Only a True Diva Would do Date Night at a Night Club…

Wow – this week I’ve been trippin’. Between planning for my next album drop, going thru a million scripts to find my next blockbuster to star in, and attending costume fittings for my upcoming world tour (No I will NOT be sporting any hooded leotards or Kermit the Frog get-ups, but trust me, I’ve got some looks that will definitely put Ms.GaGa to shame… ), I’ve been running around like a madwoman. Now that it’s hump day (yup, that means WEDNESDAY, for all y’all with the dirty minds out there), I feel like I can finally let loose and celebrate a bit.

I know some people (ahem, Saige) celebrate a long week of work by doing some of that zen yogalates business, but lighting a couple of scented candles and stretching for long periods of time doesn’t really get me goin’. So that’s why I hooked up a nice romantic evening for MYSELF at h.wood (the hottest l’il club for all you babydolls who aren’t in the know) tonight, complete with a bottle of Cris on the rocks. I know most girls’ idea of a romantic evening includes Thai takeout, a bottle of John Duval Plexus 2006 and their loved one… but Kip didn’t bring me back anything good from Ireland, so now he’s gotta suffer.

I can’t wait to wear my brand new Joan long zippered skirt with a pair of killer Louboutins… and I promise I’ll blame my insanely tiny waist on my outfit, and not my daily kickboxing lessons at the Sports Club/LA.

Who Needs a Euro Trip When You’ve Got Paradise Right Here…

So my boy Kip just got back from doing what he and I do best: jetsetting. But instead of bringing me with him, he left me here all by my lonesome. All right, I know I refused to pull a Beyonce/Jay-Z maneuver and go on another average yacht ride along the French Riviera (yawn!), but I also told the Kipster that I had NO interest in heading north with him to the rainy land of pints and potatoes. No, not Boston (THAT, on the other hand, I would’ve settled for… it’s only four hours from the Big Apple), but no, I’m talkin’ ’bout Ireland, yo!

So I told my boo that after my last record went double platinum, I’ve gotten a little sick of being surrounded by green – so traveling to some land where their national color is the same as my money flow obviously didn’t appeal to me. So while my boo was off in the the land of leprachauns, I was at home, hiding out from the papparazzi tryina start rumors about me being single again. But even though K-man ditched me, he definitely redeemed himself by bringing me back this cute lil’ Kiss Me Tee upon his return.

Well, we’re finally back together at our crib in LA, and get this feeling that Kip brought a little luck of the Irish back to SoCal with him (and I swore that four-leaf clovers were reserved for St. Patties day nail decals… ): the temperature here is smokin’, the beach is lookin’ fly, and I’m finally ready to slip into my hot new Mondrian Bikini. And especially after a week of the Irish drizzles, Kip tells me he’s so ready to hit the trá right along side me. Oh, and BTW – that means “beach” in Gaelic for all of y’alls who weren’t graced with a jet-setting boyfriend or were too busy practicing la langue Francaise in the south of France (and yes that means you, Ms. Sasha Fierce).