Be-everywhere-yoncé

Every once in a while, we all have crappy days. Like pull your hair out, foam at the mouth high on Endearmints with Teyana Taylor on repeat as punishment kind of crappy. For me it’s usually when something upsetting yet tiny in comparison to a Haitian’s plight happens. That’s not what escalates the day into absolute crappiness though. It’s that damn Beyoncé.

Now anyone who has spent two seconds with me or even cut a look in my direction knows that I fux with the Queen of Yaki. Now while I may not be wigcrypt status worthy, I do suffer from a lethal amount of Beyoncéitis. My affliction is self-inflicted and darnit I enjoy it. I don’t judge you when you obsess over Sean Kingston (wassup CBreezy!). But I digress.

Mrs Carter is a lot of things.

She’s incredibly beautiful.

She’s got the benefit of money and time to stay that ass in shape – I can’t vouch for the wonky stomach though. She’s a triple threat: a singer worthy of your mommas favourite soul singer’s praise, she dances her ass off and she can work a weave. What? You thought I’d say she can act?

She can DECIDE to take 6 months off from a music industry she’s had all up and through her coochie for years. She’s made a killing as Diana Ross Part Deux with Destiny’s Child. She is raking in those millions with endorsements left right and middle-centre. She is the epitome of aspiration. She’s the girl you love to hate. And not even in that order.

So naturally she’s everywhere. No matter what you’re doing you can’t hide from Jules’ auntie. Believe me I have tried. Called it therapy. Then, of course the latest deluxe edition of album number 6998569 would drop that day and I would be R100andsomething short that month. Musica made me do it.

So I accept her for what she is: the one person I don’t know personally who can totally fuck a day up for me. Through one photo–op. And not even the ones hulky Julius is in. However, her neck isn’t the only thing that can go 180 degrees at her will. Yep, that means she can totally inspire me to do something I might be good at in that same day!

So sure I’ll never sail around the city in a yacht as a belated Valentines Day celebration. And I’ll never make a Forbes List for anything. Not even my stellar burps. Yeah, I’ll never rock yaki like that or drop down low and sweep the floor with it without having to mop up my ovaries later. And I’ll probably never be the wife of an illuminati leader, I mean the object of Foxy's envy.

But I can aspire to have a ring on it! And I can say “to the left” to that third slice of cheese and egg toast. And I know theblagg La Familia (yes, all eight of you who never leave comments on the posts. Nxa.) don’t understand what the hell I am going on about and that’s ok. But for now:

Pardon my back.
-T.O.G