Dear Dan Gilbert,

Hey Dan, hey. So Lebron’s leaving Cleveland and you mad huh? You are UP and SET about it. To the point where you wrote a letter to Cavalier fans about it. You threw a legendary b*tchfit not seen in the NBA since Rodman days (Dennis was the hissy fit queen king. No, queen fits).

First of all, you typed up the letter in Comic Sans MS font. O__o Yes Dan. That just SCREAMS “take me seriously! I need my nap right now! I’m cranky!” A font with the word “comic” in it is not the one to use to verbally whip somebody. That font is about as serious as a pie in the face jokes. You coulda easily stuck to the standard Time New Roman that Microsoft Word suggests. Anyway…

Wow. Your mouth is in a straight line like a straight face smiley . Oh Dan. Don't be so butthurt.

So yes, Dan. Clearly, you’re all types of pissed that Lebron is leaving. Understandable, because he’s taking a bunch of dollars with him. But LAWD, Dan! Get some couth about you. You’re saltier than a bowl of ramen noodles. Chill out!

“You simply don’t deserve this kind of cowardly betrayal.”

Umm… did Lebron James snitch on Cleveland in court? What “cowardly betrayal?” Maybe the man wants some more groupies sunlight in his life. Just MAYBE the man wanted access to Uncle Luke’s club whenever. You’ont know his logic and his life! Did Lebron sleep with everyone’s men in Cleveland at their bachelor party? Boy QWEET!

“I PERSONALLY GUARANTEE THAT THE CLEVELAND CAVALIERS WILL WIN AN NBA CHAMPIONSHIP BEFORE THE SELF-TITLED FORMER ‘KING’ WINS ONE”

Whoa who whoa. Turn down the volume, Dan. DAMB! All caps huh? You so tough, Danny. WHY are you hollering? Just WHY?!? And umm… I love how you just wrote a check I’m not sure your mouf can cash. I’unno too murch bout the current state of teams in the NBA but you may want to quit making such grandiose promises.

“The self-declared former “King” will be taking the “curse” with him down south. And until he does “right” by Cleveland and Ohio, James (and the town where he plays) will unfortunately own this dreaded spell and bad karma. “

Did you just *Celie Curse* Lebron?!? LMAOOO! I bet that was typed with two fingers in the air. LAWD… someone don made you watch the Color Purple and now you’ont know how to act. You’re wishing that everything the man THINKS bout gon fail. You. ARE. PISSED.

Dan, please quit acting like Lebron used you for a one night stand and didn’t cuddle. Like y’all just had a great lovemaking session and Lebron put money on the night stand and walked away. The whole lover-scorned angle of that letter was wack. You are REALLY butthurt over this. Please grow some and move on from this. You’re making yourself look bad.

Only thing Lebron James (and any melanin-blessed person) is SUPPOSED to do is stay Black, pay taxes, and follow the drinking gourd to the Lord when our time comes. So please cry yourself a river, build a bridge and get the hell over it.

Kthxbai,

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Rio: “Chicago, you mad, huh?”
Chicago: “Mad DEEZ, Rio!”

Chicago: “Rio??? That fool owes me $5! If I CATCH Rio in a dark alley, he gon get stole on, jo!”

Rio: “That negro Chicago is a straight HATER. He’s mad cuz I stole his prom date. He oughta just step his game up. Hating ass!”

Chicago: “Man tell that fool, Rio I’m done with him. Besides, I aint hating on that high HIV stat he got. What I gotta hate Rio fah?”

Rio: “While you talking bout me, Chicago. Go handle that violence problem you got. It ain’t cold in the D. It’s cold in the C!”

Chicago: “YO MAMA! Rio, you betta watch yo mouf ‘fo I fly over there and make some CHANGE outta you. You think you all’at now. PSHT!

Rio: “I ain’t scared of you, Chitown. BRING IT. Whatchu gon do? Blow me away with ur wind? I ain’t NEVER SCURRED!!!”

Chicago: “Rio, me amd my goons (aka Mayor Daley) gon come over there and mollywop you into 2016. Don’t play these bald-headed games with me!”

Rio: “At least I’mo be playing GAMES. I got these Olympics. What you got? An obese mayor and bad weather. KEEP THAT!”

Chicago: “Rio, you ain’t nothing but a jive turkey. I’mo have to go re-assess my life on top of the Sears Tower. *sobs*”

Rio: “Why’ont you congratulate, Chicago? I really needed this. I thought God had given up on me!!! *weeps*

Chicago: “Fine Rio! Congratulations on #HoShit Olympics 2016. I’mo just go do a world class *WALL SLIDE* on the Hancock Building now.”

Rio: “Aight then Chitown. I’mo pay you your $5 next week. I got Olympic monies on deck! *singing* Just got paid, Friday night…”

Chicago: “Until you right by me, Rio, every game you touch gon FAIL! You betta OWE ME BACK my monies! I needs it for LakeShore Drive!”

Rio: “Come on, Chitown. You KNOW I gotchu. Wanna go get some dranks later w/ Tokyo? He’s feeling kinda down too.”

Chicago: “Hmm… I’m in the mood for sushi. Yeah I’mo call my boy Tokyo. Don’t tell Madrid though. I’ont feel like hanging with him.”

See? They’re buddies again.

I’m dumb.

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I’m a bum who hates running and hasn’t done any kind of substantial exercise in years!

Me going for a run is not gonna happen. Running makes me itch (literally).

Picture it, Chicago… a long time ago… I decided to go for a run randomly and I put on my gear and everything. I was pumped and rest (yes, rest, not ready) to recreate a gatorade commercial of a woman on a mission, going for a mind-clearing jog. I looked all cute in my woven Nike Presto’s with matching fitted tee and shorts. I even had my MP3 player on. I surely looked the part.

I started running and got to about block 3 when my legs started to itch. They weren’t dry either. I had just slathered on a layer of the finest vaseline this side of Lake Michigan before I left the crib. Yes, the Johnson & Johnson’s kind, not the kind that has a label that just says “Petroleum Jelly”. So I didn’t understand. I stopped running to scratch my legs and the itching stopped after like 10 seconds. I decided to keep running and my legs started itching again! I stopped & scratched. Tried for the 3rd time and when I felt like my legs were going to give way from the itching and people I was passing were giving me major side-eye o_0 as I did a move where I ran a little and scratched a little, I finally quit. Me, my legs (that now had white streaks from all the scratching), and my deflated ego had to walk back home in a PG13 walk of shame.

So yes, that is all to let you know that iCan’t run. I am allergic.

Oh and I forgot to say I was wheezing by block 3 too. None of it bodes well for me. I MUST get into someone’s GIME (gym, a la Homer Simpson) very soon.

I’m a fatty in a runner’s body.

These legs weren’t made for running —->

I’m so out of shape that when I went shopping, I tried on a pair of very tight leggings, and got a Charley Horse in my calves (no lie. I told the story before but in case you missed it, here it goes:)

I’ll be damned if someone doesn’t tell me shopping is a sport. Went shopping with my girl VEG and we were trying on leggings. Well while I was trying mine on, and they were extra tight so I had to really stretch to get into them. All of a sudden, I got a very painful Charley Horse in my calves. I was hopping around the dressing room screaming “Ow ow ow! Crap, this hurts!” as VEG laughed at me and told me how ridiculous I was. PSHT that ish was painful. What also didn’t help was that I looked like I was gonna go long distance sprinting in them leggings. Anyway, 5 minutes later, my calves stopped looking like I was standing on my tippy toes. They hurt for 2 weeks afterwards. Oh, and yes I bought the leggings.



So… yeah I need other tips for breaking my addiction and spending my time away from technology. Just nothing like exercising or, you know… doing stuff.

Don’t say I never gave y’all nothing.

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But I digress. I won’t even talk about how when I did enter a game, I always scored. My solid 2.3 ppg average was from 1.8 minutes of playing. Beat THAT! But no, I ain’t bitter.

There were MANY lowlights, including:

• The many finger jams I got. No one should jam their fingers this often and play so little. Like the time I jammed two fingers on my left hand and it was wintertime. I couldn’t bend my fingers so gloves were impossible. Twas terrible.

• The time I stole the ball from an opponent (YAYYY me!!!), drove down to the other side to our basket, was going up for a layup when the world’s most painful charley horse got my calf. I crumpled to the floor while the ball flew over my head into the land of airball (WOMP)

• The time I lost my Jumpman shoes. Chewing ice during that game wasn’t so fun

The few highlights of my ill-fated and short career were:

• The XMas tourney we played where we lost horribly, but anytime I went in the game (yes, all 2 times), I hit 3-pointers.

• When somehow, I found myself under the basket, guarding someone who was 5’9 (I’m 5’4). Well since I was guarding her, she figured she didn’t need to jump. Her not jumping while I did led to me blocking her shot. It. Was. AWESOME!

• The fact that as little as I played, my picture always ended up in the yearbook for an action shot. Guess I had mastered the art of posing while shooting. Shoot, I had to be a master at SOMETHING

• While on the Freshie team (we were nicknamed the Baby Dolphins), I was a starter (*sigh* the good times). There was a game when we almost beat Marshall’s Girls’ (used slightly loosely) team. Almost doesn’t count my *SS! In this case, not getting blown out by them was a accomplishment. We only lost by like 5 points.

Then there was that one time when:

I was on the bench with my fellow riders having an in-depth conversation about physics, how bad we were losing, why ice was so delicious, how cold it was in that gym, though everyone else was hot the game, the coach called me up to play. I, of course, didn’t hear him. When word finally traveled to the end of the bench that he HAD called me, I ran up, forgetting that my warm up jersey was still over my actual jersey. Well this was brought to my attention as I ran up and I took it off really quickly. While taking it off, I ended up elbowing my coach in the chin. WOMP. *shakes head* F my life.

I wasn’t a saint though (like Dorothy Mantooth). We used to have to sprint 36 lengths of the court before practice. I’d come in 10 minutes late on purpose and join in on sprint #25 like I was there the whole time. Or during conditioning season, we had to run from my school, to the Sears Tower. I’d pretty much jog the way there and then power walk back. Other times, I never even made it to Sears Tower. Just halfway and would see people coming back and head back. I may even stop and get a sammich. I was turrble. This work ethic (or lack thereof) probably had a lot to do with my bench-riding (that and the fact that there were people who were better players than me and actually put forth effort. But semantics).

It was a self-fulfilling prophecy though. When I first joined the team, I bust my behind and got few props for it. So I reduced my effort by 50% and got the SAME results so… yeah. Statistics told me I was right. *nods*

Off the organized court, I LOVED playing basketball. When the season ended, me and my friends (and fellow bench riders) would go to the park behind the school and hoop there. We loved basketball so much that we played in the rain, in like 50 degree weather. Trying to bend your wrist to get your form right is hard when your fingers are frozen and you can’t see the basket. We did it though. All my passion left my body when I stepped into team practice though. Maybe I coulda been somebody had I actually, you know, tried. And by somebody, I mean… yeah, naw. I coulda tried but a career in basketball was not in my future. 1. I wasn’t THAT good. b. My skills were average at best. III. I wasn’t THAT good.

There was the time in college that I formed an intramural co-ed basketball team. We called ourselves the Black Panthers. We lost in the 2nd round of the playoffs because the boys were being ball hogs. hmph. Yeah Kris, I’m looking at you! lol That was over 4 years ago, and it was the last time I’ve touched a basketball.

I miss basketball though (a lot). Like I wish someone could push me on a court today and say “hoop”. I still own a pair of Nike basketball shoes that are FRESH and have only been worn twice. In case of hooping emergency, I’ll break them out the box.

Could I still walk the length of the court dribbling the ball between my legs? Probably not?
Could I still hit a 3 from the top of the key? If it touches the rim, I’d consider it a victory.
Could I run the length of the court? Without wheezing? Doubtful. But I do miss it.

These are my confessions *Cue Usher*

Would like to wish my niece Kami, a HAPPY 1st BIRTHDAY!!! I love my adorable lil Cupcake!!! We’re doing a birfday blowout for her on Saturday. DJ Enfamil will be on the 1s and 2s, spinning them (nursery) rhymes with the best of them.

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So like everyone else, I “watched” the Super Bowl. And by “watched”, I mean that it was on the TV and I knew it was on. I w

I’m not a fan of football but here are my thoughts on what I did see.

The Highlight of the ENTIRE Super Bowl was J-Hud. Jennifer Kate Hudson KILLT that National anthem without even breaking a sweat. I was just hollering at home screaming “YESSSSS LAWD!!!! J-Hud is back in my LIFE!! She must never leave me!!!” The holy ghost almost caught me. Oh, and the “Star Spangled Banner” called shortly thereafter and said it is banning everyone else from singing it. Only J-Hud is allowed henceforth.

Then the game started and really bored me to pieces. I changed my Facebook status to “I think I watched grass grow the other day and it was more intriguing than this Super Bowl. BORE!” This led to blogger Mr. Jolla and I having a back and forth in comments about how bored we were by the game. Here it is:

Jolla: LOL…I watched a new candy paint job dry…I was a bit more entertained.

Luvvie: I played marbles with myself and that held my attention longer than this game

Jolla: I played cut construction paper into animal shapes and stayed focused the duration.

Luvvie: I played rock paper scissors solo and it was more captivating

Jolla: I engaged in a shadowboxing street fight with the boogie man in my closet from across the room and was more successful at entertainment.

Luvvie: I ate a dry rice cake and the party inside my mouf was wayyy more noteworthy than this game

Jolla: I watched old Marilyn Monroe footage and the party inside my pants gave me more of a rise than the action on the football field.

Luvvie: I listened to Ben Stein (Visine “Dry Eyes” dude) make a speech and was more excited than I am watchin this game I watched a deafmute conference about selling stock and was more in tune with what was going on.

Toure: I think I will go read the economic stimulus package. Surely just the name alone is more excitiing. Stimulus package hmmm

Alise: I think I will go do geometry proofs and eat saltine crackers and drink warm water instead of the game….

Luvvie: I think I will go write a faux memoir called “The Life of Lint”. Would make me feel more productive than I feel watching the Super Bowl

Then it apparently went and got interesting cuz we complained so much and the team that wasn’t expected to win, won. (Or something like that. I just know people were all hyped in the end. What?? it became background noise. Don’t judge me!)

Besides that, what was the deal with that janky halftime show? The recession seemed to have hit the Super Bowl too because it used be the ultimate concert. Instead, we got “The Boss” Bruce Springsteen. I have no doubt in my mind that back in his heyday, Brucie was a stone cold fox. But ain’t he like 105 years old? I sweahfogawd, he was Jesus’ locker partner in high school. Why did he have on them tights as pants? Why was he doing these crazy back bends? I KNOW his doctor and a team of EMTs were standing by that stage in case Bruce’s back gave way. Shoot, I was nervous for the man. Even I ain’t that flexible. Sheesh!

When Bruce Springsteen’s 12 minutes were up, I was expecting another act to come up but they went to commercial. I sat there blinking and when I finally realized that was it, I was irate. THAT WAS IT??? Hell to the naw, Bobbay!!! What in the janky hell was that? I was NOT pleased. Alls I know is y’all cannot blame Penny (Janet Jackson) and D*ckInABox (Justin Timberlake) for this sh*tty halftime show. If they were so afraid of offending the FCC, they could have gone with other artists. Or was it that they ain’t have money to put on a good show?

Ne-yo coulda came and shared his new juicy tube lipgloss with the world, or Johnnie Legend and his tiny vest coulda crooned us with this velvetty voice. Hell, I’da even been entertained by Will.I.Am. Him and his taco meat beard coulda came and acted a plum fool and bounced around in some coulottes. There are options here, people!! If they were looking for over 50, they coulda even invited the Hat’s Aretha (yes, she no longer owns the hat. It owns HER) to come holler incoherently for 12 mins. And them 12 mins would be ONE song (Aretha KNOWS she can lengthen any song)! Well then again, Aretha’s mammoth mammaries are probably scary @ Middle America. The FCC may have fined the SuperBowl and NBC for vulgarity.

Either way, the Bowl was the most hyped thang but was blah. I didn’t watch any of the commercials but word on the street is that they were all sucky anyway. I guess folks are too worried about losing their jobs to be coming up with hella creative ads.

Umm.. is it bad that I wrote a whole review of the SuperBowl and none of it was really sports-related? If it is, well then… That’s how it be’s sometimes.

Oh and the 2nd best part of the SuperBowl (apart from J-Hud) was the episode of “The Office” that came on afterwards. iDied more than once watching all that foolishness!

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Chicago sports teams are all so putrid. They are the:

• Middle finger in our fist of glory
• The obnoxious weed in our perfect green lawn
• The scuff on our blue suede shoes
• The errant mushroom in our stuffed deep dish Giordano’s pizza

How can a city so awesome as Chicago (have you SEEN our skyline??) be cursed with such wretched representations of our physical prowess and brawn? If Chicago sport teams were children, they would ALL be prodigal.

Chicago Cubs – The Cubs team is like that child who was chosen to give the Kindergarten graduation speech, and we all beamed with pride. Cubbie learned the ABCs first and could count the highest in class. That was Cubbie’s plateau though because since then, his academic career has been plagued by subparity, parent-teacher conferences, and detentions. But because of that kindergarten speech, everyone says “Well he’s been smart before. Maybe he can do it again!” Well this season, the Cubs won their division, but they got swept out the playoffs. Thats like they finally did what everyone knew they could and won Valedictorian of their high school class, but then got kicked out of college for smoking in their dorm room.

Chicago Sox – This is the child that has never really excelled in school so folks do not expect too much of him. But then he shocks everyone and graduates college magna cum laude. Now he has a middle management career in a cubicle. So, he is a mediocre adult, but clearly doing better than that Cubs kid.

Chicago Bulls – This is the child who was the star of the family for so many years! Was the star of the school plays, always graduated at the top of his class. Until one day, he joined a gang, dropped out of college and became a street pharmacist (aka pusher of ye old drugs). The family has not claimed him since 1998.

Chicago Bears – This is the child who everyone is glad when he actually GOES to school. To expect him to excel will really be setting everyone up for failure. We get excited whenever we get his report card and he has not received more than 4 Ds. We set the bar low, and he barely reaches it even then. But we love him because he’s so fun to be around and usually gets the good times rolling (even in subzero temps).

Chicago Blackhawks – The child everyone forgets, and often misses family functions, like dinner. “Are we missing somebody?? Hmmm… OH HAWK! Damn but all the food is already gone. He’ll eat leftover if he’s hungry.” Does he excel in school? We wouldn’t know because we often forget to go pick up his report card.

Chicago CLEARLY needs an Athletic Bailout!

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