Whatcho Escu, Que?

Thursday night, as I cradled my weathered copy of Prozac Nation, I could not help, but glance up & notice the foolywag that was happening on Making the Band 4 (5? 6? 158467?). I was forced to set aside my cup of raspberry flavored tea (sweetened with just a touch of soy milk) & put down my book as the show demanded my full attention. After gasping along with audiences for about 45 minutes of showtime (& 15 minutes of Diddy rambling on about twitter & bitchassness) I could only came to one logical conclusion.

QUE IS STRUNG THE FUCK OUT.

Now, I think that Da Band...Oops, I mean Day 26 had already attempted a discreet intervention in a previous episode, when Que's mama, the band & their manager Screwface (if you've seen the show, you understand why they call him that) all sat down together for an official band meeting. Que began spouting off about feeling like they were all against him & jealous & plotting against him. Robert (bless his soul) managed to quell the situation by insisting that there was a misunderstanding about why Que was missing studio sessions & all seemed fine - at least until the next episode.

This episode, Que caused the band to be late for studio time (& not to get off topic, but for someone who was so concerned about paying bills less than 2 episodes ago, you would think he would be more eager to get in the studio & crank out some more one-hit wonders) & happened to walk into a conversation between his manager & Brian that he assumed was about him, when in reality it was not (actually, it might have been, I am only trusting Screwface's word because at that point I became sidetracked & went to go wash & exfoliate my face) & of course, this caused him to cook up the idea that they were scheming against him & planting lies against him. Screwface (blest his hourt because I would've been sent Diddy & crew to scour the nation for a sober replacement) attempted to calm Que down, which only caused Que to become MORE belligerent & lash out at his manager (who, last I checked, was signing the checks) & decide that he wanted a new manager because Screwface was against him just like everyone else.

Somehow, (I apologize for the lack of details as Prozac Nation managed to take precedence for a few minutes & I seemed to lose the storyline) Que & Brian (& by the by, someone needs to let that po' boy know that those are NOT baby hairs he got lyin up against his scalp & he needs to just cut that nappy shit off) ended up sort of fighting, there was a lot of swinging, yelling, cursing & kicking & even a few, "Ween Danity Kane!" 's & "This is bitchass!"'s (I hope Diddy got that word trademarked because he sure would be making a killing) thrown around. The two were separated & given time to cool off & the episode of course ended with a cliffhanger, showing clips of Diddy confronting the band (& more specifically, Que) & of course, promised a few more tantrums from Que next week.

Back to my point though, that Que is on drugs (specifically cocaine). I've taken it upon myself to gather a bit of research & have found that the following symptoms, all of which Que exhibits :

Paranoia

Irritability

Restlessness

Auditory hallucinations

Mood disturbances

I would think that the auditory hallucinations means that they start hearing things, which judging by how Que loves busting into rooms & accusing folks of conspiring against him, he is experiencing as well.

If that's not enough evidence for you, please take a look at these glasses he got on & tell me if anyone in their right mind would even think about wearing those grandma's reading glasses in public -

-elliekeepsitrill

Blame it on the ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol?

Last night after an eight month hiatus from the club scene, I attended my old Hollywood stomping ground, Sugar. For whatever reason they decided to have a Keri Hilson listening party without a Keri Hilson in sight but thats beside the point. The music was right (once they took Keri Hilson's slick talkin ass off), my BAC was above 0.08, it was packed, seen some familiar faces and everything was cool.

Typically when I go to the club, I usually drive so I don't really be tryna OD on the alcohol because I have other people with me and you know when you crash from driving drunk, the driver be the only muhfucka who don't die. At any rate, I've made a new friend who loves to drive and I certainly am not going to deprive them of that privalege(?). Since I didn't have to drive I started drinking at the house and mixed a potent Tangurey and Tonic, my signature drink for when I am tryna get the pourty stourted. From there, we left the house and got to the gas station where the only thing that was enticing to me was a 4 pack of individual Pinot Noir and for gas station wine, wasn't too bad. I downed 3 of those by the time we got to the club which had me feelin pretty good. About an hour into the club, I ordered another Tangurey and tonic and that pretty much did it for me. It didn't matter what song came on because I was definitely feeling myself and no one could tell me anything.

Then "Stanky Leg" came on.

I can't speak for anyone else but now that I am a college graduate, I don't know if it is appropriate for me to be tryna do the Stanky Leg (and know the lyrics to it since it is on my iPod) but i digress, I stanky legged, dougied, jerked, harlem shook, 1-2 stepped, halle berryed (berried?), bankhead bounced, stepped in the name of love and chicken noodle souped like I never have before and the correlation that I have to make to explain why my dancing was so "on-point" is the amount of alcohol I consumed that night.

I'm usually an "ok" dancer, I usually am too busy trying to look cool with sunglasses at night, blackberry in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other, subtley swaying with the music but last night...all I'm saying is that no shades were worn.

One of two things could be used to explain the phenomona that is improved dancing under the influence. The first is that I was so fucked up that "I thought" that I was really putting it down on the dance floor better than I actually was or two, the increase in my usual alcohol intake at these events allowed me to take more risks and just "not give a fuck" about looking cool which unleashed the dancing fool that I have always had within me.

I don't know what it was and I am not so sure that I care but I will offer some advice to those who are Rhythmically Challenged (not naming any nationalities): take some drinks, more or less depending on your race because we all know some white girls can be mistaken for having a seizure when they are busting a move how well you dance sober and do what Jamie Foxx says and blame it on the ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol.

-@k_rokadocious