So I just got done doing a phone consult with a woman who bills herself as someone who can help you overcome stage fright. We had a pretty detailed 20 minute conversation and I was feeling slightly less terrified about working with her. We set up a in person appointment for Friday and she ended the conversation with…

Don’t worry, I’ll have you singing in front of crowds at the Garden in no time.

sigh. back to the drawing board.

Happy Valentines Day!!!

Apologies for outing your middle name, but I recall from being a kid that people were called by their entire name when they got themselves in trouble. From the looks of shit and think I can freely say you’ve gone and done it now. You’ve said Nigger (thunderclap) in a sentence and it wasn’t in reference to Nigger (thunderclap) Run Fork, Virginia.

Now just to give you bit of Clarity (not being punny, but you name your songs after single words and moments like this will arise) I myself am Black and Female. I was alerted to your comments by an intricate network of black elders who are typically in charge of the monthly (Fine, bi-monthly sometimes we are behind schedule) “Secret Black People Meetings”.

Naw, just playing…excerpts from the interview were in my reader when I woke up via Mediaite. I read it then I read it again and I realized one thing…you need to only do interviews that are videotaped. Transcribed conversations just seem to fall apart for you. The idea that you held a conversation with the person interviewing you is lost. The word Nigger(thunderclap) needs to be accompanied by a visual/audio representation of the person saying it for the feeling/sentiment with which it’s being said to be understood.

I read the entire interview and you were headed down a patch of bad road using the “hood pass” analogy at all. If that was the case based on my life I should go around talking about my “Caucasian Clearance”. My Best Friend is a fine Aryan Queen and I’ve been accused of being “Well Spoken” on multiple occasions. With that said, on to the next.

“David Duke cock”, John? For reals? You know the dude interviewing you was doing his job and you two aren’t friends right? That’s some 2am we just polished off two to three bottles of red shit and We go way back and have secrets shit right there. You may not have noticed, but he probably had an erection the rest of the interview because he knew you were about to get fucked.

Now the big question you must have at this point is “She said she was black wonder if she’s mad my dick is racist?”. The answer to that is Nope. Not at all.

To tell the truth based on it’s track record if you have a “David Duke Cock” I must be the owner of a “Grand Magi Vagina”.  The difference is I don’t advertise that fact (I know I just disclosed it in this letter, but it was integral to the story, keep up). In the grand scheme of things the drama will blow over since Internet Minds soon forget. Woe betide to the next black female you walk down the street with because the press will be all up in her business. As for music sales it won’t really do a damn thing because I’m sure a healthy chunk of your audience is comprised of girls who are white and want to bang you. You just gave them the drive to push on.

Now as for the apology I understood why you had to issue one (your publicist probably had a shiver run up his or her spine imagining Reverend Al asking where his Oil Sheen was because he was going to be on camera tomorrow) but it’s the only part of all this that kind of pissed me off. You said you didn’t mean it with malice and that should have been enough. True the word has power and stirs up a reaction, but people can attempt to be sensible. You didn’t take to the stage drunk and do a parody cover “Your Nigger (thunderclap) is a Wonderland”. You told a story. You had a context. I almost feel like if it was spelled -ga instead of -er I wouldn’t have had to write this long ass letter.

In closing if you are planning on getting any more tattoo’s you’ll consider one that reads “Not everyone is your damn friend, behave”. I’m not even a portion of a fraction as famous as you and I know that by heart.

Purple Rain,

Patrice.

P.S.  I knew Jessica had to be a retardedly (thunderclap) good lay. I figured ya’ll weren’t lazing around discussing Goethe and shit. Not calling her dumb she just looks like banging is one of her superpowers. Something in the Nobody’s Homeness of her eyes.

P.P.S. The “If you charged me 10k to Fuck you, I’d sell all my shit” part was sweet. It might just be me that thinks that though, I’m not big on flowers.

So Monday Night I spent some time with the delightful duo of @MizCity and @db. We hit Sea for Thai and then they asked if I was interested in “Absolute Shit Show Bingo”. Don’t know how they even thought I would say no. Also I wanted to raise a glass to the success of their respective Event Camp and Digital Somethings events during  Social Media Week NY.

We headed over to Tortilla Flats for Bingo Night and Boy, Howdy did I get my Shit Show. At the bar as soon as you walked in the door was CHRISTINE! (this is the only correct way to present her name. Punctuation does not do her justice).

CHRISTINE! looked like she lived hard and fast in the last half of the 70’s, all of the 80’s, 90’s and 00’s. She was already firing on all cylinders when we sat down and just got better as the night went on. Everything from rhyming with the Bingo Caller, accosting other bar patrons to randomly yelling “OH MY GOD!! THIS IS WHITESNAKE!!!!!”.

But, the absolute highlight of the CHRISTINE! experience was the video above. Another woman at the bar looked strikingly like a young CHRISTINE! down to the precariously perched hair on top of her head. In an attempt to rip the fabric of the time space continuum old CHRISTINE! made young CHRISTINE! dance with her (themselves?). Moments later she gathered her light up Mardi Gras beads and disappeared into the great night.

The rest of Bingo was dedicated to her memory with everyone shouting their favorite CHRISTINE! moment out and “I miss CHRISTINE!” being echoed throughout the room.

10 points (and Happy Birthday!) to bartender Fabrizio for shattering the myth that you can’t get faced on a Monday night. Also born on this night the “Tortilla Flats Pact” was born. It entails that a true pal will let you know when it’s time to pour your drunk and or old ass in a cab and go home and stay there.

Edit: Damien shot me a message to remind me there is also a photo of the CHRISTINE!’s letting us know that the philosophy for life is contained in the pages of a Russell Simmons self help book. DO YOU, indeed ladies.

I forgot about this somehow and now that I recall I am happy. Tyra just bought my love. New season starts March 10th.

Got a last minute gig blogging the Grammy Awards so I’ll be marooned on my couch tonight.

Join me for Grammy Chat from 7:50 pm EST over on the Hell and Heartaches Tinychat .

So yesterday I got a request to give my email address to someone from my Grandmother. A Demon of yesteryear then popped up on my gchat full of injured feelings and general butthurt over this totally throwaway post. My I don’t care is so strong I thought I’d share….

Not Me: We should talk.
Me: Por k’s…Who’s this?
Not Me: You know who this is it’s Not Me.
Me: Negro, last time I spoke your name aloud George W. wasn’t a comedy of errors yet.
Not Me: Whatever we need to have a serious conversation.
Me: It ain’t my baby Murry. I can’t even make girls.
Not Me: Ok, you want me to talk to you like your a basic bitch then cool. You are going to take down that post you made about my family on your little blog. I have a wife.
Me: A. If you are intentionally trying to confuse me you win. B. Has past experience taught you that talking to me like I was born earlier today works? C. Call me out my name again. I’ll find religion just so I can lose it.
Me: State what you want clearly then leave me the devil alone.
Not Me: That post about what my mom gave you for Christmas needs to come down. Your uncle forwarded it to me.
Me: LOL. Hold Up. You went and put your cape on because I said you were an awful lay? Surely your wife has sorted that out by now.
Not Me: Keep being funny. I’m asking before I look into talking a lawyer.
Me: Yes!!! Let’s have whether or not you are a horific lay judged by a jury of your peers. wonder if they will be charging you with Manslaughter or the inability to slaughter.
Me: I hope we gett Judge Joe Brown. He’s way better than Judge Mathis.
Not Me: Keep Laughing. I’ll talk to you about this again. Matter of fact fuck that I’ll talk to your granddad.
Me: Do you need me to actually point out where that idea is flawed logic?
Not Me: Whatever bitch keep pushing I’m done with you…for now.
Me: Foreshadowing? Negro you such a story teller.

I’m typically not one to pandhandle in back to back posts but my Computer is DED and I like talking to all of you…..