Stan Wars

I, Tina – What Really Happened at WiP

By Tina Knowles

Over the past few weeks there has been a lot of speculation, innuendo and conflicting stories about what happened at club WiP.

If I have learned anything from nearly 20 years of having two daughters in show business, it’s that perception is far greater than reality. What really happened and what the press tells you are often two different things. I want to give the raw, uncensored, absolutely truthful version of what really happened at WiP. No holds barred.

First of all, I had no intention on going out that night. I had spent all night working with Beyonce on designs for a new line of infant lacefronts and I was extremely tired. My assistant called me and told me that my presence was requested at a party and I decided at the very last minute to show up. On the night in question, there were actually two events at the club. Teyana Taylor was throwing a “I Just Got Approved for A Forever 21 Credit Card” party and Chris Brown was throwing a party celebrating the release of the 84th first single from his upcoming album Misfortune. Drake, Mary J. Blige, Rihanus and host of miscellaneous E-list celebrities were also invited.

At around 1:00AM, my crew and I arrived at the club. In my entourage were my security, Cynthia (Gaga’s mom), Octavia Del Rey (Lana’s mom), Michelle Obama (Sasha and Malia’s mom) and Tootsie Minaj (Nicki’s aunt) The following bit of information has no relevance to the story as a whole, but I feel it necessary to let you know what our hair was layed like.

 

 

IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

Cynthia asked me to dye her hair black, flat iron it, and shave off one side of it. Her hair was layed like Cassie.

Michelle told me to dye her hair blond, and cut it into a nasty ass asymmetrical bob. Her hair was layed like T-Boz.

Miss Octavia told me to blow her out into an afro. Her hair was layed like Foxxy Cleopatra.

Tootsie told me that I didn’t have to do her hair; she was going to the Dominican salon. We waited 3 hours for her to get finished, which was odd because she only has  about 17 minutes worth of hair, but I didn’t want to be disagreeable, so I said nothing.

As for me, I had a long, wavy, black Armenian wig with brown highlights. My hair was layed like Kim Kardashian. (pun intended). I strutted into the club swinging and flinging my hair and you couldn’t tell me I wasn’t in a Pantene Pro-V commercial.

But I digress.

So me, Octavia, Cyn, Chelle and Tootsie walked into the club, like the 5-Star chicks that we are; we took a seat at our booth and I saw Drake. The rumors that you’ve heard about Drake and I are true. Drake and I had an intimate relationship, but I made it very clear that I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I had just gotten out of a 30-year marriage. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, but you girls know sometimes it’s just like an ear piercing; if you don’t keep something in it, it will close up.

In another place and time perhaps Drake and I would have been serious. Yes, he’s a sensitive guy. Yes, he sends you cookie bouquets. Yes, he gave me his iPhone passcode on the first date. Yes, he texts you while he’s sitting right next you. Yes, he cries while he’s inside you, but I know he has a good heart and only the best of intentions. Besides, it’s always wise to keep a light-skinned man on reserve because when the weather turns cold and they go back into hibernation, I wouldn’t be able to get another good piece of light-skinned cack until Spring 2013.

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Despite the fact that I had made my intentions clear, I knew that Drake wanted a more serious relationship and running into him was always a bit awkward. ‘Twas around 3:30am, we had been at the party for almost 2 hours and the Goose had me oh, so very loose. I was feeling my drink and feeling my beat when I looked at the entrance and saw my ex-husband Mathew, dressed in a leisure suit with that thick-ass mustache looking like the last living member of The Temptations.

Mathew approached our table and said he wanted to see me, I told him I didn’t want to see him. He said he just wanted talk to me for a little bit. I told him that we should talk in private instead of making a scene in front of everybody, Jesus, the First Lady and Gaga’s mama. This is the part of the story that I regret. Mathew was fully aware of my relationship with Drake. I sent him dick pics and I left my Skype web cam on so he could watch Drake and I during one of our conjugal visits. In hindsight, it may have been a bit childish. I had a right to be angry after my divorce, but I should have had more control over my emotions and conducted myself in a manner befitting a Creole lady of class and honor.

Mathew eventually walked away from my table. He was too cheap to get a table of his own, so him, his Uncle Duke, and his cousin Quan were on the dance floor doing the cha cha slide to “Drank In My Cup”, eating chicken wings they had snuck into the club. It was quite embarrassing.  By around 4:00AM the entire energy of the club changed. Drake kept looking at me with a depressed look in his eye. He had taken out his poetry notebook and was writing furiously as if he were in Poetic Justice (I imagine that he was doing narrations in his head). Chris’ new girlfriend Karrueche and Voodoo Pussy Rihanna were giving each other evil looks and Mathew was staring at me with a O.J. Simpson look in his eyes and I wasn’t here for any of it. At this point I assessed the situation. I looked at my ex-husband, the only man I know who would sneak a wine cooler into a club in SoHo and I looked at Drake, the only man I know who would write in a poetry notebook, in a club, while Three Six Mafia’s “Let’s Start A Riot” plays in the background. I decided that it might be time to go home.  Drake was upset with me, Mathew was upset with Drake and Karrueche was upset with Rihanna. The tension in the club was so thick you could have cut it with the switchblade Michelle was hiding in her bra.

You can always sense when shit is about to pop off and my senses were telling me that big shit was about to start poppin’ and little shit was about to come to a complete halt. At this point, I decided that it was definitely time to leave. I looked down to get my purse and I felt something fly pass my head. The next thing I know Negroids were throwing bottles, glasses, shoes, plates, Blackberries, chairs, etc. At one point Karrueche picked up Teyana Taylor and threw her at Rihanna.

What kind of Basketball Wives foolishness?

The entire ordeal lasted less than 30 seconds, but felt like an eternity. Just before the police showed up, I saw Mathew take off running (he has warrants) and then Drake ran into a bathroom room stall, locked the door and called his mother to come pick him up. During the scuffle Chris was injured and needed stiches. We were trying to get him in the ambulance, and his special-education ass was tweeting and taking pics while half of his damn chin was on the floor. I honestly didn’t see who threw the first bottle. It could have been Rihanna; she strikes me as the type that can’t fight without a weapon. It could have been Matthew; the club was dark and his eyesight isn’t what it used to be, so he could have just started throwing bottles at anything light-skinned. The entire night was a complete and chaotic mess.

I have cooperated with the authorities to the best of my abilities. I am not a basic bitch, so watching Negroes throw liquor over me does nothing for my self-esteem. I feel slightly responsible for the incident, but I can’t change what happened. This is more than just a story, it is the complete and honest truth. I will no longer entertain rumors and will not address this further, but if Oprah wants to talk about it on her network, I have a sickening curly ponytail already picked out for the interview.