Lisa Yvette Pearson

Books, blogs, and biblicalities.

Tea Time Today: Kerri Barrus

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This phone is getting on my nerves. I can't even watch these so-called Real Housewives of Brooklyn in peace. Who in the world is it? Oh. This chick again. Hmph. When I get in my bed - sheet thread count of 500, thank you very much - I don't like to be disturbed.

Especially by Taquisha. 

I really wish she would stop calling and asking me for game tickets. She even had the nerve to come to my church one Sunday asking if I could get her some tickets; knowing she don't even go to Mount Moriah Baptist Temple of God and knowing I don't get down with no bum chicks wearing no name jeans and Painless shoes! Who does that? I had to beg the producers of my show to not film her! Kay Kay's Big Time Life is not gonna support none of that ratchetry. 

Ha. I remember Rabbit used to call her Tacky-isha. She was right! Sometimes when she wasn't trying to steal my spotlight, she was mad funny. 

Taquisha and Jasmine used to be pretty fly, but they fell off. We used to wear name brand everything: Polo, MCM, Gucci, everything. Now they wearing cheap lycra and polyester sequined shirts. Last I heard, Jasmine was working at some doctor's office in Queens. Fell off. Off the cliff. Off the grid. Off the map.

Now Lashelle, Lashelle is still on the map. She has a celebrity hair shop where all the baller chicks go. The hair is top notch Balinese and Samoan and it costs $400 a bundle. As Biggie said, she's Gucci down to the socks. But I refuse to step foot in there 'cause she's a hater.

I gave Taquisha tickets one time, you know. Even though she dresses mad whack. 'Cause she was still my girl. And 'cause I knew the film crew wasn't coming that day. Guess what my so-called friend did? She sold 'em. Didn't even call me and tell me that she couldn't come. Even though she knew I was excited to hang out with her after all those years.

Instead, Big Mert who used to fix cars around the corner came to the game smelling like weed and looking like a dirt bomb talkin' bout these ain't the seats he paid that crack hoe $20 for. And how he's supposed to be court side wants his money back.

I felt sick to my stomach. How could she just sell the tickets like that?

My husband Mikey calls me Dionne, sometimes 'cause he says I'm clueless. That I can't even see what other people are going through. But that's not true. 

Oh man, I can't believe these Brooklyn chicks got a show. They houses are kinda nice, but all they talk about is home births and kale salads. They don't even know what Brooklyn really is. They don't even have a black housewife! Except for the Italian chick with the dope Louis bag, this some new Brooklyn hipster bohemian trash. Lemme call my producer. We gotta tape some more stuff for my new show. Maybe get Taquisha on and get a makeover. I'll show Mikey that I'm not clueless. I'ma make my girl look good again.  

Then we'll show all these wack chicks how it's really done in Brooklyn.