I turned on the TV about halfway-ish through the American Idol finale last night and when the sight of Frankie Valli performing with the losing dudes hit my eyes, I immediately scrambled for safety by changing the channel to anything but that. I was one hundred percent sober and it was too much messiness for my eyes, ears and soul to take. The only gore I want to see on a Thursday night is Dr. Lecter making meat flan out of human bone marrow on Hannibal. But I probably should’ve kept watching that mess to catch the unicorn nightingale that is Mimi possibly lip-synch for her life!
While wearing Barbie’s Christmas time wedding gown circa 1987, Mimi coated the ear canals of her lambs with pixie dust when she sang a medley of some of her hits. The lambs ate it up with a Hello Kitty spoon, but some people on Twitter declared that Mimi’s lip-synch performance was so bad that a deaf baby high on Novocaine could’ve done a better lip-synch job. But Mimi’s reps tell Entertainment Tonight that she did yodel out organic musical notes and did not move her mouth to a track:
Well, ET can set the record straight as Mariah’s reps tell us she absolutely sang the entire medley — Vision of Love, Make It Happen, My All, Hero, We Belong Together and her new single #Beautiful — completely live! Not only that, but we hear she delighted the crowd in between live shots by singing additional hits.
To me, sometimes it looks like she’s really singing and other times it looks like she’s yawning while Windex-ing an imaginary window. Who knows and I doubt Mimi really cares. It’s only American Idol, bitch isn’t coming back next season and I’m sure her final paycheck from FOX cleared before she went onstage. Mimi is onto other things like overseeing the design of a giant replica of a unicorn’s anus for her and Nick to exchange their vows in front of on their fifth and a half wedding anniversary.
Here’s the chick who won, the chick who lost, a deranged chola Muppet and Glamberace at last night’s season finale party.
There are many things that Cissy Houston hates like Bobby Brown, the thought of Whitney Houston clit wrestling with her best friend, lesbian stuff and gay stuff, but what she really hates is the invitation she got in the mail for Clive Davis’ pre-Grammy party on Saturday night. Whitney Houston died hours before Clive Davis’ annual party last year and this year he’s paying tribute to her at his party and invited the entire Houston family. Gary Houston, the brother who said to Whitney many years ago, “Whitney, meet crack, crack meet Whitney,” is going to the party, but Cissy Houston is not. Cissy Houston tells Access Hollywood that she was so offended by Clive’s invitation that she clutched her pearls, slapped a grandchild and ripped off her wig (and Cissy doesn’t even wear a wig!). Cissy said she’ll never go to a party at the same hotel where her daughter died.
“I got an invitation to the party — which is the most obscene thing. I don’t know why they would want me to come to the party in which she died, you know? Unheard of. I guess maybe he just sent me a copy for remembrance sake.”
So let’s see…
Clive Davis inviting Cissy Houston to his party = OBSCENE! UNHEARD OF! TRASHY! DISGUSTING!
Cissy Houston making money off of a tell-all about her daughter’s life = none of those words above
Got it, Cissy!
And here’s Cissy at the unveiling of four new wax statues of Whitney Houston at Madam Tussauds in NYC yesterday.
Last April, Mayim Bialik (professional name: Dr. Blossom) told the readers of her blog and then told everyone else about how her 3 and a half year old son Fred was still slurping leche out of her nipples. Dr. Blossom is all about attachment parenting, so she said at the time that she’s going to let Fred nurse on her chichis for as long as he wants. Some pictured a 21-year-old Fred sitting at a bar and ordering a cup of vodka before asking Dr. Blossom to squirt her leche into it so he can have a White Russian. But Frank won’t be enjoying a night cap from her nipple when he’s 30, because Dr. Blossom announced on her site today that he has quit her tit!
Dr. Blossom writes that Fred first quit weaning at night and then around Thanksgiving, they had their last breastfeeding moment together. Some days when Dr. Blossom looks down at her rigatoni nipples, she misses it a little:
As I sat on the couch in the very room where he was born four years and three months prior, he latched on happily and only nursed for a minute or two that day, since toddler nursings tend to not be long at all, especially when they start spreading them out by several days. He typically nursed from both sides since I was prone to clogged ducts for most of our nursing relationship, and it became our habit to make sure both sides were nursed on.
That day, though, he was distracted by his older brother shouting something, laughing, playing in the next room. His big blue eyes with the impossibly long tapered lashes darted around and settled on the next room, the source of the voice, his beloved older brother who himself had nursed two years and change. The world beyond my breast was calling, and he hopped off of my lap and ran to the world waiting for him.
That was the last time Fred nursed. I wanted to shout after him, “Choo-Choo, you forgot the other side!” But I didn’t. I held my tongue and watched him go. My big boy. In jeans. With a big boy haircut, finally, after years of golden locks begging for either an upsheren (ritual first haircut at age 3) or a Farrah Fawcett photo shoot. Fred was done nursing. Fred weaned. Sweet baby Fred who cared for me as I cared for him: we made it.
Fred did not ask about nursing for weeks after that day. And it wasn’t until much more recently–it’s been three months now since he nursed–that he asked to nurse. But now when he asks, he knows it’s funny. That he’s a big boy. That he doesn’t drink nummies anymore.
He’s done. Fred weaned.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being able to latch him on and make it all better. We have other ways to soothe Fred now.
I always felt like it’s her kid and her chichis, so whatever. Besides, who am I to judge? I think I’ve said this before, but I was a thumbsucker until the third grade. Bitches used to make fun of my thumbsucking ways, so I would suck my thumb under my desk. And yes, I realize that I just set myself up for a perfect joke, so have at it.
So congratulations to Fred! Congratulations to Dr. Blossom! Congratulation to Dr. Blossom’s tits! And congratulations to all of us for knowing this!
And according to Urban Dictionary, “nummies” is when you feel a numbing sensation on your gums after rubbing coke on them. So now I’m picturing a 4-year-old rubbing coke on his gums. (“Awww, I remember when I taught Lindsay how to do that. Memories!” – White Oprah)
Just like Alicia Silverstone and Dr. Blossom, Alanis Morrissette is raising her 17-month-old son, Ever, the attachment parenting way and talked to Good Morning America (click here to see that shit) about it. It seems like it was just yesterday when Alanis was singing about going down on a dude in a theater and now she’s going on about how she’s okay with titty feeding her son during first grade recess.
Because of that Time magazine cover that won’t ever go away, GMA asked Alanis about attachment parenting and she says that she knows it’s not for everyone. Alanis’ job allows her to bring son everywhere she goes. The only time they’re apart is when she’s on stage. They sleep together, eat together and go everywhere together. Ever will stop going mimi times when Alanis when he’s ready to stop. Ever will retire his mouth from Alanis’ nipple when he’s ready to do so. When Alanis was asked if she’s going to let Ever suck a meal out of her nip slit when he’s six, she nodded yes.
“I’ll stop whenever he wants. Some kids naturally stop at two, some stop at a couple of years later, its up to ever child. I will stop when he says it’s time to stop.”
I get that Alanis wants to be with Ever as much as possible and it works for her and her titty is there for him as long he wants it. I get all of that. But what I don’t get is when does Alanis get mommy breakdown time? Does she take Ever into the bathroom with her, put him on the floor and let him watch as she gets into an empty tub fully clothed and downs a bottle of prosecco while drunkenly crying about how all she wants to do is spend one night getting boozed up in a bar without a baby attached to her titty? Because that could be awkward.
Almost three years ago, President Obama united most of the American people when he said that certified jackass Kanye West was a jackass for popping the rainbow-coated bubble around real-life Anne of Green Gables, Taylor Swift, at the VMAs. Well, some things never change like Hillary Clinton’s devotion to business casual glamour (see: her scrunchie) and Obama’s thoughts on Kanye. While writing an essay for The Atlantic Wire on Kanye West’s transformation into a fishsticks-loving, Macbook-breaking, crazy in the brains musical genius of sorts, writer David Samuels met President Obama at a fundraiser in NYC and asked about Kanye again. David and Obama’s conversation went something like this:
Samuels: I have a question I want to ask you, Mr. President
Samuels: Kanye or Jay-Z?
Obama: Jay-Z. Although I like Kanye. He’s a Chicago guy. Smart. He’s very talented.
Samuels: Even though you called him a jackass?
Obama: He is a jackass. But he’s talented.
I see you trying to get your approval ratings to hit the clouds, Obama. Seriously, Obama could get re-elected for a history-making four more terms by running on this platform and this platform alone. But you know, something in the milk ain’t clean about the Obamas’ love for Jay-Z and Beyonce. First, Michelle Obama declares her love for Beyonce and now Obama is declaring his love for Jay-Z? AND Beyonce has suspiciously (not really) written an open love letter to Michelle Obama? Hmmm….
This reminds me of an e-mail I got from an anti-Jay-Z crazy when I wrote something semi-nice about Beyonce: “MK, what sound do you make when Jay-Z fucks you in the ass with a fat stack of hush money?” (True e-mail.) The answer to that is, I beg him to please direct deposit that fat stack of hush money into my checking account next time, because all the paper cuts in my ass tunnel are screwing up my social life.
Yes, it’s almost a week later and we’re still talking about M.I.A. burning the innocence of a million children by flipping a bitch off during Madge’s Super Bowl halftime show. M.I.A. already gave an eye roll of an apology by blaming it on nerves, blah, blah, blah, blah… On Ryan Seacrest’s radio show (via USA Today) this morning, he asked Madge about it. The old Madge would’ve shot up her middle finger at all the hos who are saying that M.I.A.’s middle finger was a big deal. The new Madge adjusted the stick in her culo and said that M.I.A.’s fuck you to America was highly inappropriate. Okay, MOM!
“I was really surprised. I didn’t know anything about it. I wasn’t happy about it. I understand it’s punk rock and everything, but to me there was such a feeling of love and good energy, and positivity it seemed negative. It’s such a teenager…irrelevant thing to do…there was such a feeling of love and unity there what was the point? It was just out of place.”
Translation: “I was really surprised that one of my minions would go against my wishes. I understand M.I.A. is low-class trash and everything, but to me there was such a feeling of loving ME and good energy revolving around ME and the people positively worshiping ME! It’s such a STUNT QUEEN thing to do and I’m supposed to be the ultimate STUNT QUEEN. There was such a feeling of loving ME and the people were uniting to bow at MY feet and then that Britatrash slag had to take the spotlight away from the spiritual art I was creating? When Moses was parting the Red Sea, did one of those slave children make the moment all about them by throwing up a middle finger? They knew their place! And now I looooooathe M.I.A. more than I loathe you know what.”
In other words, M.I.A., you and your first born are in danger, girl.