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).

A New Heir to the Throne

This is the first day of my life without Michael Jackson.

Now I'm not sayin' that we were the best of friends or even that I saw him on the regular (I'm no Farrah), I'm just sayin' that ever since I can remember, he has been a part of my life.

The first song I ever liked was ABC and it's weird to think about where or who I'd be were it not for the Prince of Pop. It makes me feel sad for all the little girls out there about to be born into a world without MJ.

I guess you could say that they'll have their own MJ, but that just ain't true! There is not a single man out there right now that's even close to being worthy to take the throne. (Notice how I said man). I can, however, think of one woman... and only one...

Now I know it's too soon to rush right up there and crown myself the Princess of Pop, but just think about all those little ones out there who will have to live one more day without the perfect pop icon to look up to. After all, I wouldn't be in the place I am without MJ so the least I can do is be there for the next generation -you feel me?

And besides I already got the perfect coronation outfit picked thanks to my devilishly handsome and stylish assistant Lorenz. I'm gonna wear my Pink Betsey Johnson Dress with my Alexandra Neel Platforms. Even If I'm not crowned the next Princess of Pop, I'll at least look like I was.

Until my coronation

Peace be to MJ

Partying my Booty off

I'm so *&^%! exhausted! Five days and nights of partying my booty off after the Lakers won. I threw THE bash of the century. You know what I mean, the kind of kick in the butt funky you up get down and beg for more party. In fact, my party was so sick that Aristotle Metropolis would NOT GET THE HINT to leave. The boy is rich, but he sure don't have a clue when it's time to go and the party is OVER!!!

My new assistant, Lorenz, did a lousy job cleaning up the mess but he picked out the perfect outfit for me for the party: the Custo Barcelona Dress. So, I can't come down too hard. Oh, and guess what? Meadow had the nerve to show up UNINVITED to the party. She claimed that Farrah drug her along. Farrah wouldn't say, cause she's friends with both of us but it's obvious that "sweet little Meadow" came to spy on Kip and me.

What's really irritating though is that Meadow was wearing a stunning dress by Just Cavalli. Now I know she doesn't have that kind of taste, obviously she's been studying my look and copying me. She'll stoop to anything to get Kip back! Of course Kip worships the ground I walk on. But STILL.

Who the heck cares if it was some charity kid...It's the PLAY-OFFS

How the %#$^^did my stupid publicist screw up my tickets to the L.A. Lakers playoff games on Wednesday night? I saw on People.com how Ellen Pompeo and husband Chris Ivery, Denzel Washington, Nicholson and son Raymond, David Arquette, Adam Levine, Zac Efron, Tyrese Gibson, Taraji P. Henson, and M.I.A. with Ben Brewer, were all there! Guess who wasn't? ME!!!!!

There I was looking as hot as ever in my Ingwa; Melero Bewitching Siren Dress, Heigl Jacket and Gucci Treasure Bag, waiting for my driver Danny to come with my Maserati when Astrid, my publicist, tells me my tickets were accidentally given to some kid from some wish charity! What the $%^&! Those were my seats! Don't get me wrong, I give to charity all the time and I am all for it, but it was the freakin' playoffs! I'm still pissed, which leads me to Today's Lesson, always have a back-up, whether back-up shoes, hosiery, PLAY-OFF TICKETS, just always have a back-up you never know when you will need it!

You Cannot Count on Your Stylist!

Where the *%&^%?@* is my Rebecca Taylor Gypsy Dress with the seventies feel and the spaghetti straps? ARGHHHH!!!! Where is it?! I don’t care if KIP is waiting. I’m the star here, I don’t go out till I’m READY! Now WHERE IS IT!!? I swear I’ll tear this place down with my fingernails… wait, wait, wait. I cannot believe what I’m seeing. There it is. Filed under “Stripes” instead of “Print.” My stylist is so fired!

But enough about her, let’s talk about me. As Viva Swag’s celebrity spokesperson, I’m here to give you my expert advice on fashion and apparel. Today’s lesson is ORGANIZATION. Color code, make a map and be sure to keep all of your walk-in closets clean. You cannot count on your stylist! Oh crap. The Paparazzi are here. It’s my turn to be “Best Dressed” in MEDIA TART Magazine so I gotta run. Now, where the *%&^%?@* are my CASADEI Suede and Linen Jeweled Platforms? BA-Bye for now!