Stanning In The Rain

So, you will have to bear with me.

I am going to attempt to explain Robin Thicke without defending him.

This is really hard because I'm a little bit of a Stan.

Ocho doesn't believe me and suggests that I need more people.

Okay…so I OCCAAAAAAASIONALLY post the hashtag #ThickeThursdays.

Well, I used to until it became unpopular to openly Stan for dude. It was truly all good just a year ago. However, I'm different. I liked Robin WAY before Blurred Lines. I liked this guy...A LOT:

I look like Jesus.
I write non-threatening R&B pop songs for Brandy, P!nk and Usher.
Wanna bang?
(Me: YES PLEASE!)

What a dreamboat!

His first album came out back in 2003 & like all of the other Hipster Thicke Fans (as we have had to refer to ourselves in light of recent events), I was ALL about that CD! It was truly the ONLY thing I listened to for about 6 months.  It was the perfect blend of soul, funk & blues with a splash of rock.  I loved the music, the cover art, the lyrics…

The LYRICS...okay, I'm about to Stan out. Lemme pull back...

Because...WHOOOO! Goodness. I'mma hush on that.

*deep breath* So pre-2013 Robin was everything: five albums in, still a relative unknown but STRONG underground fanbase. 

Until he got on. That's when shit went left.

Like, WAAAAAY left.

First, we had the whole 'Blurred Lines is rapey' debacle - primarily by mainstream feminists (a population of ladies I just love in a very "Bless Your Frigid Hearts!" sort of way).  

Three fully dressed men in a video hitting on a gaggle of half-naked women.  (Yeah, that didn't go over too well with the womyn-blogging crowd!)  

That's always bothered me, even from a non-Stan perspective.  This was clearly an R&B song turned pop - it practically Vanilla Iced the old Marvin Gaye classic Got To Give It Up.  Despite what the matriarch will have you believe,  R&B is about fucking, point blank.  Love, tenderness, respect - all of that shit eventually leads to boot-knocking, so let's NOT.

Put it like this: If you are a grown straight woman and you've never had a mutual relationship with a man who has said something freaky to you in a playful manner, you're fucking the wrong guys.

…But I digress...

So there was that situation - already threatening the fame that was over a decade in the making!  A new single was being released and it was quietly dying a slow media death when…IT happened.

(Nope, I'm not posting a pic or video of that tragic ass performance so…JUST NO.)

There is documented video of my live reaction to That Performance on YouTube, if you MUST know how I really felt.  But in a word, that was just..ugh.  Mainly because that was the beginning of the end and what eventually brings us to Present Day.  

Just a refresher for what exactly is Present Day for Mr. Thicke: His album's slated to be the biggest flop of the year, he's on the brink of divorce, he's a pop culture punchline and, AND, Dude gained at LEAST 20 pounds. 

He's a goddamn mess. Plain and simple.

But still I Stan.

I still Stan because sometimes, dammit...your faves fall short.  It happens to all fangirls and fanboys - we've ALL had to Stan in the rain on occasion.  

Think about your fave. 
Now think about the last scandal they had to endure or the one time they dropped a wack single/album. 

Both just happened to my fave at the same time.  

Also, I still Stan because I know the music he is truly capable of making because he's made it SO many times before. 

(NOTE: The following is NOT a defense!)  

Before you jump on the He-Man Robin Thicke Haters Club and if the ONLY two songs you know from him are Blurred Lines and Wanna Love You Girl (if you even know that one), I urge you to download/Free.99/Spotify search A Beautiful World or The Evolution of Robin Thicke.  That is authentic Robin Thicke music.  Evolution is one of my top 10 albums of all time - and that's word.

In any case, I'm still here for Dude.  Like most of America (and apparently the UK), I'd like him to let this Paula album disintegrate into nothingness.  I mean, the album itself wouldn't be bad if you didn't know the context 

(You: That's a sorry excuse. Me: Bitch, I'm a Stan.  That's the best I could do!). 

To put a cinematic spin on my review of Paula, I dug it like Marcus Graham dug Nelson's first try at the Kissable ad:

That said, it's time for Robin to get rid of the cherries and lose the banana! 

For the remainder of his tour, he needs to concentrate on reintroducing himself to the general public WITHOUT the Paula album.  He needs to get back to basics and find his way out of this rabbit hole he's dug for himself.  


Besides, y'all know Mariah is through whom all blessings flow for me.  If I can still Stan hard in the paint after 2001 with that crazy bitch, I can certainly wait this out. No problem.

Sir, A Word...: An Open Letter To Robin Thicke

Wesley's Face = My Feelings on Robin

The following is an open letter to my babydaddy, Robin Thicke, regarding that Grade A Bullshit he participated in last night during the VMAs.  

Yes, I'm pretty sure he'll never read it. 
Yes, I'm sure he gives -43 damns about it. 
Yes, I am still writing it. 
And yes, you will read it & get your life. 

Shall we begin? *clears throat*

Robin, Robin, Robin….

Like…where do I begin with you?
You are in timeout – let’s start there.

I wish I could summon Ike Turner from his grave JUST so he could give you a backhanded pimp slap with the power of 1,000 undocumented domestic abuse claims right across your beautiful face.

I wish Kanyetta Kardashian had interrupted that shit and NOT let you and that heffa finish.

I wish the lights had gone out Beyonce Superbowl-style.

I didn’t have time to watch anything past Gaga’s performance live so by the time I got home, my FB and Twitter feeds blew up.  All I saw was your name, Miley’s name, and a trail of assorted OMGs and WTFs.  That’s all Mama needed to know you chose Stunt Queen Antics over a performance that could have been epic.  You had all the elements in place: two hot rappers, REAL dancing girls with REAL asses and lots of lights.  Then you chose to take off your pants, crouch over and shit on it all by adding that hillbilly bitch to the mix.  I felt like Trey after Ricky got shot.

Why for, man?  I’m so mad at you. HEATED!

Well, I WAS heated but I slept on it and spoke to MY God about it.  (My God = Whitney Houston’s ghost.  #RIP - #NeverForget)  I gained insight to that debauchery.  I know exactly why you did it.  Allow me to tally the ratchet reasons up as to why you did what you did:

1) You were told that you would walk away with zero major Moonmen before the show started.  The good people at award shows will let stars know well in advance what the deal is.  

2) It was Justin Timberlake’s night.  I know – I don’t really dig him like that, either, but I will let him cook because he’s earned the right to do so. (...you still rule all...)

3) Although your career spans almost 20 years, this is the first time you were famous.  I mean, Black folks BEEN on, but now…you are what Chris Rock coins as White People Famous.  Mainstream fame is easy to get and hard to maintain.  The crazy success of Blurred Lines ain’t happenin’ again and well, you had to do SOMETHING to make the night memorable.

And, my love, you did.  Oh my.  You did THAT. 

The first step to realizing you have a problem is saying it out loud: Say this with me -  

I allowed Hannah Montana to rub my no-no place with a foam finger.

I allowed Hannah Montana to grind her flat ass on me on basic cable.

Rihanna - who would hump a tree for Instagram likes - was thoroughly disgusted by me.

Now see? Don't you feel dirty? Please tell me you see the error in your ways. 

I don’t even blame Miley directly (although she needs a Big Mama ass whippin', too.).  If I was 21, rich, muddled with daddy issues and completely devoid of class, I’d be acting a zip-dang fool with a married man onstage mere feet from his wife, too. 

But you, sir – this is not a cute look for you. AT ALL.

Except for a few extreme fuckery enthusiasts who live for shit like this, no one is impressed.  Like – NO ONE! President Obama will call you a jackass before the weekend, this I am certain of.

The biggest disappointment for me was that you felt like you had to resort to hoodrat things in order to maintain the fame.  After years in the music industry making solid music for yourself and other artists I adore like Brandy and Christina Aguilera, you sold yourself for chicken change on that stage and I am in my feelings about that.  I feel like Pink rolling around on that dirty mattress in her video.  Give me one good reason/Just a little bit's enough... SANG IT, ALECIA!

I hope this isn't the beginning of the end of my Stanship for you because I've been riding for you since the FIRST album.  I really hope you got it out of your system - occasional stunts and shows are fine as a celeb, but last night can NEVER happen again.  The only other person you could have had onstage that would have made me walk into traffic is Onika Maraj and I already GAVE you a pass with that Shakin' It For Daddy song you made with her on 2009's Sex Therapy album.

So really, this is Strike Two.  Lemme find out you plan to do a duet with J. Lo....

In conclu, do better, Robin.  Do fucking better.
Yours In Christ, Kels.

(And P.S. You are STILL finer than baby hair & I'mma still hold you down...but you are on punishment.  I'll be on sabbatical with Lance Gross.  *blows kisses*)

The Shit I Don't Like (But Secretly Enjoy): Top 5 Annoying Facebook Personalities

Facebook is a lovely place - I should know because more often than not, you can catch me in these FB streetz daily doing all types of stuff... 

Reading random statuses about how shitty Mondays are.

Looking at baby pictures of Kayla's lessers.

Stalking ex-boyfriends' profiles to further confirm I'm the best thing that ever happened to them.

However, every once in a while, my Feed is infiltrated by tomfoolery.  The statements the word 'DUH' is made of.  Some posts make me wonder aloud why I let these people lease space on my Wall. Then I remember why...

Their innate dumbassness tickles my funnybone ever so much!

*raises hand* But who would I point & laugh at?

It's a mental quandary many of us face on social media: I know reading your posts will make my IQ drop 30.5 points, so why do I still give you virtual oxygen?  Am I really that hard up for an ego boost?  Is laughing at your mental inadequacies really that high I need in life?

The answer is an emphatic hell yes.

Yesterday, I asked my FB Family to share with me those folks that make them SMH & LOL simultaneously with their foolishness.  I got some good ones:

"Unchristian christians..bitch you brought me two bags of loud twenty minutes ago (and) now Jesus is your light." (Honey, yes! Get your heathenous ass to and gether.)

"The bragger. It's kool to pop ya collar every now and then but c'mon." (Exactly.  One that is truly winning doesn't have to shout it from the FB rooftops.)

"When someone overshares their heath issues. I don't want to know about, or more importantly SEE your infected toe." (*vomits in hat* Such nastiness!)

In turn, I came up with a list of Top 5 FB personalities that make me question why I learned to read in the first place.

CAUTION: If any of these personalities reflect you & we are FBF, don't be in your feelings & stuff.  Mama loves you. Besides, I'm keeping you on for mutually beneficial reasons: You get to feel good about your keystrokes & I get to laugh at them.  We both win. If you aren't any of these people & can relate, read along and fight that air with me:

1) The Revolutionary

When Jay-Z & Beyonce started bumping body parts and a light-skinnded Brotha got elected to the White House, I never imagined it would lead posts on posts on posts about how these three people are the equivalent of Hitler's bastard children.  The Revolutionary will have you believing that Bey's yaki is here to hypnotize you with every hair whip and that Barack is tiptoeing in your house at night cutting off your free cable.  I like a little speculation with my tea and my mind is free but the Revolutionary takes it to another level.  The worst is when they post those low-budget YouTube videos of what you SHOULD be focusing on in life.

"Fuck your statuses about your kids, your job, or what you thought of the manmeat in Magic Mike - watch this chopped & screwed clip of George W. Bush saying something stupid & let twist it into something intellectually shady together..." O_o Girl.

If Malcolm X & MLK had Facebook in heaven, they would 'Like' the Revolutionary's posts and then comment, "I marched, boycotted, was thrown in jail, got spat on by racist rednecks, bit by police dogs and then got murked for civil change.  What the hell are YOU going to do because this FB protesting ain't it. LOL".

2) The Momzilla 

Being someone's mother is hard enough without having to deal with some funky bitch who thinks her parenting skills shit on yours.  The Momzilla is the epitome of why we don't have a female president yet.  This is the mom that throws you virtual side eyes when you post a stat about your 6-year-old loving Family Guy or you feel bad because you missed a child's event because of a late work meeting. She loves to post statuses like:

"My little Andy just finished Grapes of Wrath for the fifth time, cooked us all dinner and discovered the cure for AIDS.  See what happens when you turn the TV off - mommies, take note!" (-___-)

O RLY?!?! Well, my kid just told me that LMFAO was the best music group ever & ate the last of my Hershey's Special Dark, so....yeah. =/ Cunt.

3) The Ebonics Whisperer 

If U tipe lyk dis n u r ovah tha age uv 18, git yo muhfukin lyf n ordah!

Where has the education system gone left when a person who pays taxes types like a stroke victim talks?  I refuse the Ebonics Whisperer like Fantasia refuses single men.  Like Ciara refuses success in music.  Like Kim K. refuses White peen.  That said, the best advantage of having these poor unfortunate souls on your Wall destroying the English language is showing a person over the age of 50 this grammatical fuckery.  My mother once read aloud the About Me profile of a mutual friend we have & I damn near pissed myself as she tried to read it back.  She's a teacher so she was EXTRA frustrated! Ah....good times.

4) The Cousin

Yes, your ghetto ass Cousin.  Everyone has at least one in their Feed, regardless of race.  Whether they live in the PJs or the trailer park, The Cousin always posts something that makes you question the civil rights movement.  One of my FBF's posted a picture album entitled "K-Mart Swag".  This person and their equally uncultured friends were posing in club clothes outside of the K-Mart exit.  I bullshit you not one iota.  They also live for statuses like this:

"my babydaddy aint shyt that nigga know he owe me sum money so if u see Terius out at the club, let that nigga know I got boys comin' for him!!!" (Ch...She mad.)

This is not something you should be posting on FB, straight up.  Let that fool come up dead & that's your ass.  But you cain't tell The Cousin shit.  Hood life has their mindset thinking that this is proper behavior...so just laugh & comment on the status so you can get further updates on how this all pans out.

5) The Dysfunctionator
Every. Single. Status. Update. Depresses. My. Eyeballs.

If your relationship sucks that bad, disconnect yourself from the peen & find a fuck 'em dress.  I understand the occasional ho-hum to get it out & receive some virtual hugs from the FB Fam, but it starts to get hilarious when every status you post would make DMX cry.  When I can't tell the difference between your stats and a Sex & The City Season Three script, we have a problem:

9am: "I love my baby SO much! MUAH!"

Noon: "Why are you doing this to me????!!?  I loved-ded you!"

2pm: *posts Someone Like You video*4pm: "Thanks for the call, baby.  I love you again!"

Like, no.  Rethink your lifespace without Facebook in it.  Your quality of life is making my Wall shed thug tears. Stop.

That's my five - if you ever come in contact with these types, think twice before you delete or hide them.  They actually bring a well-roundedness to your social media experience.  Also, save print screens.  It will give you something to laugh at in your spare time.  I have a folder chock full of print screens and it brings me ratchet delight!

Nippy.

Yesterday, I was in Wal-Mart with my family, searching for the cheapest 12-pack of toilet paper I could find when my phone started blowing the fuck up.  Texts, VMs, FB alerts - it was like my iPhone had the vibrating motor of a Rabbit.  As I held the industrial size pack of Angel Soft in one arm & dug through my purse for my phone with the other (I swear, Hoffa's body is probably at the bottom of my Tod's hobo bag!), I still couldn't find it so I kept moving.  Two hungry kids and a husband who hates germs = Kellee, get your ass in gear!

Once I got the cart parked in the school supplies section, I found my phone and saw the first of about 25 text messages: "Is it true about Whitney?  Is she really dead?".  My initial thought was, "Whatevs.  They just killed off Eddie Murphy last week & he's still around making bad movies. Pssh!".  But then I remembered it was Grammy weekend - Whit's whereabouts would be too well known for this to be a rumor.  I feverishly Googled "Whitney" and there it was...AP confirmed.

It took everything in me to hold back the tears & haul ass out of there with my list completed.  On the way home, I cried silently into a spitrag (fuck you, I'm a mom).  I went home, avoided all the news channels, cracked open a beer & put on the movie Take Me Home Tonight...and what was the first thing the 80s-inspired flick showed - immediately after the opening credits?  A poster of Whitney Houston.  AWESOME!!! (except not so much...)

All evening, I thought about all of my Whitney-influenced memories (and there's a shit ton of them).  The one that stood out was my first Whitney memory...

It was 1985 & I had just come home from another wicked day in first grade.  I wasn't that crazy about school - between the dreadful uniform and equally dreadful people, it was all I could do to jump out of my Grandma's Nova & get to her living room TV.  My mom & uncle got my grandparents cable for their anniversary but they never watched it.  If it wasn't Oprah, The Cubs or Charles Bronson, they weren't  much interested.   Since I had a few hours before he got home from work, I plopped myself in front of the TV with my homework, turned on MTV and I see Kurt Loder interviewing this woman with AWL this hair.  I mean, I thought it was Diana Ross at first...it was a lot of fucking hair!  The name "Whitney Houston" appeared under the screen and I thought she was some type of beauty queen.  I shrugged & started the grueling task of double-digit addition.  After a few minutes, I heard The Voice that would change me forever...

"...A feeeeew stolen moments/Is alllll that we shaaaare..."

That was pretty much the end of the game for me - I was mesmerized,  Before Whitney came along, I was all about Michael Jackson, Madonna & Cyndi Lauper.  That's it. Imagine my black ass, running around with the rainbow feathers from my grandfather's car air freshener in my hair singing 'She Bop".  Yes, a rarity on the South Side of Chicago, I know. I liked Tina Turner, Aretha Franklin & Diana Ross - but they were old ladies to me. Whitney was young & pretty - she looked like my mom, who I thought was the prettiest woman on Earth.  I had pop-bottle glasses and was missing at least 7 teeth.  Not so cute.  Whitney showed me glamour that I thought was attainable.  

I decided - right then & there - I was going to teach myself to sing like Whitney Houston.  Mind you, I had never sang a lick in my life but I was driven.  If I couldn't look like Whitney, I was going to sing like her.  My mom bought me her first two albums & I imitated exactly what I heard.  I recorded the albums onto a tape to take with me to my grandma's house so I could use her piano to play the notes I couldn't hit by ear.  I spent every weekend over the next few years perfecting all the intricacies of a Nippy performance:

• How she tapped the mic with her two middle fingers to keep time
• How she flourished the mic away from her to catch a long run
• How she quivered her chin when she hit the high C

Over the years, Whitney's addictions and fuckery-laden antics become more of the focus than the legendary talent she encompassed.  I'll admit, I've chuckled at my girl a few thousand times.  Hell, I have Being Bobby Brown on DVD.  However, I would be remiss if I didn't admit my full-fledged Stanship for her.  I would have never thought about singing if it wasn't for Whitney.  Embracing my voice boosted my self-esteem to the high levels you know of it today. :)  

I wish things could have ended differently for her.  (Allegedly) falling asleep & drowning in a bathtub after popping a few Xanax is NOT the business. I especially wish her daughter well - she is going through some Liza Minnelli shit right now that I don't wish on anyone.  If you recall your Diva History, Liza's mother Judy Garland was on a verge of a comeback (much like Whitney) and it ended tragically with her dead in a bathroom (just like Whitney).  Even though Liza is still in the building, she was certainly worse for the wear after her mother's death.  Cissy Houston has to bury her child - no one should have to go through that.

As for her Number One Fan (me!), I'll be OK.  Her music is embedded in me forever.  I know every Whitney song (the hits & the unreleased) by heart.  She is still The Queen of all Divas (except Aretha...because we Divas are required to say that.  Ask Beyonce.).  I don't regret turning on the TV that spring day back in '85.  If not, I'd probably still be trying to be Madonna and well, that's just no good for a Black chick.

Whitney is still the ultimate to me.  No one can hold a candle to her.  I raise a virtual Big Gulp Martini to her.  Here's to hoping she finds the peace she wasn't able to have on Earth.  I wish she was still here but it bees like that sometimes, I guess.  I could be trite & end this with my fave YouTube clip of one of her stellar performances, but I really can't bring myself to listen to the music right now.  I'm not sure I'll watch the Grammys tonight.  For now, I'll just hold on to that memory of my six-year-old self, discovering The Voice for the first time...

The Thirst

NOTE: Names & dates have been changed to protect the stupid, but trust - TRUST - that the fuckery-laden stories you are about to read are actual & factual.

I love Facebook - that's more than evident if you follow me. That said...Facebook ain't shit. Neither is Tha Twittuh.  This is mainly because the tools have become a beacon for The Thirst.  What's The Thirst, you ask?

The Thirst: (thûrst) n. The shameless emotional/sexual/fictional attachment to someone 100% unattainable.

It's become a frightening epidemic within social media, especially on Facebook.  Now, it's one thing if you are open to that type of reconnection. For me #doe, I haven't thought about you in years and one look at my profile should show you that I'm clearly off the market. Nonetheless, you gon' try it, huh? (-__-)  So sad, but I always have time for a healthy roasting session.

I've had a few online encounters of The Thirst, dating back to my Black Planet days in college.  BP was THEE watering hole for thirsty Negroes & Negresses, remember???  I think I may have caught a virtual STD fuckin' with BP. When I was a sophomore in college, a dude that once dated one of my best friends in high school tried to cybersex me in a public chatroom.  It was something like this:

Me: Hey Mike! Long time, no hear -  how you be?

Mike: What color are your panties, gurl?

Me: Um...so...*logs off & destroys BP profile*

Word??  You used to slob my best friend down in a Jeep Cherokee every weekend now you on this?  Honey...

Then we have MySpace.  *sigh* When you weren't dodging profiles of "professional musicians" and "aspiring models", you had that raggedy-ass Comments feed to deal with.  By this time, I was shacked up & damn near married.  Still, dudes were SO out of pocket on my shit:

"aye kelly (Ed. Note: mispelling my name & e'erthang...)...when you getin back to the chi? I need to see dem tittays"

Again - IN PUBLIC! Lawd, so yeah - I'm 0 for 2 out this bitch at this juncture in my life. Tragic.  

Then came Facebook.  It was pretty tame for a while - of course, you have the occasional ex who keeps it PG and acknowledges that you have a man.  That's cool -  we can rap a taste.  But then - it happened.  The Thirst found me in a way I had never expected...

So there I was at work, minding my own (and 521 FB friends') business when I see a familiar face in the People You May Know section.  Jason was a guy I had a very brief relationship with during one of my summers off from college.  And by "relationship", I mean we boinked like rabbits for three hot months until I went back to school & forgot all about him. We ended things as hot summer flings tend to end - with a big ol' Kanye Shrug in September.  Besides, I was in college & he was unemployed with a kid & working on his rap career.  Obviously, he wasn't going to be an integral part of my E! True Hollywood Story, so whatevs. I sent Jason a Friend Request, he accepted, sent me an inbox message of the usual "How you doing?" variety & that was that.

Jump to a month later - I get an inbox message from Jason stating the following (the following excerpts are all from actual emails):

"Hey Kel.  I was thinkn bout you the other day.  U taught me A LOT bout women.  we used to get down like whaaaaat!! When you comin back in town, get at me 708-XXX-XXXX"

Now see?? Why did you go & fuck up a perfectly passive online friendship? So my response:

"Jason - come on, now! LOL! You already know that's not even about to happen, but I appreciate the sentiment.  Be good."

*nods head* I think I handled that pretty well, amIright? But you know this isn't the end.  The Thirst never sleeps:

"LOLOLOL -  i feel you, tho. I was just up writing soem lyrics (Ed. note: Yes, a decade later, this nigga STILL tryin' to be a rapper...) & U popped in my mind. it's all good..."

But it's never all good with The Thirst.  Fast forward two months later:

"Yo, when U comin to chicago? I'm tryin to see U"

Ever the cordial cunt, I respond:

"My husband, son & I are coming up for my little brother's basketball game next week.  What's up??"

Jason's in need of a beverage at this point:

"Man, LOL! You ain't hav to say alla that.  I got the message the last time.  Ain't no body sweatin' you! LOL! You crazy!"

Clearly, a nerve has been touched...but y'all already know that's all I needed:

"LOL! Why so serious?  I think you might be sweating me just a little...and I totally get that 'cause I'm me.  However, know that you & I won't have one-on-one time together, like, ever."

Oh boy.  Right after I sent that response, I knew all hell was about to break loose.  But this...THIS RIGHT HERE...

"Lissen bitch, don't be emalin' my man and shit.  He is vury happy with us & he told me about you tryin to see him.  U ain't slick, hoe."

Wow. Really?

Yes - The Thirst has a sibling: The Salt.  His BM emailed me this nonsense.  Now did I snatch her bald for calling me out of my name?  Nope.  Bitch, Hoe, SlutBucket Broad - these are not terms unfamiliar to me.  What I did do was forward her every single email he sent me, as well as posted them on his Wall for the public to see.  Shortly thereafter, Jason excommunicated me from his Facebook life. That was for the best, I suppose.  Although, I did miss out on a prime opportunity to roast them both simultaneously.  It is a specialty of mine. 

I still have visits from various formations of The Thirst occasionally.  It's something I've learned to manage responsibly, like herpes simplex 10.  If only they made a Valtrex for it...

What A Highblower!: The Christmas Edition - Part One

NOTE: I forgot to mention in my previous post about my stance on religion.  Yeah, I don't have one.  I'm no atheist (something has to had prevented me from getting my ass kicked all these years) but the Catholic church bores me to tears. Besides, they won't let gays be great but protect child rapists.  So know - GOING IN! - that this post will have nothing to do with Jesus.


Okay, let's let the holy rollers exit stage left before we continue...


All right...*clears throat*...let's begin:


I think the last time I truly enjoyed Christmas, I was a virgin, Hammer had a hit record & it was cool to wear your pants backwards. Once I started working & having to purchase gifts for others, the season began its' ascent into fucklessness.  Now that I have children, it's pretty much the most dreadful time of the year.


Take my son for example: We got the Toys R Us Big Toy Book in the mail & he went apeshit.  FYI: that travesty should be fucking outlawed. It's the epitome of corporate greed & mass marketing to children.  (*pulls out feathered pen to write Obama, licks tip* Dear Mr. President, Big thick adbooks for toys? Stop that shit.  Yours In Christ, Kels). This child circled every single toy that wasn't pink. Really?  Then you have the biggest greedfest of all - Black Friday.  Being inside of a Wal-Mart at 12 midnight with an electronics aisle that looks like the first 15 minutes of Saving Private Ryan - no ma'am!


That's probably why I decided to postpone all of my shopping until tomorrow - the last Saturday before Yahweh's birthday.  Yawwup! *smacks gum*

I have faith all will go well.  I have a list, people!  Well...I have aisles designated for everyone on my list. I am going to put on my Beats by Gaga, listen to this joint on repeat & hope I don't have to elbow someone in the neck over a $25 Star Wars Light Saber:

*You know how Kanye inspires me to be reckless.  LOL! I'll let you know how it goes in Part 2 - stay tuned!

My Name Is Kellee & I'm An Alcoholic...

...okay, not really - like I really need another meeting to attend.

I just wanted to get your attention (you'll find that's a constant theme here). Welcome to my zany world of divahood, wifeliness, daycare antics & all-around work/life imbalance. Here's a few ground rules/warnings:


Uno. I curse. A lot. So don't be all, "ZOMG!" when the word cunt crosses your eyeballs here. That's my second favorite word, next to "clearance".

Dos. I'm a big, fat, stinking commie Liberal. I recycle religiously, believe that global warming will destroy this Earth before my children can retire, knows that Rush Limbaugh has got to be as close to the devil as we'll know in this life, thinks Barack Obama gets no respect & would have done the whole Occupy Wall Street thingamabob if it wasn't so damn cold outside. If you just gagged about any of that, I don't think we can be friends but we can debate gregariously.

Tres. This isn't another mommy blog. Yes, I will discuss the crazy little people in my life, but we'll cover lots of topics that make me cop the Thinker's Pose: politics, work, pop culture, relationships, the latte I purchased that made me not only late for work but caused an overdraft fee on my debit card, what my mom/husband/frenemy said to me that made me frown for 5.2 minutes until I had a glass of wine, etc.

Quatro. Please enjoy my musings or at least humor me. Comment profusely. People have been asking me to start a blog for years & I've finally mustered up the courage to do it. Don't make me shut this bitch down.

So, yep. There we go. I'll be back when something interesting pisses me off.