Don’t Be Mad, House of Dereon Is Hiring
Kobe Bryant’s wife, Vanessa, let one journalist have an earful about a write up she did on the purple tutu that Mrs. Bryant rocked on the floor the night Kobe received his MVP trophy.
So as I’m walking out of the Lakers locker room after some post-game interviews with the players, I pass Vanessa, who is sitting outside the locker room as usual with her two girls.
“Laura!” she screams (yes, she apparently knows my name). “Fuck you! You fucking bitch!”
“Excuse me?” I say, completely baffled as I look around me to see if there is someone else named Laura. No, there’s not.
Her daughters – ages 5 and 2 – are sitting next to her on the bench looking at their mom as she screams.
[More f-words ensue. Many more.]
I just stare at her. I’ve heard many stories about her from reporters, but this was unbelievable. Two of my friends from the LA Times told me how she cussed out one of them last season, because he said hi to her daughter. “Join the club, this means you’ve arrived,” said one reporter when word spread of my run-in with Vanessa. “She’s insane,” said another. “Everyone knows it.”
If Vanessa is going to be angry at anybody it should be her own damn self. Unless your name is Bjork I would advise all grown ass women to stay away from the ballet look. There is one exception to this rule of course: role play fun with The Dealer.
[story via Necole Bitchie]
