Back in Brooklyn

So I didn't get a chance to finish the Richmond story while I was actually there, because Four was with me for the rest of the trip. I got back into Brooklyn on Monday, sleepy as shit due to a 6 am flight after 2 hours of sleep. By time I was getting into my nap on the plane we were landing! I had a great time! Even Four nearly passing out after the hot tub was fun! I told him not to drink too much wine before we got in!

I discovered alot on this trip. Chick-fil-a, target selling wine (and fireworks!), scattered hash browns from Waffle House, strong ass drinks in the clubs, and thats just the food and drink related stuff. I also found out that I could go away with a man and not want to kill him. And that living in NYC has spoiled me - I've had my drivers licence for over 10 years and I've driven maybe 10 times since then. That changed in VA. First I had to pick up the rental car before Four arrived. Then I took a trip to Target and Chick-fil-a, then I had to pick up Four from the airport. I also drove on Sunday since Four has a bad back and was all drugged up when it started bothering him.

For the most part, I really like his friends. They are all well educated, highly hilarious individuals. Get them together and its great jokes, and amazing conversation. And the men are almost all 6 feet tall or better, I felt like a midget in my flats! After the rehearsal dinner, we headed out to a club and it was hilarious for several reasons. It was interesting to watch the women in the club react to the guys we were with. And it was funny watching their reactions when the realized that just about all of them had hit the club with a woman by their side! Oh the hate, not that I can be mad at them. Then there was the dude that sweated out his whole suit. You would have thought that he would take his jacket off once he started dancing and sweating but you would be wrong. At the end of the night, he even danced his way out of the club. There was also a cover band that did an r&b version of Mrs. Officer. It reminded me of the wedding singer from The Hangover. I think I giggled through their whole set. I also found it interesting that the men there were alot older than the women, at least they looked older.

The wedding was beautiful. Black love is a gorgeous thing! The bride and groom make a beautiful couple. And the wedding cake was fantastic! We headed out to a club after the wedding but let me skip back to the part where I said that I like all of his friends for the most part. There was one chick there that I was really contemplating punching in the throat! I might have mentioned that Four and I went to the same high school and that he was two years behind me. Well this chick also went to our high school and was a year behind Four. So after the wedding Four introduces me to her and ask if I remember her from school, which I didn't. I stopped paying attention to the underclassmen that were behind Four. Didn't really know them and didn't really care to. My senior year, when she would have been a freshman, I was more concerned with getting out of there without having to kill someone.

But the school was very small, I think there was something like 87 kids in the whole school the year I graduated. And while I wasn't too concerned with making new friends my senior year, I was also captain of three sports teams, in the chorus and jazz band, in at least two plays, and on student government. So when Four asked me if I knew her, I couldnt say that I did at the time. He introduces me as his date and then says loud enough for her to hear, that we all went to the same high school. We get to the reception and Four is off talking to some of his friends, and I'm standing by our table with a couple that I met down there (by the way, I loved these two. Shes, let call her L, incredibly snarky!) and this chick is going to say to me, "so who do you know, the bride or the groom?" L shoots me a look and I'm thinking is this chick trying to make me feel like an outsider, because its clear that everyone knows each other, either because they went to school together, or because they are coupled up with people who went to school together. I tell her that I'm here with Jason and she hits me with an "Oh". You know they kind I'm talking about, thats laced with disdain. About 5 minutes later L ask me what the hell is that chicks problem and I truly cannot tell. I should also mention that it was about 5 minutes into the reception and she was already smelling like someone dumped 2 gallons of liquor on her head. The chick was down there with her husband, who has met a number of the crew before but is still a bit of an outsider like me. She left poor dude alone at the table for most of the evening and lord only knows where she went.

At the end of the night, after L and I made numerous jokes at her expense (I may not have a relaxer in my hair, but I know enough about them to say that she was about 6 weeks past needing a touch up - you trying to tell me that she's never heard of a flat iron?!) her and her poor husband are leaving and she's going to come up to me and say, "it was nice meeting you." And I say, we aren't just meeting, we went to the same high school and she comes back with a "yeah, but I don't remember you." Really bitch, for some reason I doubt that highly. While I may not remember too many underclassmen that I didn't have personal relationships with, I sure as hell remember all of the people who were ahead of me in school. I spoke at graduation, which all the underclassmen attended. I was one of the leads in the senior play, which again all the underclassmen attended. I was all over that school and you dont remember me? I'm just gonna say I doubt it and leave it at that.

Anyway back to me and Four. We discovered that we both have a sick sense of humor, which we already kind of knew but it was further demonstrated being around so many sharp witted people. We also discovered that he likes to play in my locks, although hes usually not even aware that he's doing it. We discovered that we really like sleeping next to one another, he's a great spooner. And when I got back, we discovered that we really missed sleeping next to one another. He's out of town on business and called me this morning around 8 just to hear my voice. We are turning into a very sappy couple.

Grrrrrrrr, partie duex*

*no I don't speak french, Mac Dashboard translated it for me (Non, je ne parle pas francais, Mac Dashboard traduit lui pour moi!)

So I went on the interview at the international corporation today.  Nice office, super tight security as is found in most NYC office buildings these days.  Let me start off by saying that when I was talking to the TempAgent, she kept saying to me how they had placed the woman that I would be meeting with sometime ago.  And although she (the TempAgent) had only met with my interviewer two or three times, she could just tell that we were going to get along.  I took this to mean that I was meeting with a black woman, and I was correct.

Can I just state for those non-black people out there that might not know, that just because two women share a racial designation and a similar occupation, does not mean that they are automatically get along.  Case in point, my fucking interview today.  Homegirl didn't like me from the minute she saw me in my Calvin Klein linen blend herringbone suit and Max Studio pumps.  Actually I should list those in opposite order since when I turned around to meet her, she was working her way up from my bad ass round toe pumps.  I'm sure some of you out there reading this are probably thinking I'm a conceited lil bitch whose just a tad full of herself, and honestly you'd be mostly right.  I'm also secure enough with my own shit that if I see another woman with some nice sandals (the lady in the nail salon last week) or a great dress (that sister on the C train) I will give you a compliment.  So I know when someone is looking at me like, "Ooooo those shoes are nice!" and when someone is looking at me like, "Look at this uppity bitch!"  But I am a professional, professional what I don't know, so I smiled my brightest and friendliest and greeted her with nothing less than grace (with a tad of humility thrown in to make her feel better about herself.)

We get down to the interview and errrrrrrrrrrrrkkk! wait a minute, TempAgent told me I'd be supporting 9 executives but Interviewer is telling me it's actually about 12.  And the position is for about 6 months instead of the 3 TempAgent implied.  I already know that they DO NOT want someone who is going to be interviewing during lunch.  So I guess asking for an hour off to go to an interview is out as well huh? Let me ask you this, what the hell am I supposed to do 7 months down the line if they decide not to hire me on full time?  Do I explain on my next set of interviews that I took a job at half my normal pay when they ask me what I've been doing for the last six months?  And if they do hire me, do you really expect me to believe that they are going to automatically double my salary upon hire when I've been more than happy to do the work for less for the last 6 months?  Somehow I don't think so...

 And why the hell can't this damn woman look me in the eye!  Not a fucking good sign.  Is there something hanging out of my nose?  Is my eyeliner smeared across my face or some shit?  I KNOW there's nothing between my teeth - I didn't eat anything, I was a little nervous.  The fact that this woman is looking everywhere but in my eyes is distracting the fuck out of me and I'm not answering her questions with my usually savvy or panache.  My wit is abandoning me and my nerves are starting to take over.   I'm second guessing my decision to wear my suit.  I mean after all Interviewer is wearing some slacks with an open knit sweater and tank underneath (next time she should opt for either a neutral shade or a matching one, cause the white tank under the navy blue sweater was what I would call corporate.)  Then she's telling me that she wants me to meet with her supervisor and an older white woman enters the office.  Interviewer exits and my next interview begins.

Complete opposite experience.  She's looking me in the eye.  She's smiling at my answers, shit, she's actually listening to my answers.  I've gotten her to laugh.  What's the difference?  It surely isn't me.  I'm acting the exact same way with the Supervisor that I was with the Interviewer.  Maybe it's because Supervisor has only been there for 6 months herself so she's got no reason not to like me.  Maybe it was all in my imagination....

Grrrrrrrrrr

I reallllllly am starting to be very skeptical about employment agencies.  The latest one that I've hooked up with is not giving me a confident feeling to put it mildly.  It started off pretty well.  I was especially excited because the Treat's Truck was close to their offices.  If you're from NYC and like desserts, you really need to check out the Treat's Truck website and get a cookie or some shit.  Lady is like my fucking hero!  She's got a tricked out old fashion ice cream truck named Sugar, wears a kitschy lil uniform, and makes delicious treats.  What's not to love?  I once got a caramel creme sandwich cookie and gave it to a dude I used to work with.  He looked at it all kinds of funny cause it wasn't fancy looking at all, in fact, they kind of look like sand paper.  But then he took a bite, and that was all it took to get him hooked.  Their motto is "Not too fancy, always delicious!" Anyway, enough about the Treat's Truck for now...

I was also excited about The Agency because it's a certified women owned enterprise, which I thought was cool.  So I get there and the young receptionist asks me to fill out an application.  I was in a snit about it at first, but the application actually asked alot of good questions - things that you couldn't find out by reading my resume.  And she also gave me this sheet with tips for a good interview.  For the most part I agreed with all of the tips, but one kind of bothered me.  It said that you should always wear a suit to interviews.  It went on to say that by a suit, they meant two pieces of the same color purchased together, clean and well fitting.  Now first thing that bothered me about this was that I was sitting there in a black button down shirt, black pencil skirt, (black sheer pantyhose) and round toe black pumps.  Second thing that bothered me about this was that in all of the interviews that I've been on so far, only the men that I interviewed with (3) had on suits, and one was extremely ill fitted, and one didn't even bother with his jacket.  None of the women I met with had on anything even close to a suit.  

The funny thing about it was that I had just bought two new suits and had them tailored so they fit properly.  (Shopping note: If you buy anything from Syms, they have tailors in the dressing rooms and the fee is rather cheap for the work they do.  Turn around was pretty quick too.)  I would have been a little pissy if I walked in there in my new Calvin Klein herringbone suit only to find this maybe 21 year old receptionist in her motorcycle boots and short skirt.  And there there was the other candidate in the reception area in his older brother's suit.  At least thats what it looked like to me.  But I didn't wear a suit and I still looked professional.  And some days a working woman can't go wrong with a nice professional yet feminine dress.  

Anyway back to The Agency.  The interviews went well, and they didn't ask me to test.  I mean really, who works somewhere for 7 years, with references provided, and doesn't know how to proficiently use Word and Excel?  I think it's a little insulting when they ask me to test my skills.  Especially when they tell me that I can't use all of the nifty shortcuts that someone who has used Word or Excel for over 10 years has picked up.  And then when I left the interview and stopped by the Treat's Truck, she was sold out, but she gave me a free cookie!  I seriously have a thing for that woman now.

A couple of days pass and I hear from the permanent placement counselor that I met with.  She tells me about a job that sounds pretty interesting but just got listed, it going to be a while before she hears back from them.  Next day, the temporary placement counselor that I met with calls me.  She has a long term temp job working at a well known firm, replacing someone on maternity leave.  She tells me that they tend to keep people that they like and it sounds like an interesting thing to do for a little while.  (how long in general is maternity leave anyway?) Then she tells me the pay per hour and I say send my resume.  I get off the phone and pull out the calculator and wait a second, it's like half my last salary.  Seeing as I'm still getting paid from The Last Job for a little while longer, I technically could take a pay cut IF it was something amazing that I really wanted to do.  But I'm tired of sitting at home so I figure I'll talk about it with the Temp Counselor when I hear back from her.

When I do, and bring up my concerns, chicky starts whining.  "Well we really like for our candidates to tell us no before we send their resumes and you're putting me in a really uncomfortable situation!" she screeches at me.  Hold on, I simply pointed out to her that the pay was a large step down from what I use to make and I asked her if it would end up hurting me in the long run.  For instance, I said, if they decided to hire me full time, would they expect me to receive less that my last sizable annual salary because I have already done so?  "Oh! Well, um, no!  I mean they would in most cases look at what your last full time salary was. And if you're really worried about the decrease, I can up the pay by $2 an hour."  She really never should have told me that.  Because now I think I can get more money out of her.  Not to mention, I know someone that does temporary placement and if I'm going to give someone my commission, I would much rather it be her.  And because I've known her for so long, I know that she probably won't try to fuck me on the deal, at least with out some dinner and a good lube....

How I think

PrettyBlack did a post about Things She's Learnt So Far, and it inspired me.  Here's some shit I think

• Compliments are beautiful things.  Everyone loves to be complimented and sometimes a sincere compliment can go a long way.  And there ain't shit wrong with giving yourself a compliment or agree with a compliment that someone has given you.
• You can be cocky and gracious.  When your agreeing to that compliment, make sure you say thank you cause there is no bitch bad enough to be rude all the damn time.
• Respect your elders, but don't take no shit from them either.  I have this one Aunt that will take the last dollar out your pocket if you let her.  It's not that she needs it, by any means.  It's just that she CAN and WILL do it if you let her.  For some reason she's gotten it into her head that it's her right as an elder.  She even did it to me when I was a kid.  Actually she did it to all of the cousins when we were kids.  I'll never forget the time she beat me with a slipper because I called her on it when I was 10...
• Some dude LOVE a psycho chick.  They don't want a broad who acts normal.  If you don't call them 18 times a day, they think you don't really care about them.  If your not willing to give up everything and everyone for them, they don't think your committed.  If you don't scream and yell at them for some dumb insignificant shit that they did (probably to try and get you to act like a psycho), then you couldn't possibly care about them as much as TheNextChick.  
• Conversely, some chicks LOVE a psycho dude.  If he's not insanely jealous, then he must not care.  If he's not cursing you out or putting his hands on you, then how are you supposed to know that he wants to be with you?  If he's not shady as hell and suspect as fuck, then you don't want shit to do with him.  And heaven forbid he have a job instead of a hustle!
• There is nothing wrong with loving animals and eating meat.  NOTHING!  I love Duke, but if you think I'm gonna stop eating red meat or wearing leather, your fucking cracked.  Humans have been living with and eating and wearing animals since the fucking dawn of time.  The problem is in the wastefulness not the consumption.  The Artist's Dad hunts, but he uses just about every part of the deers that he kills.  Ever had deer jerky?  Antler buttons anyone?  He made the Artist the baddest deerskin jacket.  It's very rustic goes metro
• I FULLY believe in the right to bear arms.  I understand that guns aren't for everyone, but if shit goes down...
• Learning computer programming is cool and shit, but I think that more minorities need to learn skilled trades.  I'm talking carpentry, masonry, and other unionized construction trades.  And lest not forget about other hands on skills like culinary arts, gemology, pattern making/garment production and others.  
• I want to be cremated.  Some of you might think it's morbid for a 30 year old to think about things like what they want done with their remains, but tomorrow is not promised.  And the idea of burying my body just does not appeal to me.  AT ALL.  I've discussed this and my other wishes with Mommy and I know what she would like me to do for her.
• If you are old enough to get your nails done regularly (I'm talking to all you teenage girls with tips or eyelash extensions or whatever have you) then you are old enough to maintain yourself ALL around.  I can not STAND to see these young chicks out here sporting blinged out nail tips with earwax dripping out of their ears.  Or young dudes with $200 sneakers on and a fresh fade with same dirty ears and even worse, they apparently have never thought to take a washcloth to the back of their necks.  Come on people, how are you teaching these kids how to half take care of themselves?!  I mean I remember being a teenager and just knowing that some wackadocious outfit I was wearing was the shit.  I was headstrong and didn't listen to shit anyone tried to tell me about style.  I might have looked crazy as hell on several different occasions, but I was always clean.  Couldn't anyone say that I smelled or was dirty.  The same can't be said for a disappointingly large number of youth that I have come across as of late.
• And speaking of children, I will hit someones child if they step bad to me or mine.  Dead ass.  If some little 13 year old girls jumped my god daughter and I was there to witness, please believe that I will be throwing said little as far as I can.  And should said little girls think to swing on me, I will be swinging back with 25 years of fighting dirty behind me. Parents please raise your children with manners and self confidence and the thought that your children might run into me someday.  I'm not gonna try and kill them, but I will put them in their place if they think to jump bad.  (there is a recent real story behind this - don't worry I'll spill and I didn't have to hit anyone's child.)
• Karma is a man stealing, dog killing, best friend turning, food spitting, car scratching, std riddled, yeasty pantied, $2 whore. beware that bitch

Dogs are barking

• Hello WorldWideWeb, it's me Trouble!
• so I think I mentioned that Superslag wanted me to bake some Red Velvet Cupcakes for her birthday.  I quoted her a price, a cheap price I might add- I gave her a discount on my labor as a gift, and she started hemming and hawing just a little bit but said that she wanted the cupcakes.  Then I don't hear from her for about 4 days and she sends me a text message last Friday, talkinbout -If you made the cupcakes, I'll pay you for them when I can but if you didn't make them yet, can we cut down the number you make?  She originally wanted 2 orders, so I said fine, just let me know when you want them and I'll tell you when I need the money by.  I know her well enough that there was no way in hell I was going to bake the cupcakes without having the money in hand.  So it's Wednesday and I get a call from Teeth (formerly CoHo - Cousin T's other sister - if you need a reminder, she used to have no teeth in her mouth and now she's got these big blindingly white joints and I'm not sure she can close her mouth fully) and she says that she's gonna pay for the cupcakes.  She stops by my house the next day to drop off the money and she says some shit about how SuperSlag was complaining that she wasn't going to have any cake or cupcakes for her birthday so thats when Teeth decided to call me.  Saywhatnow!  That's why I waited, cause she would have had me make the shits and never said a word that she didn't have the money for them.  Teeth tried to throw some shade my way insinuating that I wouldn't be able to make the cupcakes as promised, "Are you SURE you're going to be able to make them?"  I came back with the deadpan, "Why wouldn't I be able to make them?" and that shut her up.  But that brings me to the next bullet in the post...
• So I get up on Friday, and head to the StupidMarket to get ingredients.  This is the second time I'm making them, so I'm pretty confident in my skills and figure I can experiment a little more this time.  I also figure it should be no problem doubling the recipe.  I get home, setting up to start and here comes Mommy.  "So, are you going to do one batch and then set up for the second?"  "No, I was just going to double the recipe and do it all in one shot."  "Oh, well if you THAT confident."  Suddenly I'm not!  I swear, mothers are put on this Earth in part to teach us humility.  I was a little shook, but I continued on with the game plan.  15 minutes later, I had a gorgeous batter and was ready to start cupping.  25 minutes later and I had about half the cupcakes I needed ready to go in to the oven.  25 minutes after that I had the whole order ready and put them in to bake, but I still had a nice amount of batter left.  So I started filling cups and ended up with a nice little snack for the weekend.  After I took all the cupcakes out of the oven I let them cool and ate lunch with Mommy, who stole the first cupcake bite (I found these little mini cupcake cups, which are perfect when you have just a lil batter left.)  After lunch I used my pastry bag to ice them bitches.  They were ready to go at 5.  If I could increase my speed cupping, it wouldn't be so bad.
• now, its like 7, Duke and I are out in the backyard, enjoying the gorgeous spring day and my phone starts singing Chocolate Rain.  It's Teeth, she wants to know where I am.  At home why?  Oh, you didn't finish the cupcakes?  They've been ready since 5, why?  Oh, cause I'm at SuperSlags and I was wondering where you were.  ERRRRRRRRRK!  wait a minute, this bitch told me yesterday that she would stop by my house and help me bring the cupcakes to SuperSlags.  Now, I'm stuck getting damn near 40 cupcakes over to her house.  Granted it's only 4 blocks away, but still.  So I tell her I have to take a shower and I'll be there when I can.  Thank God for Mommy!  Out of the blue, she comes up with this huge plastic platter that will fit all the cupcakes.  She actually got it out of the garage, she was using it for plants.  But she washed it for me and I covered it with tin foil and strolled my ass on down the hill.
• If I was ever serious about selling my cupcakes, all I would have to do is walk around on a nice day with a huge tinfoil covered platter.  It was dark out when I went and I still had about 4 people ask me what was on the platter on my way to SuperSlags. And I think only one of them was hitting on me.
• Cousin T was actually going to come get me when she heard that Teeth left me in the lurch, but I told her not to worry about it.  I hate that she always has to pick up the slack for her sisters so I try not to burden her with the shit the fuck up with.  It helps that I limit my interaction with her sisters.  Plus she had some conditioner in her hair and would have had to come out with a plastic cap on. 
• I get there and everybody is floored by the big platter.  A couple of people also spoke up that I had to walk over there with the platter on my own.  Baba (my cousin, Superslag, Teeth, and Cousin T's dad) is all about the cupcakes.  "Everybody eat so we can have cupcakes!"  And I'm starting to feel nervous cause there are alot more people then there were when MonkeyGirl had her birthday party, and alot of them are very opinionated - to say the least.  And then we're singing and everybody gets a cupcake and it gets kinda quiet then Baba says "I think these are better than last time!"  And I can relax and finally taste one and damn! if I didn't do the damn thing all over again!
• sooooo, remember WackThug, SuperSlag's baby daddy?  wait, thats an understatement, he's the dude that she accused me of sleeping with (her cousin and close friend despite all her bullshit) threatened me over then went on to have a baby by.  well she kicked him out.  Seems her playsister and company caught him out with the next chick and SuperSlag said enough, at least for now.  She kinda made sure that I knew he was gone but I can't say that I'm surprised or that it changes anything between us.  Your chicks before dick, especially when your family.  As if I would ever want to sleep with someone who was sleeping with her.  In my mind that says something about a  dude when he chooses a woman like that, and it ain't something good.  Sure, she's my family, thats why I could overlook alot of her bullshit, but it doesn't mean I was blind to it.  Fuck, I got the closest look at it sometimes...
• and I got the fuck out of there as soon as I could, said I had to go feed Duke, which was true.  SuperSlag asked me if I was coming back after I fed it and I said, "Probably not" and was out with Cousin T and my old buddy Butter (we used to be cool but all I'll say is you can't travel with everybody - that was years ago though)
• my fucking feet are killing me!  I gotta invest in one of those kitchen floor mats that take the strain off of your feet

April Showers

This past Sunday was the first Brooklyn Flea Market.  Going to the flea market with my Mom and Hautey as a kid rates high as one of my favorite things to do as a child.  I even remember going with my Dad and buying pickles from the pickle man.  Dude would be out there (we mostly went to the one at Aquaduct Racetrack, but there were a few others) with like 12 huge barrels filled with different types of pickles.  Daddy used to let me choose my own, but he always let me taste his.  Then there was the sausage and peppers truck, and the zeppole man.  Oh, and the lady with the cheesecakes.  And the italian ices and candied apples.  And occasionally I could talk someone into letting me get cotton candy.  Needless to say, food played a major part in my flea market experiences and thusly (ha! I said thusly!) I really liked going.

So maybe two weeks ago, Mommy's reading the paper and she comes across an article about the new Flea Market thats coming to Brooklyn to be held on the track field at Bishop Laughlin Memorial High School.  Mommy told me that all of the spaces for the first flea market had already been filled with some pretty fancy vendors including that truck that makes belgian waffles.  The whole shebang was put together by  Brownstoners so I figured it wouldn't be anything like the pickle and sweat sock extravaganza's of my youth.  So Mommy called Hautey and we all decided to go together.  Jeanie was chilling with her girls!

The day started off wonderfully, Mommy made Buttermilk Waffles (from scratch cause you know I had to get that shit from somewhere) on her old fashion waffle iron.  You know the kind thats really iron or some other metal, and heavy enough to put a serious dent in someones skull.  The kind you put directly on the burner.  Damn those things were good!  Duke even got one.  Then we hopped in a cab, picked up Hautey and were on our way!

Now, after it all being said and done, theres something to be said for the pickle and sweat sock experience.  What good is a flea market if you have to empty out your savings account to pay for the stuff you like?  I mean the lady with the Marrameko fabric was great.  And so was the lady with the homemade ricotta cheese - I think I just read about her in New York Magazine, Hautey got some and is making me really jealous that I didn't buy some.  And I saw some really cool doors - but the thing about the doors is that some contractor probably ripped them off of some sweet old womans house calling himself doing her a favor and getting her a brand new (ie cheap) door and hauling the old messes away.  But what that sweet old woman doesn't know is, he's gonna strip them, clean them and sell them at a flea market for $4,500 (or was it $5400?).  Then I saw some really nice Danish Modern furniture that I think I might have seen on ebay for half the price.  Oh, and lets not forget the stalls and stalls and stalls of so called "unique" baby clothes.  Cause lord forbid we dress our hipster children in the Gap or some other chain store or brand name!  We want our children to be individuals!  So they all wear the same damned white onesie with a screen print of some old school headphones on it.  Or a microphone.  Or a skateboard.  Or an urban skyline.  Or a stylized monkey - wait, that one was hella cute actually.  But my point is the were all the phucking same you morons!  And I haven't brought for babies lately, but I'm petty sure the onsies are less expensive at the Gap.  Sheet you really wanna be unique buy some white onsies and screenprint them bitches yourself!  Some stiff cardboard, an exacto knife and a little fabric paint and BAM! one of a kind baby onsie.  It's not rocket science.

On the upside, there was no fighting or bickering or name calling.  Even Mommy behaved.  And we walked home so we were all pretty pooped come evening.  But I'm still kinda pissed I didn't get a pickle.

Half Baked

• I really tried to do my homework this weekend but a couple of things slipped through.  Damn you PYT and your flaky ass!  Thats why I ate your cupcake you momo!
  
• WARNING LADY SHAY!!! although if we are still synched, that might have been a little late.  I was early
• I spent about an hour and a half on the phone with my sister the other day.  By the end of the conversation I couldn't breathe, my throat hurt something awful, and tears were streaming down my face.  She reminded me of how I used to put bandaids on myself at night when I was little.  No reason, I just liked bandaids.  One day my Mom found all of the bandaid wrappers under my bed and freaked out a little.  She asked me why I was putting on bandaids, did I hurt myself? and I replied (at least according to Hautechick) "No, I just like bandaids."  I still have a thing for bandaids
• I also used to stick stuff up my nose, which is strange cause I can't even do nasal spray now
• So Cousin T calls me yesterday with a rather strange request.  Superslag (her sister) sent her a text message that morning asking her if she could contact me on her behalf.  It seems that she would like for me to make 33 red velvet cupcakes for her birthday next week.  She tells Cousin T that she would have called me herself, but she doesn't have my number anymore.  Then she says that she will pay me for all of the supplies.  Uh, bitch I know you think your slick, but I'd have to be a real idiot to fall for that one!  I made the cupcakes for your daughter because I LOVE HER, you I just barely started to be able to stand for more than 5 minutes.  I should calculate the cost of supplies, the cost of using the gas to cook those bitches, AND an hourly rate for my time.  I started to charge her a buck each but that is cheap as hell and while I might do that for someone I like, her not so much.
• Speaking of baking and Superslag, I will never forget the time that someone paid her to make them a birthday cake, $20, and this chick makes a box cake and says some shit like, "Do you know how much a box of cake mix cost?!"  Actually I don't, my Mom taught me to bake from scratch and since in my opinion it only takes a little bit more time, and taste 1000 times better, I stick with scratch.
• More interviews.  I'm about to send XBossMan a letter of recommendation for him to sign.  I drafted all of his correspondence in the past and I figure this way I at least know the basis of what the lil shit is going to say in the letter, and I dont have to deal with him everytime I want a recommendation
• Gnarls Barkley in NYC!!!!!
• Is it me or is this season of Top Model excruciatingly boring, the majority of the girls are not attractive or intelligent or interesting in the least.  I cant stand the African chick or the drag queen.  I liked the chick that got kicked off for a hot minute, but even she turned into an ass

Sesostris

• I was watching Engineering an Empire : Egypt and now I can't get the name Sesostris out of my head or Snefru for that matter
• ella ella ella eh!
• Last weekend I went to my godson's (MonkeyBoy) basketball game with Cousin T.  We showed up in time for his second game (the first was at some ungawdly hour in the morning) and the other team hasn't shown up, so it was a forfeit.  
  

1. Superslag was there with NewBabyGirl and WackThug showed up.  We're watching the kids shoot around for a while and there's this little boy who is pretty damned good.  Doesn't hurt that he's taller than most of the other kids, but his Jordan's are barely tied.  So I say, "That kid would be awesome if someone took the time to tie his sneakers."  And Cousin T starts choking and everyone else (SuperSlag and WackThug) get quiet.  Cousin T told me later the kid was WackThug's son...
2. MonkeyBoy makes the same stink face as that his mother (SuperSlag) used to make when she was upset about something as a child
3. Cousin T and I went to see her Mommy in the hospital after we left the non-game.  She was doing much better (trying to get us to bring her some real food!) and is actually home now.  I promised her that I would make her some incense...

• Memory foam Sock Monkey Slippers (from Target) are apparently "gangsta."
• can I just say "ARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" ah, much better
• I had the worst cereal I have ever eaten this morning.  It tasted buttery and sweet and sour, it was in a word disgusting.
• So I usually do my locks myself.  Its a long and arduous task, but I'm always happy with the results when I'm done.  The worse thing that happens when I do it, is that I think my curls are too tight, or something else trivial.  The same can't be said for when someone else does it.  

1. There was the African Hair Braiding place where I used to have to wash it first (if I wanted it really clean) and bring all of my own supplies.  And forget asking them to style them.  And I usually would have to tell the woman not to use so much product in my hair.
2. Then there was the professional loctician.  She was right near my house, and not too expensive.  Sistah can really do hair, but she has no customer service skills or personality at all as far as I can tell.  I went twice.  Both times it was just me and her in the shop and she said about 20 words to me.  The first time, I kept trying to ask questions, one word answers.  I'm not asking for your life story, but if we have to sit here together for 2 and a half hours, the least you could do is turn on some fucking music or talk to me!    The second time I wore my ipod and brought a book.  Yeah my hair looked nice, but I always left there feeling uncomfortable, like she really didn't want my business.
   
3. So now I found a new place.  I know I'm just being completely and utterly lazy, since I'm home all day it's not like I couldn't do it myself.  But I kind of want to get out of the house.  So I walked over there the other morning, and they weren't open.  I think that's a sign that I should get off of my ass and do it myself.  No curls this time though, they take too fucking long to do.
4. Speaking of hair, but almost completely unrelated (like something in this post was related) you know I really can't cornrow.  Lately Mommy has been making me practice on her, talkinbout what if I have little girls.  But PYT has braids and asked me if I could do his hair, I was like, "Uh..."

• I was going to say that I was verrrry goood last month in terms of not shopping.  But thats not entirely true, so I was going to amend it to say that I didn't buy any clothes last month.  But thats not true either...

1. I got my rose gold and black diamond ring.  To say I love it would be an understatement.  I also have to learn to stop staring at it like an idjeet, but I'm fascinated that something sooo black could be sooo sparkly
2. And I got a pair of high top Coach sneakers that I could not resist.  The look like Chucks (which I also love) and they are all black but they fold over to a leopard print (real genuine illegal leopard - sorry, the Artist used to say this to me all the time)
3. I got the Coach Chucks when I was looking for a pair of black pumps.  Which I realized that I didn't have when I was cleaning out my closet.  I got a fairly standard pair from MaxStudio with a rounded toe, but they have really great toe cleavage.  
4. And I got a dress, hammered silk off the shoulder BCBG.  But I'm not sure if its for me or for my goddaughter (MonkeyGirl.)  She has a formal event coming up next month and I saw the dress and kind of thought of her, even though I already gave her a dress.  But I was also thinking of me a little, since we wear the same size.  Can I just take a moment to say that I'm really kind of pissed and proud of that!?!  I mean what the fuck the kid used to fit on my lap, her whole freaking body used to fit on my lap!  And now the kid can borrow my clothes AND shoes! So anyway, the dress came (I got it from my favorite BCBG seller on ebay) and welll, I tried it on.  I really have no where to wear it, but it looks great, and I'm kind of hoping that she won't like it.  that is a really fucked up thought
5. I also got some lingerie from Victoria's Secret, they're having a clearance sale.  I haven't worn any of it yet though

• Speaking of the Artist, he is the worst joke teller ever!  But he always manages to make you laugh, just not at the joke he's telling.  So, he calls me up and is like "Hey Troubsy, what do you call cheese, that's not your cheese?" and he's cracking up while he's asking me.  I can hear Hautechick in the background saying, "Nooooo Artsy!" and I'm like, "I don't know Artso (*ahahahaha I dont know Artso! that rhymes) stolen cheese?"  And he's all, "Nnooooooooooo! (giggle giggle guffaw guffaw) Nacho cheese!" and then falls into a fit of hysterics.  Hautechick picks up the phone and says "He told that sooo wrong!  He was supposed to say, what do you call cheese that doesn't belong to you!  He's soo silly."  (she said it in that gushy "aww I love him" kind of way)
• This post is just a lame attempt by me to put off doing my hair as long as possible.  Thank you for playing along!  If you don't hear from me in awhile, no, I'm not being my usual flaking self.  I'm probably just tangled up in my hair.  Wish me luck, maybe I'll take a picture when I'm done

The Prostitute and the Politician

A case could be made for either being the world's oldest profession.  On the one hand, you have the men and women who seek to govern others, to rule in a sense over the masses.  And on the other, you have the men and women who seek to please, to pleasure and submit to the masses.  Or in some cases to pleasure and submit to the elite.  As much as we've seen Elliot Spitzer or H. Carl McCall(to those not from NYC, both are local politicians) on tv, we see the residents of the Bunny Ranch and others making a quick buck off of sex.  

Personally, I've never bought nor paid for sex.  But to be perfectly honest, I really can't knock the hustle of someone who can get paid $5,000 for an hour of their time.  Of course it is much more than an hour of time that they are giving up in exchange.  But with some control and intelligence, I can see how someone could use being a prostitute to become something more.  Hell, shorty in the news right now, wasn't very smart at all and already the offers are pouring in.  Then there was the former call girl who wrote that book.  I read it and to be honest it was so dry that I can't even remember the name of the book or the author.  Nor do I care to take the time and look them up.  But the point is, she managed to not only get out, get married, and get a book deal, but to also be completely honest about what she did without anyone turning their nose down (too much) at her past.

A bad politician, one who lets secrets slip, who goes after people who are supposed to be his betters, who comes off as a self righteous prick, who goes against the grain, who offers up motions and ideas that no one wants anything to do with, who can't balance an enormous budget.  Well there's really no redeeming the politician now is there?  No one ever says, "Oh, poor little politician, s/he was just young and naive and got taken advantage of. They just used her/him like a pawn!"  No one ever feels sorry for the ex politician like they would for the ex prostitute. 

black is the new president bitch...

sorry for the commercial, bitch asses got me for that one.  it'd be my fucking luck that it will play that fucking Beyawnce commercial.  fucking free advertisement bullshit.  but I used hulu rather than utube, cause it allows you to edit clip that you would like to embed.  It's open to the public and even has movie classics like "Dude Where's My Car"  

Here's Tracy Morgan on Barack Obama and Hilarity Clinton.  tee fucking hee!

All we do is play in the sheets...

If you haven't figured it out by now, I really like sex.  I'm not obsessed by any stretch of the imagination - I've gone over a year without having sex on more than one occasion.  But I do really really really like sex.  With the right person, its a phenomenal experience.  Sheeeet, with the wrong person it can be a phenomenal experience!

I can't say that I have a favorite position or style, they all appeal to me.  The control given when he lets me ride on top.  Knowing that his eyes are on me, his hands on my hips.  Or when he rises to meet me, lip to lip breathe mingling.  The power of a forceful thrust.  The skill of a slow silken glide.  Pulling my locks or tenderly stroking skin.  And oh how I crave my next little death.  To shatter and know that his arms are the only thing keeping me from completely coming apart.  The surrender and the conquest.  It all appeals to me.

But I am sooo much more that what it between my legs.  And no man should ever think that a little slap and tickle is going to be enough to keep me slapping and tickling.  I cannot even begin to fathom why a man would think that a woman would be ok with him saying, "Hey baby, I'm going to this party on Saturday (wait for it) and I was wondering if I could stop by your place on my way home?"  Um, let me think about it. Uh, FUCK NO!  No, it wasn't PYT that said that to me, that's how Brownie got moldy.

While I am spoiled to a certain extent, I don't expect a man to bankrupt himself in order to please me.  For example, there was the dude that was unemployed that insisted on taking me out to very expensive dinners on his Amex card.  It put a bad taste in my mouth.  I took him out to a nice dinner, my treat, and ended it.  On the opposite end was the dude that insisted on only taking me to diners.  I actually love diners, but not the straight up disgusting places that he tried to get me to eat.  

Or how about the dudes that are afraid of a little blood?  I'm not asking you to eat me out on a bloody Monday or anything even closely related, but is it necessary to disappear like I've got the plague?  It's a little blood, bitch, it's not gonna kill me and it sure as fuck isn't going to kill you.  And that, "Well your mouth still works" bullshit just ain't cool.  I'm already fucking emotional and you want to be an ass?!  Real quick way to ensure that you never get a favor while I'm on the rag.

That brings me to PYT.  I can't figure the man out for shit.  He stands me up.  He'll always call and apologize the next day.  But it is what is.  Twice, then I stopped calling, stopped texting actually.  I just let it go.  But he didn't.  He called, then he texted and he comes over and plays Monopoly with me (and gets his ass kicked) knowing he's not gonna get any.  No pressure to impress him with my brain.  Just chilled and got his ass kicked.  He even actually enjoyed my smart ass mouth.  Then you know what he does...

Speaking of poop...

When I was a sophmore in high school, Hautechick was a freshman in college. Since she spent high school locked up at an all girls boarding school, she decided to go to college in NYC and live at home to save some dough. I wanted to kill her for that decision. The main reason was because of our bathroom situation. Three women (well I was a young woman at the time) and one freaking bathroom. Mommy and I had pretty much worked out how to not inconvenience each other when here comes Ms. Stink Booty.

Here would be my typical morning routine in high school; Wake up and wait for Mommy to finish in the bathroom, use the toilet, brush my teeth, start the shower (it was an old house, took awhile for the water to get hot), and as soon as I put both feet in the tub, there would be a knock on the door. "Troub let me in, I have to go to the bathroom!"

The first couple of times I felt sorry for her and let her in. Each and everytime, I wouldn't be able to smell anything for the next 2 hours! I have no idea what the hell she was eating in those days, but boy did my nose sure suffer. Soo, I took to not letting her in. That worked a couple of times, then she decided to get Mommy involved, "Mommy! Trouble won't let me in the bathroom and I reallllllly have to go!" Of course I had to let her in, but usually by this time I would be done with my shower (I think I got it down to about 5 minutes to soap up and rinse off) and just lotion up in my room.

It wasn't until my junior year that I decided to get revenge. I would sneak downstairs to Hautechick's room while Mommy was in the shower. Then I would either sneak into her closet and steal her clothes/shoes/sneakers/bags/etc. or if I knew she got in really late the night before I would just ask her. When she would mumble something back (I told you, I come from a a family of sleep talkers. Just the other night Mommy asked me out of nowhere, "Does it have a finished basement?" She must have been dreaming about her vacation home.) I would take that as a yes and boogie. The clothes were cool and all, but they still didn't make up for all of the singed nose hairs.

Til this day, whenever Hautechick comes over, she always wants to use my bathroom. Doesn't matter that Mommy's apartment has one and a half baths, she still wants to use mine. And if I tell her no, Mommy says, "Oh stop being mean and let your sister use your bathroom!" (I notice that Duke always vacates the premises whenever she gets to pooping)

Endnote: This is kinda gross, but the reason this post popped into my head is cause Hautechick recently told me that she tried that new pro biotic yogurt. You know the one that as Tina Fey put it, makes you poop. Wellll, she sooo did not need to try that. On top of being highly highly regular, she's also a little lactose intolerant. All I have to say is that I feel really sorry that her husband and her co-workers had to go through that genius experiment with her. To them I gift some frankincense, myrrh, and some of that air displacing stuff...

Hair Drama Llama

ok so there's no llama, but ever since Daners said it I've been dying to blog jack it.  Plus its hella fun to say.

So I have this interview tomorrow at a placement agency, and I've got the wardrobe thing figured out.  But I have no fucking idea what to do with my hair!  You see, I spent about 12 hours this weekend, washing my hair, tightening my locks and putting each and every single one on a got damned rod roller (how I get my luscious curls.)  So by the time I finished washing and shit, it was like 12:30, no fucking way I was gonna spend 2 hours sitting under the dryer after all of that.  So I tied the largest silk scarf I could find around them bitches and hit the hay.  Or tried to in any case.  Felt like 5 fucking million rollers were trying to bore their way into my skull.  ALL FUCKING NIGHT!  I was cranky the next morning, to say the least.  In fact, it's fucking Thursday and I still have a sore spot on the top of my head.  Which I can't figure out, it's not like I slept standing on my head.  That should be the one spot that doesn't hurt, right?

So the next morning, after all of my hard work the night before, I decided to sit under the dryer just to make sure my curls set.  I sprayed them all with some water, then some good ole fashion oil sheen and promptly fell the fuck asleep under the dryer.  That put a crick in my neck.  But my curls were tight.  No, not tight like good, tight like the belong on a got damned poodle!  And I have a interview tomorrow, errrrk! scratch that, today, my curls still haven't dropped any and I don't know what the hell to do with them.  I was just gonna snatch them up into a ponytail, with all the curls it looks like an elaborate bun, but then I can't put on a hat.  And its supposed to be cold tomorrow.  I just don't do under 30 weather with no hat.  Hell, most of the time if its 40 I still have a hat.  Might not be on all the time, but it'll be stashed in my bag somewhere...

Hey...

more random shit to keep you entertained til I can get back on my regular grind.

• I have been on a job finding mission as of late.  I sent out a buttload of resumes on Monday and I have an interview tomorrow with an agency.  
• So I have this interview tomorrow and I start pulling out possible outfits.  I know I've told you all this before, but I have way too many clothes for such a small person.  I've narrowed it down to about 3 different outfits and a possible, but it will probably be a game time decision.  I decidedly very quickly against one of my skirt suits, but I will probably wear a skirt.
• I've been feeling kinda strangely about PYT.  Nothing bad, but I just kind of feel like I'm not in control.  I guess its the fact that I went from seeing a potential stalker, to seeing someone who has their own shit to do.  I basically came out and asked him if I was wasting my time or if he really just had other things going on.  Which is about stalkerish as I get.  He said that he really hoped that I didn't feel like I was wasting my time with him and apologized for not spending a little more time with me.  I can't decided if I really like him or if its just cause I hardly leave the house anymore and have nothing better to do.
• I actually did leave the house yesterday and spent about 3 hours in Ikea.  Saw alot of shit I liked including a bar table for my living room and a buffet that would fit perfectly right outside of my kitchen.  Oh and the vanity!  Lord how I feel hard for that vanity.  I think I may ask the Artist to borrow the pick up truck (despite my somewhat frou frou ways, I love a nice pickup truck) and go back and get it this weekend.  I also saw a canopy bed, but it didn't seem sturdy enough to have sex on.  My internal monologue was broken so I actually said this out loud in the store, in front of Mommy and like 3 families.  I was a little embarrassed but went with it and said, "What?  It's not!"
• Mommy got American Hustle from Blockbuster and was quoting Katt Williams all weekend.  That shit was hilarious, both Mommy quoting him and Katt Williams himself.  And damn that Lunelle is fucking funny.
• I found my Daddy's rope chain, straight from the 80s, and I haven't taken it off since I found it.  Its not a really thick one like Nas has been rocking, but its beautiful Italian gold. So I'm stuntin like my Daddy...
• So this is like 2 weeks late (sometimes a little slow) but I think I mentioned that I had loaned Big Mr. Sad a book and after I told him to break yoself fool, I suspected that he was just trying to see me again using the book as an excuse.  So I told him to slide in through my mail slot when he was in the neighborhood.  I even took one of my other hardcover books to the mail slot to make sure it would fit.  I thought it did.  But then I got a call from Sad saying that it didn't and to let him know when I was home and he would drop it off.  So he did and I was on the phone with Cousin T and hit him with the "Thanks.  Take care" and a door slam.  I forgot about the book til I was cleaning up on Sunday and just for kicks I took it to the mail slot.  There I am, 11 pm outside of my house in my pajamas and a down jacket trying to put the book through the mail slot.  The son of a bitch slide right through, fucking bitchass.

Thirteen eighteen!

I had a taste for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese today so I swung through the drive thru at MickeyD's.  I should point out that I hardly ever eat McD's, maybe about 3 times a year if I'm lucky. So I'm going thru the drive thru at the McD's on Atlantic and Ralph Avenue.  I mention the specific one cause if anyone if from Brooklyn and has gone through that drive thru knows what a pain in the ass it is.  You can enter the parking lot from Ralph but it takes some pretty fancy driving in order to get on the drive thru line from there.  And there is no way you'll be able to do it if there is more than one car waiting to place their order.

You can get directly into the drive thru lane from Atlantic Avenue, that is if you can avoid the cars that are picking up their orders.  (who ever designed this drive thru deserves the Ultimate Idjeet Award)  So after a quick yet cautious K turn, I'm on the drive thru line and place my order.  I go to the window to pick up and hand dude a $20.  I see him struggling.  A minute passes, a minute and a half.  I'm not the strongest at doing math in my head but by this time even I have figured out that its, "THIRTEEN DOLLARS AND EIGHTEEN CENTS Damn It!"  "Oh!  Thank you, the screen on the cash register is broken.  Have a blessed weekend!"

I never felt right cursing out people who bless me, so I settled for a mumbled "youtoo" and drove to the next window to pick up my food. 

KoC - King of Crap

The King of Crap, cockblocker extraordinaire, was a guy that I used to see.  We met through mutual friends when I was about 22, it didn't work and he would put his bid in just about everytime we saw each other.  I was hesitant to start seeing him again because he's a bitch when it comes to running his mouth.  He once told one of my associates (not a close friend by any means) that I was amazing in bed.  Which lead to about a year and half of all the women that I hung out with speculating about how many men I had been with and odd questions at random times like, "when did you lose your virginity?"  "ever been with two men?"  "ever had sex with a woman?"  all of which were met with a why, their usual response being "Oh I was just curious."  Some women were stupid enough to follow that up with, "well?" to which they got a cocked eyebrow, a partial sneer and a "none of your fucking business."

But I figured that we had both not only gotten older, but that we had both matured.  I was really wrong about that.  We were together about 3 months last year before I made his ringer silent.  But it appears that he is making another play.  It started about two weeks ago when I got a call from a number that looked kind of familiar but I couldn't place.  I still haven't put my old contacts into my new cell phone.  

"Good Afternoon"

"Hey, Happy New Year"

"Thanks, who's this?"

"I'm afraid if I tell you, you'll hang up."

"Who is this?"

"King of Crap"

"Well you had that one right." CLICK!

Later that day I got a text message "Aren't you ever going to forgive me?  Damn your mean"  Oh, yeah insulting me has always been such a turn on for me, idjeet.  To KoC, if I'm angry, the answer is to leave me alone and let me get over or forget that I was angry.  I feel for it once, when I forgot why I stopped seeing him the first time (I still dont really remember), and I guess he figures that I'll go for it again.  There have been a couple of phone calls that I didn't answer in the following weeks.  But last night, he called me at 1 in the morning!  Did he think he might be able to finaggle some ass?  Was he trying to cockblock in case I had someone else over?  What the fuck was he thinking?  I WILL NOT let my curiousity get the better of me, and I can't even engage in the "stop fucking calling me!" convo.

KoC is the type of man who thinks that a woman doesn't care for him if she doesn't raise her voice at least once a week.  So I can't even go there without it giving him hope.  Besides, I got no time to be wasting yelling at a grown man.  When we last broke up, it was because he not only stood me up on Friday, but he didn't even call me until Sunday.  His excuse "Oh well I went out after work with some co-workers and I got drunk and I totalled my car and I forgot I was supposed to take you out.  My back really hurts can I come over so you can rub it?"  I'll admit, I lost it.  I called him all kinds of fuckers and shits and bitches.  I yelled, I screamed, I told him 12 different ways that I could not be involved with a man who was soo irresponsible and all that got through to him was that I really must care about him cause he finally got me to yell at him.  Fucktard.

Run Away...

I can freely admit that I have a problem with commitment.  Its not that it scares me, just that I like to take my time before I commit to someone.  There is nothing that will send me packing quicker than a man who makes more of the things that I do than is necessary.  

Need an example?  Let's start with Big Mr. Sad.  Our first date was, interesting to say the least.  Mostly because my entire immediate family was there for a portion of it.  (We went to one of the Artist gallery openings)  I tried to impress upon him that while this was a first for me, a man meeting my entire immediate family in one sitting, but that he shouldn't make a big deal out of it.  I told him that there was no pressure.  Not long after that, came The Conversation.  "Sooooo, are you seeing anyone else?"  "No not currently, how about you?" "Welllll, no one as special as you are..."  My bullshit meter went off, loudly, and for several reasons.

1. I'm the newest chick, we've only been on one date, you don't know I'm special yet.  There is no doubt in my mind that I am, special that is, but I haven't even put on my A game yet.
2. I highly suspect that he was telling me what he thought I wanted to hear.  Just a little hint about me, when it comes to the choice between some meaningless fluff designed to please the ears and the cold hard facts, I'm more comfortable with the cold hard facts.  Compliments are one thing, bullshit is a whole nother other
3. Didn't you hear the "not currently" that I slipped in?  That was a clear indication that I'm not going to commit myself to you after one date and wild ride

It wasn't soon after the Conversation that I started to pull back.  Another ex of mine makes for a good example too.  The King of Crap (cockblocker extraordinaire - more on that another time.)  Last summer, when we were still seeing each other, he was at my house and Mommy was cooking.  She called me upstairs and asked if I was hungry and if I wanted to feed him too.  I was hungry and feeling kinda mellow so I said yes to both.  Mommy was about to set the table when I asked if she would mind if we ate after her. "I don't want him to read anything more into this than there is, me being polite and not kicking him out or eating in front of his face."  Ok, Mommy ate then KoC and I ate.

Still during the last convo we had, he's gonna say, "You can't mean that you don't want to see me anymore.  What we have is special, you're Mom cooked for me and you're just going to let me go?!"  Thats about the time that I hung up the phone...

I Usually Don't Do This...

...eh I'm lying!  If you knew me, you would know that I'm hell on wheels when it comes to research.  If you knew me, you would know that I don't change shit.  I wasn't the one removing multiple post over on the Boulevard.  If you knew me, you would know that I don't give a fuck what you think Harlequin.  You know me like I know Brittney Spears, I comments on what she presents to the public but at the end of the day, Brittney don't give a fuck about what I think about her and I could give half a fuck what you think about me.  Comments once a week for two months does not mean you know me Harlequin.  As for the statement that you made about me not participating on your blog, your full of shit.  Lets go see.  Oh wait how fucking convenient, the Gazette has been erased!  No matter, I have a good fucking memory, unlike some people.  Shall I talk about your medicine cabinet?  Too recent?  How about the novenas and drinking holy water? Or how about the post you wrote to your husband when he was on the road?  I hate to break it to you but you blog was never private and to assume that others didn't see it is ridiculous.  But that seems to be your thing, ridiculousness.

You stated that you thought people were talking about you behind you back.  Where?  I said my piece and I haven't changed it.  Its on my blog exactly how it was published.  Why is it that when you first read it, you immediately came back to the Bouley and said that you wanted to apologize to PB?  Now all of a sudden you think your tough and want to pop shit?  Fine, since you dont seem to remember what you said, or what other people have said, I've made you a little something.  Mind you this took me about 5 minutes to do, and I only went back to the 16th.  Ain't it a bitch when your words come back to bite you on the ass....

.

..Don't worry, you can come over to the medicine cabinet you saw anytime, and don't forget there is shit in the fridge too!  I got medicine from A-Z.  I just refuse to share any of the narcs.  I didn't know the going rate on the *insert narcotic name here* on the streets.  Shit, that would be my ticket to a Chanel in 30 seconds or less.  (I kid, I kid!)

Harlequin on TypHo Boulevard January 16th

Vagisil, I don't have feelings.  I am not sensitive.  If you grew up the way I did, feelings were laughed at and not allowed.  Believe me, I am not in anyway sensitive.  Besides, I know what you are about, so I don't even get offended.  So stop!

Harlequin on TypHo Boulevard January 16th 

By the way I'm pretty sure that the 16th was the day before the LoopySpice Post, wait that last quote gets better, right Harley?

30 seconds later, after a comment by Afro...

Child abuse is funny?  Afro, I am 30 years old and over the holidays, my momma punched me and smacked me in the mouth with a shoe.  I ain't never struck her though, but if she wasn't a cripple, I would have killed her.

Very rational thought there Harley, and excellent comprehension level since Afro was quoting Strangers with Candy.  I don't even have cable and yet I knew he was trying to lighten the mood.

What I was responding to with my Tribute to Pretty Black post, was the fact that on the post where Anners announced that PB would no longer be on the Bouley, instead of leaving it as a goodbye, it turned into a condemnation.  Why is it that you think that it is ok for Anners to comment on the situation but not me?  Wait you need a quote...

Jezzy... it's sad that she couldn't simply understand that what she said was mean.  You're not to blame...

Posted by Anners on January 18th

You wanna go erase some more shit off the Bouley Harley?  Cause I'll wait.  I never changed my comment after Anners did the TypHo post.  I believe there are ways to check that.  But you sure did change your shit real quick.  Good thing you can't change your comments on Snarky.  Hey lets post them!  And by the by, there are alot more loopy quotes from you but hopefully this will get you to Shut The Fuck Up!

A Tribute to PrettyBlack

because this is my blog and I can say whatever the fuck I want.  I dont mean to offend anyone, but on the other hand I don't really care.  I'm kinda newish to this whole blog shit, but in the time that I've been on this shit, I've "met" a lot of interesting people.  But one of my favorites will always be Pretty Black.  Thats my cyberhomie right there and to me, she will always be my mutherfuckin pottymouthed TypHo sister.

Danae, Anners, and LadyShay are some of the first people that started leaving regular comments on Snarky and because of that (and other reasons) they are my sisters too.  I've made connections with others, but to be honest when I think of the TypHos I think of Daners, Anners, Janers, Afers, and LadyShay.  I realize that most of you might not be as familiar with PrettyBlack as LadyShay and I are.  I see her comments on PrettyBlackGold all the time.  So I'm going to use my blog to say what I don't feel comfortable saying on the Boulevard.  

I don't want anyone to take this to mean that I don't want to be a TypHo anymore, cause fuck that, I was there the first time the phrase was used!  But I think alot of you jumped to the wrong conclusion.  And to live up to the name that Pretty Black gave me, to Keep It Real Harley, if someone had responded to me the way you did to PrettyBlack, I would have thought you were offended too.  Mainly because its not the first time that you brought up the fact that you were a child prodigy.  What does being a child prodigy have to do with not being loopy?  I'm fucking loopy and I don't go through half the shit you do.  And I'm pretty sure that most of the TypHos are smartyfarties so its really not saying much.  I like you, but you have a tendency to brag.  It doesn't bother me, I'm just stating something I noticed.  You should be proud of yourself.  And I've never felt that PrettyBlack was coming after you either on the Boulley or anywhere else, and I've read the post and the comments.  

I think I might be more qualified to speak on the matter than ANYONE else for the simple fact that I participate on both of your blogs.  I don't think anyone else on the Bouley can say the same.  But I think you (and Anners to a certain extent)  should realize that in previous comments and post, Harls you've called yourself loopy.  Maybe not in those terms but you have said that you feel crazy from the spasms.  I think loopy is a lot less offensive then if she had called you CrazySpice or ComplaininSpice or some shit.   And fuck and begorrah, it was a got damned joke!  I thought that was one of the fucking rules, dont take shit personal!  

If you've read PrettyBlackGold you would know (I think she posted about this just last week?) that she curses on her blog and on the net because she does not do so in everyday life.  So she may use an extra fucker every now and then, its nothing personal.  But it might be taken that way if you're not familiar with her writing style.  I'm not going to say I know her, but I sure as hell know the way she writes.  I've read ALOT of her stuff (it copyrighted so don't try and bite!)  Anners I think you would really enjoy some of her poetry.  I think a major part of this problem is that there are alot of TypHos and not all of us are familiar with one another.  And I can say this honestly and openly knowing that most of the TypHos won't ever read it.  Part of the reason that I'm doing it here is that if I do it on the Boulley, it is very likely that people will jump down my throat for the simple fact that they aren't familiar with me.  I really don't give a fuck but I dont feel like defending myself to people that I could give two shits about.  And I dont give two shits about most of the people on there.  But there are those who know things about me that others dont, who I communicate with via email.  And there are people on there whose blogs I enjoy.

But I don't think its fair to have people join the TypHos who don't have or maintain their own blogs.  And if we are supposed to be a network, is it really fair to ask people to join who only visit one or two of our blogs?  Not for nothing but when I fly you guys to Barbados, I ain't paying for some chick that ain't never been on my blog!  I'm dead ass!  

Like I said at the beginning, I don't mean to offend anyone, but this is how I feel.  And I'm gonna have to remember that fuck and begorrah thing, that was pretty fucking funny...

Check your paycheck...

... seriously, don't take for granted that they got your shit right.  Even if you have direct deposit.  

So I decided to not go online of Friday until I finished my resume.  It seems that every time I went online to look to research something, I ended up on TypHo Blvd. (if you don't know what I'm talking about, sucks to be you!  I kid, kinda)  laughing at some crazy shit or another.  So I said no internet until I finished my revisions.  Woke up on Friday, ready to rock, check the mail, and there's my paycheck, crammed into the mail slot.  My post office is constantly pissing me off with shit like that, one of the mailmen is good, but the rest seem to be a bunch of lazy fucks.  So I'm still muttering to myself when I unwrinkle and open up the bitch and I notice something hinky.  

My fucking check is over $400 short!  What the fuck!  I pull out some old pay stubs and see what the problem is.  My state and fed are at almost %50.  So I call OfficeManager.

Troub: Hey I got my check today (snarky voiced cause she said she mailed the bitch on Tues, but it was postmarked for Wed.) and my taxes are wrong.

OfficeManager: What do you mean your taxes are wrong? (is that a slight attitude I detect?)

Troub:  My taxes are wrong.  They are taking about $500 more dollars out of my check.

OfficeManager:  Of course they're taking more, your taxes are supposed to go up every year Trouble.

At this point, I'm confused as fuck by her logic, so I tell her that I will do a little research and call her back.  Now usually, I'm a kick ass researcher, like Duke with a fucking bone, I don't let shit go.  By now your talking about my money, so its a whole nother ball game, if you feel me.  I broke my rule and went online.  Found this amazing calculator that lets you figure out how much money is supposed to be taken out in taxes from your paycheck based on your number of deductions and the state that you live in.  Figured out that I was right, they were taking almost $500 extra, which meant that I was getting taxed at about %47 percent or some shit.  Then I called the IRS.

Spoke to this very nice woman who said, "I don't think anyone has ever asked me how to figure out if they were being taxed the right amount on their paycheck."  She then pointed out that even if my taxes were to go up in 2008, the check was for the last three weeks in December.  I was too mad to realize that.  She also sent me to the pertinent pages of the tax code regulation that showed that I was being taxed too much.  I printed them out along with the calculations from the payroll calculator, and called back OfficeManager.

"Well, I have nothing to do with how much they decide to take out of your check in taxes.  If you think its wrong, why don't you call the people who process our paychecks and see if they can give you an answer you'll accept."  So thats just what I did.  Of course I got the fucktards voicemail.  I left a very professionally politely pissed message explaining the situation and asking him to get back to me on my cell phone.  Then I went and deposited the check (after scanning it onto my computer, along with a copy of the envelope showing the postmark date), and went to get a manicure and a pedicure.  I needed to calm the fuck down and that helped.

I'm getting back into the car to come home and notice I have a voicemail, the missed call log indicates its OfficeManager.  "Trouble, call me back as soon as you get this"  So I do, "Oh Trouble, you saved everyones ass! (I kid you not, I'm not exaggerating) You're the only one who caught the mistake! Well Bambi caught it but she didn't follow through..."  Come to find out, when I called the processor, he checked his records and realized that in updating our records for the new year (switching from getting paid every 4 weeks to every 2 weeks) he miscalculated everyones taxes.  And only two people in the entire company noticed.  One was too stooopid to follow up on something that she thought was wrong.  And the other (me) didn't even get her check until a full week after everyone else!

WHAT THE FUCK!  People don't check their checks?!?  When I told Hautechick about it, she admitted that she rarely if ever checks to see if the amount of her direct deposit is correct.  Don't take that shit for granted, cause next thing you know the guvment will have an extra $500 of your money, and you'll be none the wiser.  Shit, you know how much shopping damage I could do with $500?!?