Gurl, NO.

ABSOLUTELY F*CKING NOT

BYE

NIK

I want...

D_R_-'A S. W_-:/N"T+N right now. More than anything.

Nik

You could learn a lot from a homewreker, in the right outfit.

REASONS WHY I LOVE THIS SONG AND VIDEO

#5 Ms. Sleeze Keys reminds me that even world class, amazingly talented, stunningly beautiful celebs get into hoe-sh*t every now and then. Of the 50-11 million SINGLE men and women (please believe that Ms. Keys gets down) that would die for this chic, she picks Swizz Beats ugly, big-nosed, MARRIED a*s. 


#4 The lyrics are super honest and real. She's saying something positive but it doesn't sound like EVERY OTHER heartbreak song


#3 Her makeup is BANGING


#2 That purple bodysuit


#1 The rear view of her in the above mentioned purple bodysuit is doing something to my spirit.




*STAAAAAAAAHHHHHH*

Have we met before?

As I sat here going back over some of my older posts on the blog, I realized something VERY important. In the past few weeks, I have gotten soooooo very far away from what I set out for sistahstar.com to be.  In the midst of my love sick stupor all I have been blogging about is my personal turmoil with my ex. While I do realize that this is MY blog and I can say whatever the hell I want, that's NOT what this is supposed to be about. 


So with that said: ALLOW ME TO REINTRODUCE MYSELF!!!!!!

MY NAME IS STAR B*TCHES. An the immortal words of another bad Nicki: "IMMA BAD B*TCH,, IMMA, IMMA BAD B*TCH


What I need and what I want are two different things. I may not have a particular person that I want, but I damn sure have the only person that matters, ME!  To make matters worse is the fact that I have let all manner of rainbow colored foolishness slip by me. And that is just unacceptable.


So tonight, as I stated on my twitter (twitter.com/sistahstar and twitter.com/starstarbaby) I am being forced to partake in some "family" matters. I will be hanging out (yes, outside of my house) with some of rainbow crew. There's a welcome home set and a house party. There will be foolishness GALORE. I can't wait! I will be reporting back to you guys ASAP! Pray that I dont get caught snapping pics of the hot messes and ass clowns that I am sure encounter this evening. 


In a minute
*Star*
Im back up in this thang, tricks...

Entirely too personal, but very neccessary

I'm sitting up watching one of my favorite movies of all times, Sex and the City, and some things jumped out at me. Well, it kind of smacked me in the face like a baseball bat. 

1. When Samantha is talking about the direction her relationship with Smith was heading she says," he stayed with me through my treatments." Carrie appropriately responds, "Sweetie, you just compared your relationship...to chemo..." 
2. When Carrie goes to get her absolutely beautiful, never worn pair of Manolo Blahniks (that I would trade my mother for, by the way), she opens the closet door and sees Big standing there. They pause, look at each other, then she runs into his arms. The rest is history. 


Those two events brought up some really heavy relationship stuff for me. As does everything these days. Whatever..

In case you didn't know, my relationship before this one ended in a very ugly, very bloody mess. I ended up in the trauma center fighting for my life. That's all I'm saying about that. I have mentioned before that I have my own personal army. The captain of that army is my homegirl. The General is my girlfriend. 

Sidenote: I am not accustomed to calling her anything other than my girlfriend so deal with it. Don't judge me.

Anyways...  She put me through a lot. Not the typical relationship stuff. Just emotional rollercoaster type-a-shit that I am wondering now would I have put up with if she where not "The General." This is the  person that did not leave my side for days during my ordeal. I saw her more than my mother. Seriously. In my morphine induced haze I feel deeper and deeper in love with this woman and way faster than normal. Given the circumstances that's understandable though, right?


Anyhoo, when I heard that (#1) in the movie it made me really think of what I was holding on to. 

Then the next thing (#2) brought up this other issue. Me and baby are already in, wait... shit, WHERE IN (ugh!) a long distance relationship. The longest we'd been apart were these last few months. That's when all the ups and downs got really, REALLY bad. Yeah. So when Carrie sees Big for the first time after what he put her through, she stops, looks, and finally runs into his arms. They are, once again, inseparable. But for good this time. So I'm wondering: What's it going to be like when I finally see her again? 

Now, I know I be on some ol' Nicki Minaj " ima bad b*tch, ima, ima bad b*tch" ish,(cuz i am, after all, a bad b*tch), but I am also a hopeless romantic and a believer in soul mates and love and all that stuff. So it could go a couple of different ways...

Who knows. Maybe when we do see one another again, it will be all good. Maybe not. But I don't like surprises and I'm a deep thinker sooooo. 

I was just wondering. 

Thats all.

*Star*

I have seen an influx in a particular disease. It appears as though this particular disease is spreading faster than HIV and bitchassness put together( ok maybe not faster than bitchassness). What is this horrid disease, you ask. It is a new affliction known as "Stan-ism."

Stan-ism occurs when the infected decides to consistently stalk, call, follow, tweet, facebook etc. a person who has not only ignored them completely, but made it perfectly clear that they don't want to be bothered. Know let me be clear, I am not talking about fanatical admiration. Fuckkerihilson IS the SHYT, mind you. I mean the type of Stan-ism that causes one to call a person over and over and over again when they haven't responded in any way.Why wouldn't you get the damn hint. If you blow up someones phone and you haven't had a fight with or any real interaction at all with that person, good or bad, why not stop calling. Clearly, they are just not that into you. Oh, and I can promise, the victim of the Stan-ism , is playing all of your voice mails and forwarding all of your texts,tweets,facebook messages to/for all of their friends. You look like a damn fool. Stop now. Save yourself. No one can do it for you. The only cure is a cold turkey cut-off. That's the only way.

I hope this post is helpful to some sad Stan out there. I enjoy being helpful. If you find yourself too weak to go on as you implement your cold-turkey cut off, feel free to email me or leave a comment. I will play some of my old "Stan" mail from my last disaster of a relationship so you see just how big of a fool you are making of yourself. I got some good ones too. Hundreds of them. I doubt that anyone can bear to hear themselves sounding that stupid and pathetic once you've listened to what I have on MY voicemail. Plus I will help you visualize all of the friends and coworkers sitting up listening to you sound like a blubbering idiot as they huddle around laughing at your stupid ass... Whew, you will shake that Stan right off, real quick, promise. That should be all the intervention one should ever need.

Nik

Stick your head out

Since the other day when I saw the first chick I was ever attracted to, i've been thinking about how crazy I felt back then. I was in the 6th grade, so around 12 or 13 yrs old, right. And i'm thinking why the hell am I feeling like this? I must be losing my damn mind! Then, the older I got the more I noticed other things about myself that didn't neccesarily mirror the images around me. My perceptions of beauty, happiness, and of people, all seemed a bit different from what I had been spoon feed my whole life. I didn't want to be an attorney anymore, I didn't just agree with everything my mother said, just "cuz she said so." I started reading more, listening to different types of music, going to museums. I started thinking that maybe being in the streets wasn't all that glamorous. It definately wasn't fun. I also began listening to myself more, that inner voice in my head was almost screaming at me. It was telling me to follow my heart, pray and be what you really are.

Then I met this girl. Beautiful, country, naive, and just so damn sweet. She was so many things that I wasn't. I fell instantly. I was terrified. It became one of my life experiences that, though chaotic, I look back at fondly.

Once that relationship (if you can even call it that) was over and done with, I became a full blown closet case. Meeting girls here and there, sneaking around, all that usual mess. In the process I was becoming the same trainwreck that I was as a little girl all over again. So one day I just stopped giving a sh*t about other people's'issues and said, "ok its time to get some me, or real." It...was...awesome. With the exception of my son I told everyone to go to hell.

It was difficult at first, being "out." People tend not to take it so well when they've had no clue at all. I am super fish. Hair, makeup outfits, shoes, and bags laid out everyday...period. So it was a bit of a bomb to drop on my family. Everyone got over it but my mother (but that's a post of its own). I was free. Clear. Not hiding any of me behind a bag and a boyfriend. It was amazing. It was just so liberating.

Even with the freedom that has come from openly being who and what I am, life as a lesbian has still been difficult. The thing is, difficult is worth it because at the very least, i'm not living a lie. I am honest with myself and everyone around me. So it's totally worth it. Being a closet case was utterly exausting. I spent so much time fronting for other folks. Such a waste. Time waits for no one and you can't get it back. If more people would just be who and what they really are, it wouldn't be such a stigma being "different". So please, please, please come on out. There is safety in numbers and the view outside that damn closet is beautiful...

Just let go, dayum.

Its interesting that this fell into MY lap the other day, but if I'm going to stick to my concrete rule that no one and nothing are above getting blogged about then I must speak on this one.
So I got a homegirl out in California. She has an ex that we affectionately refer to as Psycho
Kitty. THIS... CHICK... IS... CRAZY. Just since I've known of this girl (which has not been that long) she has done so much extra ish that even I can't keep up. The bottom line is this. When a mofo doesn't want to f*ck with you anymore, then they don't want to f*ck with you anymore! Why is it necessary to send threatening text messages (I would recommend saving every single one of them)? Why start shit in a club, especially when that just leaves a million witnesses to your psychosis? Why is necessary for the new jump off to interject their 1.5 cents into the situation, when you have no idea who they are or where they come from? Wait, I do know the answer to that one. It's because New Boo has heard "all about how evil, horrible, and terrible you are, yet you have heard nothing about them. Actually, New Boo is probably sick and fucking tired of hearing about you, but oh well. I find that one pretty damn funny actually, but I digress. Anyways, what's the logic behind all the crazy ex stalker sh*t? Is it some unwritten rule that one person must go nuts during breakup? I must interject my disclaimer here, and get used to hearing this one: This foolishness is not exclusive to the family, it's just so amplified because our circle is so much smaller and concentrated. For straight people there are six degrees of separation from one person to the next. With us, there's only three degrees. Basically, we live in a fishbowl. Not only are we (the community) all watching each other, the straight world is watching us too. Everything is magnified to the inth freaking degree. We make ourselves look stupid. So allow me to issue this public service announcement: Ex's, please learn to let go. Move on, and be very careful what you send in a text message. Ex's new piece, understand that in the grander scheme of things, you don't even exist. I mean it's sad, but so very true. Can everyone just grow up? Everything ain't for everybody and you can't always deal with people just because you pity them. If a mofo was crazy with one, chances are they'll be crazy with you. Oh and to my homegirl out in the Bay that made me think about all this, that bitch sounds like she might need to be commited. Hide your kitchen knives...