house this year. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? Why LAWD? Every year for my entire life we have had dinner at my aunt’s house. Every damn year. Now for some reason my DC folks have decided to switch things up on a sista and do shit at my mom’s? WHYYYY? I don’t speak to my mom. We have no relationship. And I haven’t been in the house that I grew up in in over ten years. But now I am supposed to show up next week and stand around my mamma’s dining room table and smile and tell people what I am thankful for? How lame. Lame, Lame, Lame. This is all my sister’s JRs doing I just know it. She always tries to act like nothing is wrong with me and my mom simply because my mom Loves her. She is the favored child. Always has been. Even though I am ten times cuter my mom loves her and hates me. Again, go figure. Next week will prove to be a bunch of drama I guarantee it. Either I will slap the shit out of the guy I should have married’s wife because she said some rude shit to me in Spanish (yes I speak it but no Ms. Dee I ain’t Spanish) or my mamma will me have slitting my wrists because I cannot deal. Again like Jada Pinkett said, TAKE ME NOW!!!!!!! And JR had better not get on my nerves either. If she does I swear to GOD I will tell the whole family about her jailbird husband. None of them know he’s in jail. They think he is away on business. HMMMMMPH!!

OH and sooooom people that I know could be preggars. I am not even going to touch that one. Let's just all pray to God or Marc Jacobs that my girl isn't with child and that she doesn't have any other gynecological problems. MERCY!!

So you see DIVA is back. The same bitching and complaining and drama is back and more fierce than ever. I have to take a nap before I get my shit together for my flight. The car is coming at like 5:30 am. FUCKING INSANE. Good to be back though. Holla!

Trying to catch up.

2005-11-10T17:44:00.000-05:00

I have been a naughty little blogger as of late. It has been ages since I have checked any of my blog buddies' sites. Awful. So today instead of posting a long drawn out entry I will spend most of my time reading blogs and catching up with old friends. As a small update on my musings I will say that yesterday, after spending most of the morning in the NY GIANTS locker room, I almost passed out at my desk because I was so tired. There is nothing like a sweaty locker room at 9:00 in the AM to wear you the fuck out. Still, I got my work done and that is all that matters. So now I will finish transcribing my interviews and then get myself back on the blog scene. I have truly missed it. (And hopefully my fashion story will finally run next week. HMMMMMMMPH!!)

Oh and C-Note, you know that girl went ahead and wore a turtleneck on her date anyway yesterday. Actually, when she originally told me she wearing a maroon sweater she neglected to say that it was a turtleneck. Such deception!!! Oh and the mosquitoes are back. There was a note on my Super's door from one of the other tenants about mosquitoes in her apartment. Next thing I know, I have two bites on my body when I wake up this morning. The shit is unreal.

The Devil Wears a Turtleneck

2005-11-08T14:26:00.000-05:00

I am watching the Cosby Show and Charmaine said in reference to her virginity, “WHAT I HAVE AIN’T NO NICK NACK!!” I almost choked laughing at that shit!! Too funny. Good for you Charmaine.

Hooray I do not have to go to Carolina today! My editor wanted me to go down to Charlotte and interview Steve Smith for the Panthers this week. Boo Hiss! I am tired. Can’t I have just one Tuesday/Wednesday weekend to myself without working? Thankfully, Sir Smith “has met his media requests for this week” so I can stay my ass home. Plus, Steve Smith has an anger management problem. He fights people all of the time (beat the shit out of one of his teammates two years ago) so I really don’t want to be in a room with some fool who may try to whoop my ass because I posed a question he did not like. Although, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Cause if he hit me than I could sue his black ass and then I would be set for life… or at least for the rest of the year. So yeah… send me to Carolina. Make that money Diva.

So C-Note has a date tomorrow and I am trying to get her to stop stressing and over thinking and overanalyzing every little detail. Why do we do this ladies? I do it too of course so I can’t even act like I am above it all, but damn. We need to stop it for real. The process of meticulously analyzing every detail about what he said and how he said it and what I should do if he doesn’t call by exactly 11:00 takes up too much time. And trust me, them fools are not stressing and staying up late thinking about us so why bother? I remember last year I stressed out something awful when I was dating that stupid bartender because he hadn’t called me in like two days. It was a mess. I had mosquito bites all over my legs and the bartender hadn’t called and I swear I was about to lose my mind. C-Note had to drag me out to a party just to calm me down. And for what? That dumb ass bartender called the next day and everything was chill… at least for another two weeks it was chill. That was until he told me he couldn't handle a girl that made him bust like that. Lame. However, the point is that he certainly wasn’t experiencing the horrific trauma that I was, so my lame mental state was all for naught. So yeah we have to stop it. This weekend I think my poor C-Note was one step away from making herself sick because she couldn’t stop THINKING about this guy and what she should do and how things would turn out. Mercy.

Today’s topic of stress? What to wear. C-Note and I go through this mess all the time. Bea and I fight about this shit too. She and I were doing outfit maintenance all weekend and then again last night over IM because she had an event to go to and didn’t believe me when I told her that she needed to add a certain clutch and necklace to her wardrobe. Darling you can't have that kick ass dress on with a bare neck!!! A mess. (Turns out she wore the clutch and necklace and looked fab I am told. Good for you Bea.) As for C-Note, I want her to dress up more and leave the turtlenecks and cords in the closet while she just wants to convince me that those turtlenecks are the only comfortable and cute things she can wear. (For the record I HATE turtlenecks. My boobs look awful in them so I will never be in support of their effectiveness. C-Note thinks they are sexy and simple. Ain’t nothing sexy or simple about my boobs being smooshed in a turtleneck.) C-Note is not a crazed shopper like myself so she does not obsess over clothes like I do. However, my obsession is very useful because it allows me to put together an outfit in two seconds flat no matter where I am or what I am doing. I could be having the best sex of my life, riding on top of my hubby Wentworth Miller and I could still spew out and outfit for you that would have Vogue and Elle salivating. I know that turtlenecks are OK for some occasions but they cannot serve as your “be all end all.” And trust me folks, C-Note has body for days so she shouldn’t be hiding under all of that fabric, but like most women (myself included) she only sees the faults in that beautiful body when she looks in the mirror. Mercy. Again, as ladies we always accentuate the negative. Shit, I will be the first to start screaming about how my boobs are a royal pain in the ass and how I think they make me look fat. (To which C-Note will always reply, “DIVA you are crazy.” See, we go at it all of the time) So today I have been given the task of trying to get my beloved little friend to put on something that is cute and fly but not too revealing for her date tomorrow.

Diva: How about a skirt and a sweater with some heels?
C-Note: Nope. It will be raining and too cold for a skirt.
Diva: How about some black pants and a sweater and your boots?
C-Note: Maybe. But my boots are brown and my sweater is grey and that doesn’t match.
Diva: Trust me it will. Ok, well how about a white sweater instead of the grey?
C-note: The only white sweater I have is a turtleneck
Diva: LOL. No turtlenecks. How about I loan you a blazer and then a shirt/cami and then pants and boots?
C-Note: I can’t wear blazers because they don’t fit me well. Makes me look too bulky and my arms are too big so I look like a box.
Diva: What? You are insane. I am sure you would look fine in a blazer. You should let Bea and I go shopping with you and offer our opinion.
C-Note: Why? Trust me I have tried plenty of them to know. I know what fits me and what looks best on me. Ribbed turtlenecks baby, all the way!
Diva: Mercy. Put the turtlenecks down please. You cannot wear them with everything. And no jeans tomorrow.
(I say no jeans because they are going to a play. Don’t want her to be too casual
C-Note: I was thinking maybe I would buy a new jean jacket
Diva: Too casual for the play.
C-Note: Or Maybe this other jacket from either J.Crew or Banana but the jacket is black and the boots are brown.
Diva: Who cares if the boots are brown? You will look like a big stripe if you wear a black shirt and then black boots to match the shirt.
C-Note: Let me show you the boots. Maybe you can suggest something to wear with them.
Diva: Silly girl I have been doing that for the past hour.
C-Note: I know but I it seems I may just have to go with the turtleneck if I cannot find anything.

Trying to convince someone that they should break the mold sometimes proves to be as difficult as trigonometry. In fact, she and I have been having this same conversation for the past three weeks. Two weeks ago she was going to wear a turtleneck on a date and I told her to wear a cute tank/cami and some jeans and heels instead. Her response, “DIVA I AM NOT TRYING TO BE SOMEONE THAT I AM NOT.” But my dear you already own the tank top. I am not asking you to buy anything new or out of the ordinary, just wear something a little dressier that you already own. LOL. Of course she threw that turtleneck on and went about her business. We had the same conversation on Friday when she was supposed to go out with this same guy. However, surprisingly she did not wear a turtleneck but instead had on a cashmere sweater, a skirt and some heels. She was too cute for words. I was very proud. Now here we are planning again. Actually she just left the store and called to say that the J.Crew jacket fit well on her so we are hopefully going to wear that with a cute maroon sweater, long Capri pants and some boots. Very NYC, dressy casual. Work that shit C-Note. LOL!! You should see the two of us going back and forth over this stuff. Sometimes I feel like a nagging overzealous mother or a wannabe Hollywood stylist. “NO, NO, NO, Dear that is hideous!!! You cannot mix pink with the purples and blues!!” Yet, I am sure C-Note wants to tell me to shut the hell up half of the time and let her be but then again, it is she who asks what I think. Oh, my dear C-Note. We are gonna work this shit out girl. As long as we stay away from the turtleneck tomorrow. Doll it up a little baby. I don’t mean go overboard with your ass hanging out but well… Give them DIVA!!! Be fabulous and have fun!!

How I Kind of Stayed in the House

2005-11-07T12:03:00.000-05:00

IT’S MONDAAAAAAAYY!! Beginning of the workweek for most sane folks, end of the workweek for us lame-os at the magazine. For once I kind of had a mild weekend. So proud of myself. There was no random drunkenness or Mafiosos to speak of. Just a movie with C-Note and a real funny run in with Ms. N, my former trainer turned cop. On Friday night C-Note and I went to see Jarhead, which was actually pretty good. Jamie Foxx was funny as hell and Jake Gyllenhaal was a ripped up and all muscular. MMMMPH, MMMMMPH, MMMMMMPH, Sweaty military mens. Can’t beat that. As far a war movies go, again this was pretty decent. A different perspective on that ugly thing we call war and how our soldiers have to deal.

On Sat Bea and I decided to keep our caramel behinds in the house. I was soooo proud of myself. I decided I was just going to be a nerd all day, so instead of fighting and flashing titties in the streets I did some laundry, went to the gym and re-read the Great Gatsby. Can you stand it? REVENGE OF THE NERD. The last time I read Gatsby I was a sophomore in college. (read it in high school too.) And while I will admit that it is a little easier to read now that I am older, the shit is still boring. I don’t care if it is an American Classic and outlines the theme of the American Dream gone awry. The shit is boooooooring. I usually love stories about wealth and classism but reading Gatsby is a tough pill to swallow. But that is what I needed this weekend. I needed to be A Very Boring Diva. Well Sat night after finishing Gatsby and watching Law and Order I got the munchies so I went outside to get some French fries. I think my body thought it actually had some alcohol in it when it really didn’t and was just craving French fries to sober me up because that is what it is used to doing on the weekends. So I left my apartment to go get some potatoes in grease. When I get outside I noticed that there was this big commotion across the street from my apartment. I group of twenty something white males were arguing with the police. As I got closer I saw this tiny little female cop in the middle of the circle reading everyone the riot act and whipping her cuffs out. I said to myself, "who is that little girl in the middle?" Damn if it wasn’t Ms. N, my former trainer turned NYPD. Ms. N was on my block about to throw some fools in jail. LAWD HAVE MERCY!! I started cracking up laughing. The site was just too funny for words. So my nosey self goes across the street and walk up to her and whisper in her ear, "Excuse me officer don’t arrest me. I just wanted to say Hi and say I am glad that you are protecting my neighborhood and I hope you throw their asses in jail." She looked at me and started cracking up laughing her damn self then screamed, "GET OUT OF HERE DIVA!!" Of course I had to start calling people on the cell. "Child Ms. N is arresting some drunk ass white boys across the street." It was too funny.
Later on Ms. N decides to call me at 4:30 in the morning to tell me the whole story and to ask me if I wanted to meet her at Cafeteria downtown because her shift was over and she was hungry. WHHHHAAA? Girl it is 4:30 in the AM and I have to go to work in like five hours ,are you nuts. HELL NAW!! Actually, that was the second time in the evening that someone wanted me to get out of bed and go meet them somewhere. Stephen the married guy wanted me to meet him at around 1 in the AM to go have drinks. HELL NAW to him too. Bea and I said we weren’t going out and we meant it!! Well, I kind of meant it.

So I am at work on Sunday evening minding my own damn business when Stephen the married guy calls me and asks if I can leave work early so we can hang out. He’s trying to get his head together about them divorce papers and all of this other stuff so he just wants to hang out and latch on to me. RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE REDSKINS GAME!!!! Hmmmmmph! Still, I agreed to meet him so I left work early and met him in the office lobby at 10:00. Do you know this fool got a call from his job at that exact moment (he is a banker) about some screw up some analyst did for some international account so as soon as I spit out the words, "Hi Stephen the married guy" he had to bounce and get in a cab and go back to work? RUDE!!! Of course he was full of apologies and whining about how sorry he was. Blah, blah, blah. Not a big deal really because I could go back to watching my Redskins tag that Philly ass. Well, Stephen the married guy calls again an hour later and wants to meet up again. Mercy. OK fine, so I meet him near my house and we go to the favorite corner bar and have Grey Goose and chat about football and that fool Terrell Owens and about how big my engagement ring should be. Then we walked around the block. Then we went to get French fries. Then we walk around the block some more and gaze at the fall foliage. The we sat on the steps to my building and chatted until like 4:45 in the morning. 4:45???? Insane. Who is out that late in the wee hours on a Sun/Mon? Silly ass Diva that’s who. When I woke up this morning at 7:21, roughtly two and a half hours of sleep, to the sound of that damn construction from the building behind me I thought for sure someone was killing me in my sleep. My head was spinning!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!! BOOOOOOOOOOOM!! Fucking construction workers. That shit has been going on for over a year now. Just finish the damn building already and move on.

Anyway, so yeah I kind of stayed in the house this weekend right? Staying in on Friday (movie does not count C-Note) and Saturday should count for something. I do have a slight headache from the alcohol and the Atomic Bomb that woke me up this morning. And of course all of the nosey nos are now asking, "So what is really up with you and Stephen?" Answer: I’m not Keith Sweat so don’t sweat me. I ain't saying shit cause there ain't shit to say. How's that? OK, I gotta do some work now before the second wave of headache pain kicks in. Oh and of course I am sleepy as hell.

I don't see any point...

2005-11-04T11:14:00.000-05:00

Where has the time gone? One minute I am sitting at my desk on Halloween night trying to get at least one of my scared as shit friends to go see SAW II with me and then the next thing I know it's Friday and I haven't provided any blog entries in bewteen. Hideous. I saw the damn movie by myself and it was great. Again, work is kicking my ass so today's blog is going to be the Friday question, as mentioned in the title. As usual I will answer the question in the comments section. Right now I have to call Olympic Skier Jeremy Bloom. for this story. That fool is FINE. Short but Fine!! And I still haven't written my article on Kim Clijsters. Hideous indeed. I will definitely do that today... or tomorrow. Hehe. Oh and it's Friday meaning it is the weekend meaning that I will probably be out running the streets or something, cussing someone out on the corner. I haven't been out that much this week though (just one night of drinks with Stephen the married guy. He was whining because his wife served him up with some divorce papers. DUH!!!! I told you it was coming. People think they can just cheat and will not have to suffer the consequences. Again, I am not the other women in this mess so please don't think I am fooling around with Stephen the married guy. We are friends, nothing more.) I think I will be home in my bed tonight (ALONE) because I haven't made any plans, but of course things can quickly change between now and 7:00pm when I leave the office. The US Open boy is skurred and has not called me back (we chatted for like two minutes on Monday) so I am over that possibility. I am just a solo chick doing it on my own. Out here on my own. Uh oh, I feel some Irene Cara coming on.

Sometimes I wonder where I've been
Who I am, do I fit in.
Make believin' is hard alone
Out here on my own.

We're always provin' who we are
Always reachin' for that risin' star
To guide me far and shine me home
Out here on my own.

Oooops, yeah that was random and off subject. Anyway, I am going to try and be a good girl this weekend and clean my apartment. For everyone else, have fun this weekend and go heavy on the Grey Goose!!

Question

I don't see any point...

OK NEW ADD!! I Don't see any point in Kevin Federline trying to rap or become a rapper. Someone just sent me a link to his new rap song and I swear it is some of the worst shit that I have ever heard. "They used to call me KFED but now they call me daddy instead?" This is a joke right. Mercy. The shit is awful I am telling you. The Rap Gods should just castrate him for his sins. I'll let you judge for yourselves. Here is the link:

http://www.ks1075.com/home/features_morning_after.html#

Once there scroll down to the highlighted link that reads "Celebrity Trash and Bash, Leo and Sienna? KFED is back, Mohammad Ali is not doing well" and click and then listen. If the first link takes you to the website's main page then click on "The Morning After" on the left side and then follow the previous intructions for the highlighted link. I swear it will have you shaking your head, about to cry. Just a mess.

More Partying and a Bewitched Ex

2005-10-31T12:02:00.000-05:00

It’s Halloween and they are playing a Hitchcock marathon on Turner Movie Classics. HOORAY!! I love Hitchcock. I love scary movies and I love Halloween so you know I am hyped. Someone please buy me the Alfred Hitchcock DVD collection for Xmas. That would make me ever so happy. Hitchcock’s THE BIRDS is coming on in like five minutes so I have to make this snappy. So as usual Bea and I worked the streets of NYC this weekend. Party over here? We were there. Party over there? Yep that was us. We hit Midtown and SOHO and the West Village hard; Just kicked in the door with our Jimmy Choos and Louis Vuittons like "WHAT? Can you make me a drink please Hon? Shaken not stirred." I stumbled into my apartment at around five yesterday morning drunk as a skunk. Let’s see, I had mojitos and Bellinis and Grey Goose martinis all night. It was serious. The occasion? Bea and I had a friend in town from Boston (she used to live in the city) so we had to do it up right. In the process of doing so, we found a new eat spot in SOHO called Bar 89 so if anyone is in the city and needs a place to go get some grub I highly recommend this spot. Tres Fab. Of course, of course, of course there was a tad bit of drama at a couple of spots. That goes without saying. Here is the quick rundown.

Friday Night Stone Rose

Not much happened at the Stone Rose. We hit the Stone Rose Lounge in the Time Warner Center at about 12:30 am for some drinks and to catch up with our friend whom we haven’t seen in a while. Surprisingly the music was pretty good. I say surprisingly because the Stone Rose is kind of she-she/ conservative ($15-$20 drinks) so I really wasn’t expecting to hear KANYE WEST blaring from the speakers. But Golddigger (I absolutely loathe that song) is exactly what they were playing when we walked into the joint. Anyway, Bea and I spent most of the evening just sipping mojitos and listening to our friend babble on and on about her life in Boston. This girl can TALK!! I mean a mile a minute, story after story, never come up for air type of talking. Remember Vanessa’s friend Cara on the Cosby Show? The one who did all of the speed talking? Well, yeah she is like our little friend. Just blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, we stayed at the Stone Rose until they kicked us out at two. Now, the entire time that we were there Bea kept complaining about this couple sitting behind me who kept kissing and bumping and grinding at the bar all night. They looked to be about mid forties. I think the guy was on Viagra or Levitra because he was all hot and bothered. Anyway so when we all leave it turns out that the said couple gets on the elevator with us. As soon as they got on the damn thing old boy threw the woman against the wall and was trying to rip her clothes off. They were kissing and humping and touching and feeling and grinding. My jaw dropped to the floor because I have never seen anything so intense out in public in my life. I thought he was going to starting fucking the lady right there on the damn elevator. Well Bea, she was none too amused. She took one look at all of this foolishness and screamed, "DAMN PEOPLE IS THIS A NEW RELATIONSHIP?? HAVE YOU NO SHAME?? I KNOW YA’LL CAN AFFORD TO GET A ROOM IN THIS PLACE SO WHY ARE YA’LL DOING IT ON THE ELEVATOR?" TOOOOOO FUNNY!! I started cracking up laughing. Sweet little innocent Bea who never says anything to anyone is yelling at folks on the elevator. Funny indeed. I think Ms. Bea has been hanging around Diva a little too long. Still the folks ignored her and kept right on working each other. By the time we got off the elevator the guy’s jacket was on the floor and the woman’s skirt was pulled up to her stomach. Then Bea screamed, "Really you people are too old for this!!" Hilarious!! I guess that Viagra really gets the juices flowing. After leaving the Stone Rose, Bea and our friend went home while I carried my ass to another bar solo. A lush I know. Bea text messaged me from her place saying that she couldn't sleep cause old girl was still talking. Too funny. Me? I was taking halloween shots with some nice bankers at the bar. I got home at around 4.

Saturday Bar 89, Soho Grand Hotel, Soho 323, and Bliss Bar

We all met up at around 10 for food and drinks at Bar 89. Again, this was a very cute spot. Nothing major to report here, just some kick ass teriyaki wings and French fries and our little friend from Boston still running her mouth like the Indy 500. You gotta love her. We left that place at around midnight and went to the Soho Grand. The atmosphere hat this spot is tres fab but the DJ was playing some Electronica Bullshit so we only stayed for like two seconds. There was a line and good hip-hop blazing from the club across the street, SOHO 323 so we went there to get our dance on. The atmosphere was OK I suppose. Everyone had their Halloween costumes on. Of course we had on regular party gear. Still, some dude asked us if we were the Supremes. Bitch do I look like that stringy Diana Ross? Uhhh, no. Anyway, we went upstairs to the very smoky VIP were I drank some crazy Bellinis and dance on the tables with a very cool Marilyn Monroe. Ms. Marilyn was working it ya’ll. I was very impressed with the way she was shaking her stuff. There was also some chic dressed as Pocohantas who had great rhythm as well. Bea was lighting it up on the dance floor in the corner with Frankenstein while our friend was dancing with the Devil. It was grand. We left Soho 323 at about 3:30. Once again Bea and our cute little friend went home. Me? Well, for some strange reason I decide to walk myself to Bliss Bar which is around the corner from my apt and which is where my ex, The Bartender, works. WHY? WHY? WHY? I have no no idea why these stupid ideas pop up in my head. I swear I am a fool. So I walk up into the Bliss Bar and this idiot is there working behind the bar and he has on a very stupid looking Uncle Sam costume, complete with stripes and top hat. He looked a hot mess. What kind of costume is that? Was he trying to be a lame republican in that costume? Mercy. Well apparently he thought he looked good because he was all smiling and dancing and acting a fool. So he saw me and gave a very unenthusiastic Hi. I did the same for a minute and then I thought, "I know I can get a better reaction than that out of him." So I sexed up my the pose a little more and shifted the boobs in place and flashed him a wicked smile. He gave a slight grin in response but nothing fabulous. Then we had an exchange that nearly sent my blood pressure over the edge.

Uncle Sam: So you want a drink?
DIVA: Sure
Uncle Sam: You want your usual?
DIVA: Yeah Grey Goose and Cran
Uncle: Cool. You want to start a tab?
DIVA: (ABOUT TO HAVE A HEART ATTACK) WHAAAAAA? You are charging me for a drink?
Uncle Sam: Yeah, this is a bar isn’t it?

Folks I was stunned. This fool is charging me for a drink? I have known him for over a year, dated him for a little while, screwed around with him for a little while longer and never once has he ever made me pay for a drink. Even the first night I met him, when he didn’t know me from Trina or Tasha on the street, he didn’t charge Bea and I for drinks. This is the same fool who used to show up at the front door of my building buzzing my apt at at like 5:00 in the morning crying about how he missed me and all that jazz. And now he was charging me for a drink? I am telling you I was stunned. STUNNED!!!! Then he just stared at me like, "do you want the drink or not." So I threw my plastic at him and was like, "Fine. And you had better not be stingy with that vodka either." The nerve. Yes Diva, HE IS JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. After he makes my drink he proceeds to start jabbing about how I ignored him on the street one day when I was coming from the gym. DAMMIT! So he did see me that day? What a mess. Of course I played it off and was like, "Dude I have no idea what you are talking about." He insisted I was lying but I could care less. I was still mad about that drink. And you know it was all red and sweet meaning he was being stingy with the Grey Goose so I had to make him add some more vodka. HMMMMph. Eventually his roommate T recognizes me and comes and sits next to me and starts chatting. T is dressed like a Pimp, complete with bama white suit and huge AFRO wig. I thought it was funny. Well, Uncle Sam didn’t like this one bit. After the roomie leaves he has the nerve to question me about why I was talking to him.

Uncle Sam: So what, you talking to my roommate now?
Diva: Excuse Me?
Uncle Sam: Why are you talking to T?
Diva: Because T sat down and started talking to me. Why are you charging me for a damn drink?
Uncle Sam: I’m saying, that is my roommate you shouldn’t be…
Diva: Are you fucking kidding me? You have the nerve to take my credit card for a drink but then you get mad when I say Hi to your roommate? Fool your girdle for that costume must be on too tight. I can talk to whomever I damn well please. Why are you tripping?
Uncle Sam: Whatever that is just foul and rude.

Cant you believe this clown? You know I got right up and went back over to T and starting gabbing away even more. BEE-ATCH!! Fool nobody wants your fat ass roommate. I was trying to be nice. Of course, Uncle Sam gets mad and has to leave the bar to go outside for a smoke. He yanks T away from me and they both go outside to puff on cancer sticks. Unreal. By then I had had enough. I got the very nice female bartender who was dressed as a pirate to close out my tab. And hell no I didn’t leave a tip. When I went outside to leave Uncle Sam had the nerve to ask me what my problem was. Mercy. Do you really want me to scream o on you in the middle of the street? I am now drunk and pissed the fuck off. I just stared at him before screaming, "YOU HAVE SOME NERVE CHARGING ME FOR A DAMN DRINK!!" T started laughing which really got underneath Uncle Sam’s skin. He yelled back at me, "Your privileges here have expired." WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA? I said, "Oh no Motherfucker your privileges HERE have expired!!" Then I flashed him a boob and nipple, gave him the finger and then walked my ass home. Crass I know but I was furious. My privileges? Are you insane? When we had a carnal relationship and you had some privileges you were the one always crying and lamenting about how you couldn’t handle this and that and how you weren't used to girls who knew how to... Well you know. BEE-ATCH. And trust me, I know I am nuts for even going in there to begin with. Some things should just be left alone. So now along with Brooklyn Boy, the Bartender or Uncle Sam or whatever the hell he wants to be called is officially scratched off the list of anything positive in my world. I loathe both of them now. Yuck, yuck, yuck. And you had best believe that I out the VOODOO Hex on boht of them. (and no I haven't broken my pact with Brooklyn Boy. I am just saying that I finally put the hex on him.) Wouldn’t you know that in the midst of all of this partying and foolishness I forgot to call the sweet little US Open boy over the weekend. I told him I would and I didn’t. Hmmmm… Sorry. I will call today and be nice to him. That is the least I can do.

So yeah, the weekend was wild and crazy. I was hurting something awful yesterday at work. Now today is Halloween, my daddy’s birthday and the best day of the year. Smooches and Happy Birthday to my dearly departed Daddy. Love you lots and miss you always!!

So Everyone have a safe night if you go out and stay away from Bitch Ass Exes dressed in dumb costumes!!

We Still Want Rove But We Don't Want Brooklyn Boy

2005-10-28T13:29:00.000-05:00

Ok folks, Vice President Dick Cheney's chief of staff, I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, was indicted today on five charges that include obstruction of justice, making false statements and perjury in the investigation into the leak of covert CIA agent, Victoria Plame’s name. The five-count indictment accuses Libby of lying about how and when he learned about CIA official Valerie Plame's identity in 2003 and then told reporters about it. The information was classified. "The charges allege that Libby lied to FBI agents who interviewed him on October 14 and November 26, 2003; committed perjury while testifying under oath before the grand jury on March 5 and March 24, 2004; and engaged in obstruction of justice by impeding the grand jury’s investigation," prosecutors said in a news release. White House Deputy Chief of Staff, Karl Rove is still being investigated, but his lawyer said he was not being indicted, at least for now.

I will give a half hip-hop hooray for this. HOOray!! Karl Rove’s ass still needs to go. Someone asked me why I was so fired up about all of this stuff. In 100 words or less, I’ll answer by saying Rove and Libby decided that because they didn’t like Joseph Wilson’s report on Iraq and the fact that Wilson felt there were no WMDs in Iraq and therefore no reason for war, they were going to get back at him by discrediting him and revealing his wife’s identity to the public. His wife was a classified CIA agent and it is illegal to frivolously reveal the identity of someone of her status or anything about her. This is big stuff people, akin to treason. It proves that these people were going to do whatever it it took to get us to go to war with Iraq, including outing CIA operatives. Just a mess. There’s a lot more to the story but I am starving so maybe I will blog about it later.

In other news, my cute little blog buddy GP thinks that I am going to break my pact with Brea over the Brooklyn Boy. WHAAAAAAAAAA??? Oh, now it is really on. LOL!! No seriously, I have no desire to hang out with Brooklyn Boy. GP, girl when I tell you that our last tryst was bad I mean it was BAD. AWFUL. Again, if I could have cried I would have. I told him yesterday that aside from having sex, hanging out with him was about as fun as getting a Pap Smear. Just a harrowing experience. So NO, I am not going to hang out with him or be his vassal for carnal pleasure. I am DIVA and It’s just not worth it.

Went on the date last night with the US Open guy. It was cute and he is very sweet. It was refreshing to go out with someone who isn’t trying to jump all over you the entire time. We went to the Whisky Bar at the W Hotel and sipped Grey Goose all night and chatted and laughed and made googly eyes at each other. How sweet. I will say that he seemed a tad bit intimidated by me but whatever, most guys are. He kept giving me the paused look like, "I want to kiss you," but he never really did. Dude, you are 35! You should be over that shyness by now. Just kiss me already. Sheesh!! Still, he was a doll and we may go out again next week.

It seems Rosa Parks is getting her just due. She will join presidents and war heroes who have been honored in death with a public viewing in the Capitol Rotunda on Sunday and Monday. Parks, who died Monday in Detroit at age 92, also will be the first woman to lie in honor in the Rotunda, the vast circular room under the Capitol dome. I think this is absolutely wonderful and hopefully that fool out in Queens who had no idea who she was will make a trip down to DC and learn something.

It’s Friday and Thank Marc Jacobs for that. Maybe now I can get some sleep. Normally I don’t get hyped about Fridays because I don’t get a full weekend like most folks. (We work on Sundays.) However, I have been in the office everyday this week so I am glad that I get to sleep in tomorrow and not have to worry about interviews and stories and word count. Whew! Hope everyone has a good weekend and if you go out, have a Grey Goose straight up for me. Holla!!

The Pact and Other Thursday Blah

2005-10-27T15:52:00.000-05:00

OK so my blog buddy Brea and I have made a pact. I will stay away from Brooklyn Boy and she will steer clear of her Bar Guy because they are both scum. So yeah It’s on. The first to give in a big loser and has to pay the other $50,000. Yeah that’s it.
I will be spying on you Ms. Brea to make sure you don't slip, however, you are not allowed to spy on me. Fair ain't it? HEHE. No seriously I am soooo down for this. To hell with both Brooklyn Boy and Bar Guy because our sexy selves can do so much better.

In Other News... No indictments today but Harriet Miers and her non-qualified self has withdrawn her nomination for the Supreme Court seat. Thank God. The only down side to this is now Bush is going to pick some ultra conservative hick from the right to appease all of his cronies. Mercy. If I were Sandra Day O’Connor I would not have given up my Justice seat until after the next election in 2008. At least give them Democrats a chance to come up with someone worthwhile in the White House. I know she is old but a few more years ain’t gonna kill her.

I’m about to interview Helio the race car driver so I’ll sign off earlier than usual.

Tonight is my date with the US Open boy. I forgot to set my DVR for all of the good show tonight so maybe I will cut the date short… hehe. No it should be cool I suppose. As usual Bea is excited for me. I am just like, "whatever… he’ll probably get on my nerves like the rest t of them." Still I will have a full report tomorrow in the AM. HOLLA!

Republican Terrorists

2005-10-26T14:59:00.000-05:00

I am two seconds away from pulling my hair out over this indictment stuff. I cannot stand it. The Grand Jury adjourned for the day so now I have to wait until tomorrow to see what happens to them fools Karl Rove and Scooter Libby. I swear I can’t stand it. The Grand Jury only has three more days until it expires so Fitzgerald had better get a move on. And still more shit keeps coming in. The new bombshell that dropped this week is that it appears now that the CIA leak originally came from Dick Cheney. (Cheney, who told Scooter Libby who told Judith Miller and Karl Rove who told Matt Cooper and Karl Novak who leaked Plames’s identity it to the masses.) Such treachery I swear. They should all be thrown in jail for their acts of treason. New York Times writer Maureen Dowd is my new favorite columnist. Over the past few days she has written several columns in the Times blasting Judith Miller, Dick Cheney and all of those demons on the Right.

"Mr. Cheney has been so well protected by his Praetorian Guard all these years that it's been hard for the public to see his dastardly deeds and petty schemes. But now, because of Patrick Fitzgerald's investigation and candid talk from Brent Scowcroft and Lawrence Wilkerson, he's been flushed out as the heart of darkness: all sulfurous strands lead back to the man W. aptly nicknamed Vice… The Bush hawks presented themselves as protectors and exporters of American values. But they were so feverish about projecting the alternate reality they had constructed to link Saddam and Al Qaeda -- and fulfilling their idee fixe about invading Iraq -- they perverted American values." was wrote she wrote in today’s column titled "Dick at the Heart of Darkness."

Remember folks these are the same fools who wanted to crucify Bill Clinton for lying about that turd Monica Lewinsky. However, their sins far outweigh Clinton’s lies about an affair; their sins speak of deception and treason against the American people and have led us into to the gates of Hell in Iraq. 2000 US Troops dead, thousands other wounded. And for what? Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11 and there were never any WMDs found. Yet Cheney and crew were gunning to start a war in Iraq no matter what the costs. Now look at the mess that has been created over there. The Iraqi people are no better off today than they were under Saddam. Yes Saddam was an evil dictator (so is BUSH for that matter so let’s oust his ass while we’re at it) but there was never this much civil unrest and outright bloodshed while Saddam was in power. Sunni's fighting Shiites and blowing up people left and right. It’s sickening. And as we speak Bush and crew are drawing up plans to make a case against Iran. More troops more bloodshed. Now comes word that Cheney is aggressively pursuing an initiative that may be unprecedented for an elected official of the executive branch: He is proposing that Congress legally authorize human rights abuses by Americans. "Cruel, inhuman and degrading" treatment of prisoners is banned by an international treaty negotiated by the Reagan administration and ratified by the United States. The State Department annually issues a report criticizing other governments for violating it. Now Mr. Cheney is asking Congress to approve legal language that would allow the CIA to commit such abuses against foreign prisoners it is holding abroad. In other words, this vice president has become an open advocate of torture. Mercy. What has the US come to? Two weeks ago on Bill Maher’s HBO show Salman Rushdie made a very poignant speech in which he stated, "DO NOT BECOME YOUR ENEMY!!" That is my new favorite quote. Under the Bush Adminstration we have become no better than the terrorists whom we claim to be fighting against. If we condone unregulated torture against prisoners for no rhyme or reason then what on Earth do you think is going to happen when an American gets captured? They are going to torture and behead are soldiers in ten seconds flat. DUH!!! These Repubs show blatant disregard for human life on all fronts. It’s as if they think this is all a game of Battleship or something. Again, this is why we need to vote people. On all levels we need to vote and reclaim the White House and Congress. Otherwise we are all doomed.

MORE SHOUT OUTS (I keep using that huh?) Thanks so much to James Blake and Bernard Hopkins for coming through on the interview front this week. Now that those stories are out of the way I just have to track down this race car driver who is trying to rebuild after the hurricane in Florida and write my piece on Kim Clijsters. See, being busy is fun as hell. And I get paid for it too.

TONIGHT’S SHOWS: Top Model, LOST, INVASION, CRIMINAL MINDS, LAW and ORDER, and CSI NY. See if you guys had Tivo or DVR you could be cool like me and watch all of this stuff.

OH, Brooklyn Boy is still trying to talk to me. For what I have no idea. Well actually I do but it ain’t happening. I have been in a fairly decent mood all week so no need to wallow with an asshole and spoil the mood. He gets a big old GAS FACE!!!

Thank You Rosa, Shame On You Janet

2005-10-25T15:28:00.000-05:00

Here I am yet again, writing another somber blog about the dearly departed. I swear all of the good ones have been dropping like flies in the ’05. Mercy. Mrs. Rosa Parks. The Mother of the Civil Rights Movement, Mrs. Rosa Parks. Does anyone really know or recall the first time they heard about Rosa Parks? I feel like the story of Rosa Parks’s harrowing experience in the South and the resulting eruption of the civil rights movement has been on my brain my entire life. It seems as if when they taught us how to write our names in Pre-K they were teaching us about Rosa Parks and Dr. King and Malcolm X . We can all relate and be thankful for Mrs. Parks. However, they did a street poll on the local news this morning about Mrs. Parks and some fool from Queens did not know who she was. He had the nerve to be black too. Mercy. See, our people ain’t ready. If in 2005 you don’t know who Rosa Parks is then you ain’t ready for anything progressive at all. Read a book people!! Well for those not in the know, Mrs. Parks was a seamstress in Montgomery, Alabama in December of 1955 when she refused to give up her seat on a city bus to a white passenger. The bus driver had her arrested. At the time it was illegal for blacks to not give up their seats to whites. As a result, she was tried and convicted of violating a local ordinance and thus began the civil rights fight. Parks later said that she didn't fully realize what she was starting when she decided not to move on that cold, evening in Montgomery. It was a simple refusal, but her arrest and the resulting protests began the complex cultural struggle to legally guarantee equal rights to Americans of all races. Within days, her arrest sparked a 380-day bus boycott, which led to a U.S. Supreme Court decision that desegregated her city's public transportation. Her arrest also triggered mass demonstrations, made the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. famous, and transformed schools, workplaces and housing for people of color. Hers was "an individual expression of a timeless longing for human dignity and freedom," Dr. King said in his book "Stride Toward Freedom." I know many of us today take for granted the struggle that our parents and relatives went through to allow us the freedoms that we have today. It’s a shame really. Every time I see some knucklehead on the street acting a fool when he is supposed to be in school I just shake my head. Bea’s mom, who I am very close to, was one of the Little Rock Nine in Arkansas (I bet that fool on TV has no idea who they were either) and every time I see her I pause silently and think to myself, "Damn what must have that been like?" I couldn’t even imagine. I couldn’t imagine some fool telling me I had to give up my seat on a bus, or that I had to use the "Coloreds Only Bathroom, or that I couldn’t go to the school of my choice simply because I am black. Imagine having the National Guard escorting your ass to school everyday because the entire city was about to riot and attack your narrow behind simply because you wanted to get an education just like your white counterparts. UNREAL. I just can’t fathom the struggles that my folks endured just so I can walk down the street with my head held high. Thank God for al of the Rosa Parkses of the world who made it possible for me to be where I am today.

So now that she has ended her long journey, and in doing so made my so-called life a lot easier than the one she led, I say, "Thank You and Rest IN Peace Mrs. Parks. "

In other news, Janet Jackson has an adult daughter that she has been denying and hiding for years. Bout time this foolishness saw the light of day. I swear them Jacksons just get weirder and weirder every damn second that goes by. Michael and his crazy pedophiling self, Jermaine who still sports fingerwaves in his hair and who married his younger brother Randy’s ex wife, Latoya who was on crack and was full fledged loony for years and years, and then Papa Joe who beat the shit out of them all and who has his own love children on the side. And let's not forget that they all have butchered up their faces beyong recognition with all of that plastic surgery and skin lightening. They are just NUTS!! Even though the Janet story just broke for the masses, black folks have been talking about Jane’s secret child "lovechild" for years. Wendy Williams said on the radio today that Chico and James Debarge were on her show two years ago talking about Janet’s "lovechild" with James. MMMMMMPH MMMMMMPH MMMMMMPH!!!!! As Diana Ross said,

Love child, never meant to be
Love child, (scorned by) society
Love child, always second best
Love child, different from the rest

You gotta admit it though. Them Jacksons just get crazier by the minute. For Real!! Every time I think they are just going to sit down and be quiet that start some shit up yet again. I don’t even listen to Michael’s shit anymore. (He's moving to Bahrain by the way. Lots of little boys over there to play with.) He is soooo dead to me. Pedophilia is not cute in any shape or form. Neither is his parading them kids of his around with veils over their heads. And where the hell is Blanket? We haven’t seen that baby since Michael dangled him off of the balcony. Weird Science Indeed. I actually like Janet but that doesn’t mean I don’t think she is demented. I saw pics of the "lovechild" when she was a little girl and as an adult. Beautiful girl. The situation? Just awful. How are you going to deny your child? FOR SHAME!! You ain't on strug Janet. But we all know Janet is a loon just like the rest of them Jacksons. Anyone who is willingly fucking that troll Jermaine Dupri is just a little off his rocker. Gross!!!

Oh, and still no indictments for Karl Rove and Scooter Libby. My fingers are still crossed. I am still hoping and wishing and praying that they through the book at them fools.

No date with US Open boy tonight because the weather is nasty out (A NOR'EASTER pouring rain everywhere) and because i have to interview Bernard Hopkins at 9. Hopefully he will cooperate and give me some good stuff to use for my story.
And finally, one of my absolute favorite cartoons is on tonight. "It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown!!" That shit rocks. The best Halloween special in the world by far. The girl with the big forehead out in Colorado said that she has never seen it. WHAAAAAAA? You poor thing. What an awful childhood you must have had. Maybe I will send the DVD to her for Xmas.

Keeping busy

2005-10-24T10:03:00.000-05:00

Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh, Monday Morning. Gotta Love It. Actually, my weekend was pretty relaxing and drama free and as a result my mind is astute and ripe for the picking so far today. Unfortunately, there will not be a long drawn out post today because I have tons of shit to do here at the mag. I have like three or four stories due this week, one by the end of the day, so my ass needs to get cracking and start writing stuff that I am actually going to get paid for. I have to Interview James Blake, Bernard Hopkins, Helio Castroneves (race car driver) and a shit load of NBA players, all before Thursday. Plus I have to write this story on Kim Clijsters (tennis) for the the magazine's website. A lot I know. I will probably be up all night every day this week trying to write all of this shit. But I need to be busy this week. Being busy gets my mind off of all of the things that sseem to get my ass in trouble and crawling home in a foul mood at five in the morning. So yeah, I welcome the challenege of actually getting some work done this week. Oh and I have a date tomorrow with that guy from the US Open. That should be interesting. We'll see how my mood goes for that one. Hopefully the total BITCH DIVA won't show up and skurr the poor child.

Before I sign off for the day I want to send a shout out (Damn did I just say shout out? Mercy) to the Guy That I Should Have Married and his wife who welcomed a new addition to their family yesterday. A bouncing baby boy named Ro...... OK I am not going to call the little tyke out here. The kid was born at six in the AM (almost two weeks overdue) and by three o'clock PM I had pictures of the little guy in my e-mail. Of course I had a MOMENT. A REAL pull my hair out and take a shot of vodka kind of moment. Mercy Again. Still, in a "damn that could have been me" kind of way I am happy for them. I am sure he will be playing hockey and bullying people like his dear old dad in no time.

Also, let's everyone please keep their fingers crossed and pray that Patrick Fitzgerald does the rigth thing and hand out indictments to those treacherous fools Karl Rove and Scooter Libby for their acts of treason against Victoria Plame and the citizens of these United States. It probably won't happen but I am holding my breath that it will. Listen, I know our government is a complete sham but for the love of Marc Jacobs just humor me and arrest those fools for their obvious sins. Just this once please. At least fool the people into thinking that we have a just executive branch and judicial system. Thank You- DIVA

Just One Big Old Sigh

2005-10-21T12:35:00.000-05:00

So here I sit. I am trying to figure out how to get myself out of this huge mess that I have created. Everything is in disarray. Work is a mess. Finances are a mess. Love life is a mess. And I can’t even say that one is worse than the other or better than the other because everything is just one big old bowl of chaos. Oh, the tragedy of it all. And please do not think for one second that I blame anyone else but myself for any of this bullshit. Every single piece of debt, every story idea that passes me bye, every insincere orgasm that I watch some lame dude get is completely my fault. I am soooooo aware of all of the chaos and bedlam in my life that it is hard for me not to spend every waking moment screaming at the top of my lungs. Crying? Please. I am well beyond that. I can’t even cry anymore. That is how fucked up shit is. I tried crying after that horrible horrible date tonight and I swear to God nothing would come out; the condensation that was on my cheek was from the rain, not tears. It’s as if someone is sitting there saying that my situation is sooo fucked up that even tears won’t suffice. Tonight's date was horrible for a lot of reasons, way too many to get into here. Yet it wasn't bad because we sat there and fought the entire time. However, people should understand that trying to reach some honorable and cathartic truth isn’t always noble. Especially at the expense of others. In fact, a lot of times it can be downright selfish especially when one’s entire attempt at being honest makes the other party feel like shit. Brown, nasty shit. And trust me, whether someone intends to make you feel that way or not does not matter because at the end of the day it is what it is and you feel the way you feel and a thousand apologies and lines like, “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way” is not going to change a damn thing. Period.

A month or so ago a semi concerned Mr. Miguel asked me if I ever went back and read through some of my old blogs. When I asked why he was asking he said, “because all of your blogs seem so angry and I don’t know if you are aware of that.” Of course I know that, I wrote them didn’t I? What else would you have me write? Unauthentic, happy, blissful blogs about how drop dead gorgeous I am and about how perfect my life is here in NYC? Yeah OK... Tried that and it didn’t work. Life is anything but perfect here in the NYC and that goes for everyone, not just me. I ain’t the only one suffering in Gotham city. The pretty girl thing… PUUUHLEESE!! OK yeah I am pretty but what does that mean? Who gives a shit at the end of the day. Where has being pretty gotten me? Feeling sad on a lot of occassions let me tell you. In college my troop was full of uber smart pretty girls that everyone wanted to marry. Now Diva is the pretty girl that everyone wants to use and fuck. Nothing more. Oh how the mighty have fallen. I speak of this revelation not because I am trying to gain any sympathy but because that is the reality of the circumstances at the present. Of course I am sure at least one person is reading this and saying, “Well why continue to deal with guys that make you feel this way or make you feel like shit.” Fair question I suppose. I guess I do it because at the very least they make me feel something. And this totally speaks to dealing with these fools on all levels period, not just sexually. For exampe I have never, nor will I ever fool around with Stephen the married guy. However, he is a user just like someone who is trying to get into your pants even though he has yet to try anything physical. At least for whatever artificial time that I spend with these fools I am not numb and alone. The downside is that what I end up feeling after they are gone is the equivalent of that brown nasty, shit I spoke of earlier, either from emptiness or from them saying just damb ass nonsense. The latter is the perfect way to describe Brooklyn Boy. He just does not know what to say to me at all. He thinks what he is saying is honorable and decent but trust me it is anything but; It is degarding and hurtful no matter how good he thinks his intentions are. Then of course I get pissed at myself for allowing someone like him to make me feel this way but like I said before at least I am feeling something. At least I am not in a room alone all numb and deadened. This is all a mess I know, and it's not just guy stuff either. The guys stuff is the most reecent in the last hour or so. Everything is just a mess. That is the problem, I know I am a mess but I am not quite sure how to fix it.

Hmmmm… sometimes I struggle with how revealing and forthcoming I should be on this damn thing. Like do I honestly want to present myself as a loony slut girl who just can’t ever get her shit together. Well sometimes I feel like that because that is how others make me feel and then I either have to write the shit down or pull my hair out in order to stay afloat. I like my hair and so obviously I am going to choose the former. A Becky needs her tresses fo sho. So here I sit, writing about scattered, dejected thoughts and carnal physical encounters that should have ceased and desisted a long long time ago. My, my my what a predicament. And NOOO I am not drunk… for once. It’s just been a very fucked up disappointing night in which the reality of my FUCKED UP SO CALLED LIFE has been made quite obvious to me yet again. Mercy. Oh yeah, happy Friday everyone.

Close One

2005-10-20T15:38:00.000-05:00

WHHEEEEEEEEEWWWW!! Boy did I dodge a bullet. I didn't get my ass beat or even yelled at. Shit if it were me I would have cussed my ass out for sure. I didn't even have to tell a tall tale to keep from getting pink slipped. I was just told that the story needs to be roaring to go by Monday at the latest. No questions asked. I can do that. I have interviews lined up for today and tomorrow so I should be good. It shouldn't be a problem/ unless I am drunk all weekend which I refuse to be. My editor also gave me three other assignments for next week that are due on Thursday. Maybe that is my punishment. Just load me up on a bunch of stuff for being a slacker on shit that was due last week. I really need to get myself together though. For real. I've been distracted by a whole bunch of other stuff. (partying, shopping, MEN to name a few!) Luckily for me this particular editor LOVES me. LOVES ME. However, that Love is not guaranteed to last forever so I need to get cracking before he tells on me. The funny thing is, I tried to write some of this story yesterday but my creative juice tank was on E. Funny how I can blog and blog for h hours but couldn't write a measly little story yesterday to save my life. Tragic is what it is.

I have a date with the Brooklyn Boy tonight. Some how I am just not screaming with excitement right now. In fact, if he called and flaked (or just flaked and not called) I wouldn't be mad at all. Then I could just go home and get a bikini wax and then call it a night. Thursday night is a great night for TV. Survivor, The Apprentice, CSI, Without a Trace, Making Tha Band, and Run's House. Gotta Love that shit!! Oh well, my date will be a bust and Brookln Boy will go home and then I can watch all of my Tivo shows. However, somehow I think he thinks he is spending the night. Mercy!!!

I also hooked myself a date with this guy that Ms. D and I call Jessup. I met that fool back in September at the US Open. He was too skurred to ask for my number. However, after dealing with the current crop of fools in my life I decided to track him down and call him up. So yeah, we are supposed to go out on Tuesday. Should be fun. Brooklyn Boy can't even balk at that because he still has a so called girlfriend with my exact same name. HMMMPH!! In any event, I am going to see Capote tonight with the Brooklyn one and then hopefully I can retire ALONE to my bed and watch my shows. We'll see.

In Trouble

2005-10-20T09:34:00.000-05:00

Today there will be two posts. The first, which is the one you are reading right now, is before my morning edit meeting. Before I walk into the conference room and my editor rips my head off for not having my shit together and not having my story ready for him. The second post will be after the edit meeting, that's if I am still alive. I am trying to think of all the accuses that I can pull out of my ass that will make my butt whooping less severe. The Dog Ate My Story? I couldn't find my insulin all week? My curling iron started a fire in my apartment? My knee was fractured from when that fool pushed me? (I still have a bruise) Oh, I never said how he pushed me. This MOFO kept trying to kiss me at the bar and I kept backing up away from him. So he thrusts himself toward me in an attempt to get at my lips and pushes me and my drunk ass falls right over. AWFUL! You think I can tell my editor that and he'll buy it? Yeah, I didn't think so either. But it is a true story. My knee is purple. Uhhh, so yeah I have to come up with some shit in the next 10 minutes to bring to the table or I am in for a serious tongue lashing. Wish me luck that I don't get my ass beat!! Lawd Help!!

No Lessons Learned

2005-10-19T04:42:00.000-05:00

It's 5:15 am and I just got home. The shame of it all. Never go out with your former trainer on a Tuesday night. Bad news I tell you. She is 26, I am 31. You do the math. I have to go to work today and write about Shaq's clothes so I need to get some sleep. A hot mess. My head hurts from drinking and falling down at the bar. Actually I was pushed. Some bastard pushed me and down I went. Tragic. Now I have a bruise. Even more tragic. Will try to holla later... if I can keep my eyes open.

A Night Out With The Mob

2005-10-16T12:41:00.000-05:00

So how much longer do you think I can keep this up? I am 31 you know. Too old to be out all night getting into shit with crazy ass foreigners. Yet even at the ripe old age of 31 I still find the time to run the streets and drama. It’s like I am going for the record number of times one can stay out until five in the morning and then show up for work four hours later half drunk/half asleep with the most outlandish story to tell, but still ready to get things done. I know J-Boogie is sick of hearing DIVA and Bea Went Out and Got Into Some Nonsense stories. Happens all of the time. And to top it off, I don’t even have a hang over. NADA. The only pain I feel is in my muscles and that is the result of an overly aggressive workout yesterday afternoon. Again, all of this mess is Bea’s fault. (In case you haven’t noticed I blame everything on Bea, which is a hoot because Bea is a thousand times more innocent than I am. Sweet as pie that Bea.) Last night Bea and I hit the streets for what we thought was going to be a few quick drinks. Earlier in the evening Stephen the married guy asked me how late I was going to be out and I told him I would be home by midnight. Yeah right. We were out much later than that. Bea and I needed to get out of the house because we had been suffering cabin fever something awful; eight straight days of staying in house because of a torrential rainstorm will do that to you. Unlike me, Bea doesn’t work on Sundays so I know her ass is still in bed right now trying to sleep off all of them shots, martinis, and Grey Goose and Cranberries we drank. I won’t even be able to call her to debrief the events of last night until at least three or four today because she will be in BED snoozing or running back and forth to the bathroom trying to release all of those toxins she put in her body. Me? I am at my damn desk drinking water and protein shakes and staring at the computer screen trying to stay afloat. I am not hung over but I am sleepy as all hell. This sucks ass because my editor is still asking me questions about some story that was due over a week ago. Who cares? I’m drunk. Shit ain’t happening today so move on. Not the best way to respond to the people who sign my paychecks every two weeks but this is all I can come up. I have neither the motivation nor the inclination today to write a story about who makes Shaq’s suits. It’s just not in me right now. I am more concerned about how much alcohol I have been consuming as of late. That and how the Brooklyn Boy stood me up for the Notre Dame/USC Sat afternoon but that is a whole other story that I refuse to get into. Fool me once shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on me AGAIN!

So back to the partying. Bea likes to look shit up on Citysearch and find new spots in NYC for us to check out. This is a good thing actually because if not for her new ideas, Bea and our other friend J-to-the-EN would have us all going to the same spots over and over again every damn weekend. Well last night Bea chose this new place on the Upper East Side called Stir. Cute little lounge nestled in between gazillion dollar highrises and overpriced corner boutiques. Aesthetically the place looked good, nice colors and furniture. The Crowd was OK, i.e. a bunch of rich white guys who weren’t really that cute but who were more than happy to buy broke ass brown girls some drinks. Music was OK, i.e. when we got there the DJ was spinning a bunch of EURO TECHNO Trash for about an hour before he finally started playing some hip hop and eighties tunes. Drinks were "Eh", i.e. they were way too sweet to be costing $13. For a $13 Martini I want to actually taste the vodka, not just the sugar that you put on the rim of the glass. I want that vodka to scream my damn name. Only in NYC do people charge you $13 for what amounts to a glass of Kool-Aid. So yeah the place was just OK. I mean clearly it wasn’t the type of joint where Bea and I should have been out until the wee hours of the morning getting ourselves into all kinds of trouble. But of course you know that is exactly what our sexy asses did.

Round 1

Bea and I order some martinis and pay the bartender in cash. For my second round I decide to forgo the uber expensive martinis and just go for a Grey Goose and Cranberry. At least with that I know I can actually taste the vodka that is supposed to be in my drink. Well, the bartender hands me my drink and then walks away. She doesn’t tell me a price or ask for money or anything. About 20 minutes later I am ready for another drink. (I know, I know I down them pretty fast) I get another Grey Goose and Cran and the same things happens: she hands me the drink but never says anything about price or money that is owed to her. Bea thought maybe she made a mistake and assumed we had a tab. I argued that couldn’t have been the case because we paid for the first round in cash and the other bartender charged Bea for her other two drinks up front while my woman said nada to me. So through three rounds of drinks Diva has only paid $13. Cool. However, there's more to this story which I will address later.

Round 2

About an hour into the evening this burly white guy in a black Armani suit sits next to Bea at the bar and starts smiling at me. I raise an eyebrow, shoot Bea a quick look and then smile back at the guy. Now would I ever consider dating this dude? Absolutely not. Soooooooo not my type. But as Bea always says, there is nothing wrong with smiling and making conversation with folks to get free drinks. So that is exactly what I did. Actually, Bea spoke to him first because he "mistakenly" bumped into her. However, as the night progressed it was clear that he was interested in little old me. His name was Gino, a Serbian immigrant who hailed from Kosovo. In the beginning of our little chat he was very nice, charming even. I thought his thick accent and semi-funny jokes about dating were kind of cute. (Cute in a "I can tolerate this just enough so I don’t have to shell out $13 for each drink all night long" kind of way.) He introduced us to some of his friends and then immediately bought Bea and I a round of drinks. So far so good. Keep smiling and the drinks keep coming. Gino was very flattering, complimenting me on my attire and my hair and all of that jazz. I smiled, he smiled and then he ordered another round of drinks. This shit was sooo easy. At one point the DJ played my song, Sheila E’s "Glamorous life," so I did a cute little dance for Gino.

Boys with small talk and small minds
Really don't impress me in bed
She said I need a man's man baby
Diamonds and furs
Love would only conquer my head

She wants to lead the Glamorous Life
She don't need a man's touch
She wants to lead the Glamorous Life
Without love it ain't much

Don’t worry I didn’t put the goods on him. There was no need for that. I danced just enough in front of him to ensure that I would be getting free drinks for Bea and myself for the rest of the evening. Worked like a charm, or so I thought. Gino and I danced to another couple of songs. He actually had a little bit of rhythm. He obviously thought he had a good thing going because he kept asking if Bea and I wanted to go to another "club" that his friend owned around the corner. Please. We are drunk sure, but not that drunk. I ain't leaving with you dude. Gino then introduces Bea and I to his friend Zach, so the four of us were now sitting at the bar chatting. In conversing with Zach and Gino we learn a few interesting details about this duo. First, Gino is looking for a new "girl." Flat out asked me if I wanted to be one of his girls. "I like you honeeee, you should be my girl. One of my girls. I would treat you right and set you up right" WHHHHHAAAAA?? What the hell does that mean? Fool, I’m grown. I ain’t nobody’s "girl." I thought he was joking so I ignored him. Second, we learned that Gino and Zach are in "business" with the owners of Stir. When I asked what kind of business Gino just says, "You know, business. Let me buy you another drink." Very Smooth. Nice way to avoid my question there buddy and try to get me drunk in the process. I will accept that drink but I am in no way done with questioning you. Third, we learn that that Gino and Zach work in a restaurant but both refuse to say what they do in said restaurant.

DIVA: A restaurant? Oh are you a chef?
GINO: No
DIVA: Are you a waiter?
Gino:No
Diva: Bartender?
Gino: No
Diva: Manager?
Gino: No
Diva: Bouncer?
Gino: No
Diva: Damn well what the hell do you do there?
Gino: Uhh, you know I do stuff. I do important like stuff there.

Well, actually I don’t know Gino, which is why I was asking in the first place. DUH!! Well then Bea asked Zach what he did for a living and this fool has a very interesting answer. Zach looks her dead in the eye and nonchalantly says, "I’m a gangster." BINGO. The light bulb finally turned on in my damn head. Now it all made sense. The thousand dollar suits they were wearing on a Saturday night. Gino’s talk of adding me to his collection of women. The evasiveness when asked about what they did for a living. The way they walked into the bar 10 deep like an episode of the Sopranos. The secret "business" that they did with the owners of Stir. The way all of these guys in the bar kept coming up to them and hugging them and whispering in their ear. It was all coming together. Ladies and Gentleman meet Gino and Zach, two members of the Serbian Mafia. Why I didn’t pick up on this shit sooner is beyond me. Bea and I have run into this kind of thing a few times before here in the city with the Italian Mafia types. Burly, yet very suave, dudes in expensive ass suits buying everyone drinks all night and telling tales of restaurant and bar and garbage connections but not really saying what it is that they actually do. Everything is spoken in code so no one ever says what is really going on. We have run into some true life Mafiosos at bars here in the city on at least two other occasions. One time a very drunk Bea went up to one dude at this place called Jimmy's Downtown and flat out asked him if he was in the mob. "Are you in the Mafia," she questioned with those innocent brown eyes. Then she started questioning the waitress about how many mafia people they have serviced in the joint. I wanted to smack her. Who says that shit out loud? Thankfully, he thought she was drunk and too pretty to be serious so he didn't take her out back and beat her to death. On another occasion one dude was so desperate to have one of us be a member of his harem that he kept calling both of us for a whole week straight, waiting to see who would give in to his advances first. Neither one of us did of course. My name ain't Carmella.

So Zach tried to laugh and change his tune about being a gangster after Bea looked at him like she was going to run straight to the 17th precinct. But when further questioned about his 9 to 5, he too could not come up with any real job description for what he did at this mysterious restaurant he and Gino kept talking about. Hmmm… could it be money laundering? Could it be racketeering? Could it be that the restaurant is a front for some international drug ring? Sex slaves? I mean let’s get serious, who gets tight lipped about working in a damn restaurant? Last time I checked the restaurant business was not that unsavory. Damn, and was Gino happy to see me or was that really a gun in his pocket? UNREAL!! And who walks around with an enormous wad of hundred dollar bills in their pocket? Ughhh, that would be Gino and Zach. Gino flashed me his hundreds when he was retrieving his cell phone from his pocket. That bankroll was bigger than my fist. Bea said Zach pulled out his wad of cash when he was trying to slip one of his other buddies a piece of paper from his pocket. Left one of his Benjamins on the bar for the bartender and then smirked at Bea when he noticed that she saw the cash. DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!!! That really was a gun in his pocket and and not a penile bulge? Lawd have mercy Marc Jacobs. Leave it to Diva and Bea to go out and find a bunch of Serbian gangsters to party with on a lonely Saturday night. The shit doesn't get any better than this.

Of course, any sane person would have gone running home to their mamma after discovering they were sitting at the bar playing nice with a bunch of mobsters. However, at that point I already had six drinks in my system and Gino had just ordered a round of shots. Needless to say my good judgment was nowhere to be found in this situation. By the end of the night Bea and I both had another round of shots and another Grey Goose and Cran. Way too much alcohol when you are sitting next to Kosovo's version of Al Capone. Way too much alcohol when said Al Capone impersonario has started to go from a jolly and very charming guy to being a rude chauvinist pig in two seconds flat. First he starts talking about my boobs. "You got great boobs little one. I love them." Gee, ugggggh thanks Gino. Then it was, "I want to eat you. I could take you out back, spread you and eat you." OK that was gross. Then it was, "You shouldn’t talk like that little one. I don’t like my women to talk like that. If you were in my country I would never let you talk like that. I would take care of your attitude very fast." Whhhhaaaaaa? First of all, I am not your woman and second we aren’t in your country. This is the good old USA. I can talk any way I damn well please. Then he got really crazy, saying things like, "I’m gonna pee in your mouth and shove my finger up your ass." EWWWWWWWWWWW!!! Could you be more gross? Where do you come from that you think that shit is flattering? I spit my drink out when he said that mess and really started to yell at him something fierce. That is when we both started to go back and forth.

Gino: I need to tame you. You are too wild.
Diva: You don’t need to do anything. I told you we aren’t in Kosovo. Women are free here. You need to learn how to respect a woman.
Gino: I should tie your mouth shut for the things you say to me. Tie you down and beat you.
Diva: Honey, we don’t do that here. Stop reminiscing about the old country. You hit me and you had better kill me. I swear to God I will kill you if you ever touch me like that. Your ass will get hit right back.
Gino: You need to be fucked. That is why you are so sassy. I need to fuck you up the ass and make you beg.

OK. Now I am really going off. Again, any sane person would have looked at Mr. Mafia man and all of the hints he was giving about his very violent lifestyle and run straight home. Noooooooo, not drunk ass DIVA. I mean, maybe you shouldn't say to the big beefy mafia man that if he hits you he had better kill you. Maybe you should just play nice and run away as fast as you can before the beefy mafia man decides to take you up on that offer. Nope, not Diva. Me? I started going off on his ass even more. I mean full-fledged feminist, independent woman type of going off. I just could not believe the shit that was coming out of his mouth. Just rude and degrading and disgusting. I was going off full blast to the max, fingers waving and head moving back and forth. Voice getting all loud and scratchy. Gino found it all amusing and just laughed. Yet, it was that eerie kind of laugh one gives when there are contemplating how hard they are about to smack someone in the mouth. He looked liked he was about to take my head of. Me? I'm drunk so I didn't care. I thought my little 125 pound ass was going to make the big beefy mafia man respect me. Very Smart. Luckily for me, Bea noticed Gino’s irate sneer at the exact same moment I did and got in between the two of us. My hard headed ass still kept mouthing off though. "Who do you think you are talking to?" I beckoned. Well he didn't even answer that question. Just looked me dead in the eye and gave me the "I will kill you if you say another word" look, then smiled. Mercy. Diva was about to get her throat slashed by some Serbian goon in the middle of some random bar on the Upper East Side. A perfect ending to a lovely rain filled, cramps having, getting fucked over by the Brooklyn Boy week wouldn't you say? The night finally ended with these clowns with Bea thanking the kind mobsters for buying us drinks, Me telling Gino that I was in no way scared of him and challenging him to bring it on, and Gino telling me in return that he could easily find where I live and do whatever he wants to me and no one would ever know. Mercy again. Now I have the Mafioso threatening to follow me home and rape and pillage me. At that moment I thankfully regained some sense of sanity and just grabbed Bea and bounced the hell up out of there. Just a complete mess. So much of a mess that I walked right out of that bar without ever paying for those two drinks that I had before we even met the goons from Kosovo. Yeah folks, Diva skipped out on the bill. So very crass. Bea was convinced that the Mafiosos probably took care of it since they were in "business" with the bar owners. I was not so sure. Either way, we cannot ever go back to that place again. EVER. Of course, I was hungry as hell by then end of all of this because I hadn't had dinner and had just drank the entire bar dry. When I drink I need French Fries to settle my stomach. Nice greasy French Fries with lots of ketchup. So Bea and I quickly stumbled our way to a diner that was 3 blocks from Stir. The whole time we were walking I kept thinking, "Gino is going to follow us and kill us right here in the street." Some real Francis Ford Coppolla type of shit. Thankfully, Gino stayed put and I made it to my French Fries in one piece. Still, I was so wasted and fired up about being killed at four in the morning that I drunk called Stephen the married guy and left him a barely coherent message asking him to come and get me because someone was after me and was about to kill me on the corner of 75th and 1st Ave. Needless to say he freaked when he got the message and called me like four times this morning trying to make sure I was OK. Told me that if I hadn't called him back by noon he was going to call the police. Chaos at its finest I tell you.

So that was my night. 31 years old and the best I could do was find some brawny, foul mouthed gangsters to party with and nearly get myself killed. All for some free Grey Goose and Cran. Oh Diva what is really going on in that tiny little head of yours? HMMMMMPH. At least I was CA-UTE though. Looked ever so fly. (See this is my problem. Always thinking about Aesthetics. Aesthetics, Fashion, Sex, and Politics. In no particular order.) I was rocking my cute MJ plunging neckline sweater, tight Citizens of Humanity Jeans, Michael Kors heels and my BRAND NEW Cole Haan purse. Oh yeah, I bought my purse after all. Bad Diva. Very Bad Diva. Lawd Help.

This Morning When I Looked In the Mirror I Saw...

2005-10-14T08:01:00.000-05:00

Getting Punk'd by the Rain and Technology

2005-10-13T08:31:00.000-05:00

Well it’s Thursday and Gotham City is experiencing its eighth straight day of rain. I don’t even think you can call those huge ass drops of water pounding against my window rain anymore because that would just be disrespectful to the drops. It’s basically a monsoon out there at this point. Yesterday was a torrential downpour the entire day and so far this morning, from the sound of things outside, we are in for another day of the same. Just wet and nasty. My main man, meteorologist Sam Champion, says that the heavy rains and strong winds are expected to continue throughout the night and into the morning. NICE!! I am sure you can imagine what my hair has looked like throughout all of this soggy bedlam, a limp frizzy mess. And I am sure you know I have been in my bathroom spraying RAID all over the place jus in case a waterbug decides to crawl up through the pipes. NO, I do no have a roach problem. My apartment is quite pristine when it comes to that stuff actually, pesky mosquitoes aside. However, waterbugs get all agitated and restless in this type of weather and I’ll be damned if one of those suckers decides to pay a visit to my apartment because it happens to be bored. Another form of insect in my humble abode is the last thing my psyche needs right now. For real.

So yes it’s wet, it’s damp, and it’s nasty out. YUCK!! I can't even walk around the corner to the store without getting drenched. Of course all of this excess H20 is causing major problems for the other dwellers here in the city, not just me. Rivers and streams that were already in danger of flooding are expected to crest and overflow over the next two days. This morning several areas in New Jersey are underwater. Last night people were forced to evacuate on boats and in some cases residents literally had to be carried out to higher ground. At least forty-five people went to an evacuation center for the night. It just one big old mess here and we are all a bit sick of it. NYC has turned into the East Coast version of Seattle folks. Gotta Love it.

Therefore, since my caramel colored behind has been stuck in the house avoiding the rain for the past two days (Tuesday and Wednesday are my days off) I have had ample time to calm myself down about my spontaneous romp with Brooklyn Boy. Jay-Z told me, “If you’re feeling like a pimp nigga gone dust your shoulders off…” so that is exactly what I did cause Lawd knows that crap was quite pimpish or ho-ish or something like that. Brooklyn boy is most certainly not worth hours of anxiety and anguish so I decide to just breathe and let it go. As with all of the other males in my life he will either piss me the fuck off again and force me to hire a sniper to take him out as he exits the subway or he will shock the hell out if me and actuality act civilized. I am putting my money on the former. Best to be a pessimist about this whole thing and not get my hopes up for anything positive. Anyone with any real sense just sees the world in the negative and then holds their breath hoping for the best. So stay tuned. I am sure there will be more musings about the Adventures of Diva and the Brooklyn Boy at a later date.

Aside from the rain and that fool out in Brooklyn, the real thing that has me up so early this morning with an attitude the size of Shaquille O’Neal is my cute little iPod and its creators, Apple, Inc. Those geeks over at Apple sure know how to get my blood boiling every couple of months. First they have me looking like a straight up loon, about to commit suicide in the middle of some random street in SOHO a few months back because my beloved iPod stopped working for no rhyme or reason whatsoever. It took those geeks over at the Apple store two weeks to realize that my machine couldn’t be fixed and that they needed to give me a new one. Then about two weeks after that episode Apple introduces new iPods with color screens, which of course they neglected to tell me about when I was about to wage WWIII over my broken one. Fast forward to yesterday when the iTunes Music Store was down and out of commission for over 24 hours so I wasn’t able to download my Alicia Keys’ Unplugged which I pre-ordered last week in order to get an additional track. It’s now Thursday, the Unplugged CD came out Tuesday and I still have yet to hear Ms. Keys and Adam Levine sing Wild Horses in my ear. Bitches!! Now comes word that Apple introduced a new iPod yesterday, newer and more advanced than the ones they sprung on us in the spring, an iPod that is capable of playing everything from TV shows to music to videos. The new gadgets come in two colors, the custom white or a sleek black, with larger screens. They will replace Apple's current fleet of 20-gigabyte and 60-gigabyte models. A 30 GB version of the new device will sell for $299 and a 60 GB version will cost $399. A 30 GB model can hold about 7,500 songs, 25,000 photos, or 75 hours of video, Apple said. Wait, WHHHHHAAAAAA??? Can you see the fumes emanating from my head right about now?? Can’t you just picture me about to commit mass murder over this stuff? My 20 GB U2 special edition iPod holds 5000 songs and was $369 around this time last year. The new iPods you introduced in the spring were about $40 less than what I paid for the one that I have. Now you tell me that you’ve created a new and improved version of my favorite toy and it has a color screen that is about an inch larger than the old one, plays more songs and costs about $70 less? INSANE!! All of this after people ran out and bought the new iPod NANO last month, which replaced the iPod mini? So basically what them geeks over at Apple are doing is churning out new equipment every 30 days without warning, making the stuff that we dumb ass consumers bought last month all but obsolete. I’m so fucking pissed right now I don’t know what to do. If the thousand year flood weren’t happening outside my window right now I would hop my ass on the train and head down to SOHO and curse them bitches at the Apple store out for sure. If you don’t understand my annoyance, imagine if every time you bought a new toy the company that makes said toy decided to come out with a newer model every month. Like if you bought a new 2006 model car in 2005 and then the 2007 models came out the next day. Unfair right? Look I have been an Apple loyalist for basically my entire life, ever since my sweet daddy bought me an Apple Ilc for Xmas back in 1984. But those yahoos over at that company are about to drive me insane with their corporate jockeying for position every month. Shit’s just not fair man. Who has money to get buying the next best thing every 30 days? Certainly not Diva. shit I still haven't gotten my cole Haan purse. But what can I do? Not a damn thing. I love my iPod and the convenience that it has afforded me. When my original one broke, it was as if I had lost a child. So painful, I couldn't it sleep. Hence, I will stay loyal. Like everyone else Apple will fuck me up the ass and I will stay loyal. So once again I will try to download Alicia Keys onto my year old iPod, which has now become a dinosaur. As soon as the download goes through I will sing praises to Marc Jacobs and love it. So sad. Technology really sucks sometimes.

OOOOPS!!

2005-10-11T22:23:00.000-05:00

OH, YEAH, Ummmmmmm I kind of sort of slipped tonight. Liked really slipped. Liked Slipped and fell and bumped my damn head. So much so I had to go and get me a piece of German Chocolate cake from the bakery. YIKES!! Talk about counting calories. 50000 calories for sure. MEN Suck!! Sorry C-Note that you are smack dab in the middle of all of this mess. I know she is squirming and rolling her eyes and shitting a brick if she is sitting at her desk reading this junk about my confessions with the Brooklyn boy. Lawd have mercy Marc Jacobs upon me. Even Bea was trying to perk me up last night in the midst of all of my tears and guilt and drama and explanations of why I shouldn't be involved with this fool and all of this crap. Yet, there is something about him that makes me just lose control and all of my supposed good sense for all of 30 seconds. Not sure if it is the loneliness or the "never fertilized" eggs talking or what. All I know is men can drive you to the brink of madness I tell you. In my case it's all of the depression from that wedding and catching the bouquet this weekend I swear. I wouldn't even be indulging him if I wasn't all screwed up from Chameleon's wedding. (Yeah and if you believe that you are even dumber than I am right now.) I also blame that bitch ass STUD-BOY who was so lame and couldn't get his shit together that I had no choice but to run to the arms of some lame lad in Brooklyn. Curses and VOODOO Hex to you Stud -BOY!! It's everyone's fault but my own. That is my story and I am sticking to it. A couple of days ago my blog buddy Brea did a list of things that were a must in relaionships. If only I could be so strong as to stick to that stuff. MERCY!! I am weak and I need to repent. Lawd Have Mercy Marc Jacobs on my soul I need to repent. "HE" and I are supposed to have lunch tomorrow. He thinks I am the coolest right now. However, his girlfriend has the same name as me so maybe he is confusing my coolness with hers. (He claims they are breaking up. yeah right.) Mercy. What a big old sucker I am. I totally fed into all of the crap he was saying about how much he missed me and was so sorry about the drama from the past. Mercy. SUCKER!!! And to that girl with the big ass forehead out in Colorado who may be reading this and laughing I just put up the middle finger to you and say WHATEVER!! At least I am smart enough not befriend an ex boyfriend's best friend whom we all know is totally spying on you for the enemy and trying to create DRAMA so don't even try to read me the riot act for this. I know that I fucked up and that I let my emotions and horniness get the best of me. Besides, I want you to learn from my mistakes. Not commit more egregious ones!!! Hideous!! Do as I say no as I do. And me? Go to your room DIVA for this shit. You are punished and are grounded for a year so GO TO YOUR ROOM AND STAND IN THE CORNER AND LISTEN TO THE KILLERS!

I wanna stand up, I wanna let go
You know, you know - no you don't, you don't
I wanna shine on in the hearts of men
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand

Another head aches, another heart breaks
I am so much older than I can take
And my affection, well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection, no no no no

Help me out
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner
You know you got to help me out

Fall Vows and My New Favorite Band

2005-10-10T15:22:00.000-05:00

Well, my girl Ms. Chameleon is a married woman now. God Bless her. The Wedding was yesterday, outside in the freezing cold at some quaint little ski resort in Vernon, NJ where Autumn has truly kicked in gear. (Never even heard of Vernon, NJ before this weekend but who ever said that I was an expert on geography and demographics? NO ONE!!) The landscape was radiant, rustic, and fierce; the trees were screaming shades of red, sienna and burnt orange. Just my kind of scene. Remember, Diva loves Autumn all and all of its luminous landscapes. The wedding itself was rather lovely and the reception was KICK ASS. Note to all you folks planning to tie the knot soon. Invest in getting a good band for the reception. Trust me, it is totally worth the extra coins and makes all the difference in the world. JK Entertainment, which handled the festivities at Chameleon’s nuptials, was tres fab. Them folks had Chameleon’s guests dancing all night long. People barely had time to eat their five-course meal because everyone was dancing so freaking much. But I am not complaining here, dancing all night long is the way to do it. Unless you are shy and lame and just want to spend your entire reception listening to sappy speeches from goofy distant cousins and trying to cut that stuff on your plate that looks like chicken, you need to go out there and get yourself a cool band that will rock the night away. I guarantee that you will have the time of your life and your guest will love you for it. Everyone thinks Chameleon is the coolest now. Sooooooo not true. It was all the band… I tell you. Wink wink J

Of course the rain tried its best not to cooperate with us for the wedding. It has been a torrential downpour in NYC and Jersey all weekend. Therefore, having an outdoor ceremony can prove to be kind of tricky under the circumstances. By the time the ceremony took place yesterday the raindrops had died down to a spraying mist. But it was still wet. Nevertheless Chameleon had her heart set on an outdoor ceremony, the poor child even shed some crocodile tears that morning over the rain and ended up totally ruining her mascara, so we had no choice but to have the ceremony outside. Thankfully it didn’t pour on our heads but it was still a little brisk. Excuse me, I mean it was as COLD AS FUCK out there. I was trying my best not to shiver and turn blue in the face as I was standing up there at the altar with the five other bridesmaids. I guess I didn’t do such a good job though because one of the groom’s uncles jokingly said to me as we began our recessional back down the aisle, "You look like you’re the coldest one in the bunch my dear." No shit Sherlock. I have on a sexy strapless gown with my arms and back fully exposed. You are wearing a double-breasted suit, which includes a very warm blazer. Of course you are not feeling the arctic chill the way I am. HMMMPH!! Despite, the frigid temperatures and all of the Goosebumps on my arms, the ceremony went off without a hitch. The reception was the bomb diggity except once again my dumb ass caught the "bouquet." I am living proof that catching that damn thing does nothing to get you any closer to finding a husband. I have caught that fucking bouquet (or Frisbee as was the case with Chameleon. She threw a Frisbee because they met playing ultimate Frisbee) five times already. Enough!! I will never stand up for the throwing of the bouquet ever again. It’s just way too depressing!! A part of me thinks Chameleon threw that shit my way on purpose. They all have it in for me. HMMMPH, HMMMMPH, and HMMMMPH!!

So yeah another wedding down, another friend who has crossed over to the other side. They are dropping like flies I swear to GOD. I think I will be the last one standing in single woman's land. Tisk, Tisk.

So I discovered the Killers over the weekend and now they are my new favorite band. MR. BRIGHTSIDE!!!! Once again I am really late with this discovery but I don’t listen to the radio and I refuse to watch videos anymore so it takes me a while to notice these people. Sorry! I remember seeing them for a hot second of the VMAs but that show was soooo bad I had to turn. Then the kicked of the summer concert series at Central Park's Summerstage back in June but again, I was lame and wasn't aware of their greatness back then. Woe is me. However, The Killers rock their asses off so I am happy to have them join my iPod rotation. They are so 80s punk and I love that shit man. Just love it. Geez, I am turning into an 80s child all over again. Won't be long now before I am rocking my fuschia mohawk and leggings. Ok, maybe not. Still, Rock on Killers Rock On!!

I just can’t look its killing me
And taking control
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea
Swimming through sick lullabies
Choking on your alibis
But it’s just the price I pay
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
‘Cause I’m Mr Brightside

This song is about jealousy and being uncomfortable in a relationship and thinking the other person is cheatin. Mr. Brightside. Maybe I'm Mrs. Brightside!! Cause Lawd knows I don't trust them fools. (men that is.)

High Alert Yet Again

2005-10-07T12:00:00.000-05:00

NYC is on lockdown once again people. TERROR ALERT, TERROR ALERT!!! The terrorists have struck again, instilling fear and mayhem into people’s lives while they sit back and laugh at us all while we scramble for cover. There was a terror alert issued for the NYC Subways yesterday so there are all kinds of NYPD Blues sniffing around and poking their nasty little fingers into people’s shit. All randomly of course. I have never understood the point of "random" checks. Makes no sense to me whatsoever. So you check the Arab looking guy in front of me and he is fine but the skinhead militant guy behind me goes unchecked and eventually blows up the Federal Building. Nice plan you have there Department of Homeland Security. People forget that not all terrorists come from the Middle East. They fail to remember that Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols were both Made In The USA and still fucked their country up the ass by bombing shit out in Oklahoma. Insane. Some cop gave me the one over this morning before deciding not to check my bag. DUDE, check me please. I won’t mind just as long as you use gloves and don’t get my Marc Jacobs Venetia dirty. I could soooooo be a terrorist. Just because I am female and cute doesn’t mean I wouldn’t hesitate to blow your ass to bits. Of course I would never do that but he doesn’t know that. Anyone could be a terrorist, so if they are going to effectively do security checks then they need to check everyone. EVERYONE!! I won’t be comfortable with security checks until I see everyone being prodded and searched. It wasn’t until I got home yesterday that I thought about the attacks on the London Subways back in July and how awful that was. Scary shit indeed. That is when I reverted back to my childhood for a second. Listen, I was the girl who grew up thinking that the Muammar Quadafi and the Libyan Army was going to blow Washington, DC off of the face of the Earth because Ronald Reagan blew up Quadafi’s family in a retaliation attack. I also grew up believing that Nuclear War was inevitable because of that ridiculous Cold War and that I could spend my adult years living in some bunker with a cancerous baldhead and aged skin after being exposed to some radiation. So these threats aren’t exactly new to me. The terror threats have always been alive and well for me although I usually keep my fears tucked away in a nice little spot in the back of my mind, far away from my everyday life. And I would be able to keep those fears safely tucked away if our Homeland Security (loud guffaw there at those yahoos) actually stopped grandstanding for a second and did their jobs.

Actually that girl with the big forehead out in Colorado just told me that she would not have taken the subway to work this morning if she lived in NYC. She would have been too afraid and she would have walked to work she said. Uhhhh, OK I guess. But there are over four million people who take the train to and from work in NYC everyday, most of whom do not live in Manhattan like I do. Girl, ain’t nobody walking all the way from Brooklyn. Yes, I can walk to work but why? I ain’t walking everytime there is a terror alert. The terror level was raised all last summer so that means I would have been walking in my Jimmy Choos every damn day. NO THANK YOU!! That would just be too damn foolish and I swear I ain’t letting these terrorists run my life like that. Especially when you consider the fact that they could just as easily blow me up while I am in Pret A Manger getting my Crawfish and Avacado salad. Or they could blow up the bus that drives by me while I am walking my ass to work. In both cases I am still fucked. The point is you just don’t know so you may as well just live your live as you normally would.

Then NY’s Penn Station was closed all morning because of an "investigation" on the train platform. They shut it down and sent tons of emergency workers in bright yellow Hazmat suits to the scene to investigate a reported toxic substance left on the subway. Said substance turned out to be a soda can. A discarded soda bottle filled with an unidentified green liquid was found at the station during morning rush hour, Amtrak officials said. The substance did not pose a threat to passengers and was subsequently removed for testing. People, please put your shit in the trash and stop leaving it frivolously discarded all over the place scaring the BEJESUS out of folks. Is putting your shit in the trash that hard? Mercy!!

Then there was another disturbance outside of the British Consulate this morning. The British Consulate is in Midtown, a block away from my apartment and was the target of a pipe bomb attack back in June. Some nut decided it would be a cool idea to plant a series of bombs in the flowerpots outside of the Consulate building. The bombs went off during the wee hours of the morning scaring the shit out of everyone in the neighborhood, although luckily no one was hurt. God sometimes I feel like we are on the cusp of a total Beirut experience in these United States. Like we are on the brink complete terrorist chaos and that soon, the National Guard and a series military tanks will be a fixture on my street trying to protect me from getting blown the fuck up. Sadly it’s 2005 and this is the world we live in. On top of racism and sexism and classism and all of the other shit that is going on in the world, we have to deal with the possibility that another terrorist attack is coming soon. Thankfully, we aren’t living like those poor folks in Israel who seem to be ducking suicide bombers on the daily. However, it would be foolish for us to think that a similar type of turmoil isn’t headed our way in the near future. It’s only a matter of time. So what do I do? Again, I go on about my everyday life as ordinarily as I possibly can. That’s all you can do really. The point of terrorism is to impose fear and terror, not necessarily to kill and maim. Well, I refuse to be fearful every damn day. But that doesn’t mean I am not thinking about the shit and screaming to myself on the inside, "Please check that woman’s bag before she blows us all to smithereens."

Sticking Me For My Papers

2005-10-06T13:59:00.000-05:00

Gone are the days when I get excited about getting paid. It’s payday today and my ass is still broke. It’s unbelievable how much money I go through in this city. Rent, Credit Cards, Student Loans, Food, Taxis, Clothes, Entertainment, weddings. Yeah, I said weddings. Weddings are a huge part of my life these days. I am in another wedding this weekend, which makes my third appearance in a wedding this year and my fifth wedding overall this year. And I have one more to go. For those of you who have never been in a wedding be advised, the shit is EXPENSIVE!!! I’m talking mad dollars. As a result, this will be my last bridesmaid appearance for a while. Next person who asks will just get a big fat NO because Lawd knows I cannot afford this stuff anymore. Total cost so far this year for all three bridesmaids’ dresses and shoes and makeup and lodging and transportation: $2250. (That figure does not include the extra $250 I spent to get to Europe a week earlier than originally planned to see one of the Finns get married.) As I have stated on numerous occasions one of those bridesmaids’ dresses cost me $600 back in April. INSANE. OUTRAGEOUS!! RIDICULOUS!!! But I had to do it. The bride in question is one of my best friends and she didn’t even know the price of the dress because we had them made and she doesn’t live in NYC. Doesn’t even live in the U.S. anymore. So I just had to suck it up, pay the damn dressmaker and stand at the altar and be cute. (Note to self, never have a dress made in NYC. Shit costs too damn much.) So, yeah my broke ass is staying away from bridesmaid detail for a while. TOO DAMN expensive. Luckily for me Bea, Nutmeg, C.Ruth, and that girl with the big ass forehead out in Colorado are not getting married anytime soon. THANK GOD!!! By the time they find some men to drag down the altar I might be able to afford a bridesmaids’ dress or two.

Another reason my paycheck is so dim this week is because I broke down and got my damn boots. Actually, it’s all Bea’s fault. I am blaming this all on Bea, but in a good way. Yes, I am talking about those fly ass Michael Kors boots that I was only supposed to buy if I started working on my book on September 15. Thiswas the deal: You work on your book, you get the boots. Simple as that. Well the 15th came and went I didn’t do a damn thing for my book. Didn’t even write one sentence. So I wasn’t supposed to have the boots. In fact, I had forgotten completely about them. But then Bea came a calling last week about a sale at Bloomie’s and how the boots were 35% off if we bought two pair and that she would buy a pair for both of us and we get get the 35% off and then I could just pay her back this week when I got paid. DAMN!!!! Michael Kors boots for $100 off? Michael Kors boots that are almost sold out everywhere? Michael Kors boots that I would rock like Naomi Campbell up and down 5th Ave.? DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!! You know I said yes to that shit. Didn’t even hesitate. (Well I kind of hesitated but that was because I didn’t want to seem too anxious.) So Bea bought the boots (GOOD LOOKING OUT GIRL!!!) and we got a huge discount and now I am $270 in the red. Oh, but it doesn’t stop there. The day after Bea bought those boots I had to go to Bloomies to get a gift for Chameleon’s bachelorette party (never do I walk into a party without a gift. So crass!!) Well, the sale of all sales was still going on at Bloomies and they had these cute Michael Kors pumps on sale for 35% off, just like the boots and you know I absolutely needed some camel colored heels and they looked ever so cute on my little ass feet so I got them. AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!! Then I saw some Theory pants on sale for 40% off. Now, Theory dress pants are like heaven on Earth people. The quality of the fabric is top notch and they fit me oh so well… actually at $280 a pop they should. Theory pants are the ultimate luxury experience when it comes to work clothes. Love them, love them, love them. Well, these cute little suckers were 40% off. 40%!!! That is a steal so I just had to have them. So that’s Michael Kors boots, Michael Kors shoes, Theory pants, oh and my extra $150 to get that bridesmaid dress altered. Plus I got to get my hair did, toes done, and pay for hotel at the wedding site. Tons of money spent in a blink of an eye. And don’t get me started on that Cole Haan purse that I so desperately want but now can’t afford because I have to pay for all of this other crap. Oh, and I owe Sprint for my cell phone because like a dumb ass I forgot to pay the bill last month so them bitches are not too happy with me. So sad. And let’s not even talk about my Visa bill. Still paying for my birthday party and other random stuff. So, so sad. And I have another round of prescriptions coming up that I have to pay for. Diabetes??? Expensive. Going rate for insulin under my insurance plan is $20 per. Of course I need two different kinds of insulin plus syringes and needle heads plus my cholesterol and allergy medication. $$$$$$$$$$... Cha-ching Bitch!! So I basically have two bucks in my account to last me the next two weeks. And folks want me to make trips to DC and Colorado and California. Impossible. I may go to DC next week but that is only because I need to check in on my sister JR (find out what is going on with her jailbird husband) and get some work done on my book. And don’t get it twisted, if I go to DC my ass will be on the Greyhound. $35 roundtrip. Sigh!! I am the worst at managing money. By now I should have gotten a handle on my economic chaos but that never seems to happen. Probably never will. Tisk Tisk. I swear to God I am going to start charging that lame ass Stephen for all of the marriage counseling I have been giving him the past two weeks. His sad tale is way too long to get into on this post today but let’s just say he has some complex issues. It’s funny how guys who cheat never seem to think anything is their fault. They get indignant when people actually get angry with them for their betrayal. Hideous. If he calls me tonight whining about attorneys and property and alimony I am going to tell him my fee is $200 per hour. Shit, Diva has bills to pay so if I am going to listen to him snivel all damn night about his marital woes then the least he could do is pay me.

In other news, I am sooo happy that the New York Jets are in turmoil. QB Chad Pennington is out for the season, RB Curtis Martin is hurt and playing like shit, and their record is a measly 1-3. TAKE THAT YOU FUCKERS!! See, this is what happens to teams who give DIVA the run around. They totally wouldn’t commit to the Spa story and Curtis Martin was being a dope about doing anything for the magazine until the off season (DUDE I have seen you out at at restaurants during the week all hours of the night. In the time it takes you to get seated at NOBU you could have done an interview with me and had a photo shoot and maybe gotten my phone number.) so we got screwed with story ideas for their team. HA!!! Now you couldn’t pay us to interview their sorry asses. See, the voodoo hex works people. So beware of the DIVA.

Scratch and Sniff

2005-10-05T07:02:00.000-05:00

SOMEBODY HELP ME!!! I am being attacked. My body is being harassed on the daily in my own damn apartment yet I am not sure by what exactly. First I thought it was bed bugs. I outlined that whole story several posts ago. New York had a horrible infestation last summer and I was one of the unlucky city dwellers that fell victim to that mess. Then I thought it was mosquitoes, which I theorized were being drawn to the apartment by that damn running water in the shower. I even saw a mosquito in the shower one morning so I was confident at the time that was what was ailing me. But no one else was getting bit. Just me. Then I thought it was hives, an allergic reaction to something that I ate that was causing a horrible outbreak of red splotches to appear on my body. As recently as Monday I was content with that theory. Now I am back to the mosquitoes. I saw two in my room last night. I even killed one of those bitches; beat the shit out of it with the latest issue of New York Magazine. But that still doesn’t solve my problem. Since Monday I have accumulated four new bites on my person, one as recently as last night that appeared right after I killed that damn invader. I found two on my back on Sunday morning after I was out all night running the streets in a tank top for Chameleon’s bachelorette party. What is happening to me? Where the hell are all of these mosquitoes coming from and why are they only biting me? You would think that I lived in the back of the woods or something with all of this damn foolishness going on. You should see the red marks on my body. They are about the size of a coaster. HUGE!! And that is without me scratching them. Even thought they itch like hell I know better than to scratch because they leave awful scars if I do. I’m diabetic so I scar easily. Mercy. I am dying here. Since I saw those two mosquitoes last night you know that I have been up all night plotting my strategy. Today I have to bust out one of my insect foggers and spray the room down and then hit them with the Dyson. Mercy. I thought I was done with all of this stuff. The psychological toll over this mess is about to drive me mad. I have a wedding to be in on Sunday and I am just going to look awful in those pictures with all of this visible infestation covering my body. NICE!! I think someone in the heavens in punishing me. I feel like Jada Pinkett in Kingdom Come when she looks to the sky and screams, “TAKE ME NOW!!” For me to be quoting Jada Pinkett says a lot about my mental state because I cannot stand the chick. Mercy. I guess I have to go to the store today and get some bug repellant. Instead of smelling sweet from the new Narciso Rodriguez perfume I am going to be sporting Deep Woods off all week. Hmmmmmmph. This fucking sucks. If you read about some little chick in the NYC jumping off a bridge clutching a can of raid then you’ll know that was me. The Mosquitoes or the hives or some bug bite demon made me do it. Somebody please help me.

PS. I know there is one little wench out there in Colorado who is reading this and who thinks this shit is funny. I'll deal with you and that big forehead of yours later. HMMMMMPH!!