Thursday, January 29, 2009


I was discussing with a friend of mine the 10 hour rule. He told me he doesn't generally plan past 10 hours, which for me, the consummate OVER planner, is a grave issue. It drives me mad. I thought he was a nutcase when he told me. I bitched about it to my friends. I may have called him a bad word or two. But the fact is, my control-freakness is such a problem that I hyper ventilate sometimes, tis true. Everyone knows. It's cool. So someone who I'm learning to respect more and more daily, even though he is a surfer, tells me last week, "why are you worried about it? you know shit changes. It's 10 days never know what will happen." So I turned to the surf and did my meditation, and I shit you not, not 12 hours later, the muthafucka who's made my life miserable got canned. Patience IS my journey. He's fuckin' Nostradamus that one.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Planes, Trains , Automobiles and Obama

I am exhausted.
Jet setting is not all it's cracked up to be.  I know it sounds braggadocious, but I am plum tired. 
I am sitting in Speedway Cafe on a 3 hour layover from Nassau heading back to Seattle.

I'll start with Monday morning.
4:15am pick up from the hotel in Minneapolis to start my trek to Washington DC.  Will.I.Am had parties galore that week and I was fortunate enough to make the Neighborhood Ball.  Beyond excited, mostly to see my friends.  Not that don't have any in Waynes camp, they're just new and I desperately needed some "connect time".
I took two flights only to realize when I finally landed in Baltimore, it was 11:20am, not 10:20am I was originally quoted.  I wouldn't be seeing the swearing in and was happy my boy TiVOed it.
I did stop to see what Aretha was wearing prior to heading down to baggage claim.  I'm sort of glad I didn't see her sing, since she dissed herself so.
Picked up my luggage in cold ass Baltimore and jumped on a bus to the Greenbelt.  Bus took about 20 minutes.  Train took another 25 minutes to get into DC.  Looked up to notice that the Convention Center stop was closed, so threw all my computers back into their bags (LW doing a border crossing today so I was on alert getting manifests ready).  In my haste, I, of course, dropped my wireless card only faux pas of the week.
Rushed to the top of the metro stairs smack dab at the Verizon Center where we just played last month...the day I started writing this blog.
I was in Obama Bootleg heaven.  Amazing is only half of the description...they were having bootlegg -offs!  Sales.  Why where else have you been able to get a bootleg Obama bling tshirt AND the bootleg of "Notorious" one breath?  Are you kidding me?
It was incredible.  I started taking pictures of the street, and then it happened.

I realized it was about 15 degrees in that bitch.  And I had to walk 7 blocks back to the Convention Center.

I began my long cold walk, still in awe but with frozen fingertips.  My oh so stylish gloves were oh so impractical.  they worked at 30 degrees.  I supposed 15 was a different beast.

Upon arrival, they did not, of course, have my name.  Fortunately the same people who do Fashion Rocks, AMA's and all of the award shows did this one too and let me in...and you thought it was high security.

The Bucky Jonson boys arrived and I was beyond happy to see them.  Not only had I not seen them since the wedding...or, really since Chile in November for a show, but Bobby was carrying my box o' gowns and I had to get ready for the Ball!

None of the usual suspects were there to dress me so I relied on the light designer and the road manager to put me together.  It was wonderful, except my ribs were in pain.  I have the bruises to prove it.  I don't know how women did this in the last centuries but I truly believed that my lungs and intestines were gonna fall out of my dress when I took it off.  I was in so much pain, only the sight of Sting and Denzel Washington could pull me away.  Jay Z doing the shuffle in the freight elevator took my mind off of it also.  Sad that I missed seeing Latifah backstage, I didn't even know she was there until she came out on stage.

Very proud of Will.I.Am and the boys.  Keith Harris is a beast!  He was beyond proud.  We all were.  Everyone in that room.  I realized that little girls everywhere would look at Michelle Obama and want to look like her!  Imaging a world where there are more black barbies on the shelves than white?  CRAZY!!  And there were so many black barbie dolls running around that evening and beautiful men and beautiful people.  It was an incredible night to remember until.....

the Irish pub across from the hotel and the nasty boys who thought they could rub my but.  What is it with drunk white boys?  I mean really.  I'm ordering a drink and he's not doing the bump, he has his ass on my ass and holding my hips at the same time.  And the worst part?  Had I broken a glass over his fucking head I would have been wrong.  The fucking nerve.  I really don't understand why motherfuckers feel they can violate another persons space.  I really don't understand it.  Were they told somewhere that that was a great "come on" line?  It damn near ruined my evening, until I watched the first dance I recorded and remembered seeing my president to the bump.   I loosened up after that.

Next morning we jumped up...tired as hell, for a 5am call to the Philadelphia Airport.  US Airways direct to Nassau, Bahamas for the Michael Jordan Celebrity Golf tournament.   Where I found...yep, you guessed it, more obnoxious white boys.  WTF?!
I did see Hillary Duff, however, and if she isn't the prettiest little girl you've ever seen than I don't know who is.  We played blackjack for hours with her and her bf Mike Comrie.  They were the coolest people in the casino, aside from some other people who I don't know but who came to the dinner where Fergie performed.  It was a blast...except that the Atlantis Resort is fricken gross.  I think I need to stick to Indian Casinos to get my winnings on.  I sucked.

And now, I am holding my friend up sitting here, reading surf magazines, listening to Stevie Nicks "Outside of the Rain" at this table staring into this computer.  Would you believe we still have an hour and one half left before our plane lands?  And I have another 5 hour flight.  I cannot wait to get my black ass to Seattle and collapse into that bed.  Cannot wait.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009


Tonight, I had a very interesting Ichat convo with my lover. I'm beginning to think that texting and email is the new lead to writing. Like love letters in the 17 and 1800's. I know, it's passive aggressive, but it can be terribly romantic. This convo, however, wasn't one of those romantic moments:

seems like ur gettin burned out a bit
they drivin u hard
i hope u get a break

ITS driving me hard
no one in particular
it is what it is

if u tell me dates ur in LA i will come out and see u

no way

uh way?

i'm only home a little bit and I have to spend it with friends and boys who can have me whole
I can only visit you on the road and stuff

have u whole?
ur smelly



i'm "smelly"?


i'm coming to town tomorrow


you got a whole lunch break

im in VA

yeah, well I figure since I came across the USA you can figure out how to get to DC

only have u whole?
thats so wrong

what's funny?
so wrong?
no it's not


you are crazy
besides, i could be my other Muslims first wife
is it like Big Love?
actually, by the time i get into DC he will be inaugurated already


you keep laughing!
you see me and my little cousin and her momma


i have on liquid eyeliner
and a fricken mullet

ur hot
have me fully
man im gonna smack u

was that corny?

it was from the heart
u want to have the physical mental and emotional

i can't fuck anymore
it's horrible
i don't know what happened
it's like, POOF, no more fucking
not that I'm not horny, or have no libido


but a nigga can say something and I'd be done

u need the emotional T

like this boy came to my room the other night, put his dick on my shoulder and, while it definitely had girth, I was done and ready to go to bed
I dunno
I'm over fucking


oh my gosh

id warm u up

what if that's what happens?
oh Lord, I hope not


I love to fuck.

need the heart T
thats whats missing

yeah well
i need a dick too

Monday, January 19, 2009

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and TIred

My highlight this evening was Bootzilla Baby coming to the show in full purple regalia for the Cincinnati gig.  Always sweet and always kind.  He has a restaurant in Cincinnati.  He and Ms Patti were awesome and visited Weezy.

It is freezing out here.  And I mean cold everywhere.  it was 20 degrees today and that's the highest it's been for about a week.  Why do people live where it's cold.  There are plenty of other states and cities where the sun shines.  

I am tired.  I am so sleepy every day.  I slept in the massage chair in the dressing room with our singers dog.  I sleep at every stop.  And now, instead of taking these three days off coming up, I'm filling them with...Inauguration Parties and Nassau.  I'll be on an airplane more time than on the ground.  I cannot wait for this break.  I would add pix of Bootzilla but I have to lay down.  Really.  I can't take it anymore.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Money often costs too much. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I miss the Roots.
Owen taking all these fancy pictures of Osaka.  Kirk and Artless laughing in the airport.  Damon and Frank and Tarik making videos.  Hahahaha!  
And I'm stuck in cold ass Toronto, making sure the lawyer gets his assistant in.
Hard touring and big touring you make a good share of money.  However, I can't say that I'm having "fun".  Who has fun at work though?
I used to.  My brothers. I miss them terribly.  Although when I'm around them they actually get on my brothers do.

So fine!!! Yuck it up in Osaka and Tokyo...on the yearly Roots trip without me!

Hate them.

What we need is a tough new kind of feminism with no illusions. Women do not change institutions simply by assimilating into them. We need a feminism that teaches a woman to say no and not just to the date rapist or overly insistent boyfriend but, when necessary, to the military or corporate hierarchy within which she finds herself. We need a kind of feminism that aims not just to assimilate into the institutions that men have created over the centuries, but to infiltrate and subvert them.
-- Barbara Ehrenreich

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Blame Canada.....

Fucking Canada. If I never have to go over this border again it will be too soon. It sucks badly. We have a few people who have indiscretions. Ones that they didn't even disclose. Everything searched. I've been here for 3 hours and I still have 3 buses behind me. They turned the bus upside down. They turned my bags inside out. They asked me what my chick meds were. They asked me about my vitamins. They broke Talents shoes. And the boys on the bus ...half of them outraged that they were checked. "They may as well called us niggas!" Are you kidding me? We have got to get over that shit. It's ridiculous. Canada don't let nobody cross over the border without checking their every crevice. We cannot be 1 week from inauguration and still have our heads in Jim Crow. We ain't never even seen Jim Crow. It's amazing to me how being "hood" keeps you sheltered. Things you get a slap on the wrist for in the US are huge deals in other countries..."we don't want to deal with someone like you here. Your intentions." And I'm torn. I had to explain to him that some socioeconomic issues in our country lead people down a path that seems totally normal to them, but maybe not normal to the rest of the world. And that still wasn't a good excuse. "Of course, but that's why we don't want you in here." What argument can I have with that? I completely understand that. It's unfortunate that we are allowed to carry guns. It's unfortunate that we are allowed to do a lot of things. I always say, jail is filled with some dumb mu'uh fuckas and some accidents. It's unfortunate that dumb mu'uh fuckas make it worse for the rest and allow more accidents. If shit is illegal, it just is. Why try to fight city hall? We ain't marching on Washington here folks, I mean really.

Then again, I think everyone is sexist, so....whatreyagonnado?

Monday, January 12, 2009

The Big Easy

I never thought I'd be in the same room with them, but last night it happened. Backstage, I saw Snoop D- O double G walk by. Love him. Helped me pay a bill in college once. And not 10 minutes later, walking in the opposite direction, I saw HIM...the devil himself....Shug Knight. Our body guard, the one who protects me from all such gang relations, hugged them both! Both? I thought that defied everything I knew about as a former gang banger....okay, I didn't bang. But you know how your affliations went in high school, so you KNOW what I'm sayin'. In any event, I hate Shug Knight. I hate that Snoop D - O double G doesn't make the royalties he deserves from those Death Row days, I hate that a black man can see the turmoil caused to other black men in the Industry Past , who robbed and pillage from black artist for their own success - ROBBED....and does the exact same thing. He is criminal He is wack. I don't like him. I hate that he was at the show and can walk freely on the planet.

There. I said it.

In the meantime, I love the Big Easy and I'm excited to have a day off. Finally. I've been flying in and out of LA. Fergie is finally married. That wedding was gorgeous and I am happy and honored to have been apart of it. I'll expand on that after I finish my gumbo.

Lovely Day

Yesterday I had the great opportunity of attending one of my bosses wedding. She looked INCREDIBLE. The winery was massive and beautiful. The Malibu day was....extraordinarily warm, even the Santa Ana's were merely giving our hair and trains the backdrop needed for our gowns.

The day started with me waking up at 5:15 am to catch a direct flight to LA. The flight was on time, in fact I got into LA at 9 am. We didn't know where we were going as it was all undisclosed. We'd also just found out that we had to be in ready by 2 pm.

A van picked us up from the hotel and took us to another designated parking spot...and then THAT van picked us up and we all rode together to the vineyard. I did not know that Malibu had a vineyard. THE most beautiful house. Although my friend has a beautiful house across the way. They are beautiful and different. The backyard cascaded down a gorge almost. Papparrazi some how , as they do, got the jump on us....helicopters were circling everywhere overhead. Unless I cannot see, I did not notice that many celebs. I was with my buddy Bobbie Ritchie, but he was the biggest star other than Fergie, I think. Slash, Josh, Mario Lopez and the Peas. I didn't see anyone else that the tabloids say, but we are all pretty familial so that would make sense. I had the best time with our band and dancers. Josh created a hilarious video, Kid Rock told porn jokes and there was a decent jam session that followed with Kid Rock, Slash and Bucky Jonson.

There is always the point at the wedding when the family asks you "when are you going to get married" , "do you have a life?", "you work so hard".... In this instance it was Her family. My short tenure with the camp has afforded me the privilege to meet her ENTIRE family. She's like black people with all her mad cousins and step families on either side. And the women....are amazing. All of these strong women who lead "normal" lives and yet did not have the same old played out advice I've been getting since I was 25, "whenever you decide to settle down, it will happen." What does that mean to a person who keeps an extra pair of clothes in their computer bag and glove compartment, cuz ya never know. Instead this one particular family member stopped me to have this conversation actually moved me. She asked me did I have a life and what I would need to do to carve out one for myself.  And how strong I was and could move mountains so not to be afraid.   It's not that I haven't been thinking about this for years, I just never thought I'd turn 36 and still be thinking about it. The next woman, our publicist - the hardest working publicist I've ever know,  said it's never the right time and when it happens you just deal with it and keep it moving. I never knew that when the time came TO think about it, it would hit me in the face almost every day. Fuck. I've been so good at avoiding it. Fortunately for my psyche , good old Bobbie swung in right on time with a a glass. Looked like apple juice! I was such a fucking lady!!

Friday, January 9, 2009

Peen Eye

Little unknown secret about independent women..... they have a mean sex drive.  And I know, boys call them "alpha females" like that shit is supposed to be a diss or something, or even like women aren't supposed to be aggressive or know what they want, etcetera....sort of like the term "reverse racism".  In any event, my dearest homie and I had a discussion that went wrong regarding sluttiest moments.  And we came to the realization, that we were NOT horrible sluts.  Partially because we have no great gang bang stories like half the guys on tour.  I only have a few slutty moments and my ego won't let me believe that I was truly being a slut - not with what I see on porn hub.  So I think about how choosy I am - present tense - about the "d" in which I search.  My last "d" I don't want any more and with all of these gender biases, one really has to be easy on the new "d".  

For instance, I held out the other night.  Why? Because I wanted him to respect me? uh uh.  Because I wanted it to be a "real" relationship and not have another one night stand to no where (by the way, I don't believe that shit at all)?  I wanted some meaning?  Nah, none of that.   I held out because...... I was too afraid that his dick could possibly be small and I would be disappointed.
Retard, right?  I know this!  But I can't help myself.  I'm a size queen.  There.  I said it.  I join the ranks of the Pamelas and the ...well, who else is out about being a size queen.  The point is this, I can chase all of the big bootied hoes out of the dressing rooms that I want...and there were 2 ginormous bootied hoes with gold dresses that made it past security merely for their intoxicating booties.  

Now if that can happen in a high security spot like the I Am Music Tour, why in the hell can't I screen niggas prior to fucking?  Why can't that be just as important as respect, or relationship, or meaning?  blah blah fricken blah.  I don't think you all realize what hell it is to be on tour as a woman and no peen eye.  I've gotten some feedback from you 1960's ass niggas talking about I need therapy.  Who doesn't.  Shit.  But really, so many many many many many boys who drink with you , get high with you, pat you on the back...ha ha hell.  This is some bullshit.  Setting up strippers and lap dances and shit.  WHO SETS UP LAP DANCES FOR ME?  WHO?  I tell you who.  No one.  And while the Kettle One Gimlet may be talking right now, it still does not negate the fact that the gender roles in the world SUCK BALLS.

----news flash, Lil Wayne just held his one-gloved hand up and said "Respect the color of my glove.  I AM Barack Obama."

I am really beginning to love this dude....

No Milli No Milli No Milli

I need to keep my ass out of the casino.   Just because a city has a river boat doesn't mean I need to be up in it trying to get my millis.  I am not a milli-onaire nor am I tougher than Nigerian hair.  I wish I had have listened to that song sooner.  Maybe I would have Dr. Seussed my ass out the casino.

The Lou is BRICK ASS cold.  It ain't even fair.  There are so many other warm states, why do people live in the cold ones?

Did you hear about that nigga Dr. Bautista who is divorcing his wife and wants cash or the kidney he donated back?
That is fucking gangster!  Do they completely hate each other?  I don't know why I am surprised.  I'm not friends with any of my exes either, shit.  Fuck em.  Too many people in life to know vs staying in touch with a muthafucka that you find annoying in ANY sort of way.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Chevron and 60 year olds

Normally I would say...."yo, the waves at El Porto weren't bullshittin'"  my surf brethren would correct me.   Correct terminology being, "Dude, it was going OFF today."  I'll say.   Going off up my nose, down my throat.  My ass was going OFF that gotdamn surfboard in freezing ass water.  56 degrees my ass.  My surf report ALSO said  "fair" with little shit waves - 2 -4 ft.  I get there and there are walls of 6 - 7 feet waves coming towards me.  WALLS.  I try to swim from the outside, it follows.  Try to go up the middle, board too big to duck dive.  What the fuck.    I asked this man photographing his son who was new.  In my best, I'm-such-a-surfer voice , "hard to get out today , huh".  His response?  
"I'm 60.  I can't be fighting all that shit to get out there.  Just ride the white wash!" 

And he was right.  So that's what I did.  I gave up trying to penetrate the wall and found another way.   I swirled around in cold as white wash and found some other way to up my skills.  You can't practice swimming in a pool.  It's flat. Boring.  You'll never know how good you are.  I think you have to learn in the ocean.  You have to battle the waves.  Something larger than yourself.  How else do you meet a challenge?

However, as luck would have it, I did manage to see quite a big booty ho riding the fuck out of those big wall waves.  It encouraged me to swim harder.  Who was this big bootied brown girl riding waves in Manhattan Beach?  Could I possibly find a surf buddy?  So I swam, got knocked back.  She kept riding.  Swam harder, over...oh yes....let me hurry before the next set....negative. Got knocked back again.  Swallowed gallons of Chevron water and finally, after swimming in place for 15 minutes, I called it a fucking day.

Showered off my body and my board and as I walked to the car...who should I see out of the water heading my way but..."BIG BOOTIED SURF GIRL!!!"  I was thrilled.  Someone to teach me to surf.  We'd be best buddies.  We'd talk about how hard it was to be a woman surfing, let alone black and the locals! Oh joy.  She was actually parked in the car next to mine.  O-M-G!! The closer she got the more I realized she wasn't no regular black girl.  She must be mixed with something though, all that ass.  I thought, hmm, maybe she's Columbian.  Shakira got a big booty and she's Columbian.  Nope, wait, maybe Tongan.  Samoan? Naw she don't look Samoan she look Columbian.. oh damn, our surfboards are almost the same!....maybe....  Maybe I scared her off from staring so damn hard. 
She probably thought I was some weirdo surf dyke as she screeched out of the parking lot.  
I should have started at "hello".

Flying Unfriendly Skies

I'm an American, United, Lufthansa kind of girl. Mostly because I have enough upgrades to never have to notice how incredibly fucked the legroom is. Do the airlines think people got smaller? I'm only 5'9" and my knees touch. Not so nice. And I can get even loftier about this sitiation.

Airplanes are already teeming with germs from people who never learned to cover their mouths when they cough, or sneeze (no doubt removed by the same mothers who stopped paddling in schools). Which leads me to believe that Continental is officially the Greyhound of the sky. I used to think it was Southwest, but Southwest knows they're cheap. They are efficient. They keeps it pushin'.  And  US Air flight attendants are old as my grandmammy, and mean.   And the Midwest express, Continental, constantly overbooks and has nerve enough to have no legroom. It's sad. It's discriminatory to people who weigh more than 160 lbs! Its a violation of our Civil Rights!!.....well it is.
Fricken recirculated air.
Fricken 9 years old talking too early in the morning. It's Monday! Why they ain't in school?! These are the same children who talk back in class with no consequences and then back hand their teacher in junior high. Just finish reading your paperback of "Twilight" would ya? Dont even get me started on how thats NOT a childrens book.

Dramatic? Slightly, perhaps I am. But this is the 3rd time this muthafucker in front of me has coughed or sneezed without covering his mouth. Did manners go out with paddling and music classes?! WTF!
Okay, clearly my sleep deprivation has me spiraling out of control. I CAN'T HELP IT! CLEVELAND WAS SO POPPIN'!!! Pop pop pop!
If only I could reach my Xanax so I can stop rambling.

"Hey little 9 year old, can you pass me that bag......"

Monday, January 5, 2009

I Woke Up Feeling Perfect

"I drank a vat of red wine and woke up feeling perfect."
One of my most favorite best friends marked this quote.  I love it.  Just came back from an after party where I worked more than I partied.  Not true.  I partied and then I worked.  I didn't mean to work, it's just in me.

We were drinking to pass the time, forget about lovers, to our favorite song.  Alcohol and boredom.  I tell you, on the road, you eat shit and drank. Oh yes, and I heard the best line I've ever heard..."You are my pivotal Love Goddess."  That shit was deep.  I like when men can reinvent their played out ass lines and come up with some new adjectives and shit.  

How often do we wake up feeling "perfect"?  That is an amazing concept, what with all of the people of the world hell bent on being stressed the fuck out.  I know, I'm one of them.  But waking up with no hangover?  And hangover don't just mean alcohol, I mean bullshit.  Feeling perfect?  Sheeet, count your lucky stars when you can say that shit.  I'm beginning to think life is "the joyful endurance of suffering."  Like shit's gon' happen so you'd be better looking at happy as a gift vs expecting it?  I'm not saying walk around with your head down and then trip over a cup of happy and be all..."fuck yeah!", I mean not taking everything so personal.  If you can do that.  Though it sounds like some super hero shit to me.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

Water Home

I am going to be a professional surfer by 40.  I've just decided.  Tour managing is a high stress job.  You are the provider of information, like a DSL line.  If you are not connected you're likely not the right person for the job.  Thing is, the more blackberries and cell phones you have, the more you are connected and the less "life time" you have for yourself.  I have been attempting to find balance for the last 10 years I've been doing this shit.  
I first went for the old anchor.  The boyfriend.  That didn't work.  I leave for work.  And my work is my work.  Everyone goes to work.  I have to go to work away.  Boys don't like that so much.  So then I tried yoga, work outs, etc...but I need the trainer to go with it to literally pick me up and take me to the gym.  Then I complain the whole time I'm there.  That sucks.

Then there's this boy I was hanging out with and in order to hang out with him more, I had to surf.  Now I am no special black person.  I too was afraid to even get in the ocean.  I didn't learn to swim until I was 9.  It took all summer.  This white family I used to hang with took me everywhere and it always required swimming.  While it is a known fact black folks don't do too much swimming, I'm not sure if you know what a production it is.  Deep seeded.  Let me explain:

In the 70's and 80's 9 year old black girls got their hair oiled and pressed with a hot comb that's been sitting on a stove, every 2 weeks, normally Sunday evening, so that the hair is funky fresh dressed to impressed ready for school.  This is pre-flat iron, pre- take your kid to the hair dresser.  Momma did it.  So with all that work, there's no way in HELL that I was allowed to swim.  I wasn't even allowed in peoples houses.  Particularly white people with dogs. Particularly white people with dogs who kiss them.  But that's another story.

This is why when summer comes, you will find black girls with braids.  It is in fact a hair issue.

When I did finally learn to swim, I had to wear a swim cap, circa Esther Williams.  The kids made fun of me, who wouldn't.  Until I begged for a perm so I'd have an easier time.  I could go on about the mixture of lye and chlorine but that's beside the point.  Plus it becomes a longer story.  Bottom line.  Hair issues are why black girls don't swim.  Not having access to jet skis, waterskis, snowskis, snowboards, sailboats - all of the things this white family in the same neighborhood actually - is why most black people do not do all of those things.  That middle passage story is a bit far-fetched if you ask me.

In the midst of all of this, I still was afraid of the ocean and it's slime and slimy fish that may want to rub against my toes.  And finally the obvious,  sharks.  

So in order to surf, one really has to cast all of their crazy fears aside and then go for it. Overcoming your fears is a really great high...scary, but great.  I can count the times I've caught a wave and every time it happens, it's an instant addiction.  It's pretty magical actually.  It makes you want to take your weave out, cut your hair and get a perm after 8 years I'll tell you what!  AND further, the idea of  the ground below you moving and you having to flow with it, well that's a control freaks ultimate challenge and biggest fear.  So you do it.  Just for the high.  You even search it out, much like a crack head.  And there are no phones, or computers, or artists trying to get a last minute guest list ticket added at a sold out show.  Nothing.  Water.

Tomorrow I go home for 3 days.  On one of those days, I'm going to get into that 56 degree water, cast all of my fears and tour demons into the body of Lake Minnetonka (sounded better than Pacific Ocean).  Let's see what the dear Pacific has in store for me....


I'm just gonna say it. is the shit.  Free clips of hard core porn to get you through the night.  I'm telling you.  I don't know what you think girls do out here on the road, but while it seems that the opportunity for peen eye is vast and almost as though it were growing on trees, having an affair at work blows when it doesn't work out.  AND sucks if you wanna fuck someone else - you're the tour ho -- OR it's actually bad and a pain in the ass to hide from dude all day, OR it's dangerous and some shit pops off you wish hadn't.  I'm actually living with a bunch of dudes and more women than ever on tour.  It's strange.  

Saturday, January 3, 2009


Just when you get what you want, an easy slow day, you have nerve enough to be bored when there's nothing to do.  I have to focus real hard on doing nothing.  I can woe-is-me all the lived long day about how I'm so tired and overwhelmed....blah blah blah.  When I really bring it on myself.
What happened today?
There was a puppy.
travie is swell.
And I had the best piece of fried fish I've had in some time.  I've already fallen off the wagon.  I went on my carb diet for a whole 9 hours.

I know there is some damn water close to where I am. I am floundering.  I'm going to wander through the crowds and see what percentage of Negroids and Caucasoids we have in the audience.

infomercials & Law & Order

Don't think tour managing is all traveling and a bed of roses.  When I get back to the hotel, I often find myself watching Law & Order.  I watch it in the hotel when I check in during the day.  I watch it in the dressing room on the monitor in between T Pain's Circus and Weezy's Lollipop.  And then when I get back into the hotel, when I should be sleeping and not watching tv, Facebook or catching up on my other 6 jobs, it's that gotdamn Mariska Hartigay ( though she gets props for being Jane Mansfields daughter),  that gotdamn Ice Cube (Coco...need I say more?) and ....infomercials.  Those gotdamn infomercials always catch me.  My latest purchase?  Meaningful Beauty.  I'm just gonna say it.  Whatever Cindy Crawford uses, I want it.  And I'm saying it as a black woman with good skin.  White Women, you better check this shit out.  Cindy Crawford is banging.  I've seen her up in her face, no airbrush, and that bitch is banging.  Get your $30 + shipping and handling out and at least try the shit.  I'm just saying.  Cindy Crawford ought to be yawls fearless leader.  Look at her neck!  She has mad kids!  What?  I dunno.  Stop playing and jump on it. I'm going to use it.  And I'll tell you how it works for me.  She ain't even paying me, I'm just saying.  She's my favorite white girl in her 40's and she's better jump on the train and jump off the surgery trail.  It just looks like you had surgery.

Sexism is Sooo September 10th

I am so over sexism.  Here I am, on a huge tour.  The biggest of my life in fact.  Clockin' dollars.  Paying off bills.  Feeling footloose and fancy free.  Working with my peers, blah blah blah.  And, can you believe it?  Niggas still hate.  And I mean hate.  It's one thing to try to turn a ho into a housewife, but an independent ambitious bitch?  Why would you do that?  Why would you make it a point to try to keep someone in their hypothetical "place".  I do not know why the caged bird sings.  I don't get down with cages.  Poles and handcuffs maybe, but not cages.

This is not going to be a blog about the power of women and other such boring tales.  This is, however, a blog about an independent woman married and committed to her career.  I'm a tour manager.  I manage big tours, big egos and looking to add big dick management to my resume. Pretty difficult task.  However, I'm not one to turn away from a challenge which, you will find, often gets me into trouble.

So I'm on this tour and I am amazed at how the idea of listening to a woman is like kryptonite to motherfuckers.  They will hold meetings in separate rooms, call my boss to ask HIM for shit he hired me for.  It's pretty funny.  Funnier is that they do it to all of the women in powerful positions on this tour.  So we've decided to all stand together in the hallways and look like we're co-mingling.  You know how Pigs act when there's a group of black people on a corner? They want them to disperse or they start whipping out billy clubs and shit?  That's what we do to the boys.  Generally we're just standing there talking shit about people talking shit.  And instantly, coded dialogue starts on the radio.  Ah bien....such is life.

In the meantime, I have to find some tour penis.
Tour is like camp.  Or as my friend says, 'working at a restaurant'.  I was watching "Grey's Anatomy" at my aunts house.  She asked, "must they only sleep with people in that hospital?"  And I was like, yeah.  I get it.  You are with the same people all day every day.  What else are you going to do?  So now I'm in search.  Ya know something?  There's something about a man in his twenties that make a chick in her thirties feel awfully hot.  Don't get me wrong, it's not as if I don't know I'm hot...I know.  I'm just saying....potential young boy Peen eye  is like an instant fountain of youth or something.  Not that they're any good or anything, or maybe they are?  Maybe one will be.  But they have such vigor, their ambition is astonishing.  And Ambition, is what this goodtime girl is most attracted to.  The not knowing is what makes this lifestyle so intoxicating.