TSA Sponsored Event #37: Red Carpet Event

If you are reading this, you are one of the lucky few individuals who have been added to my preferred reading list.  If you find yourself to be one of the few, please do not grant access to someone who has been denied.  This will be for us to enjoy.  If you must know, there are only 9 people on this list.  Two are my relatives, two are people not affiliated with TSA in any way shape or form, and FOUR are current or former TSA employees.  So if someone other than these 9 makes a comment or says something, or someone says, “Yeah, I heard about your blog…” I will know who did it.  It’s not like anything is going to happen, I’m certainly not going to try to fight you or any other such lame nonsense.  I will just know I can’t trust you and you will be cut from the preferred list and therefore subject to the “textual” beat-down.

What I really don’t have time for is the drama and the thin-skinned harlots who flock to my page to read the dirt on everyone else, but as soon as they are the target want to get up in arms.  The last time I covered a “TSA Sponsored Event” I honestly and truly did not mean to write anything to hurt anybody’s feelings. 

This time it’s different.
So, I wasn’t planning on heading out to another TSA Sponsored Event because of the whole fiasco the last time.  I saw Kay at Tye’s block party and we discussed the whole matter.  We said we were tired of seeing the same old TSA people.  We said we were tired of a bunch of hoes, that we wanted some dudes.  We said we were tired of the huge gay crowd.  No, we weren’t trying to gay bash, but the fact of the matter is, the gay crowd isn’t interested in us.  All the dudes, well, they like dudes… and all the girls know we aren’t gay, so there’s like no point in even bothering.  We might dance with each other for shits’n’giggles, cuz we’re cool, but we ain’t trying to hook up, or whatever.

At any rate, this latest installment in Leon’s string of events was an improvement in the three categories that Kay and I discussed.  I arrived late because I was at the freak club first, but when I came in around 1245, I can honestly say that I didn’t know more than half the people in there.  My eyes first had to get adjusted to how dark it was, because it seemed darker than the last time.  I was passing people I knew but couldn’t really recognise.

There were quite a few TSA celebrities in the place.  To mention:  Gay Michelle and her friend.  The Diamond Queen Marlene and my baby sister, Jessica.  The [wannabe] VIP Crew:  Ayanna, Adrienne, Brasilia, Abby and Tiaira.  Tiffany (Pudd), Tiffany R., Lanae, Qiana, Tykeisha and her whole crew, Domingo (or Dominguez, whatever his name is), Diarra, Brandi, the MdTAP, Gloria, Serapis (did that chick grow???), the real thin, pretty girl from the morning shift, I think her name is Maia.  There are other people I know but don’t know their names, and I am sure I am missing a whole lot of people, but it’s whatever.

Since I wasn’t there for the whole set, I can’t say what Leon played as far as music.  When I came in, he was playing dirty south hood music, and then he switched to the up north shit that everyone just seems to love so much but it just sounds like garbage to me.  He did the slow wind songs, a few “girly” numbers, like Beyonce’s “Get Me Bodied,” which I am totally tired of hearing and was glad when there was a sound malfunction so I didn’t have to hear the rest of it.  I didn’t hear any club music, go-go, or reggae, but that don’t mean he didn’t play it.

Notably absent from the party:  Taariq.  I heard he was having an affair with his motorcycle club.  I didn’t even know he rode like that.  Melvin, but I’m sure his girlfriend wouldn’t let him off his leash [but didn’t they break up?].  Hardly any of the gay crew was present.  They usually come to the parties in droves.  I didn’t see any of those woogie ass morning shift girls either.  There’s a specific group of them I’m talking about; I just cannot stand those bitches and they are always together.  I don’t know their names, really, just one of them, the skanky one I saw get into the car with someone not her husband at the card party.  But anyway, I didn’t see those hoes.  No Almond Joy or her sister Beyonce.  I didn’t see Shanny, Tiyanna, Gretchen, Renaldo or any of that whole set.  There were a lot of absent usually familiar faces.  I do want other people to come to the parties other than TSA people but I still want to see my favourite peeps. 

But let’s cut to the chase and talk about the looks, because we all know that is what you’re here for.

I heard it was a red carpet event, but I told Leon that if I was coming, I wasn’t wearing a damn prom dress.  I am so tired of showing up to events dressed up in a tight ass skirt, some treacherously high heels just so I can look good for all the scummy guys that show up in jeans, dirty hair and sweaty balls.  Since I went to freak nite first, I was going to be laid back and probably in sneakers.  He said it was cool because he just wanted me to show up.

I’m glad I didn’t even bother thinking about dressing up because mostly everyone was laidback.  I heard that other people were tired of playing dress up for no reason.  I think the “classy” style party is slowly becoming overrated because not everyone understands the definition of classy.  I didn’t see any super glam, but I did see a lot of super trash.

Glam Goddesses
Tykeisha and her crew:  As usual, gorgeous without being so dressed up they cannot dance and enjoy themselves.  It was always seems to me that Tye knows exactly what to wear.  Never a wardrobe malfunction or an outfit that you’re like… what the fuck?

Abby:  Always so sexy. 

Ayanna:  Puttin’ a hurtin’ on them like always.  She has such long ass legs that it always looks like she’s nekkid, but for real, honestly though, this time, her dress was longer than normal.  I couldn’t see curvature like I did one time before.  Maybe she was headed to church afterwards.

Tiffany Pudd put on hot shorts like I did.  It was hot as balls in there and I’m glad that I didn’t keep on the skirt I had worn to freak nite.  I was skeptical about wearing short ass shorts like that.  But if you got gams like Tina Turner, you should let it all hang out.  Tiffany is never stressed about other people, and that’s what’s cool about her.

Tiffany R took the Classy Lady award this time, even in the end when she had to resort to flip flops.  I feel you.  Leave the prom queen shoes at the door and get to dancin’.  A true Ebony princess. 

The girl in the green dress.  I don’t know you but that was a bad ass dress and you wore the shit out of it.

The little girl with the plant like hair and the tight, stretchy dress.  You wore the shit out of that dress too.  As short as it was, I kept thinking I was going to see ass, but she was getting her dance on and not once was there a wardrobe malfunction.

The Trash
Here in the 2008 Summer Olympics, ironically  Ms. A does not take the gold in Dollar Bin Dressing.  I give it to one of the white girls.  Firstly, she [the white girl] was in the bathroom when I first saw her and she looked like she was high.  I have no evidence of this, but she had this glazed over look.  Maybe she was just drunk.  Secondly, about 30 minutes later, I saw her on the dance floor with no shoes on, and the floor was so disgusting.  Wear your pumps to look good and then switch it out to flats, flip flops or something.  Don’t go barefoot.  This is not a hen yard.  Then, sadly, the dress… What was up the with the dress?  It was tight and cheap looking, like she bought it on the last chance rack at Rave.  It had this weird back cut-out thing and she had back acne (which I saw in the bathroom).  Gross.  Let’s exfoliate.  Try Neutrogena Pore Refining Cleanser.  The last time I saw her, she was face down, ass up.  She was so face down that I think her head was between someone’s legs on the dance floor.  Skanky.  But the dudes was getting a kick out of her, but skanks usually get attention like that.

Qiana sweeps the silver; she is one of the worst dressers I have ever seen.  She’s very nice, and all that, but her clothes seem so 1990’s to me.  Whatever she had on with white footless tights and a weird Japanese kimono thing over top it.  I didn’t know they were serving sushi.  Like the last party, she had on that white 1987 working girl blazer with the big shoulder pads.  She tried to tell me once that she was a model, but I’m like a model for what… the March 1988 edition of Jet?  Yeah, okay.

Cannot teach style.  Must be born with it, and she must have been standing in the wrong line when God was handing out style.

And for the bronze is Ms. A from Team American Garbage… well, I might as well let it all hang out since she was too.  At least she wasn’t in a tutu this time because last time I checked Leon didn’t throw a Dance For the Ghetto Sugarplum Fairies.  Her dress was more appropriate but once again, please stay away from the $1.99 rack at Old Navy.  Always so cheap.  Look, I can be a cheap ass bitch too, but when you need to purchase something you need to make sure it is of quality.  Especially in this day and age of catty bitches.  She felt I was talking trashing about her last time, and this time I really am talking trash about her, so that would mean you better be on your P’s and Q’s if you know I’m coming since it is no holds barred right now.

I had to come back and edit this because I later saw the pictures that Ayanna posted.  I take back about the dress being appropriate.  Ms. A’s one claim to fame is her breasts, which are nothing but saggy nickle bags.  Yeah, you can try all the Victoria’s Secret miracle bras, duct tape, glue, whatever to hold those Wal-Mart bags up, but in the end, there’s nothing you can do but tie them in a knot and move on with your life.  Because she doesn’t have a face (or the personality) to recommend her she feels that everywhere she goes she has to expose those cow udders.  If you want to do that, that’s cool, my boobs are sometimes always out there too, but please, for the love of God, clean up that decollete.  That ragged chest area from your chin deep into the cleavage looks like a cheese grater.  Not cute. 

Secondly, the skirt was very short.  That’s cool.  Lots of ass hanging out, but smooth out that dull, rough alligator skin with a nice skin polisher.  I suggest Oil of Olay Rejuvenating Skin Polish and Shine.  Why grow old gracefully?

Lastly, let’s talk about the makeup.  There are three types of women.  Women who always wear makeup that look ghastly without it.  Women who wear makeup sometimes, but can look nice either way.  Women who do not wear makeup and look like The Joker from the Dark Knight when they do wear it.

The lipstick…  Stay away from Wet’n’Wild.  Bonne Bell.  All those cheap lipsticks that you buy at Sav-On drugs two for a dollar.  Then, when you do apply lipstick, please do not use a gardening tool to schlac it onto your mouth.  You are not grouting tiles.  When I first got to the party, I was like, “Damn, I ain’t know Joan Rivers was gonna be here.”  That chick had on some bloody Mary bright red lipstick like she is about to land 747s on her face.  It was so outrageous I thought Jack the Ripper had been through just before I got there.

After talking so much trash about me and inciting a riot, and then refusing to accept my real and honest apology over the previous fiasco, she had the nerve to speak to me, but it was a fake kind of hi.  Like, how me and Shanda used to do each other.  Not really smiling, but then kind of smiling, “Hey girl,” when really inside your head you’re like, “Bitch, die.”  I returned the greeting only because it was polite to do so.  I would have ignored her, but years of training preclude me from being unduly nasty to someone.  Har har.

At any rate, I am done talking about her.  I now feel vindicated because last time I wasn’t trying to be mean.  This time I am.

That evil little bastard was there.  I can’t remember, for the life of me, his name.  I just know that I cannot stand him.  Every time I see him I want to start singing “We represent the Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild,” and then I want to hit him over the head with a blunt object.  And he knows I cannot stand his dwarf, elfy looking ass.  When he sees me he tries to smile and say hi.  I wish I had eyes like lasers.  Then I could set him on fire.

But no, tell us how you really feel.

Someone had said to me how they felt about parties that Jonathan was affiliated with.  I don’t really know him like that but I am starting to get the impression of him being one of those over-the-top guys that think they are really cool because they have a suit on.  Both him and Rasheed (or however you spell his name) wore suits, but they looked like they should have been at church.  Nice suits, very classy, but they appeared uptight and overbearing when everyone else was chill.

I have a favour for any TSA worker, tomorrow, please, God, PLEASE, give Domingo a breath mint.  He tried to dance with me but his breath smelled like something had crawled into the back of his mouth and died, after it swam around in sewage waste.  I didn’t want to dance with him, number one, I don’t like dancing with guys, and number two, his breath was making my wig wilt. 

As far as everything else was concerned, I was only there for like an hour.  Marlene told me there was a huge paparazzi earlier on in the night, everybody taking pictures.  I didn’t take pictures myself for the simple fact that I probably would have been way over the top with commentary and then you know, I really didn’t know a lot of the people so what is the point? 

I did, feel, however, the glow of camera lights on me.  This is so amusing to me.  I know by the end of the week, I will be on a lot of hoes pages because they think, “Oh, well, I will take pictures of her and make comments and see how she likes it.” Nigga, please!  The sad fact of the matter is that you will be hard pressed to really come up with something that will hurt my feelings.  Okay, so you got a few pictures of my short ass shorts, but I wouldn’t come out in booty shorts and then be mad you saw my ass.  So you got a few shots of me dancing.  Well, since it was a party, dancing is perfectly natural.  You didn’t see titties or ass cheeks.  I wasn’t on top of no tables and I wasn’t bouncing in anybody’s lap. 

But you can’t stop a hater.  They breed like an infestation of plague-ridden rats. 

I’m cool with that, but remember I did it first and so number one I will always be.  It’s nice to know that I will make headlines once again.  All eyes on me and at the top of everyone’s thoughts, like usual. 

It ain’t easy, but someone’s gotta do it.


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