Three-OH! Flow

High.
**waves excitedly**
Remember MOI?
NO?! :'(

QUIT LYIN'!
...or truth-telling. :'(

I apologize for my absence. But Life has been calling and I've been pressing "Talk."
I've been through so much, GREAT and TRAGIC since the last time I graced this blog with my portly presence.
The biggest of it being that I-Lover of all things wild, crazy, and 20s-has left that stage of life to turn 30.
THREE-OH! FLOW!
**three fingers being thrown in.yo.FAAACE**

I'm now happily comfy in my 3rd decade and like my family, friends, Sushi, 2-Buck Chuck, vintage accessories, and fashion-forward fat items on DEEP discount:
I'M LOVIN' IT!

Read more about my journey to accepting that I'm no longer a 20-something here
(Shouts and Shots to ThePBG for bringing light to my Life's flight. I heart her. And you will, too.)

Chris Blouse

By now you've all seen the Chris Brown apology video where he could have spared us the two minutes of bullshit boo-hoo'ing in a bitch blouse by simply exclaiming:

"Mama, I Wanna SAING!...and get the chance to perform a Michael Jackson tribute on the MTV Awards!!!"

(If you ain't seen it, find it at a YouTube near you. Ok, FUCK IT! Here, ya lazy bumbaclot!)

If you've visited the mean TWeets of Twitter lately, you know TWiggaz have been going in AND out over Chris's Crybaby Couture. First thing I Tweeted after I seen it:

"To show us JUST how sorry he is, Chris is rocking the same shirt his mom got HER azz beat in back in 1988. I hear you, Chris. I HEAR YOU."

Yeah, it wasn't right, but it's ok. (Word to Whitney and crazy bitches like Britney!)

Although Chris's star power's been in serious jeopardy since using his fists like wartime weaponry, his Bitch Blouse is EVERYWHERE...overnight!

Last night, while lampin' @ChateauSAV minding my own and shit, I heard Bitch Blouse gettin' BIZZY on its VERY OWN MIXTAPE.

Think I'm lying?

Google that ish! ...And if your results come up short like late child support, here's an excerpt of some HOT FIYAH that MC Bitch Blouseki spit over Weezy's shit:

“I am a long-sleeved, bitch red blouse/Please forgive Chris before we lose our house/
And Lambo/Yeah, he slammed the bitch head like his name was Kimbo/But it wasn’t his fault/She talked that shit to that window!”

PUTCHA LIGHTAZ UP!

B.E.Teamwork

So, after spending the day soaking up sun at the beach and the evening eating some of the BAWSSest azz sushi San Diego County has to offer, I get home and realized I've already missed 43 minutes of this year's BET Awards. But, good thing I had on my thinking lacefront cuz I came home for a second between missions to set my DVR to tape the pre-show and the Awards.

Since I'm a thug's THUG and a gangsta's GANGSTA, I can say this without fear of being sent up to the Heaven For A G, but:

I.DIDN'T.HATE.THE.BET.AWARDS


I honestly thought they did an excellent job in honoring Michael Jackson's work and legacy in the time allotted to them. I enjoyed the MJ tribute get-ups as well as the performances infused with MJ references.And the feel of the ceremony was JUST RIGHT as it was far more celebratory than sad. And for that, I'm grateful because my eyes didn't need another tear bath, man. R.I.P. Mikey-J!






I was pleasantly surprised to see ALL 6 member of New Edition paying homage to the man that paved the way for their group to be able to exist in the first place.
Besides the fact that Ralph Tresvant's voice was in immediate need of an oil change along with a dash of Astroglide by the pizzound: I LOVED the performance.
Yes, your uncle would have been able to sound like Eddie Kane trying to prove to the Heartbeats that he still had it, but would that same unc have been able to bust the kinds of moves they did while singing LIVE? 'Xactly! You can't smoke Black & Milds and live on a steady diet of Pork Rinds and crackhead pussy and expect to be great. (No Bobby Brown)
Check the 2:54-3:04 minute marks if you want to see when I got HYPE. New Edition were doing their J5 THANG.
That specific portion of the dance piece will forever take me back to Spring 1985 when we, the pre-school graduates of John F. Kennedy Child Development Center, busted the SAME dope move for our proud parents. HOLD ON!...**whispers** Or is it: "HOLD TIGHT?" **scratches naps**






I WILL say that whatever industry balls Keri Hilson has blown to get to where she is were WELL worth it. I've never seen such a spirited, exuberant display of mediocrity. But you know what, K-Hils: GET DAT GUAP WHILE YOU CAN. Something in your water ain't YOUNG. You may have pulled the wool over the world's eyes, but I know for a fact you've seen the better side of 47. I ain't blind; don't need no glasses tah see.
And shouts to her Best New Artist award acceptance speech. I like how she FORGOT she was at the BET Awards.
Bitch, you ain't graduating from DeVry. Save that shit for when you cop that "Sexiest Senior Citizen" joint. That is IF you can find a way to AWF OG Star Trek alumnus, Nichelle Nichols, first.





Ay Mi DIOS! at Tiny & Toya

Yeah, they've got a show debuting tonight on BET about the trials and trevails of being a well-taken care of Baby Muvthuh, but...other than that they reminded me of the faaassss azz 6th grade girls who had older sisters. The ones who had NO problem coming to school in the finest of Wet & Wild and Jordana facepaints and ig'nit azz weaves the beauty supply had to offer.
As a fat girl, I particularly enjoyed Tiny's ode to French Fries everywhere with her 'do. And I also was a fan of Toya's...Zzzzzzzz!






I won't mention Beyonce's Charmin Charade aka the final arts and crafts project she wore brought to us by the students of The Creole Center for Things That Make You Say, "TINA: NOOOO!" Beyonce and her Creole Crew live by but one motto:

"If you stay ready, you ain't GOTZ tah git TACKY."
Learn about it!



I LOVE Thicky THICKY's Mary Mary's "God In Me" joint.
That ish makes me pop it for Pastor at ALL times. Shout to the lovely ladies of the Lord for providing the world with another song that makes us drop it like it's hot for Akon and Young Jeezus.

SPECIAL CHURCH ANNOUNCEMENT SHOUTS TO Erica's liquid leggings.
LAWD! **dukes the Devil while MLK fanning myself** I can always appreciate a woman who don't mind getting sexy for her savior.

*********

And now...for the Rainbow portion of this post:



I ain't gon' get on my boy, Tevin Campbell, as I was trill glad to see him after all these years. But I WILL say if you look in to his eyes, you KNOW that he done seen some peens things.
Johnny Gill was making Eddie proud showed up and showed out for the evening's tribute to legendary soul group, The O'Jays. Johnny seemed especially happy to be doing something other than diddling Dr. Doolittle there. He was gripping that mic so tight that I'm sure when he returned it, it REEKED of his toothpaste, Eau De Murphy.

(Sidenote: Shouts to the decade of time I lost whilst listening to Don Cornelius. If life had a fast forward button, it would have been employed at THAT very moment. He was STROKIN'. {That's what he be doin'! Shouts to Clarence Carter!})




The moment that brought this thug to tears undoubtedly goes to:


I ain't no punk nigress, but seeing Janet Jackson choked up took my eyes on a swim down the Nile River, mayne. I can't even imagine losing my brother, then having to go on stage to make a statement for FamilySavvyFatty.
I applaud Janet's strength in such a difficult time. I send mad LOVE to the entire Jackson clan, especially Mrs. Katherine Jackson, as a mother should NEVER have to bury her child.
And...Tito: You're UP NEXT!

*********

Overall, the night was cool to me.


Ne-Yo's domepiece vocals were SO on point and appropriate. I'm glad he was there to pay tribute to The King, his obvious influence.



Oh...and shouts to the noticeably absent Chris Brown. You know shit's bad when BET won't even let you come to their project yard of an awards show. You really fucked up, kid!

**points and DIES laughing**

Emo Supremo

...Cuz sometimes the fun and games must CEASE.

And I must unleash the baneful beast brewing inside of me.

I'm killing me softly with the mundane of mediocrity
Both me and the train're headed for the tracks
And ain't nobody stopping me



*********

I handed her the keys to discourage my dreams.
Now I'm layin' on the tracks since I can't get 'em back.

*********

I need some emo chemo

...or to steamroll a MEAN ho

…or to blaze me a blizzy packin’ more purple than Dino

I'm On A Romantic Blog

Happy Emm'effin' Friday, Folks!
Thank God we made it...especially since every Monday morning I'm not so sure I can complete those 40 hours SANS bodying a fool or scaling my desk, cardigan tied around my head like a soulja rag screaming: "YOU CAN TELL I'M A SOULJA! I THOUGHT I TOLDJA?!"
When the weekend rolls around and I've made it through without spraying muhfuckas by the copy machine: I KNOOWWZZZ der' iz a gawd.

Anywhoo...Today's musical memory is brought to you by the makers of fine kanekalon and daisy dukes housing denim camel toes.

Raise your dookie braids if you remember the Dancehall Queen of Kanekalon herself, Patra? The first time I laid eyes on the gyal, getting it in her "Queen of the Pack" video, I quickly wrote her off as a reggae B. Angie B.
Then I beheld her impressive and superior "wine" skills and I was captivated.
I EVEN hopped up off my cooouccchhhh and turned my wiiinnnee on! Took a look at myself, said "You SUCK!" Yeeeaaahhh, I looked foooooliiiisshhh! AAOOOHHHHH!!!

I was instantly a fan. My hands down favorite joint from the Jamaican jooker is most definitely "Romantic Call" featuring the OG West Coast rapstress, Yo-Yo.

When the video first comes on and you see Patra sassily disrobe while menacingly mean-mugging the camera with a threatening: "My Propuhtee Iz My PROPUHTEE!" you knew you were in for some hellafied SUMTHIN'. And that "SUMTHIN':" 18 centimeters of baby hair Bad Bitches unapologetically shit-talkin' in a lowrider with **GASP; then RE-GASPS** muthafuckin' 2Pac!
"Hello, Mommy. Can I speak to Bobby?/I'm across the ocean and I'm feeling very lonely..."
Uhhm, Patch: Were you just telling Bobby's mama that you were in desperate need of a phone bone session?

Wow! This video brings back SO many memories. The part where me and my jr. high school friend, Angela and a whole cast and crew of Southeast ruffians hanging in Creekwood Apartments would REALLY get our teenage Soul Train line going was Yo-Yo's, "Take yo hands and wrap 'em 'round my waist/I know you cain't wait/UHH!/To love me like you wanna/I can't staaannnnd a man who's not a man/Too proud around his fraaannnnddsss/So Here We Go Again!"

Yo! You couldn't STOP my striped Guess? shorts from shaking it like dice at that moment. Shout out to parents leaving their homes open to fast azz teens and the neighborhood kids who knew it!
Up until that point I'd never drank so much soda and ate so many chips and processed foods in my LIFE. And, surprisingly, save for the occasional freak-off to Hammer's hip shaker, "Pumps In A Bump", we were respectful and trustworthy kids.

Shouts to Patra, y'all. I wonder where she's hanging her denim daisies these days...and if her braids have been deservingly and ceremoniously displayed in the Jamaican equivalent of the Smithsonian for forthcoming generations of Caribbean coochie cutters to enjoy.

And...while we're on the topic of the decadent dancery that is Dancehall music, shouts to whoever made THIS video. I'm over here pissing my Caciques at the misheard lyrics of Sean Paul's "Temperature." Watch this shit and pay attention to the lyrics and images flashing across the screen. I suggest you keep your toilet and its paper handy. (You're welcome.)