It’s Friday night at 11 P.M. What are you doing?
I’m either at home with my son or out drinking some Coronas and adding to my beer belly.

Where do you drink your Coronas?
Dive bars. Two doors down from here there’s a little joint that’s full of old rednecks. I go in there, drop $10 in the jukebox, play nothing but Marvin and Prince and just get wasted. The rednecks are like, “What the
fcuk?”

What kind of drunk are you?
I am a Miss-Tina’s-in-the-back-of-my-head kind of drunk.

You mean, your mom. What is she saying?
“Girl, you better have some panties on!” My mom’s so reserved-last year, for my 21st birthday, she was like, “You can have one glass of champagne, and that’s it.” I said, “First of all, I haven’t lived with you since I was 17. Second, I’m divorced. And third, I have a kid. I am drinking tonight.”

If we drug-tested you, what would we find?
I’ve got a song called “Champagne Chronic Nightcap.” That’s about as wild as it gets for me-that and the Coronas.

Are you a good girl or a bad girl?
Definitely…um…You know, I was so trained to say a god girl, but I really straddle that line.

Ever doubted your sexual orientation?
You mean like in that Katy Perry song? Negative. I’m strictly dickly.

How about videotaped yourself having sex?
Nope. Ain’t no Solo tapes, y’all.

How would you characterize your taste in sex.
A good girl never kisses and tells. Didn’t I say I straddle that line.

Labels: Solange