Happy Thanksgiving!

Should have got boozed up for this bus trip. Who the hell was I
kidding thinking I would leave my apartment by 5. I can't even leave
my apartment for work by 5 and I get paid to do that. I made it
though, juniors cheesecake in tow as requested, so all is good with
the world. When will greyhound get with the program like the
airlines! This isle is big enough for a cart of miniature bottles of
vodka and some type of cracker. Animal crackers, those delicious ass
cookies that kirt and I fought over on the way to la, better yet,
greyhound dog shaped animal crackers. I'm a fuckin genius! These
overpriced cheese it's from hudson news are gonna have to do. If they
didn't have every magazine I could ever dream of I would have
boycotted the damn place a long time ago, Like that time I boycotted
the corner store near bloomingdales that didn't accept debt or credit
for purchases under $10. That shit is illegal you know. Anyway, you
know I got a magazine. I
couldn't help myself!

Stop textin me happy thanksgiving, shit!

Mad ( yeah I said mad) old people on the bus, I got conned into
letting one sit beside me. She needed help getting her bag in the
overhead and you know me. I told her to go fuck herself. Naw, I helped
and now were bff's. She's drinking what looks like the oldest cup of
coffee I've ever seen, and what have we here, a piece of fried
chicken, wrapped in paper towel and foil. 2010 and black people still
takin fried chicken on trips. It's thanksgiving, aren't you gonna eat
in 4.5 hours (depending on traffic and weather conditions?, says the
driver)

Anyway, back to the mini vodka's. Can't you see an angry ass black
girl in the aisle talkin bout "thank you fa. Chusin greyhoun, Imma be
your stewardess, my name qweta and if you need sunthin, just raise
your hand and I'll come and see what you want" she's sitting in that
first seat, you know the one that no one is ever in, but the drivers
coat and briefcase. ( What's in that damn briefcase? Tickets? Those
little baggage claim elastics? Hmmmmmmm) qweta's talkin loud as
hell, loud like the damn driver said everybody else shouldn't be
talkin . "Quan you pickin me up?" 10 hands up including mine and she
ain't movin, Maybe this is a bad idea.
Gran's got silver nails, oh you fancy huh? I think she's appalued by
my cheetah leggings, that's ok, I'm appaulded by her bangay-avon
fragrance. I love these leggings, she's fancy and I be killin em!

No cuties on the bus and were still in jersy, I'm goin to sleep.

My name Cassandra and my favorite color is Fluorescent Beige

For release dates in you area check Oprahs website

http://www.oprah.com/article/oprahshow/20090918-tows-precious-release-dates

Note to Bitches: Fall back!

WALE IS MINE!

SOLANGE...CHRISETTE...WHAT????

I FIGHT OVER DUDES!

SPARK OFF!

Re-Fabulous:Defined

So the past few monthes have been a hurricane of keeping busy, being busy, and taking care of business. Through all this taking care of business I've neglected to take care of myself. Ive been doing the basics, hair, watching the news, nails, exfoliating, keeping up with my magazines, but the extras have fallen to the way side. While I've always been fabulous(wanna read that again) Im really ready to show my fabness in every way shape and form. I've spent enough time comtemplating my approach to fashion, literature, art, current affairs and those personal indulgences that we all have like the "Tiny and Toya" show and from it all, just like a debutante I re-emerge with the fierceness of a lioness and Tyra Banks all rolled up into one.

Ive made a small list of 10 things that I will do to embody and exemplify my fierceness. Ranging all the way from finally starting my fashion line (insert applause) to beginning to exercise (I am not ordering a size 18 dress for Shannons wedding-have I been avoiding the full body mirrors lately?? NAW) to finding a new job to even going out a little more often and back again. AND most important of all is blogging more often. I go back and forth about blogging, I have this hidden/human fear that some one somewhere is reading this and pointing out all of my misspelled words, my failed attempts at comedy, and my all together lameness. It's a fear thats had me at the cliff called the "delete this page" screen a couple of times. I stand really close to the edge, let my arms hang over tilt my head back and then get distracted by something like the Kanye West vs. Taylor Swift Drama, form an opinion about it (she should thank him for putting her on the map...shes right, she shouldnt have won that damn award because she is a country artist and if Kanye didnt jump up there in his drunken state and save her from her self, the world would have shrugged Lady Gaga and Beyonce's lost off with a "They'll get some other category". And did we notice that while everyone is pissy that Mr. West didnt publicly apologize to her immediatly and overtly, she's yet to publicly and overtly thank Beyonce. Anyone notice or jump back when her little flippant ass got up there and said..."Can we try this again..." then goes on to thank her brothers middle school. Taylor...F(Y)L) and decide that people need to hear what I have to say. I worry my blogg is a little presumptious, but if it was written any other way...I wouldnt be writing it.

Im GIVING IT you guys, GIVING IT ALL, Want some?

For The Win: Whitney Houston's Re-Fabulous and ODB's First Born Son...Watch me tie these two together.

So here's Whitney in all her re-fabulouse glory! I, along with most of you watched her interview with the one and only Oprah Winfry and was definately moved to tears. I only caught the second sit down and was initially blown away by her skin. As I watched I slathered my face with vaseline and pondered how something so good could go so wrong. She talked about coming out of her trials and tribulations on top and the people that were behind her the whole way, letting her do her bad, and helping her come out of it when she was ready. The most touching portion of this was when she performed and did that oh so swell naming of names. Clive, Dionne, Oprah. I had to marval at her "village" and of course admire my own as I trip, slip and stumble my way through these twenty somethings. I mean Im not doing crack but, you read my RE-Fabulous post.



So then it took me back to one of the notes I wrote to myself at RTB( Rock the Bells) I finally got to go to this alllllllllllllllll day Hip Hop concert. The Homie and I along with his other bougie friends enjoyed the hip hop and that stuff that makes the sound make shapes and colors. Amidst all of this, Wu Tang Clan, who are not to be fucked with, introduced to us Boy Jones the first born son of Old Dirty Bastard. Now even with colors and shapes, the first thing that runs through my mind is the significance his name has on his up bringing. So your father was a raging rap manaic that fathered 13 others after you yet was a pioneer in a multi billion dollar industry. Through all of that I definately could see where you loose so much of your sense of self that you would reduce your name to the one your given when your a mere 6 sec out of the womb. Maybe your mother was tired and wasnt up to naming you just yet, but all your life. Is that your general sentiment? Could be, espec. with a dad like Dirt Dog, Sweet Baby Jesus. So, theres that. Then Im feeling the music and so is Boy Jones as he performes his dads verses in "Shimy Shimmy Yawww" View the offender. So I'm imagining this meeting of the minds for the Clan of Wu Tang. And they are reminicing about their fallen friend, much like Clive and Dionne and Oprah are when they are thinking of Whitney, before she gave up that narcotic, and they're saying "what can we do?" Sholders shrugged, looked left, looked right, then finally they come up with something. In ODB's case he has already passed and the only thing they can think of is to salvage his first born son. In sort of a "pour a little out for my homie"" Lion King type way, they offered up to Hip Hop fanatics who pay money to listen to rap for some 8 hours straight ODB's first born son, and here by dub him. Boy Jones.

Whitney's on something different now and its not the white horse. Amen. I was so amazed at how frank she was and how marvelously she explained her situations. I took it as a true sign of strengh and beauty, plus this new album cover did't hurt and these Alexis Bittar earrings she's using as a wepon of mass destruction have me living. I WILL COP THESE, even if it means no food for a few days. Like I really need to eat anyway.

Don't Lie, You know you love: Tiny and Toya ! YEAHHHH BAAABBY

I've been waiting so long for this to premeire and also for there to be an empty 30 min in my living room so that I can focuse on the foolishness that is both Tiny and Toya. The accents, the weaves, the Louis bags...Oh my!

I won't lie and act like as soon as I saw the commercial for this I didnt set the DVR, I surely did. As I watched the first episode, I was completely satisfied with the tomfoolery. Now sit there and shake your head. Yeah, I know your too good to watch such. Your busy watching CNN and
CSPAN and Headline News when you wanna relax, but here I am talking about what is probably the most hood tv show since Keisha Cole but third in line to this coming falls "Frankie and Neffe" (gon' DVR that too...might even throw a party for it!) I know, I know...far, but with the canceling of Girlfriends, The Game, and shit I can't even remember the other good (entertaining/positive) black shows that used to come, where else am I to turn. Gotti's Way?, Baldwin Hills?, Harlem Heights?, all perfectly good examples of great black shows, but I need more. I know there's some room for debate on that last point but at the end of the day and yes in 2009 Im still looking for some kinship in my entertainment world. RE-RUNS OF The Cosby Show WILL NOT SUFFICE! I need to see my people in the shows that I watch and the magazines that I read, because lets face it...at the end of the day, all we really want is images of what we should aspire to. We need images that will keep us away from hording the same damn speedy LV duffle over and over and over again, I mean, we wouldnt want to make a fool of ourselves would we?