Yesterday Beyoncé ran up in my house, looked in my fridge, muttered “Oh, boy, I’m lookin’ like I hate what I see,” defrosted a bunch of ground turkey I bought on sale, and then dumped it all in the trash before shouting “Check on that!” I’m not saying it was an altogether unpleasant experience, but I just want to know how she got into my house. And, also, what am I going to eat for dinner?! Well, if you’ve been …