Beyonce’s Baby

I suppose you’ve heard the big news: Beyonce’s pregnant! I suppose you’ve also heard the counter news: Beyonce’s not pregnant!

Just a week after it was confirmed that Beyonce was knocked up, she was seen downing bubbly like it was her job at party for Jay-Z. Either she needs to read up on the do’s and don’ts of pregnancy, or the fine people at TMZ have made a mistake.

But who would start a rumor about Beyonce being pregnant? BEYONCE!

My theory is this: Beyonce hasn’t had much publicity since she put her pants back on. But do you know what people are talking about? Babies, the soon-to-be smash hit documentary about BABIES! Beyonce got jealous of those babies and devised a plan.

For the next nine months, Beyonce will send the paparazzi mixed signals about her “condition.” One day she will be seen shopping for strollers; the next day she will be shooting heroin with Billy Crystal behind a Taco Bell. It will drive the photogs crazy. Is she or isn’t she?!

At the end of the nine months, Beyonce will drop an album entitled “I am My Own Baby.” The cover will be a picture of Beyonce dressed as a sexy baby. She will thenceforth adopt a duel persona, as she has done with Sasha Fierce, only this one will be more confusing and disconcerting. She will appear on the concert stage as Beyonce, then she will announce that she is going to get her beautiful baby girl, Bebe. She goes back stage, then out walks and oversized baby in stilletos with a weave that is out of this world.

“Beyonce’s baby is beautiful!” people will say, as the baby struts in front fans, giving the eye. Bebe will make baby noises instead of singing actual words.  Hipsters, for some reason, will get really into Bebe.

I’m on to you Beyonce, and your baby that is actually you. It’s not cute, and it’s not funny. It’s just a new excuse for you to take your pants off.



Somehow, beyond my wildest dreams, I have acquired an iPhone. It’s pretty great except for the fact that I don’t know how to use it at all, and I tend to inadvertantly call people at alarming hours of the morning. What is most annoying, though, is that my iPhone is extremely arrogant, and always thinks it knows what I mean when I misspell something while texting.

Listen, I’m not waif. I’ve got fingers the size of Italian sausages, and when I try to type on that tiny touchpad, I tend to miss a letter or two. If the stupid phone would just let me spell the words wrong and live with my mistakes, things would be a lot better. People would guess that “hamg” is supposed to say “hang” if they read the rest of the text, but instead I end up sending texts to people that say:

“What are you doing tonight? Want to hammy?” And that, literally, is not the message I want to send. That’s how rumors start.

I could live with it if this only happened once in a while, but every time I come near the thing, it seems to have superior notions for my texting topics. One missing “e” and “remember” turns to “Rembrandt.” Rembrandt?! Why would I ever be texting about Rembrandt? Something so high-brow should only be mentioned through actual conversation or by way of letter written in caligraphy with a quill pen. But no one ever texts about Rembrandt. Come on, phone!

This phone is really beginning to step on my toes. My social life will slowly begin to crumble once my friends start receiving texts that say things like, “Nice day for action soap. Utah!”  The last thing I need is to be on my way to a date and send the guy a message that reads: “Almost pregnant. Tell me what next what baseball, oh?” No one wants to go to Chili’s after that.

I think my phone just needs to take a step back and let me deal with my own typos. If someone gets a text that says: “I’ll call you tommorq,” I think they’ll know what I mean more than if they get something like “I’ll call you Tomahawk.” And they’ll be less confused (and possibly offended).  I’m not going to pretend no one has ever received a text from me that said “I’ll kill you.” If I don’t take control, this phone is going to get me arrested, and I can’t let that happen.

There are many great things about the iPhone, and when I figure them out, I’ll let you know (right now my favorite feature is my “Boing” ringtone–I like to pretend a sexy lady just walked into the room). But until then, it will continue to ruin my life. If you ever receive an offensive text from me, just ignore it. “Placebo tops. You’re fat!” isn’t what it seems like.

Party Favors

While Christina and Lily rode the subway home, a friendly, if cracked out, fellow inched ever closer to them.

“Do you want to hear a song I wrote?” he asked. They should have answered, No. Get away from me now before I call the police or that 311 number the subway is always encouraging. But being young, and still unjaded by the purgatory that is Manhattan (and afraid to disobey the terrifying train lunatic), they hesitantly agreed to listen.

“I’m hoping this will be really big one day, and be all over the radio.” He was too enthusiastic and hopeful for his 50 years. No good could come of this. He began to sing, feeling the emotion from the depths of his soul:

“I got the party favors, but not for you (hold, hold, beat, pause)! I got the party favors, but not for you!” This, over and over again. A smash hit, no doubt.

The girls listened, nodding and laughing, as would be expected (Oh, you don’t laugh at crazies? Forgive me for being so rude! I bet you don’t throw rocks at old people either. Get off your high horse already.) They encouraged him, which is always a mistake, and so he continued to sing his one line anthem. Before they knew it, “Party Favors (Not for You)” was circling their brains, proving that all you have to do is say something over and over again and it will come true. How do you think Marc Anthony ended up with J.Lo?

A few questions come to mind, though, in regards to this soon-to-be-multiplatinum song:

1. What exactly are the party favors? Is that code for something foul, or does he mean noise makers, and hats and the like? We can only hope it refers to the former.

2. Why can’t I have any party favors? Did I do something wrong (however it is the above “former,” you probably don’t want the party favors…)?

3. What the H? Why did you even mention the party favors if I can’t have any? I wouldn’t have even been thinking about them if you hadn’t said anything! Now I can’t stop thinking about the favors. Why would you do that?

And of course, the final question…

4. What a nasty beat! Where can I cop that? (Exact words. I swear, that’s exactly how you were thinking it).

Well, for once, I don’t know the answer to any of these questions. All I know is that “Party Favors (Not for You)” was in my head for two days straight after hearing this tale of heroism and triumph. Please spread the word about this song, and maybe we can make this kind creep’s dreams come true. His song will sweep the nation, and everyone will want the party favors.