Now Why You Wanna Go & Do That Love?

No, no Rihanna... it's fine. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this. 

   Listen, I get it. Not everything in life is supposed to have an easy answer. Or any answer for that. Much of life is a mystery and moves in mysterious ways and yadda yadda yadda but some things on this planet need to be called to the carpet. Like the post picture above. Why for does the Bahamian songstress have "Thug Life" tattooed on her fingers? Did the ghost of Tupac come down from Thug-heaven and personally request she do so? Did she lose a bet with Mike Tyson? Is she planning on leaving this backwards imprint on Chris Brown's forehead as some kind of payback? I just do... not... get... it. Sadly, the answer to this vexing conundrum would probably not satisfy me or most other common sense having people. Hell, I once dated a dude with a Johnny Cash tattoo on his leg so I understand young folks making dummy moves. He got it after we were already going out a while but the fact remains, I dated somebody capable of making such bad decisions. I know that that reflects poorly on my judgement skills all the same. Still, there are things in life that are crystal clear to me. Like why it's a bad idea to strap fire works to one's nether regions and sing I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy in a crowded movie theatre or why trying to cram for the MCAT's  the night before the exam with your little cousin's fifth grade level flash cards and the game Operation may not get you into Harvard Medical. Or why dating Snookie is not the best way to keep your genitals rabies-free. I'm not saying all life's whodunits and why need to be solved today. I'm just saying some things this week upset me in ways I can't understand. Like what? Glad you asked...

Nothing Gold Can Stay

I think I'll just stay home if it's all the same to you guys.

   I'm a smart-Alec kind of a girl, still enjoying life in my twenties. I'm lucky enough to live in a (relatively) free country and (so far) have been fortunate to not suffer any life-threatening illnesses that might force me to come to terms with my obvious mortality. As far as I know, I'm not the Highlander. I know we all have to check out sooner or later. I'm not an idiot. At least not for that reason. I just always assumed that I would die in my sleep as a 90 year old grandma or (fingers-crossed) would be cryogenically brought back to life by the use of new Sci-fi technology that puts my old lady head on the body of a bionic supermodel. Stranger things could happen! So it came as some surprise to me earlier today when my own impending death took front and center stage in my mind.

Well, that and Laz Alonso... a girl's gotta  multitask.

   One of the local news stations was running a story about a driver of a mini-van who unfortunately was crushed by a truck today in an attempt to avoid a collision with another car. Now this is surely a sad story and my condolences go out to the deceased's family members but stories like this play on the evening news day after day after day with little more than a lifted eyebrow of a reaction out of me. What made this story any more special than the others? Well for one thing, the location of the accident took place at an intersection that I frequent in my morning commute two days out of the week. And if that wasn't weird enough, the accident took place at almost the exact time that I am usually driving on that road. In fact, I would have been driving on that road today had it not been for a last minute change-up in my schedule. I guess this would be the time the cynics in the crowd will start rolling their eyes at me and I wouldn't entirely blame you. No, I'm not trying to say this was some kind of divine intervention. I haven't been having tea time with Roma Downey and the ghost of Della Reese. I just decided to do something else today. And that something else is more than likely responsible for me not being in my car at that time, on that road and possibly the difference between me being all the way live and dead as disco. That's kind of a big deal to me. I don't know exactly what it is. I just know that it is something. Thinking about my own death or more specifically the precise time that it might happen, got me to thinking about my own funeral. I know, I'm being pretty macabre today, aint I? Thing is though, I've never (not even once) thought about what my funeral will be like. I mean I've given it a purely surface-level overview, like I would hope people.. you know... show up for the damn thing. And even though it saddens me to think that my death would bring pain to my loved ones, I sure as hell don't want to have a funeral full of people hand-clapping and boot-stomping. I mean, this isn't a praise and worship session at Ty Tribbett's super-church. This is my last hurrah on the planet. My last chance to be remembered as... someone who mattered. I'm gonna need y'all to make with the woo woo woos and tear ducts should be activated.

It's okay guys, let it out. I was pretty awesome.

Observations on the 69th Annual Golden Globes

• Kate Winslet has usurped Cate Blanchett's place as the HBIC of playing depressed ladies from the past.

In her next picture, Winslet pays the first woman ever to receive
5 nuggets in her six-piece nugget Value-Meal. 

• Kelsey Grammer does three things right for me; playing Dr. Frasier Crane ( "I'm listening") in syndication, producing highly-glossed sitcoms starring beautiful black women and falling off of stages. To the best of my knowledge, Grammer's Golden Globe win this evening was for none of those things. 

• That ginger from Showtime's Homeland gives me a serious case of the heebie jeebies. Run for your life Claire Danes. 

Dear God... he heard us!

• Those Google Chrome commercials are so heartfelt and well-made. Too bad no one's checking for Google Plus... yet. 

• Am I missing much by not watching NBC's The Voice? If I had to guess, I'd probably say "no".

• They need to give Idris Elba and award for just being  Idris Elba. It seriously is a service he's doing for his friends here across the pond just being on American television. I mean the man is beyond fine. If his tears cured cancer I'd still never want to make him cry. I mean... that accent... o wow.

• Wait is that Brad Pitt? Move your big face out of his shot, Angie!

• The steely glare on Charlize Theron's face as she watched My Week with Marilyn's Michelle Williams accept her Golden Globe read like the following:

Chick, I acted with Marilyn Monroe (those J'Adore Dior ads are hella weird, no?) and you are no Marilyn!

            Major Shade reporting for duty!

• Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! Did Joan Rivers and the rest of the Fashion Police crew pay you to wear that monstrosity of a prom dress? And the matchy-matchy eyeshadow? What would Giles say? 

Ew.

• Dear Bradley Cooper, 

         Just because you're dating Zoe Saldana does not require you to tan your face to the shade of Sidney Portier. Fall back. 

• The Hollywood Foreign Press recognizes Morgan Freeman with a Cecil B. Demille award and we at Vanity in Peril break out into a rousing rendition of the East Side High Alma Mater.

Will you be my pop-pop?

• Meryl Streep. You've been giving award-winning performances for over thirty years now. Must we really sit through you feigning surprise at winning a Golden Globe for your portrayal of Margaret Thatcher? I mean really. Did the dingo eat your dignity? But way-cool for shouting out Pariah. 

• Jane Fonda.

           Damn Grandma. How you doin'?

• And lastly, Ricky Gervais. I know the Brits don't exactly subscribe to our whiter than white and veneered to the nine line of thinking when it comes to dental care but seriously dude... your canines look like you're auditioning to play an extra in the next Twighlight movie. Cap those bad boys. 

---  Vanity in Peril

Five Things People Said Out Loud (and on purpose) This Week...

sigh.

1.   Me: I wonder what's going on on that show Single Ladies. I never really gave it a shot.

   [White male love-interest to his black lead actress~ the stripper from the Players Club whose name escapes me~ in bed as they vomitorily have chexy time while devouring a box of chocolates]

   "I never get enough chocolate"

  Somebody get these staff writers an Emmy... STAT!

2. From Rush Limbaugh's pearls of "wisdom" website<<<<< you'll notice I haven't linked it. My sassy black lady-ness won't allow me to do it. 

"Obama's not just a nice guy who's in over his head. Obama has a plan. Obama's plan is based on his inherent belief that this country was immorally and illegitimately founded by a very small minority of white Europeans who screwed everybody else since the founding to get all the money and all the goodies, and it's about time that the scales were made even."

Cole, you stupid.

Holiday Leftovers

awk·ward (ôk w rd). adj.


1. Lacking grace or ease of movement

2. That span of time between January 1 and February 13 where one or more parties attempts to break off their relationship in avoidance of Valentines Day

   We've all been there before. You're in that trying relationship with ol' what'shis/herface and you don't want to be the ass that broke up with your partner during the holidays so you trek through Thanksgiving stuffing and Christmas festivities trying not to give the screw face. But by the time you watch the ball drop together, you're ready for the other shoe to go along with it. Sometimes you both know it's the end and you're both just trying to avoid being labeled the bad guy, or maybe just one of you does. One thing is for certain though, you're not spending another  dime on a card and gift for this person come Singles Awareness Day. 

Bad holiday relationships are like Xmas trees. Best to get rid of them
before the Easter Bunny comes.

   

   Assuming you're not the come on out and say it-type, VIP provides you with a couple of sneaky ways to get your mate to do your dirty work for you. Come February you'll have lots of free time in your schedule (for crying in your beer about how you'll never find anybody to love you) and you can thank Vanity in Peril for getting you there...

It's the End of the World As We Know It... & I Feel... Meh

Bluetooth? Check. Steely smug stare? Check.
Yeah... this guys gonna be just fine.

   If you are reading this post on the date that I originally typed it, you know that we have approximately 353 days left until the end of the world. Or even less if you are reading the back links of our site prior to Doomsday. Or if you are reading this after the end of civilization let me first just commend your incredible selection of a Wifi connection and secondly let me congratulate you on making it to the other side. I've no doubt died in the uproar and if zombie apocalypse movies are any indication of my impending demise, I was taken out while trying to take a pee break in the woods by myself. No matter... I don't really want to live in a Mad Max society anyways. And you know what? Upon further introspection, I don't think any of us really want to live in a world that's populated with the kind of people that are able to survive the end of the world. Just think about it. The level of douchbaggery that it takes to be so pigheaded that you would try to defy the destiny of the human race and trek on is almost unimaginable. That's like a brontosaurus stubbornly deciding he'd much rather be alive and fronting a late 80's/ early 90's rock band then ... you know... extinct. The  humongous balls on these guys. These survivors. In no kind of order, here goes the kinds of personalities you meet in the after-apocalypse. Maybe you'll think twice about building that fall-out shelter.