Teena Marie - Portuguese Love (Live In London 2010)

Gone way too soon. Still dumbfounded by this. I remember when I changed my name spelling in 3rd grade to Teena cause it was so much cooler than Tina. I was introduced to Rick James through Teena Marie if you can believe that. I just thought Portuguese people were black...in fact her voice was proof. She HAD to be. Of course none of that matters and all I know is it's a sad sad day. 2010 has just about wiped me out in deaths...musicians. I'm writing Jet now about my grandfathers Obit...half steppers. Oh Teena.....

FASTING

I'm fasting...in this overpriced room and a fly has found himself in my room. I want to choke him. I won't be able to sleep with him landing on me every 15 seconds. And I MUST sleep after that horrifying colonic....Jesus....Lord Jesus....I have to call him! I guess the first part is pain and then I should feel better later....but my goodness....I'm an exhausted mess. It didn't help that they were playing Sara McLachlans fucking Christmas album over the speakers. Seriously? I'm going to make them play Adele tomorrow I swear. I mean seriously. Do I really want to hear all of that? I'm focusing on not jumping off of the table and running full speed...anywhere. What possess someone to do THAT job? I mean, God bless her for doing it...she's a Saint. I'm literally full of shit and she's helping me exercise the demons! Amazing. What WILL they think of next? Doesn't help that I cried like a little beeyatch neither...but oh well. Sometimes when you purge yourself it hurts!

TODAY I WAS VULNERABLE

It was great! I was annoyed, and I confronted my boo, and we talked about it...and it wasn't dramatic and he didn't go away afterwards. It was cool. He still assured me and made me feel comfortable and acknowledged all the creepy weirdo shit that I feel makes me "weak". Crazy. So people do this, huh? Like one of the girls couldn't go out yet cuz she was "skyping" her man. So, like, I guess you have to be in contact and say cutesy things to each other to have this whole relationship thing, yes? Staying in touch is key....aha!

And then, when every single ho...and I do mean every single ho -- girls AND Lady Boys --- hollered, he made sure to push them off or introduce me and everything. That's awesome. Effort, ya know. People who put in effort. What a world this could be if only the whole world rolled like this.

Bad Habits - Hov remix London

I saved a life tonight. It's snowing in London and they do not know how to handle it. Like LA after a rain. Me and my boy taking the Tube, pop out at the hotel....there's a woman lying on the ground next to snowplow machines parked on the round about. There's no sidewalk. She's in the street. There's a woman with her . Neither speaks English. She asks if we speak Spanish. As I answer in Spanish, my boy speaks to her in Arabic....cause my boy speak Arabic and shit.....She responds....2 Americans come by, I ask them what's 911 in London....they tell me "999: then proceed...with my boy, to pick her up and move her in between the snow plows. I waved a police officer down whilst (heh) speaking to the 999 operator and we described the scene to send an ambulance.

We then skipped to the hotel, very proud of ourselves only to find some guy trying to buy our car. Our bodyguard was like...Sir, this is our car...he's all "I'm not talking to you...I'm taking to the driver...I have the president of Marks and Spencer, we can buy this car...blah blah blah Imperialistic blahzay". Then called our bodyguard a dick and put his hands on him. I've never seen a man travel so far after being pushed. The ground was icy and slippery too so I suppose that added to the dramatics. But it was great. I thought we were gonna fight!!!

then hotel bar...the to Apres where Poet rocked the ....serrato? I dunno. Can't say turntable but he and Ammo turned it out. And now I'm back to my room at 4am having poetic conversations in French and listening to Maxwell. London is giving FACE! Where? How? Did I get in here. I gotta go to bed!

My Salvation

Granted we're back in the United States, but I haven't stopped working. Oprah in Chicago as soon as we touched down, lost luggage, flights to LA, AMA rehearsals and advance, broken cube heads, whining techs, diva stylists, cheap ass Award show budgets and then just living.

When I have down time I'm bored to tears. All of my running partners have gone or married or hooked up for the winter. It happens when you leave...life. Even though it seems like it may stop, everyone keeps on keeping on. And so I get home and I'm unsettled, mad, nitpicking at everything and everyone's faults when really I'm just bored and lonely at home. I do notice, however, that I haven't been around entitled Americans for some time. Ergo, the sudden mixing with white folks has me snapping heads. I swear this woman at 16th and Montana almost got cut. Fucking Santa Monica. I had to take myself home...inside....away from people before I started a riot...keep in mind I've been in places where the national symbol is a black woman. I dunno. I was feeling myself.

So I needed to feel that again. Having withdrawals....and then, like a beacon in the night...old faithful fried chicken lures me to the steps of my favorite juke joint - The Cork. I've decided to re-associate myself with all things and people south of the 10 freeway. I have enough of these [white] folks in my daily....I gots to be free to pick my teeth with the end of the straw and sing Teena Marie with the 50 year old lady at the end of the bar at the top of our lungs. Where hot sauce is provided and not just tabasco and Tapatio! And where the bartender cha cha chas with you to the 4th Frankie Beverly and Maze song that's come out of the juke box. Yes folks, living the dream on Adams and Crenshaw. Isn't that the American Way?

I HATE LA

I hate LA and I hate Melissa Rivers. She's ugly and has nerve. Who is she anyway? Her mother is FUNNY. She actually has a purpose and gig? Who the fuck is Melissa Rivers? They're all up in arms about Kelly Osborne on the cover of Shape magazine..."we're so proud of her. She doesn't naturally have a 'good' body." Who the fuck says that? Meanwhile I have countless artists losing their minds over weight, size, sagging skin, etc. And I get it, black don't crack. My shit is tight. To that I say so the fuck what, my hair doesn't grow past my shoulders - in fact its falling out on the computer keys as we speak, I don't have no titties, I have a gap on teh side of my teeth, and my booty is up on my back. DO think i'm losing my head over being fucking skinny and blonde? Man fuck this wack ass place. That party I went to the other night was the worst. The only good people there I was there with. So whatevs. Spikey hair and gel and dumb ass opening conversations. I know I'm a Brazil jocker, but I love my back fat. And I love that I have a cover up that opens slightly AT the back fat.

LA is trippin.

THE END OF THE TOUR

I thought the Police tour in Australia was great...this...this was incredible.

I know I started this tour with expectations of high whoredom and extreme situational affairs during this tour. As I am a lady I cannot reveal all but what I can reveal is.....I don't want this party to be over. The whoredom....and let's just call it "Freedom" shall we? -- The Freedom experienced by all on this tour was amazing to watch. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I landed at LAX utterly amazed that I was landing in LA. It hadn't changed one bit. And why should it have? It's a big city bigger and larger than I. I'm just an ant. What has changed is me. Not only my perspectives, but my being. I haven't put my finger on it yet. My girl came by last night and told me the same thing. I have been totally awesomed on by the whole damn country and I'll be back.

And now that I can go to korean spas and get beautified, scratch some of the grime of traveling off, I'm saddened to not be getting on a plane to Sao Paulo or Salvador or Floripa. Hell I'd go back to Recife for another....chance...touch, smell. Jesus. I loves me some Brazil!!!! Don't look for me in February. I will be gone, child.

A Special Kinda Lovin.....

Peru....known for it's seafood....I just ordered a garlic fish that may have saved my life. It's so special and unusual, like having sex with a white Brazilian, only ....more delicious I think. This fish....my God. Either I'm hungry or it's true... This is the best I've ever had.....

It's like pesto on top and creamy garlic spread on some kind of fish from the ocean right across the street from the hotel. We're on the Pacific Coast Hwy....in Lima, Peru. And there are some chocolatey kind of Native Indian folks here that are intriguing....and theres a casino. Way to end this muthafucka!!!

Who ARE these Peruvians anyway? Let me investigate.....

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Peru

Dope history. The motherland of all things Native...Inca Civilization -- like created farming and shit. THEN, as usual, white folks come over with all of their nasty diseases tryna run shit that's been there for 11000 years. When someone gonna kill them off with diseases....I'm sorry. Did I say that out loud?

I'm feeling this today....

Sleepy and Bored

Slept not 30 minutes last night. Slept on the plane. But the angst and energy of the drama prior to departure was too much for words. It was a flashback to 1992. Me and my girl was at a club. This boy hollered. I rolled. She got mad and started blowing up the phone...what evs....the simple shit bitches do over dick. My word. And then just play themselves to where the nigga is like..."damn, drunk women". Whoever wants to hear that? So embarrassing. And it didn't stop nuthin no way...so....

and now i'm dying to go to sleep in this FRESH ASS hotel...which I will send photos of tomorrow.

The dancers are on restriction. 1 bad apple can spoil the bunch as they say. So they can't go....Cinderellas.

um...i'm bored. nothing else.

The Saddest Day

I am on a plane about to depart my new home, aka, Brasil. After a month, we are finally moving onto the next country. Sad, but true. I will keep an open mind and ignore the stories of Negro/brazil and all things brown hate. I will enjoy steaks and red wine for all of our days. I may even tango. I know the hotel is popping. I also know that the new ladies are not as nice nor kind nor as patient as my Brazilian ladies. I already miss Fabi, Go-Go, and my dearest sweet lilibeth who I love too much for words.....I gotta go cry.....

Let the whore rah continue....

1 month down...2 weeks to go

Last night , last show, ended in:

1. A new retard haircut that I already had but it's blonde and so everyone liked it but me. So what do I know? Cept I can't keep it because I have no hair grease.

2. me professing my undying love for a crew man. The finest man ever in the world. The Universe loves to laugh at me. Muito azarada.

3. The dancers begrudging me of my samba costume so i could perform the final dance in Sao Paulo....jelly trick ass tranny bitches. I had to roast them Debbie Allen style. Non listening attitudinal black girls. Attitude and Ass are from Africa. I think I heard someone suck they teeth but I'm not sure. It was about to be on...they lucky I don't have a vast vocabulary.

4. The Head Honcho asking me to change everything at the drop of a dime...me doing it, then being mad....when will I learn NOT to come through? HELLO???? That's the key. They blame you if you fuck up and keep pushing you if you don't. I think pushing = "thank you". More on this though later.

The coup d'etat? MY CELL PHONE GOT JACKED. I am an addict. I lost it. Curled up and went to bed. Didn't even kick it. Was nasty to my assistant. mean in general to the world. And I couldn't snap out of it. I was literally so damn mad, I don't know or recall being that mad before. ANd I realized that I have a nasty nasty ugly disgusting habit. I'm addicted to phone, work, contact, information....what in the hell is wrong with me? I'd rather be addicted to love, sex, surfing, .....but as you well know, I don't like to dream about getting paid.

So I've decided to become a porn star....in Australia or Bali.

You see what withdraw does to you?

And thats my new bff Lilibeth who took me to get my Sao Paulo haircut. She wants a new photo.

PrAISE THE LORD

I finished Dan Brown's "The Lost Symbol". And the bottom line is that we're all the same. And the reason why our religions resemble each other is because they are the same. And in the end it had me praising Jesus and knowing that I am God. God is love and that's who I am. It was actually pretty amazing. And then, after reading it, I had my ipad charging from the local counter boy. The local counter boy gives me back my Ipad after charging and the only english he knew was "Jesus loves you". I was moved beyond belief. I had just been praying and to hear that affirmation from a non-English speaking dude...was phenomenal.

I loves me some Jesus.

Love him!


Fa sho.

Dreamy fresh

http://gotryke.com/2010/10/driving-with-dream-hampton/

I gotta new spot dreamy.

...inching closer

I hear that in Brazil it's opposite of U.S. Whereas, in America we get to know a person before you sleep with him. Here you sleep withnthem first to figure out if you want to get to know them. An excellent idea if you ask me. Moreover, logical in every way especially when girls get hooked so easily. Give it up! I say.

Lo and behold, who finds the one Brazilian I have to get to know? What am I? The "marrying kind"? I swear the Universe is making a mockery of me. Porto Alegre bound.
11ft waves.
Holler.

The Parties over

We are now in the "other" part of Brazil. It's blonder and bluer eyed down here and I can feel it. I hate when that happens. Porto Alegre has a wonderful neighborhood of bars and restaurants, etc. It's really cute. I did go with our crew members and honestly....Americans are arrogant as a culture. Ya know, we don't mean no harm. We don't even know how to be thoughtful. It's fucked up but it is the way it is. Mix that with one person who doesn't like Americans...in a club...and BAM...drama. You can't pay bartenders directly here. You get a card and pay your tab at the end of the night...kind of on some 1920's shit. Only problem is the line to get out is enormous! Like, you wait in line forever....and waiting? Not so much what Americans do. So as my boys make a line jumping scene because the "whole process is ridiculous" (insert arrogant American) I wait outside. I'm just a girl. I have no control over boys? What am I to do?
So I watch this woman talking outside. I can't tell what she's saying. Only that one of my guys tries to speak to her and she says "In my country you speak Brazilian". Sigh.....okay. So we move on. Still waiting for our card to be paid to get out and she's talking MORE shit to the security guard. That kind of "let me talk about you in another language real fast so you can tell" shit talking. Nodding her head in our general direction. Laughing. Smoking her cigarette violently. So my boy...only black guy in our group, goes over to her and tries to talk to her. She's holding onto the security guard laughing....damn near spitting her words on him..."ha, no I am staying here with my body guard. I do not speak to Americans. In my country you speak my language." Blah blah blah....then he asks, "you're brazilian?" She says, "yes of course I am Brazilian." He says "But you have blonde hair and blue eyes and....wait.......wait a minute. You ain't got no ass. You ain't brazilian." And then we left. Rude? Maybe. But classic.

What a lovely tribute

Prepare to be amazed

and




and



and




I'm moving here...where ass, rubbing thighs and back fat are finally APPRECIATED!!!!
I used to want to work out. I used to want a flat belly. I used to want to shave my cellulite off of my thighs. I used to want all of that....but for what? There is an entire country that LOVES all of that...that CELEBRATES all of that! Nay do I say...ENCOURAGES it. AND every bean has the hint of pigs feet/ or hamhock?

I'm sold. Yawl gonna have to come and get me.

Copacabana Palace

This is the best hotel. Bar none. I thought Raffles in Singapore was but as Bobby reminded me, they have bad tvs and this place has outlets. Plenty. And when you travel with computers, cell phones, ipads, etc....it makes a difference. More tomorrow. I gotta sleep.

RIO

I've come to the conclusion that Farmville = no Blogging. Farmville is indeed the devil.

In the midst of the last week, I have been getting over the heartbreak of leaving Salvador. The last night we went to Bale Folklorico...which, I believe is the first show/dance/ musical I intend on producing in the US. It's just too filled with beauty and wonderment. I know enough niggas with money....so when you see it in Cleveland, remember when......

The other deal is that I've been the midst of throwing a birthday party for my favorite rapper Boo. How does one pull off throwing a party in Miami from South America??? I don't know...but I did and it's got me feeling myself a slight bit. Which doesn't help.

I'm telling you...the combination between feeling yourself (high self esteem) and Brasil (whore men) it's hard for a girl to stay professional. Also, I'm quite at the point where I do not want to stay professional. There's a 10 minute rule here. You speak to a boy longer than 10 minutes he's going in for the kill. And you really have to stick and move. One minute you're talking Bossa Nova and independence from Portugal and the next thing you know there's a tongue down your throat. And don't think it's because it's in a dark room, etc....oh no. The clubs ain't even dark here. it's all about PDA in this piece. The lobby.....the hallway , the bar.....just about any where.

Going to dee Giant Jesus....and hopefully make out while there. I'm trying to set a record.

Niggas don't see tracks or ingrown hairs

I love it here.
I love seeing ginormous booties with stretch marks and cellulite.
Big old tittays
non flat bellies.

All unabashed and unashamed in bikinis.

VIVA SALVADOR!!!
I'm at a beach with...black folks. SWIMMING...first of all. Getting their HAIR WET...secondly.....and loving the chocolateness that surrounds them.

i loved our body guard...who was watching us from afar yet blending in with the natives.

i loved my caipirinhas.
I loved the Atlantic ocean with it's unexpected dip 6 feet in.
I love that the logo of Bahia...the Bahaiana...she's the national symbol of the state and that while in America she may look like Aunt Jemima's sister, she predates slavery as the QUEEN of the CONGO.

I loved dinner and lunch at Yemanjas...where all the ladies were black and dressed up.
I love the passion of Brasilians. The food is passionate. The sand is passionate. The cheese griller dude on the beach is passionate. The jewelry salesman is passionate. Lord if this wind kicking outside my window ain't passionate....
I don't know what to do?

There is one problem though. This fucking roach the size of my havaiana is sprinting across the floor like Jesse Owens. I don't fuck with him at all. And I can't even catch him to kill him. Fast ass muthafucka.

HOPELESS GROUPIE

Not many people know this...but I started this game as a groupie. Not the kind that sleeps with the band...just a die hard fan of backpackery and head wraps....who swoons over basslines and lyrical prowess, carries incense and supplies "party favors". Could be because my uncles put a bass in my hand from the time I was 3....encouraging me with the likes of Cameo, the Police, the Clash and the Commodores....could be because my grandfather had me in Honey Studios with Sylvester and/or on the road with Smokey Robinson....Whatever the cause...the rhyme or reason, my ass falls for musicians. Now I'm a reasonably smart cookie. I know what works and what doesn't. And finally, when I finally sit and talk with my new crush...not only has he been on the road for 15 years, he's a musician and has a rock band. guitarist and singer. I know better. I've resolved to masochism.

This tour can only go up

Yesterday, so tired of arguing with people who are trying to get over it's unbelievable. This was not the blessed and relaxing Brazil of a mere week ago. No, this is dirty gutter ass promoter driven cuts and folks -playing -stupid Brazil. People relying on "but it's Brazil, please, we are gentle and not used to yelling.". Fuck outta here Portuguese. Yawl was yelling at them 1000 indigenous tribes you pushed back into the Amazon. Let's ask the Kayupo how gentle you are...
But once again, I digress.

However, as my Savior does when the going gets tough, he sends a dove... A sign of peace that let's us know everything is alright.

And voilà...the annoying promoter prod manager has an assistant who happens to be (after Sambo) the 2nd finest man vie ever seen in my life. Whew. A delicious shade of Brazilian I might add. Dark features, black beard, hair, eyes, skin my color. Swarthy oh yes he is indeed. I do likes em dirty.

He gon' make me wear make up to work. Hmph.

Kim

It is no secret that I do love Kim Kardashian. I LOVE Khloe of course, but Kim is bad. Lord have mercy her body don't stop. Won't stop. Rockafella. So when I browsed through the latest and greatest W magazine and saw that badonk...I said Yes girl. Butt pad these. And them tittays? I said...yes girl. You work that too. She's all the way live. Ain't now way around it. Stop hatin'!

Something I've thought about

Now I know she's nuttier than a fruitcake.....but I seriously do love Eartha Kitt and her plight, and her power, and what she stood for. Maybe she's a bit...umm....overbearing? Selfish. I dunno....but I kinda like it.





Yikes. I'm thinking about if this is me....old and nutty and like...fuck it. I often, unfortunately, think about my ex and all of the compromises he wanted me to make for him. And it makes me not want to make any compromises at all. I feel like its not a compromise when you love the person and they love you back. You just do it. They make you want to. You make them want to. When a friend of mine decided she was going to get married to her now husband, she told me, "he makes me want to be a better person." I like that idea. Doesn't seem like a compromise at all. It seems like...."I fell in love with myself" and "yes I would like someone to share me with me." Don't that sound good? Hmmph. Eartha wasn't THAT crazy.

I'm soooo tired

Of having to be a Nationalist when I leave the country. But mostly, I am tired of light-skinned dark-skinned issues. My goodness. Tis true, African Americans ARE the only niggas that fought. Us and Algeria and, well yeah Haiti. Thing is, niggas be trying to hard not to be niggas. It's like America 1954 here. They have perms but Garnier Fructis for their hair. Like, huh? No grease. No oil. No nothing. They call my friends daughter "witch" when she wears her hair out and big. Like apply shame to all things black....and then these Portuguese light-skinned muthafuckas walk all over them on the resort and they want to look at US like we're crazy. Like the conscious niggas name is "Sambo". You know, like the 80's. Black consciousness is here but niggas still wearing jheri curls. Don't let me learn Portuguese. Im going to set up a box in the middle of the town square and start preaching....like the Black Israelites. It's on.

Vamos mudar ahmanha

YEah, so Portuguese is NOT Spanish, or French or Italian. It's all of it making it it's own language. Duh. So when I dip back into work mode , read a few emails, only to discover a request to have press conferences for both Brazil, Argentina and Lima together, my thought is "how? Portuguese and Spanish are not the same language." oh my dearest white people, seriously? They aren't the same language! They wouldnt have a press conference in the US then be like, "lets throw some German press up in there. Aint they the same? I'm no longer as infuriated as I'm simply, sad. I feel bad for people who have no care or desire for the simplest things - respect, honor, acknowledging others. I know it ain't THAT deep, but you know how I get on the effects of Colonialism.

Meanwhile, my neck may break from the fineness bestowed upon me here on Gilligans Isle. We met a boy who lost his mind over "African women" being there and respect. Then he introduced us, by description only to a man named Sambo. We're like, "uh, boo, you may want to rethink your name." laughing like we know every damn thing.

Then drinking at the after party hotel lobby jump off spot, a man walked towards us, chocolatey skin glistening, abs rippling, about 6'4"....Adonis was that? Oh, THATS Sambo....sweet mother of Abraham I have never seen perfection captured in such a way! Of course they will be playing music on the beach with some capoeira performances, blah blah blah....and perhaps, in broken English, "we can have some conversations?" chile.......

Terca Praia

We actually by the 4th beach. Far by any stretch of the imagination. It wasn't a farwalk from the main street, it was mad dark though. Mad Dark. Too dark for some foreigners to be walking through if you ask me. But maybe my age is making me more cautious. I hate that. Particularly since i've hiktch hiked through France before and, personally? White folks ain't no less scary than 3rd world folk.

In other news, there's no shortage of fine men, big booties, or coconuts.
We'll check waves in the morning.

My girl has lived here for 6 years with her husband and beautiful children. She has 4 . Detroit and Guadalupe met up one day in Brooklyn and decided to move to Bahia. Not just Bahia, Salvador. Not just Salvador but an island off the coast called Morro do Sao Paulo. And when I say beautiful, imma need you to look past Palm Springs, Poconos , I'd even be inclined to say look past Hawaii...yeah I said it. The mélange of these people is beyond. Andy it's peaceful, tranquil, I'm surfing at 930am with a 10 year old born in Brooklyn but speaks Portuguese ("everyone does" she told me at dinner.)

My soul is happy. This would be a great place to conceive......or whore. The stars are bright enough.

WHORE NIGHT EVE

Twas the night before whoring
and all through the hotel room
not a creature was stirring
not even the Boom Boom room.

I hate when people rhyme the same word with the same word. ITS NOT A RHYME. And I'm not a rapper, so.....
Anyway,
The day went perfect and it's amazing what someone else energy can do to a room. "almost perfect" can leave you with the same energy as TOTALLY FUCKED UP. This is make believe what we do out here. You hear me? make believe. Stages and costumes and "liners"....and business. And it's fun. I love seeing the world and celebrating peoples cultures within their cultures. I love when someone asks..."hey can we arrange to go and see the big Jesus when we get to Rio" and I'm like "Corcovado? Girl yes, aint nothing more powerful than a GIANT Jesus"...I mean there's Jesus. And then he's giant. What? Please. I'm all over it. But it is a vehicle. It is a means to end. And I see how the being out of it can make you lose it slightly. I can also see how wanting to be in it can screw you too. Biggie say "Mo money mo problems" and I'm inclined to believe that. More access, more people, more devils, more sharks, more beauty, more sunsets, more life, more possibility. I guess with anything you take the good and the bad. My dancer baby punkin was testifying today ....quoting John and the like : Be of the world but not in it. (actual verse “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world – the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life – is not of the Father but is of the world. And the world is passing away, and the lust of it; but he who does the will of God abides forever.” (1 John 2:15)

Doing what we're doing and not getting so caught up that we forget the importance of life. This is make believe. Make believe. Make believe. Seriously.

Tomorrow my lovely wonderful momma leaves and heads back to Cali from Guadalajara. We had a blast. And I begin my quadruple connection to Morro Sao Paulo. I am so blessed and thankful to be able to get to a place I've always wanted to be. Damn. Manifest yawl.

Guadalajara Sunset

Mi madre es conmigo a Guadalajara. And I've found a new crush who I could have met and somehow passes up on the opportunity. Sergio Bustamante. A BRILLIANT surrealist. I'm kind of sprung off of him even though he's short and old. I was blocks away when he came to his gallery. Why didn't I go to meet him? I don't know. What do you say to an old Surrealist? "Want a tequila?", "how bout some concert tickets?". I don't know. I think I got shy? What the hell was wrong with me?

"Some of yall niggas is bitches too"

I can't remember who sang that or even find the lyrics. I think it may be Ice Cube but I can't figure it out for the life of me. But I had to bomb on mad niggas tonight. Like...wow. Like men are so so easy to jump bad and expect women to take the fall, to suck it up, to take a beating and STILL give you a blow job. I mean come ON!!! All Eve did was eat a fucking apple. That's fucking it! What does it take? And then there are women in the world who take it and just understand. Those are the ones who are married. Jesus. I'm so annoyed. I'm SOOO annoyed. These "jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none" motherfuckas who get on my nerves. They are SUCH bitches! Nothing worse than a bitch ass nigga. nothing.

Whorerah - day 3

We're drinking in the lounge and somehow, it's not the whorefest I thought it would be. I don't even think my body gets drunk anymore. Farmville and drinking with the homies. And besides, my only 2 Mexican conquests in whore years past weren't necessarilynwell endowed. Maybe I'm a crazy a crazy racist and I hold grudges....
And Bobby just put ice in my toilet. Fucker.

CHANGES - Day 2 - 1st show

I think I move too fast.
Correction, I know I move fast. Too fast for who is the question?
I don't think you get to certain levels of success by taking it easy, calming your nerves or letting things take their course. I believe you push, rearrange, manipulate and basic move time and space go make shit happen. All types of shit. Shit you have been told "no" all your life too. Shit that people will continuously tell you "no" about. My job is to make it all a yes. Yes yes yes yes. It's the perfect job since I hate being told no. It's also a curse since I know I can make shit happen, I expect everyone else to as well. And the disappointment when they cant....well, let's just say I'd make a Jewish mother blush. How to work out this conundrum? I'll start by changing the name of this tour to the ......FIRST WHORERAH TOUR!!!!

yes ladies and gentlemen brought back by popular demand......too many complaints....can't let folks down.

LAST WHORERAH......Day 1 - Rehearsals

Monterrey is hotter than I anticipated. Annoying. I wore jeans instead of my poom pooms.
Whatsmore, Montettey has left me a bit frightened. Muthafuckas be kidnapping niggas around here. NIGGAS TOO. I've been spending most of my life trying to hide behind the shield that niggas ain't worth enough to kidnap....now that Obama is president, we're hot on the market. But in my OWN group....we still ain't as hot with security. Apparently only some people are worth saving. Classism.

The good news is that my runner is cute. Mario. And he speaks fluent everything. He better be lucky I've put up my Puma Paws....better be lucky.

The stage is huge. so we need to fill it up with 20 dancers or so. New job addition? find 20 local dancers to fill up the stage. Local. Mexico and South America. I wonder who will ever want to do that? Dance on stage with the biggest tour out right now. Ha. The auditions will be wonderful.

Additionally, we have changed the logistics about 4 more times. And it's just the first day. Seriously. My brain needs a break...for at least 8 hours. I dream about this shit.

Snoop d o double g

I actually sang "if the homies can't have none " WITH Kurupt...on stage...well, not WITH him. I was using a soda can for a mic...but STILL. I'm fanning out. It's true. Daz, Kurupt, Snoop..I can't take it. West side till I die! For serious. He is such an icon it's crazy. The love he gets from the crowd is unparalleled. He don't need no records to tour. He can just do that shit. Tha bizness. Oh yes he is. Oh yes. He. Is.

So I'm starting the South America tour Tuesday and everything we set in place has been changed. Why? Niggers. Why else? I have come to the conclusion that touring is my lifes work and that I am here for the purpose of makin niggas look good in my nigga auntie way. My services of controlling negritude are in high demand. Speaking of high, the contact high experienced earlier today was mesmerizing. It's to be expected round these parts...but DAMN! It's serious. Maybe that's why I'm just blabbering away about it.

So back to South America... I'm gonna cal this tour "the Last Whorah!". Bitches is gettin old round here!

My cousin/niece/daughter has her legs and booty out at a Snoop concert in the middle of Cali on a reservation wondering why Mexicans and Dykes are tryna holler....why ask why I say..holler back!

What will my pen name be for my "Last Whorah" chronicles? South America must be chronicled. Why? The walls are closing in on me...ni
You know I believe in asking the Universe for what you want and then you receive it. So yeah, niggas is trine make me sit down. All over. And I don't wanna! I'm going out kicking and screaming! Yes I'm a commitment phone yes! Give a potion or something to calm that shit down. Yes, whoever has the pill that will make me settle down should step up. Its true. Right when you're ready for me I bounce. Like clockwork. I'm THAT lame. So yeah, people got problems.

Bedtime now.

oh Teddy.....you came out so young....

Harold Melvin & The Blue Note - I Miss You (Live 1973)
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Hot Slut Of The Day!

I decided to make my return to blogging with a bit of Labor Day festivity. Why I am so late on internet tabloids is beyond me, but Dlisted is a keeper.

TOUR PORN

I've been thinking alot about porn. Mostly cuz I've been celibate....by choice. Puhlease.
Anyway, on the back of the dancer bus the night of my birthday and I'm flicking through the television.Porn. And it was a bit hardcore...but I was waiting for the penis. Which it never came. Meanwhile, on tour buses, the televisions from each lounge can be seen in the bunks. Most of the girls and wardrobe boys were watching tv from their bunks. Then called me to ask me to turn off the porn.


I HAD TURNED ALREADY!!!

but truly. Embarrassing. Hilariously embarrassing.

Oh yes and then theres this one......

So very gay.....

GAY PRIDE TOUR

Is it me or is the gay pride parade following us? I didn't know they were so many different weekends and different places to be gay. And I also didn't realize how gay Toronto was. It's hard to actually assess the true gayness of the world when you live with gay men and work with same said gay men. I think I'm an anomoly, when really and truly...I think I'm just normal. Gay is just regular now. Sigh....no big gay deals or nothing. Toronto was deliciously gay filled fun with nude beaches and drag shows. I was a hit, what with being the embodiment of gayness. I was honored to attend and flash my itty bitties on the beach. A toast to grandpa who saw light in a young gay boy in the late 70's. Didn't turn out so well between the two personally, but wtf, it's the music industry!

Haterazzi....my new obsession

Motown Legend HARVEY FUQUA Passes

Motown Legend HARVEY FUQUA Passes

rest in peace Grandpa

The last time I blogged, I must have found out 7 hours later that one of my heroes was brain dead. my grandfather, Harvey Fuqua, writer, musician, singer, producer, was passing away and I didn't speak to him the 20 times on the road when I said, I need to call my grandfather before it's too late. i hadn't spoken to him since January when I promised I was going to visit. I never visited. So that was the first feeling: regret, remorse. But I had to snap out of that one quick since there is NO coming back.

Being a large part of what shaped my ideology of the male species, I of course, was contacted by one woman and tried to hold her off until the one I considered his wife, had notified me. It then led to some crazy conversations about who was what wife, who was the legal child, who could see the body, who could give instruction on where the body was to go, and who was doing the memorial. Blah Blah Blah. Talk about the biggest mess ever. I pride myself as educated....a Spike Lee Joint, and end up in a Tyler Perry movie *! So much so that my own blood uncle...I guess, would not contact me or plan anything together. Nope. Just waiting for the proof that he was married to who we all thought was his husband in the first place. She of course provided the marriage license molding everyone. Come on son.

Make good decisions on which team you're going to be on, right? Cuz ya never know. I wish I was around to see their face cracked and in the ground after all of the bullshit. People do grieve differently. You're mad because of what you missed or didn't do and it's so final...ya know. You're just stuck.

Also like to figure out what I haven't done or how I want to make him (more) proud or, what else to do for his legacy.

Now we're planning the memorial to end all memorials. Let's see if it works with everyones tour schedule! Road people are funny....until the end. For my friends who wonder when i'm going to "settle down"....I guess when I'm dead.





*thanks Tay

Last Night

I am so sleepy. I tried to take a nap and then the phone kept ringing...incessantly. And it was a good thing too. I ended up doing 2 more hours of work that I missed out on having good bye lunches.

I hate leaving. I hate the days that lead to leaving.

i took my mom to the airport this morning. I made her stay longer. She is such a help. I want her to live here. She's afraid to drive in LA. Gotta get her over that hump.

So I leave tomorrow. We already have lost passports and deaths in the family.

My room is hot.

I cleaned out my refrigerator.

I'm sweating. I should try to sleep, except there is a pile of clothes on the other side of my bed.

I'm bugging.

I HATE LEAVING!!!!!

THE GRAND -- OUT OF AFRICA part II

The great things about these major televised events is that the handlers for the other bands are usually your friends and you can visit in strange places you've never seen before...and hopefully get into Las Vegas trouble outside of Las Vegas.

One of the grandest things about being in a place you've never been to before is that people love to jump up in the middle of the night and, when all else fails, go to the strip club.

The Grand. 350 Rand to get in. How much you say? 50 US dollas? Yes indeed. Them bitches had better been fine then.

And they were not.
And they were stripping to..."I gotta Feeling" which made me want to cry.

But...wha? What's that you say? A buffet? Ewww, food in the strip club? No, it's another room? The restaurant? madness. I don't believe you.

And lo and behold, passed the mirrored walls there it was....4 banquet tables filled with food. And just when you thought a salad bar couldn't get no prettier....a sushi bar. With Japanese chefs! And they had salmon and yellowtail and shit! It was AMAZING!!! I ate just on GP...just cuz I spent $50 to get into a strip club with flapjack, big aereola-titties women!!! Oh sure I eventually found a hot little Mozambiquan jawn to give us all lap dances, but she charged less than the buffet!

This sent my Madame ambitions into straight overload. Me? yes, I've always wanted to be a madame. So what of it.

Too bad the night trailed off into nothingness and the orgy that could have been gave way to fears and intimidation.

I can't wait for my own movie. I won't be having no scary mothafuckas in it that's for sure!

Out of Africa

I really should do these blogs more in the moment. So that I haven't processed everything I felt at the time...and basically, over it by the time I start typing. Unfortunately, jumping on the computer when traveling abroad isn't the easiest thing to do. I'll start here:

I took a separate flight from the rest so that my return could be into Atlanta at a reasonable price. Saddened to leave Paris the final night, after a leasurely flight into Dubai and passing several prayer rooms, i realized I ain't been no where. First world is so limiting. Knowing my way around Paris isn't that exciting. Revisiting the same restaurants and nail salon in Milan isn't the hype shit. Going to a familiar waxer in Prague is okay, I guess. I can refer someone here and there. Same pubs in London. Same pubs in Dublin. And while the spa in Berlin was fresh and something new, I been going to that same hotel for 10 years with the same casino and same concierge. Yes, familiar faces but nothing....new.

Until I landed in Dubai and saw a world of other colored folks where white folks was the minority and it was....amazing. And this was just the airport. And by the way, women traveling alone with computers and working in the business class lounge ain't no thing. Didn't look to me like the women where forced to cover themselves. In fact, the women in Hijab sho nuff rocked the new patent leather hot pink Gucci pumps and I don't think there was a problem any where with that.

And that's just the beginning of my journey.

I now realize why I was afraid to go to Africa. I'd gone to tangiers, which is like saying you've gone to Mexico when you really only visited Tijuana. Landing in Africa made me so humble to all that I had not seen and didn't know. And to a self-proclaimed 'know-it-all', that of course affected me deeper than I thought. And so I cried. And cried and cried. Cried in business class, cried walking into the airport. Cried at customs. Cried at baggage claim. I cried when I needed to stop at the gas station for tampons. Cried talking to the chauffeur. Even though it was dark out it was bountiful and beautiful and I don' care if people called it "Africa Light" I was in Africa for the first time.

The real fear was how I was going to hold my tongue around all of these "pop" people and their perception of Africa and not be defensive. Our group was already warned about how dangerous it was and how unsafe it was and how bad the race relations were....and my tongue hold went right out the window...."bad race relations since when? Apartheid cuz it ended only 16 years ago? Which race relations were you talking about?"...."well, like, we can take a taxi in Paris but Johannesburg is a different story"...wtf....please stop talking to me.

Oh, and how about them sending a security guard with us everywhere we went. here I am, black and with a fucking Afrikaaner security guard....where? The fucking anthropological site. A cave. The restaurant at the mall. I told him to stay. He told me this was very different from where I came from. Why? I asked. Cuz the foot on their necks no longer works so now you perpetuate this perception of danger? 'You will do what I say. If you have a problem you only speak to me." DUde. Really don't fucking talk to me. You're blowing my trip.


Then I calmed down since I was in front of all of my wardrobe guys and people I work with and went ahead with the security guard.

And then we hired a tour guide.

This nigga starts the tour with "how joburg became the great nation it is. It was the 1800's when the Dutch....."
Thats about when I started playing video games on my phone. Before I fully frothed at the mouth, we pulled over at a gas station where I had a full on discussion with the tour guide:
"Dude, are you Dutch?"
"No, I am Zulu."
"Well looka here, I ain't finna spend this whole day listening to how the Dutch and British were so great. Either start telling me about South Africa pre-1800's, your tribe, your family, or Imma leave you at this fucking gas station."

At least he started telling the truth. And I started probing with more questions than he cared to respond to and more answers than the rest of the car needed or cared to hear.

Then we get to the cave. Quietly. Secretly blending or so we thought.

Needless to say, the body guard was heading up the rear whilst in the cave...."we're waiting for the bodyguard" says the guide.
"Who has a body guard?" says this Indian South African woman.....
crickets
"No who has a bodyguard"
"I'll rush him" I blurt out.
"Seriously?" she asks, "you guys have a bodyguard?"
"Security. It's all the rage during world cup. I thought you knew." I came back.
She laughed and told her husband.

The 2nd reason I didn't want to be in Africa.

We sped through Soweto since it was supposed to be sooo dangerous. I made them stop at a market and got it IN. They tried to rush me. I told them, once again, to fuck themselves, and bought random shit just to make them mad.

Then we stopped at the Mandela House where they got some kids to sing the national anthem. I stayed in the car. I couldn't bare to watch them take pictures with kids and give them 50 rand for it.

We went to dinner where I planned my escape from the security dog. He sat us at a table and told us "don't move. I will come back and check on you and get you as soon as you finish. We ate too much beef and i took off to buy wine. Dipped through the crowd, past the giant Mandela statue....that muthafucka had to search for me til I was good and damn ready. Fucker tell me what to do. Then when we got back to the hotel, the muthafucka had nerve enough to rush us, talking about his 12 hours was up. I told him he shoulda took a taxi from the mall then. The nerve. The utter NERVE.

We then went to the villa that the principals were staying at and ROCKED it til the bricka bricka break of dawn. Only to find we were too sleepy to get up and go to the safari at 8am. So we pushed it to 10am. Then didn't leave until 11am. And then we got there at noon. Talent arrived so it was understandable to have an extra armed guard. But 2 of them? Where they going to cap the rhinos? At least these guys were much cooler.

The safari was what was Africa Light. them muthafuckas got us good. And NO cheetahs. But the baby white lions were juicy. I wanted to steal one.

I have more to discuss, but I'm sitting at the hairdresser in Atlanta and I can't get into it. I need to press publish already.

Next blog. Africa part Deux - Strip clubs and sushi bars.

Fine Nigga Strike

I'm striking.
No more fine boys. For about 20 minutes I had a crush....and then I asked too many questions. And then it was over. And my conclusion is.....stay away from cute and tall. It's the wrong path. KNow why? Cause everyone else thinks they are cute and tall too. I'm sure everyone's mother told them this 1800 times over. Why my dumb ass has drawn the conclusion today is beyond me.

And then the other inevitable thing is finding another smart wonderful female who is way better anyway. UGH. Why can't I just be a lesbian already?

When I have MY 40th......

C put on a great party.

But moreover, she got herself out of a situation, saw the light at the end of the tunnel and pursued her dreams. C was first personal assistant and then day to day to one of the greatest largest crossover rappers in the world. Right about the time I was balking and whining about being "stuck" on the road --- and believe me, as any job it too becomes a rut, she was doing the same thing. When you have someone's world in your computer, a raw nigga wouldn't even let you have a boyfriend. My boss looks niggas up and down every SINGLE time I bring one around. Kind of endearing like a brother, yet mostly annoying like a nigga who ain't tryna fuck still cock blocking. In any event, I see her from time to time as we all do...women in music. in our 30's. Bound to our jobs with no husband and no kids yet what's the alternative? We have a HELL of a job....

And I see her yesterday. She produced Naomi Cambells 40th birthday. Purple and white striped zebras, purple panthers....and you know why...or maybe yawl don't? We were the surprise guest. Yet the BIGGEST surprise? 62 year old Grace Jones popping out of a cake on stage. Bigger than that? She ripped off her cape/robe and revealed her 62 year old body in white body paint. TITS AND ASS TITS AND ASS TITS AND ASS....
Yes I cried.

She is EVERYTHING. Even Will and Apl were beyond excited for us to meet. It was a quick meeting. Much quicker than mine and G. Butler but that's another story....a new goal. I got time on that one.

She was amazing. Naomi looked amazing. J lo and Marc Anthony partied. Peas brought everyone on stage. Mary J danced with Jimmy Iovine and all to the back drop of purple panthers and purple and white striped zebras.

C! I need you to throw my 40th!!! THis was such a night to remember..

PARIS IN SPRINGTIME

When I first started this job, I was a teacher. Teachers have some of the best vacation days ever. It's a great transitional job since you were off summers, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and so forth. So much so when I became a "Band Aid" (much better sounding than Groupie) for the Roots, I was easily able to hang out during those vacations.

The first time I came to Paris with them and saw their show at Elysee Montmartre, I was blown away. My two favorite things had come together, hip hop and France. I met the promoter of the show who at the time seemed slight swarthy and we developed a relationship.

Most of my French I attribute to some past life memory that allows e to speak and the other, is settling shows and fighting constantly with this promoter - Salamon.

Salamon and I have gotten into it over the years about Colonialism (my favorite topic). He's Arabic (admittedly after many conversations about Africa being Africa - blah blah blah) and very successful. I've watched him grow his business from doing shows at Elysee Montmartre, to selling the Roots largest show (prior to Brixton Academy) at the Zenith - 6000 + people, to now out with the Peas selling to 50,000 fans in 3 shows.

This morning we had breakfast.

The last time we spoke he was going through a terrible divorce and now it's over and he's expecting a child next month. His 2nd. His first is about 30. I don't know how old Salamon is but let's just say he keeps it moving.

And then he starts in on me.
"I thought you said you wanted to quit the road. it was too much."
"yes, but now I have this business. I have tour management agency, blah blah blah. I want to buy a vineyard in France, blah blah blah."

"yes, tina, well taking care of everyone else is good an all but when do you take care of yourself. They will all use you and then in the end what will you have. Be careful Tina. "

Who does he think he is? reading me like this so early in the morning in my favorite city?
"I am your friend Tina, I have seen you for a long time. You must have yourself a life."

Like, duh Salamon. I try to explain how no one wants a woman who works all the time. And he agrees and looks at me like it's MY fault. Ha. I wish I knew how to make it all work. It's true. All of it. And while all of my guy friends say this, I guess it took a man I talk to once a year by email and see even less (older and wiser of course) to let me have it...casually over breakfast.

Am I the crazy party girl that will be the old chick in the club? Scary.

LIQUIDROOM SPA BERLIN

Just when I thought I couldn't love Berlin more, I go to Liquidroom. It is a co-ed spa. And when I say co-ed, I mean down to the dressing room. No before you get excited, there are cameras everywhere and it was closed down for a few years. I think all of the water and nakedness became a haven for disease...and I see how. The first thing you even think about is getting it in. I mean. It is too sexy. Steam rooms and 2 dry heat saunas. the giant pool under the dome is the masterpiece. It's a salt filled pool so that you may float. Bathing attire must be worn into all pools. This one services about 50 people and a harpist plays at some point during the day. Complete and utter relaxation. There is also a point where you can go into the sauna and get pretty much all hot air blown at you, then take natural salt...like Mortons. Table kind. nothing difficult and everyone goes into the shower and scrubs themselves...others will help for those hard to reach spots. then you go back into the sauna to get more heat thrown at you....which burns, and then you rinse off....and revealed is the yummiest skin ever. Follow that up with some honey in a steam bath and WOW....you are HOT child! HOT! And this includes co-ed nakedness.

Why have never seen more saggy balls and over-skinned peni in all of my days. Circumcision be damned over off up in here! Let me tell you. And the coup d'etat? A bar. They serve processco...or wine. And you can order food. in the buff. I wish the US could be so progressive.

Milano Paparrazi

Ok. I'm a geek. but I did have one of the best days of my life in Milan yesterday. The arrangement was for the kids to go to all of these designers on via montenapoleone...like what 5th Avenue wishes it could be....with the kids and her hubbie and followed by Paparrazi! A- mazing....and I got clothes. All the clothes...FREE. I dunno. I felt like Cinderella. Seriously. I'm ready for Berlin now. I can go. I can't do no more in Milan. She picked out the glasses....but the dress....mmph. I don't know WHAT i'm wearing that to!

AMSTERDAM DAY OFF

I had a post and thought I'd saved it but alas it went away. I don't even know what it was about. Oh yes....our 12 hour whirlwind day off in Amsterdam. We show up to the train station to piles of trash. I figure, maybe it's a day off..."Bank Holiday" as they call it. However, as we trotted through the streets to Leidsplein square...there is trash and pigeons everywhere. It's more than a day off. It's a fricken strike! And can I just say that the Amsterdam Sanitation Department well made their point. GIVE THEM THE RAISE!! That shit was fucking disGUSTING.


So I did what any normal person would do....ducked into Rokery (my fave) got blitz then went to eat. After we ate the trash was still there...so I did what any normal person would do....went to Rokery and got blitz.


Then we decided to see...some CULTURE.....so we went to the Heineken museum. Rushed through because the gift of 2 beers was being taunted at the end. They have a brewery ride! It was the most over produced fabulous thing I'd ever seen. Somewhere between a museum and an amusement park. I wasn't mad. How could I have been. I had just visited Rokerty.



THEN we philosiphised about going to the casino, jam session or sex show.....so we did what any normal group would do...we split the fuck up. I can't be bothered with everyone's happiness. Stopped at the Jam Session. Turns out, no one told anyone in the Netherlands that Neo-Soul had died. ....so we did what any normal person would do with 2 hours left....YUP...went to the Red Light District to get up on some Moulin Rouge. And would you BELIEVE, all that running around and we missed the Banana in the tail pipe.


So we had to settle for the big broad with the pearls. 4 pearls. HA! I can do that in my sleep. At least we got free drinks....

The Portait of America from abroad

damn....we be fucking up....

M.I.A, Born Free from ROMAIN-GAVRAS on Vimeo.

Prenatal Passion

Lord help me this is funny....even though I want this baby!

Absurdly Fantastic

http://lesbianswholooklikejustinbieber.tumblr.com/

And I LOOOOVES this one....

LOVE MY BOYS

Ahhh, Grace....classic Diva

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/apr/17/grace-jones-interview

GALLOPING GERTIE

The things you learn in Tacoma

The Beginning or the End?

Not sure which is more hectic, the beginning of the tour or the end. The beginning is filled with planning planning planning. Starting Drake and not being there in person is a bit unsettling. Not because of the obvious reasons but because my actual touch, energy, I dunno what you want to call it...isn't in the room. Starting Kweli I'm in it. I'm talking to the manager I'm planning with my road manager going out, etc. Even Jill/Maxwell, I feel sick about not being out...already. I want to go to the first show. I SHOULD have gone to the show tonight. Makes my stomach turn. I guess, however, if you're going to run a company you have to have enough faith in those you hire to bring home the bacon. Eh, 3 out of 4 ain't BAD odds. Yet and still, building a company has it's road blocks and keeps me up half the night. The learning curve for me is almost as bad as the learning curve for my employees. Between the 7 of us I have anxiety.....I have nothing else to actually physically give and then when all else fails....I decide to start 2 more businesses. Either I have sever ADD or I'm a glutton for punishment.

Loyalty

It's amazing to me how difficult it is for people to be loyal. The things you take for granite , home training, common sense...it's not really common. I see that I am loyal to a fault. I am giving to a fault. Because the minute someone is disloyal to me....I swear it's like kryptonite. More than white women even. I see how people - when partners let them down or turn on them, etc, just fuck off the whole business in it's entirety. Sweet Jesus it takes a lot to fucking trust someone. And when that trust is violated...it's just sad. I don't feel like fighting, I don't feel like revenge, nothing. It makes me sick. Literally. I've been stopped up for days and it's taking me some time to get it out. Everyone's been helping. Band members giving me fruit, rubbing my stomach, pepto. Hell, even my arch nemesis gave me some high blood pressure pill that causes diahrrea. I've come to the conclusion that in order to let it go i have to let IT go. The issue. And since I'm not ready, it ain't going no where.

Shit.

Fuck Buddy Seeks the Same.

Ne Me Quitte Pas

JUST WHEN I WAS BEING HATEFUL.....

I hang out with the man of all men, who I am pleasantly surprised to find out that I like being told what to do. But I now know it's only by people who respect me and I them. It's nice to have people see you for who you are and make it a point to lift you up versus knock you down...at every turn.

Fighting is exhausting.

Men Are the Spoils of the Earth - they ruin everything

I really hate that this blog has being a center for mail bashing. But it...it's so easy to do. I hate men. I hate their selfishness and their consistent need to break and shut people down without thought of anyone or anything else. They suck fucking balls and if really put under any type of stress where they have to use their brains and can't handle with their dicks, cave immediately. I'm getting this motherfucker jumped. I don't even care. I fucking hate them.

Speaking of jumped, our lovely wardrobe director for the boys got jumped by some men in who just love to hate in an elevator. Victim of a hate crime. If you ask me, all of the shit they do is about hate. Hate of women, hate of selves. Hate hate hate. "Taming of the Shrew" a little Shakespearean play I used to fancy until I manifested that shit is all about a nigga trying to break a bitch. Why would you want to break someone like a fucking dog. The same nigga who's been dogging me out for weeks wants to hug me all close and shit. You know what, don't do me no fucking favors. I don't need no hugs from none of you bitches. I need what you're good for, protection and security. But since my balls and bank account are bigger than most.....IM supposed break down? Fuck that shit. I'll have 5 baby daddies and keep it moving thank you.

Fuck a picket fence.

My Affinity for Blue-eyed Soul realized

JUMP OFF

After reading about this Matthew Knowles love child.

I am thrilled to know that Matthew Knowles has a love child. And he's really quite a cutey patootey. I'm wondering, is not using a condom still in style? Like AIDS nor overpopulation have any bearing on this thing here. I understand how great raw dog feels...it's true. But is their no tinge of guilt followed by a quick run to CVS for the now available over-the-counter miracle "the Morning After pill".

Maybe that's just me. But that's always my reflex.

Pink Elephants

How does one get past the pink elephant in the room without burying it so below sea level that 10 million other issues pop out? Even though it's painful do you push the person to talk about it or do you just maintain neutrality and stay fake, pretending there's nothing wrong? In our attempts to manage our expectations, what if, gotdamnit, you're just fucking disappointed? Why must there be more of a burden on one person than the other? Fuck. No one wants to argue every day, but is being fake better than arguing? Seems like the same poison builds up either way.

1st week Down

The E.N.D. Tour is here. And it is beyond large. It's pretty amazing. Atlanta was pretty easy and Miami became a circus. The circus normally happens when all of management and their huge egos come into play. I spend more time dealing with them and their needs than the actual artist. Then there's this man....this tiny dick little man who is driving me nuts. Literally trying me in every way that he can. He talks crazy...he talks like how you've been told white men talk but didn't really believe until you saw it for yourself. I'm talking the smell of sulfur when he leaves the room. The straight devil, Child. And it hasn't stopped. The light at the end of the tunnel was that he put his hands on the wrong opening act and got thunked. I should not relish in other people's misery but he's such a fucking dickhead. NOTORIOUS for being a dickhead...like it's on his license.
But what I'm re-learning, is to brush my shoulders off...and that lying fat sacks of shit dickheads reveal themselves everytime.

I also happened to meet Ron Conway and was able to take care of him enough to be noticed. He sold Google for 1.5billion dollars. Crazy scrillas. He thanked me by giving me 2 tickets to the Superbowl. Amazing. Ate and drank all day, bought a Superbowl blankie, went into the Super box where Lish and I were the only girls, and promptly slept through the first half...it was the best nap i'd had all week!

I just can' get enough of this

Cote d'Azur

So we're doing this big radio award show - NRJ awards...it's mostly like , I suppose, the MTV Awards. The Peas, Jay-Z, Pharrell. It's happening the same time as Midem and all we can seem to talk about is raising money for Haiti..who by the way, per the french newspaper Le Monde has close to a billion euros in donations. A billion. So they got close to a billion, I'm standing around millionaires, hanging with my girl who I have know from here for 15 years, and my business manager texts me the most heinous shit ever about my finances. So, I'm ready to curl into a ball and start crying...like I'm broke. I'm not going to make it. What the fuck is wrong with me. Blah blah blah. And I talk to my consigliere who reminds me..

"yeah bitch. you are the risk taker. Stop buying into lack and limitation that people are selling. I know there are certain realities but folks' outlook is very negative and they make no effort to finesse that shit. You love France and you job. Enjoy them both. God is soooo good and as long as we are creative and grateful we continue experience love and peace for real. Let the Universe know you have faith by not falling into that trap."

And then my phone died. And I am so grateful for her. I am so grateful to have friends (and a mother) who believes in my crazy ass shit. I'm a coocoo bird. This I know. And I lead by the seat of my pants with no real intention of turning it around. And that's okay. I cannot imagine a life or even having the luxury, of being able to talk shit about what people don't do or need to do or have a bevy of advisors to tell me what to do, all the while not having an original thought in my head. No risk. No risk? What the fuck is the point if you don't take risks in what you do? I so admire actors and singers who balls against the wall will work retail or a restaurant or whatever, fuck it, nothing, in order to pursue what they want in life. Or rather, the fact that they know what they want and actually have an attainable goal. It's so easy to call shots from the sidelines/pedestal - whatever entitled people prefer to call it -- and talk shiiiiiit....OOH the shit talking is amazing. All that learning and knowing and no goals. Fuck not having a goal. Fuck not taking a risk.

In the words of Will.I.Am,

Imma be the upgraded new nigaro
Imma be the average brother with soul
imma be worldwide international
imma be in Rio rockin' Tokyo

Imma be brilliant
with my millions
loan a trillion
and get back a billion

DO WHAT YOU SAID YOU'D DO ON PAPER

CALI WAVES, INGLEWOOD PARADES & LOUISIANA FRIED CHICKEN

The waves this past week have been epic. Truly something not seen in California in ...I don't know, I ain't never seen no shit like that before and the surfers have hailed it as "epic" so that must be what it is. I don't know why I thought I was going anywhere. I guess I just like to drive around town with a surfboard on my roof. Waves move to 20 feet also.

Which leads me to rehearsals. In Inglewood. I hadn't been to the SC in some time. I exited Manchester to take the scenic route and was not disappointed. Did you know that there's gas station at Hoover and Manchester that is also a 24 hour beauty supply? I shit you not. It was....well, brilliant. Mostly because I can't even make this stuff up!. AND they only sell one type of gas....87. regular unleaded.
That's it.

Moving right along to Inglewood where half of the parking lost was used for a church. Today it was Ethipion followed closely by the Biker Boys and the Inglewood High marching band warming up for tomorrow's parade.

Speaking of parades, my assistant paraded down Manchester @ Normandie to the only Louisianna Fried Chicken open. For chicken and gumbo. they have a 5 star rating....regardless of being in the hood.

Then it all got shot to hell....my legs got weak and now I'm taking Bendydryl. So I'm in bed. I think the world has beat my ass. and I need to go to bed.

THE INCOMPARABLE TEDDY P

My first crush was Teddy Pendergrass. Mostly because my mother and her girlfriends use to cat call Friday evenings while drinking boxed chablis.

He was such a MANLY MAN....sigh. Oh Teddy.....

New Years Un-Resolutions....

I haven't worked, had sex nor surfed yet in 2010. And I'm okay with all of that.
I had a showdown at my house last evening....rather, a gang fight. Inglewood girls. Sheesh.
Problem was I had a nice, cute, young, slightly square white fellow who I was trying to get to know, when all of a sudden I got who-rided on by my inglewood friends. A fight ensued....weave hair throw everywhere. I knew I shouldn't have said I was cooking fried chicken on Facebook.

I've worked out the http://action.tracyandersonmethod.com/ for the last day. I've wine-tasted. And now I'm sitting in my back yard drinking bloody mary's. The year has started off just fine. Proving only to get better. My new goal? To buy a small vineyard in the South of France with a few investor friends. I think it could happen. And the sooner I spread the word, the sooner the Universe will provide me with all the tools I need to drop a million Euros on my prime find. It will be close to the water, no doubt and in mountains. I'll probably still have to travel North to surf, which may be okay. Perhaps the vineyard will afford me the ability to buy a small cabin near Biarritz. Opportunity is limitless.

I love the New Year. I love getting hyped. I love starting anew or continuing to newer. it's a strange perspective I know. It's the only one I got.