Tuesday, December 22, 2015


While people are amazed by the Hollywood Hills, the glittery streets of Rodeo Drive and the undulating waves of Malibu, the best kept secret is actually mi bredren and sistern of Koreatown.  Not only do you have EMC with it's $1 Happy Hour Oysters, or Shin Sun Meat where you can get your oxtails cut as you please, not even Wi Spa where the family can go and get a sugar scrub... no no...the real real is the all woman spa in a lovely turn of the century craftsman home called Jahoon Healing Spa.  JaHoon by definition is actually...well...pussy healing.  I like to call it pussy forgiveness simply because you sit over a throne....like a toilet..... and vapors filled with delicate herbs and spices are pumped up your hoo ha like WHOA!  It's hot and steamy and sweaty and you can pray and release any and everything that ever caused you neurosis.    The vapors permeate "layer upon layer" into the mucous membranes of ye ole vag.  Jahoon activates the reflexology zones and has been practiced by Korean women for generations for a variety of female reproductive issues including infertility.  Most women do this monthly after their menses to get it tight and keep it right!
Additionally the spa is so lovely and Kate Park - the proprietor - is a bonafide healer.  I spent at least an hour talking to her after a 2 hour massage where she beat the mess out of me.  Like beat.  Like shedding real thug tears over chi points in my elbow.  IMG_8607
And once you're done with that, you have lovely tea and aragon oil.  Kate is a G.
As a woman who has been on her period for a year....until recently....I'm telling you, I'm a follower.  I have seen the light.  I've forgiven my pussy for all of her trespasses and aim to start new stories with new frontiers thanks to Jahoon!  I'm making this a t-shirt.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015


When my draws stop matching I'll know I'm through with you.

EFFORT does not take much. It simply involves thinking about that the other person's needs vs what you think the other person needs.  I thought buying matching draws was just a cute side project I did for myself...I have a movie going in my head nonstop and so I dress accordingly throughout the day...just in case a fire pops up in the 3rd act and a fine fireman must rescue me......you supposed to have on matching draws, right?  That's my effort for my own ego.  Like the male ego may be buying shoes for someone to tell them that's that they need but it's really for his own ego.

That said, the effort in which I speak is someone who is committed to wondering how you feel and how you are doing and servicing YOU not simply their egos.  I don't know about you but I am long tired of negroes thinking their penises are magic wands or saving graces for - colds, hard days at work, rent, etc.... I really would like all said fuck boys to take a long walk off of a short cliff.  Who needs em?  Clear the way for the men who don't think it's corny to rub your feet because you've been clearly standing up all day.  Or get you water because...duh, you're thirsty...you probably forgot to drink something putting out fires.  Or drive for you because you fall asleep after load out.  It's not that deep.  And it costs nothing.

I'm always told I give too much.  But fuck it, I have a lot to give.  I do.  Which is why I attract these Succubus (succubi) who don't so much as offer a cheeseburger... "we could make this tour manager thing BIG", "we could take over the industry"...could WE?  What else could WE do.... these boys and these promises of partnerships and they won't so much as rub your toes after a hard days work because it doesn't feed THEIR ego.  This must be what #Givenofucksforties is all about.  Knowing your needs and literally spitting at anything in the way that goes against them.  Ok, I'm gonna stop spitting at niggas...but it's so good for my movie.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015


As if working wasn’t hard enough.  

Dating, as an adult, is some new shit.  Speaking clearly about intentions and going forward anyway is also new.  Seeing an adult is new.  That’s not to say perfect and people don’t need inspiration here and there, but it’s nice to have an option.  I’m dating.  A man.  Like a grown up.  Who has baggage and trials and tribulations and goals and perfections and shortcomings and needs and fears.  Just like me.  There is no posing.  We just be.  I changed my return flight 3 times.  3 change fees.  What am I crazy?  Nope.  As Cece would say…”trying”.  There are children, and families and blended situations and so much stuff and so much living.  I feel like I’ve been standing still thus far.  And by my instagram account of course I’m always moving.  But my actual living part…engaging….attached.  It was missing… It is missing.  I don’t want to put the cart before the horse…but hard work pays off.  As long as I don’t sabotage myself….as usual, I believe I’m in for a nice ride.

Got me re-readin Bell Hooks up in this piece.  

Tuesday, October 27, 2015


So the older we get, and the more we perfect the "see an obstacle turn it into lemonade" game, we get to be experts in "doing the work."  No matter what self help you prescribe to - be it herapists, psychics, pastors - all them - always talking about "doing the work."  We start going to hella NA/AA/FA - any thing you need help with anonymously it seems is all the self help rage.  Lets look at RA - Relationships Anonymous.  Does one exist?  We need one.

Here I have been piping that shit about how niggas ain't shit - and let's just use the word "nigga" to regard all men as I have a few surfers and Italians to throw in this mix - ain't shit.  Then you realize it's really your picker that ain't shit.  And you weren't very upfront about dealing with who people are, where they are, how they are UPFRONT - all Buddha-ey with your acceptance...meeting a person where they are, etcetera.

And then YOUR SHIT jumps up in the way.  "Hi, I'm Saboteur.  I've come to fill your head up with hella superficial shit so you can break off yet another relationship and then blame someone else."

It's so cool.  And hella convenient.  Not being accountable is strangely like what we say men do.

Luckily I am now old enough to call myself on my own bullshit.  So I've called bullshit on myself and my thoughts and my own fear that prevents me from a sliver of happiness just cuz..... I have no idea what the just cuz is....but I know there's one.  And I don't necessarily like it.  I'm bound to be unhappy lest I figure this crap out.  So I'm figuring GOTDAMNIT....I'm figuring.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

That Bullshit

I had my THIRD doctors appointment regarding my thyroid.  I'm an atheletic shaped girl -(in my head that's slightly better than scrawny...).  So my fabulous UCLA doctor 3 years got it into her head that because I have an Adam's apple, I may have a thyroid condition.

Fast forward to my friends with thyroid cancer, Graves, nodules, I'm like -- cool.  Let's check it out.  But shit, I've always had this damned Adams apple...so what gives.

What gives is the health system is ALWAYS trying to find something to get you hooked on.  I get an ultrasound....a $373 ultrasound.  They measure.  They say ok.

Go back to my doctor a year later for a check up.  She says...mmm lets measure again.  It's pretty big. I'd like to see if it's grown...considering my age and all....

It's grown?  How you know.  I go for another ultrasound, they say they measured it and it's grown.  I'm like ---- yous a lie.

I tell my doctor I think she's giving me the run around.  She gives me some better safe than sorry shit.  I go back yesterday to THE expert who's going to take an ultrasound and IF it looks crazy to him, get a biopsy.  In 3 minutes he decides I don't need shit and that it's normal.

Now tell me....why wasn't I introduced to him in the next building the first time, verses racking up 3 additional ultrasounds??? Money.  Fuckers.  oooh The USA makes me tired.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015


I clearly had a break down in Japan.  I am apart of the 1 in 4 women who have Uterine Fibroids.  I've been menstruating for about a year now with knock out cramps.  Some days are the scene of a murder.  I hide tampons and pads in each of my suitcases, behind the blender, under the bathroom sink, bedside table, it's a veritable Easter Egg hunt o' pads in my crib, car, purses....what have you.

I had a Myomectomy about 7 years ago.
The doctor told me then I had about 5 years before things came back so get ready...drop them babies.  I was, of course on a world tour with the Black Eyed Peas...and while I talked about throwing a pod in there, it was in between Cachaca shots and 17 hour transpacific flights.  Did he  really think I was gonna stop all of that?  I mean come on!  Couldn't I just accidentally get pregnant like most people?

Nevertheless, through a series of botched attempts (nothing like a little biological desperation to make a relationship stick!) and a small midlife crisis,  I escaped to this theory ".kids...I got 11 Godkids...who needs them?"

Back in the game, on the road...October 2014 my period decides...well...not to leave.  Week 3, 4 and 6 come by and I go to the hospital.  Good old Western doctors.... "the only real thing that works is a hysterectomy."  Oh yeah?  I would love to tell a man, "the only thing that's going to work is if I cut off your balls....yeah I'm sorry...it's just what it is.  Times up. " Insurance too....pre Obama Care...."yeah, your insurance is $800 per month cuz you have these crazy fibroids...but if you just get a hysterectomy, I can knock off 6 months."   It should be absolutely illegal to tell a woman this.  You think you depressed now...wait until I tell you your reproductive system is shot and so...fuck it, get rid of it.

It gets worse.

Sex.....I mean, I'm an aggressive woman who works hard and plays hard and needs a release just like the next head of household.... so now that my uterus is tripled its size I can make Pee Wee Herman feel like Mandingo.  Its painful and awful and all these brilliant lingerie sets I've copped from Journelle are for naught.  It's bullshit... AND I'VE HAD IT.

So  I was packing for the 22 hour flight to Thailand to get this Fibroid Embolization for half the American mark up, when my girl rallied the Fibroid Community and introduced me to Dr. Bruce Mc Lucas.
 I wanted to kiss him.  Literally make out with him in the doctors office yesterday.  He gave me a great cash price. "Better than Thailand" so he says.  But whatevs.  Fuck this insurance stress out. I'd rather work a month on a shitty tour and cash out.

The set up is for November, meaning....1 more period of hell while in Australia.  I may have a ceremony for it in Brisbane...except I'm pretty sure it's Shark season and I may not even surf this time around....but whatevs....I'm already a nicer person.

Look out promoters...you aren't even going to recognize me after November 10th!

Sunday, September 27, 2015

貪欲 Don'yoku

I stay hungry in Japan.
When I eat too much exotic sushi it spins my stomach.
I try to make it up by choosing some stupid meal half Japanese , half carb meal.  Hence, stomach pains. 
Add that to a set of ovaries teeming with fibroids and you have a woman seriously on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
I have had fibroids, along with a group of my closest fibroid having friends , for at least 10 years now. Intensely begging the question : to hysterectomy or to not?  And of course the answer is NOT.  I wouldn’t dare dream of having some Westernized Man selling me out to the highest surgery bidder.  I made the mistake of the myomectomy 7 years ago.  It’s like the gray hair of fibroids.  You pull one and they come back 1000 fold.

It also gets increasingly worse.  I should probably stop eating meat, go raw, only organic (which is about the only thing I adhere to).  The rare sex that I do get gets more and more painful.  These fibroids defense game is no match for the 6 eggs I’ve got.  And in the midst of all of this depressive information – and believe you me, it sounds depressive and it IS – you are supposed to fight for a body part that has ultimately turned its back on you – threw in the towel, allowed another nigga up in YOUR space telling you how shits finna be and how you and them eggs needs to fall the fuck back. 

Let’s take it up a notch.

Then it says…hey, you’ve been on your period for what….almost a year now yeah?  So the hormones nor the birth control (HA…birth control on TOP of it all) aren’t working.  AND – I’m going to give you the ROCKSTAR of cramps.  No not no baby cramps.  I’m talking you need 800 mg ibuprofen 3 times a day which eats away at your stomach lining and ultimately you wouldn’t be able to carry a baby to full term anyway because, ya know, you ain’t got no stomach.

So verily verily I say unto thee…..What in God’s name am I holding on to the defective piece of crap for?!! (yes I’m under the influence of 4th hour cramps – the ibuprofen has worn off)….

I want to stab myself repeatedly.  Like you would a tri tip on the grill.  Only instead of turning it over I want to literally rip out my insides.

What a fucking crappy card dealt.  And I’m religious so I have knock down drag out fights with God…pissed….he don’t really answer the way I’d like.  So I’m just mean to everyone….  Resulting in, of course, someone saying “damn she must be on her period.”…. Yeah, like for ever muthafucker. 

I know, think of the bright side….at least you’re having your shitty period in Tokyo…. Right?

There are these Fibroid Embolization methods, allegedly, that in our great country (greatest on earth or go somewhere else they say) , charges $20,000 at least out of pocket.  OR, you can go to Thailand and get it done for like 5k plus a vacation.  I’m truly seeking out global options for this surgery.  Other countries are at least more hopeful about saving your body parts versus destroying you and are well versed in procedures – all at a quarter of the cost.  I was thinking of making it a fun family trip – a few party chicks, hanging out – they’ll have some sort of creamy minty Vietnamese version of the mojito, whilst I sip on my cocktail of morphine drips and Oxycodone…..mmmmm……  how much better can this party get?
Well I’d have to fly business because sitting upright on a cut up stomach is probably zero fun….but at least I’ll be able to garner more miles, yeah?

This glass half full shit is hard work.  Let me get ready for lobby fucking call.

Sunday, July 19, 2015

And then there was none......

We had an incident.  We drove 7 hours of a 9 hour drive only to be turned back around.  It was a glorious ride.  It was the last show.  It was supposed to happen.

Back at the mo everyone was feverishly packing ready to get on these earlier than God flights I'd booked 3 weeks ago.  Smoke up anything you wouldn't dare take with you, last flirtatious moments, last forcing of last minute clothing and shoes into your demolished broke down suitcase..... and I'm out.

 I stayed up all night.  Walked from the hotel to the airport in the pouring rain in my new Rick Owens....to the floor.  It was freezing on the 1st flight.  But oh the flight to Naples.  The devil himself opened the aircraft doors.  "Hot as balls" as my grandmother would say.  And it was.  Just getting on the navetta autonoleggio to pick up my rental car was a bitch.  All I could think about was getting my Fiat so I could be all Italiani cute.  As soon as received the keys I realized I was short one bag....my entire SUITCASE.  Like what the entire fuck?  I come off of tour and my brain goes to straight jelly?

Leave it to old Italians to help a damsel in distress.  One of the attendants told me to wait where the shuttle stops and I'd be able to ask the driver.  I waited.  I saw the shuttle enter the parking lot....old man helper is pantomiming as only Italians can and if I'm not crazy, I swear he pointed to nipples and then pointed across the parking lot to me.  Hardy har laughing Italians.  Whatevs....they had my bag.

Next issue...no auxiliary in the Fiats....so I had to get a Ford.  I love music too much to be without my own playlist.

The serpentine streets on the drive to Torre D'Alba from Napoli made a 33 mile jaunt 90 minutes.  None of the streets have names...or if they do you can't see them.  PLUS you're distracted by Mt. Vesuvius and just crazy natural beauty all the time.  The Gulf of Naples indigo waters filled with boats - any of which have my husband on board - I couldn't check in fast enough.

My cute little watchtower is incredibly well appointed, the pool is cold but refreshing, the grounds are well kept by Claudio who is also well kept.  It looked exactly like the air bnb ad.  Nothing could be more perfect.  Seriously.  This place is heaven.

So much so why do I think I have to leave and make a tour itinerary?  Tell me why I cannot sleep in past 8am?  Why do I always have the urge to "do" something?  My planning wears me out.  I laid out at 9am this morning, tried to jump in the cold ass pool, then went back indoors and forced myself to sleep until 11am.   The 15 churches basilica bells serenaded me to the terrace so I could look down at all I was missing.   I couldn't take it anymore, I had to have a mimosa or bellini stat.  After all, it IS Sunday.

Sorrento is touristy as fuck however.  The ports beaches had folks lying on sidewalks like beached whales.  This was not fancy shmancy... My Bougie alarm went off and that was that.  I had to get up out of here.

Taking an elevator back up the cliff from the ocean, I ran into a shmancy restaurant with Bellinis and beautiful men who said Mama Mia when I walked into the room because...that's what Italians say apparently.  And my fancy shmancy 60 euro brunch had me starving.  Bullshit ass shmancy.  Good, but my ghetto alarm was ringing and so I too had to get up out of there.

My host told me about Nerano...beach city en route to Positano along the Sorrento Peninsula.  So I would take the 30 minute gorgeous drive in my manual transmission Ford over towering bluffs, through brick and orange piazzas, crawling through tiny alleys that would scratch up my side view mirrors and finally winding down long streets with rows of olive trees, pink, white and red oleander , mingling with bougainvillea and hibiscus.  All of the plants I love.

 As soon as I jumped into the turquoise rocky waters, all was released.

The drive, the broken suitcase, the last show, the late shows, the lost passport found, the shit talking witch hunts, the blue ovaries, the defector, the bad haircut, the good haircut, the castor oil and finally the coach flight that magically turned into business class.

I am so grateful to be taking a vacation.  I just wish I knew HOW.

Saturday, July 4, 2015


All my girls told me I needed castor oil.  When we arrived in Gdnask both Roxy (hair and wardrobe) and Chef Stefanie brought me some castor oil.  All natural.
My girl Nisa hailing from Oakland said..."oh you need to get you some castor oil".

Who even knew that castor oil was the black girls guide to edge growth?

I have some strong hair.  But I scratch.  My hands are constantly in my head.  Always...for evermore, giving my hair dresser a cardiac arrest each time I come home from tour.  She knew I was doomed when I said I was going on this tour.

And this tour...as exciting as it may be...is hard as all get out.  Not only because of the strenuous schedule but because of the demands of the particular artist.  Not crazy demands or nothing.  Just time.  It's like we all hold our breath hoping he gets to the next city.  "He needs you and the world needs him.." ?uesto pep talks me...."But I'M LITERALLY SCRATCHING MY EDGES OUT".

Then there's ye old pressure of the white man.  I think maybe I had one week of PMS, black church shootings and facebook arguments and I literally lost it.  I had a cold, I gained back all the weight I'd worked off, my skin lost the "glow".  I argued with my boss.  Granted I have 2 other tours happening, but they truly manage themselves.  I can't boast "grace under pressure" when I've lost all my grace.  Point is...how to do you regain it, when you've lost it?

Nothing like a transcontinental business class flight and an air bnb dream to take you out of that fire.  I had to have a real life vision board.  Not that vision boards aren't real life.  But I need my vision to happen in like...2 weeks.  So I found this:

And baby...when I tell you I'm finna live my whole Sophia Loren, Talented Mr. Ripley life with my private pool over looking the coast? Some how, the holes I keep putting in my head don't even matter.  I may even brush up on my Italian....see if I can get that old thang back....

When both of my girls brought me castor oil...thought of me enough....I knew I was getting the care I needed from the people who would give it me.  It's a job that requires giving all day.  And people taking all day.   No need to ask them to give it to me. Duh.  It's nice to know of a sister circle out here looking out for the cook out.

We get to Rome today. Can't wait to see how show #2 goes.  If it's anything like my new growth...we gon' be alright.

Thursday, June 11, 2015


I wonder how many cancer cells I’ve caused myself holding in what I really want to say.  Men get to be “offended” all the while still putting their knees in my back while I’m wearing a bikini coming from the neighborhood pool party.  But yawl offended.  

The good news is, great Bay Area weather and an abundance of fun set my entire weekend OFF.  The Bay was turnt.  Yes because D’Angelo was in concert and it was opening night.  YES because Dave Chapelle was playing across the bridge at the Fillmore and I had tickets.  YES because the Warriors were playing.  AND my momma was there. The concert seemed that much more sweet after the one point loss.  People danced away their sorrows to the sound of the Black Messiah.

And it was the first time I’d seen the show.  We’ve been in rehearsals for 3 weeks and our boy likes to burn the midnight oil.  Anyone who knows me knows 10:30pm is about my limit.  I falls asleep ANYWHERE.  After the first week of sleeping on the studio couch (gross and gross cuz I’m a germanphobe), sleeping on the studio FLOOR (like I was camping), back and hips all hurting like a 40 year old should, I decided I wasn’t going to be able to make rehearsals.  That said, the show reached far beyond my expectations.  I also didn’t notice over the past 3 weeks that this dude has been working his ASS off.  Like a whole different person showed up to the Fox Theater than the person I saw bleary eyed at 4 am while I staggered out of the studio 18.  Maybe I can’t see.

The Town was off the chain.  The funniest man of our time, Dave Chapelle came from overtime about 10 deep – one being Neal Brennan.  Now THAT’S a power couple.  Goapele.  Martin Luther. Chaka. Bobby Seale.  Yes.  Bobby Black Panther Power to the People Seale.   What a wonderful evening after all was said and done.  A great beginning to a fantastic tour. I remember why I like it so much.

Today I wore my good tight pants to work.  They wasn’t offended no more.

Monday, June 1, 2015

Another One Bites the Dust......

Great long week of working.  My head has been spinning since picking up my new client.  I always had the Roots Picnic show on May 30th but with the new client schedule - the only thing I was hired for - had I Heart on the calendar the same day.  How to be at two places at one time is one of the hardest things to decipher running a service oriented business.  That fucking Wonder Woman meme means fuck all.  And guess what?  You may not make the right decision.  Being strong in your decision takes....I don't know how long, i'll let you know if I get rehired.

That PLUS this picnic.  I've decided to add a new email for the people. It's called "TFTTickets@gmail.com".  It's an email for the fake hollering ass niggas (or women these days) who seem to need a week or so "warm up" period before asking for what they really want: tickets. Let me tell you, that warm up shit is not only aggravating, it really and truly it just hurts my fucking feelings.  I'm pretty much "Bitch 101" - bark is worse than bite, intentionally aggressive so that I don't get hurt, blah blah blah.  Living on the road with mostly men over the course of 16 years just may have affected my trust gauge.   Then I don't trust MY picker...which is sad.  That said, I'm not really interested in small talk.  Just ask me for tickets.  It's all good.  I'm not a prude so I don't need to be promised anything to give up the pussy, just ask.  It will be yes or no.  No need for fake promises.  No need to ask deep and meaningful questions about other projects I may have spoken to you about in our "close and deep convos"....just come to catering, I'll give you a pass to the after party.  Thing is, I DONT CARE ABOUT THAT STUFF.  What I DO care about, is small talk BULLSHIT.  If you're my friend, be my friend.  Friends support, not take.  If you're a groupie in this - tfttickets@gmail.com is probably your best bet.  That way no one wastes time or game.  No small talk. No false attempts. No, nothing.  You get what you want and I get what I want...all joy and peace.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Gettin while the gettin is good.....

I saw my boy at yet another Samsung Lounge....3rd one in the last couple of weeks, each time a different client...."I see you came back to the darkside".....
referring to the genre of music this time.  While I am blessed to be choosy, this game is unforgiving. You take a break, you try to plan your picket fence lifestyle,  you leave yourself vulnerable for one minute and that's when some blonde 20 years your minor, toes creeling over her fall '12 wedges is tryna cop your spot and tell you how something "typically" works. 

Chile. Please.

That picket fence will be wrapped around my villa in the south of France with my 11 Godkids on spring break and a bevy of younger lovers....this month. If I choose. I leaves no money on the table.  Why? Cause ain't NOBODY checking for you in this cutthroat, misogynistic, greasy -bikini-in-the-summertime music industry. My late great mentor #Dixpop told me, literally begged me not to get have kids..."it'll ruin your life." Not everyone's but some. Maybe some that were destined to do more, see more, access more...or less. I'm still fumbling through but thank God that was presented as an option to accentuate my womanhood verses define it by 2.5 kids and a mini van.

So here, on the eve of yet another world tour where I jump off and on with other clients, I stand to prove me to me. Work hard, play hard, love harder.  I know I seemed busy before. But yawl ain't seen nothing yet......

Saturday, March 7, 2015


Dear Amsterdam,

Why must you always feel like home?  You are the point of the tour where everyone breathes.  You are where I know of the best laundry mats.  And while your Argentine steak houses are redundant, we've been able to find that ONE where only locals go.  The Italian restaurants know us by name.  We have the nerve to have our favorite smoke shop.

What?  A new one?  Indeed.  I'm there!  Amnesia....is a jewel on the Herengracht.  This uppity ass neighborhood where the walk ups are on fleek and everyone has all they damn windows open like I ain't supposed to look.  High ceilings and moldings and shit.  Think Montana Ave in Santa Monica.  Not Beverly Hills uppity, but them heiphas ain't got no jobs neither.  Which is probably why I found my NEW naked spa, Sauna Deco there.  Because jobless heiphas can take baths in public.

Favorite new fantastic store Kiki Niesten - this eccentric woman who's collected clothing for over 30 years.  She removes the label and sells the item at percentage of it's original cost.  I can't wait to find a spot to wear this Botega dress.  And the gloves...oh the gloves....they are truly too much.

Across from Miss Kiki's  shop is a wonderful store  Outras Coisas. This designer, David Simkanic, makes AMAZING leather goods. Then accents with towels, scarves, white plates...because I need more white plates.  These black candle holders I bought are the absolute TRUTH...dear GAWD.
It's the kind of store that has nothing you need but EVERYTHING you want.

And finally, The Canal House a JEWEL mind you....23 room boutique hotel of a 17th century house or 3 put together.  Rooms are good size.  Not cheap, but absolutely lovely.  Having the run of house there would be a bomb birthday party.  Courtyard, whisky, naked spa and weed?  What are we talking about here?

After leaving the Herengracht neighborhood we move a few blocks away...more boutiques, less uppity neighborhood called Jordaan.
Jordaan is where I found a cool spot, JD Williams Whisky Bar with a cooler Proprietor from San Francisco.  I already told him I'm biting.  Had nerve enough to go twice.  Couldn't help it.  They had Taco Tuesdays and Konge fried chicken bites.  Come on now!

All in all, I love me some Amsterdam. 2 shows left.  I'll be on US soil by Sunday.  Praise Him!

Monday, March 2, 2015

That one time we got strip searched in Sweden........


16 years.  16 years of border crossings....all sorts of borders....Canadian, Mexican, Algerian, Argentinian, Chinese..... hell I've even crossed into Cuba.  Never...NEVER in my life have I been asked to drop my drawers and take of my shirt.

Part of the tour manager crossing the border game is remaining calm and more often than not, keeping my "chip-on-shoulder" "stand-up-to-authority" brethren to keep their lips shut for the sake of getting through.  Let's say for the 30 plus times you've gotten away with carrying, you get caught once.  Shut the fuck up.  You had it coming.  No it ain't racist.  The white jawn had to strip too.  Agist maybe.  Whatever the fuck....the dog smelled the right people.  We got rid of it.  no harm no foul.  But please don't act ignorant at the border.  It's exhausting keeping myself in line let alone entitled ass American ass adults.

Planes, Trains and Uncircumcised Penis

So, if you didn't know, I like Naked Spas. Naked co-ed Spas. Naked, co-ed, European Spas. Naked, co-ed European Spas in Amsterdam in particular.  If you've been with me to the South of France, Portofino,  Morro do Sau Paulo, Corsica or may even the Mandalay Bay adult pool in Las Vegas, chances are you've seen my boobs.  I don't mind.  They are more like an accessory any way....like a really nice pair of cufflinks.  They are small and you notice them, but they aren't overwhelming and add just the right touch.

Any way, my boobs like to go to Naked co ed European Spas in Amsterdam.  So I took my partner in crime and visited a new one:

http://saunadeco.nl/    Tiny spa at the bottom of a brownstone with lovely Art Deco furniture and accents.  Not at all big and obnoxious like that last Naked co-ed European Spa in Amsterdam 20 minutes outside of town.  Although that was banging too.  This one was quaint and just enough.  I was only surrounded by like 10 or 12 uncircumcised peni vs 50 plus at the other spa.  There was even a pregnant lady there relaxing getting her sauna on.  The steam room was to die for and the cold plunge was refreshing.  Wasn't a freak nasty thing, just a spa.  Just people who like to sauna naked and pretend they aren't looking at each other.

You think any of the guys want to go?  hells to the no.  They get offended just asking.

I loved it.

The mint tea put me to sleep.

Monday, February 23, 2015


My sisters my sisters. Almost 3 decades of visiting this continent and STILL...no one can lay a short cut.  Oh they can do extensions....eyelashes, skin dye....but short hair?  Edges?  May as well be the lost city of Atlantis.

Sounds to ME like a prime opportunity for someone to get to Germany and be the go to short hair layer.  That's just what I'm thinking.

Meanwhile...I'mma go in this girls shop with her broken hairdryer and some barber strips and see what I can do until I get to Amsterdam.....le sigh.....  come on sistas! We gotta do better!  (btw...I hate the word "sista/sistah" spelled out.  It sounds so , like, white...)

Saturday, February 21, 2015

No sleep til......East London

I'm Sleepy!

I can't do these go out at 1am nights!!  Cept I did.  And I have.  And why is London so gotdamn fun sometimes?


5:30 am - arrival to London
6:27 am - check in 3 busses/sort luggage
6:30 am - breakfast begins. Perfect!
6:35 am - breakfast not include fuck it I'll order the chorizo AND the pancakes AND grapefruit juice AND coffee = 35 GBP
7:30am - night night time.  Shades are drawn.  Wait is that Hyde Park outside my window?  So what. I'm sleepy.
2:00pm - draw the shades...because you HAVE to do something in London
3:00pm - Top Shop. Urban outfitters. Is that a Whole Foods across the street?  Wait, when did London get a Whole Foods?
5:00 pm - Wagamama.... it used to be so good....damnit Korean Town...you've ruined me!
6:30pm - cab to Prince of Wales Theater
7:27pm - someone comes out with a returned ticket (cuz we needed a 3rd). SCORE!  100 GBP on a front row seat.  I LOVE THE THEATER!!!
8:40pm - intermission.....laughing my ass of over how brilliant The Book of Mormon is and how I should have made that Matt Stone shit happen.  Slept.
10:00 pm - back to the hotel for 3 course dinner.  Underwhelming. But the Oban was popping.
11:30pm - work out
12:15am - that was stupid.
12:30am - head out to the Wellesley.  Turns out they have a humidor that rivals the Havana Room, Beverly Hills.  What the hell do I know?  They have a patio so my hair don't get funked up.
1:00am - I'm learning words like Behike.  I don't know what that means I just know I don't have the Pounds to pay for it.
2:30 am - I almost won the white ash contest.... Italian Margaritas, some cognac that happens to go with the Behike.
3:30am - next door hotel club.  So corny.  But ...I mean it was connected to the hotel, what do you want from meeeee?????
4:30 am - drag my ass into the hotel.....time to get my GOOD Skype on.
5:30 am - drooling.....

That was Thursday

LAST NIGHT.... I was only at the BEST SHOW.... okay, I don't know if it was the best yet....D and I still can't decide if it's Berlin or this one.  I have to believe it has to do with having a curfew.  He definitely came ready to give it to London...and he did IN FACT give it to London.  The audience was so happy, did not sit down and partied so hard.... infectious.  However...Berlin....oh Berlin.....I think that show was damn near 3 hours.... I'm a sucker for a 3 hour show. Clearly.

After party was supposed to happen, but after the VIP bar, and the long long wait for everyone to get their "act right".... I was catching up on my ABC Thursday Night line up and drooling by 3am....when they decided to go to the next club..... I'll get you back tonight LONDON!!! I'll get you yet!

Friday, February 20, 2015

Mes Deux Amours

Whenever the Paris portion of the tour takes place people stand back.  They already know.  Ask Tina questions now, on this bus, in this airport, on this train - because once you get your hotel keys, I AM OUT!  People experienced the wake of my dust shortly after making sure the "suite" was actually a suite and my 30 hours in Paris wouldn't be cut short by finding a better hotel.

We started at Mama Shelter.  The only place in town with an actual brunch that goes until 4:30pm.  Do you see the conundrum.  I'm in Paris.  I'm eating AFTER 2:30 during the no FOOD zone - you may get a crepe or a moule from a chain restaurant but mostly you're dealing with coldcuts and cheese until dinner time.  And dinner on SUNDAY??? Could not start until 7pm.
2nd part of this conundrum....I said "brunch".  In my almost 3 decades of visiting my 2nd country, the concept of brunch has NEVER existed.  Like cranberry juice didn't exist in the 90's? Neither did brunch until good old Mama Shelter in the 20th....so far away yet so good, next to Pere Lachaise where you can grab a beer and a joint and hang out at Jim Morrison's grave with the rest of the hippies.  MAMA SHELTER has internet and pancakes and crepes and crispy bacon and Mimosas and horribly bloody marys but at least they try, and MUSIC....all the music I go on the road with.  Every song has Ahmir or Pino or even D playing in the background.

After this we hung at a Sunday tea party of sorts at this African marketplace called Le Comptoir.  Apparently Africans are now all the rage because the only ones there worked there.  To be en vogue.  Needless to say we moved on to the next spot....that I can't remember the name of, but I think they were Caribbean and West Africanish.  Whatevs.  The wings, plaintains and caiprinhas were banging.  The toilette was gross but what else is new in Paris.

We then wandered into some small bar that I want to replicate on Crenshaw or maybe on Jefferson just off of Crenshaw.  Max 50 people.  Cutest thing you've ever seen where we got hit on by a first generation Chinese girl with possibly the worst English EVER but had THE most fun singing all songs (all American of course) wish she and her friends.   We were crashing someones going away party...but they served Hibiki and so....ya know.  We had to stay.

The next morning I had to jump up for my traditional hair appointment at Polished Hair Care.  This gem of a spot is operated by Richmond, CA own Nicole Pembrook so you KNOW my edges are straight.   That's my problem out here.  Black hair care is so new.  My poor sistren been running around with half done weaves, dried out perms and fuzzy edges.  Edges STAY fuzzy.  Thank God Michelle Obama has shed some light on what an edge truly is.  I now have a reference when interviewing these hairdressers.  It's not a game this relaxed life out here on the road.  Not. A. Game.

After dipping from her shop in the thick of the Champs Elysees, I jump on the metro to head to my eyeglass spot who's name I can NEVER remember in Le Marais.  Except this time I get lost.  I get so entangled in the Marais that I NEVER find my shop, I did however find a cute and marginally expensive store called "Swildens" where the shopkeeper spoke to me in French , did not try to shade my French and we had a lovely hour of trying on clothes, getting directions and contacting my bank to get my card unblocked.  Pure communication.

After which I rushed back to the hotel to set up for the massive Palais des Congres where I met my juicy adorable Parisienne Niece who has never been to a big show.  She was so excited and so sweet my heart melts whenever I visit my Neela Vanilla.

Followed by the man who will forever call me his "future ex wife" yasin Bey.  Hilarity at its finest.  He brought the likes of Michelle Lamy - Rick Owens' wife who ROCKS it at 70..... I just love older women and younger men.  Go figure.

Followed by a FANTASTIC show filled with all the drama of going onstage late, needing to cut 2 songs and avoiding a 10k penalty if the clock strikes 11:01pm....Damned if he didn't end at 10:59:45.  Seriously.  I shouted like we won the lotto.  Because we did.

How does one fit all of that into 30 hours you ask?  Chiiiiile, I can't wait til my day off in London.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Demain sera un jour meilleur

My aunts read this so I couldn't title this the way I wanted.  And I need to get up in 6 hours for my hair appointment on the Champs Elysees....shot out to Nicole Pembrook ..Richmond, VA doing it in Paris!!!  Anyway.....

There are are some things, gentlemen, or whatever you call yourselves these day, that make my pussy completely dry up.  Seriously who wants to beat a dead horse about how chivalry is lost and equality and blah blah blah....but if you want me to not emasculate you, could you please not do emasculating things?  Jesus Christ.  Doors, hail a cab, take care of the tab, pick up your condom after yourself.  Pretty simple right?  I'm hailing cabs at 2:30 in the morning in Paris.  Come on now.

And if your situation has changed.... don't hit me up about what your baby mama can do.  Love you but let's just say its the end of an era.

I swore I wouldn't write this.
Swore that if I didn't have anything nice to say I would say nothing at all.

Ah bien.

Demain sera un jour meilleur.

Friday, February 13, 2015


Two weeks of consistent working has caught up to me.  After what seemed like 30 Halsschmerzdragees to clear my weary painful baby throat, a shot of jager and some nyquil, I thought surely I'd wake up in Berlin ready to take on the world and my favorite http://www.liquidrom-berlin.de/de/ to take away the pain of the day.... If you haven't been to Liquid Room in Berlin, you do not know what you are missing. hot slutty coed spas are right up my alley. So.  I said it.

Now sometimes tours are cushy and sometimes they are hard core.  This one is right in between.  Reigniting a project isn't always flashing lights and 5 star amenities.  We have a lot of experienced people on this tour who are "accustomed" to a certain way of life....my bougie ass being the ring leader.  However we take it for the team....because we love love LOVE this music and the talent that pushes said music.  So we take an "L" here and there on hotels.  And I must say, the L was took this morning.  After finding boss man a new place, and I don't blame him, my nyquil decided that 1:15pm was the perfect time to take it's toll on my body.  And I mean I was DROOLING.  I kept waking up on the hour reminding myself of the hot dirty slut spa I wanted to go to...but to no avail.  My immune system kicked my Goodtime Girl ideology out the window and I had to settle for TK Maxx (yes I said "TK") and a few hands of blackjack at my favorite Berlin casino.  All them old daddies telling me what to do and how to play by German rules was just what I needed to take it to the NEXT outing.... 

Not to be outdone....it IS Berlin Film Festival weekend and I DO have my platform suede thigh high boots....we had to pop bottles some where....somewhere CLOSED when we arrived.  Who has a club that is closed on Friday?  You tell me.  Back to the hotel we go where I found a Cuban friend to speak my cute broken Spanish with and then off to the Billiard Hall/Casino.  My dream place.  If I could build one of these on Crenshaw....let me tell you.  Billiards, Cards, slot machines , DARTS, electronic BOARD GAMES....AND 80's musica???  Are you fucking kidding me?  Chris Dave and them had to drag my interpretive dancing ass out of there at 3:24am.  And here I sit....still on the computer...wondering how to make tomorrow night half as good as tonight.  

Oh yeah...we have a show.

Til tomorrow.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

New Era Touring

Wow.....I have not blogged in a Coons Age (which is 8 years btw so I'm exaggerating.  I just like the word 'Coon')....so I have not blogged in a Coons Age and as sleepy as I am I HAD to blog tonight.  Just like I do in the beginning of all tours....and pray I don't fall off.

Day #1 of D'Angelo's "The Second Coming" European Tour.

Fresh from producing the party of the season....the Roots Jam Series in Los Angeles - 4 nights of live music featuring everyone from Miguel and YG to Marsha Ambrosious, T.I. and Kool and the Gang! Definitely the highlight of my career.

Then simultaneously fresh from co-producing the charity event of the season, Will.I.Am's I.Am.Angel Foundation Gala....

I had the NERVE to stop off in Harlem because D had the nerve to have a show there before we went on this tour.... and then....didn't sleep on the plane over.  I had the nerve to watch all of House of Lies, This is Where I Leave You and No Good Deed.

You would think I'd take my ass to bed on an arrival day in a foreign country right?  Since I'm tour managing, handling wardrobe, passing out tour books, handing out credentials and sweet talking folks with soon to be expired passports into countries who have rules against such....I SHOULD be going to bed.... right?

Wrong....flying over the Alps .... and they was calling me.... like the bottom of a 99 cent store box of Baking Soda to a feening crackhead in recovery.  I had to go.  So I grabbed the only people crazy as me and we hightailed it to Flumserberg for an hour of rip roaring, ass busting, head thumping, ice down my drawers having fun.

And then we did a show on D's birthday.  This show is long and great and NEW.  So that means it can ONLY GET BETTER...and it's wearing me out now.  Can't give you anything.  You just gotta come and see.  GOT TO.  I can't wait for Paris/London....this shit will be FIRE.

Now I shall retire and try to block out the sounds of CONSTRUCTION WORKERS at 2:33am outside my window....and my next door neighbor apparently throwing it DOWN like bang bus.  Damn, remember Bang Bus? I'm old.  SMDH.

You still have time Europe!!


end of work day