The Brush Off

I like my space when it comes to men.  If you're looking for a woman who will call you 4 and 5 times a day, I'm not the one for you.  Sheeet, if you're looking for a woman who will call you everyday, I still might be the one for you.  I've yet to meet the man that inspires that kind of behavior.  Just the same, if you call ME 5 times a day, you're going to quickly get on my nerves.  Specially if you really don't have anything to say...

So things with Big Mr. Bad have been going downhill for a minute.  It started with him giving me an itemized description of his bills the same evening that he found out that I got my paycheck.  (Like I give a fuck what some dude I met 3 weeks ago has to pay for his cell phone!?!)  It continued when he called to ask me out last Tuesday.  Sounds like that would be a good thing, but it wasn't.  You see, when we first started "talking", I told Big Mr. Bad that my pet peeve with men is that they start thinking that the sex is enough to keep me and stop taking me out.  "Oh no, that will never happen with me!  I love to go out."  Uh, huh.  Cause we've actually only been on one date so far.

So he calls me at around 6:30 pm.  The cell phone is downstairs and I'm upstairs, so I don't hear it.  I go downstairs at around 7:30 and my phone is ringing, its Hautechick.  I get off the phone with her and see that Big Mr. Bad has called me 5 times.  I'm about to check the message when he calls again.  (sidenote - I had food poisoning last weekend (DAMN YOU RED LOBSTER!) and Big Mr Bad knew I still wasn't feeling well)  "Hey, where have you been?!" (is that a slight attitude I detect?) "My uncle got some last minute tickets to a comedy show tonight.  Can you be ready in 20 minutes?"  Uh, "No."

What part of I've been throwing up all weekend and haven't eaten solid food do you not understand?  No.  And 20 minutes?!?  Some notice that is.  Granted he had tried to reach me earlier, but the voicemail revealed that he didn't mention anything about tickets or a comedy show, just asked me to call him back.

Then comes The Call.  You know, the lets beat around the bush and not really say anything but I think you might not like that much anymore and I wanna ask you what I'm doing wrong but I'm a chickenshit call.  The hemming and hawing is not at all masculine.  When I say, "Is there something on your mind?" thats your cue to tell me what the fuck is on your mind!  So when he didn't say anything other than, "I've got alot on my mind I guess and I can't sleep."  I said something along the lines of "Well listening to you breathe is putting me to sleep, so I'll talk to you tomorrow."  I didn't expect him to call me at 7 fucking 45 in the morning. (for those that missed it, I sorta kinda don't have to work for awhile and I basically sleep til noon) Naturally I ignored that shit.

He called back at about 1, I just missed it and returned the call.  "Hey, I just got busy, I'll call you back in about 5 minutes."  Oh-kay!  Except, he didn't call me back for about 4 hours and by that time I was basically through.  He's done that a couple of times.  Tell me he'll call me back in 5 minutes when he really means 5 hours.  Just say later idiot and it wouldn't piss me off.  But it does.  Piss me off that is.  He leaves a message, "Hey, give me a call when you get this."  I went about my business that night and went to sleep.  The next morning, its deja vu all over again.  7 fucking 45 in the morning and this fool is calling me.  No message.  Now he's really starting to get on my nerves.  Long story a little shorter, I spent Thursday afternoon getting massages with Ripeshit aka Hautechick (see Lil Sister Blues below) and was pretty much out of the house and running around with either her or my Mom from Thursday at 1:30 til midnight Saturday morning.  In that span of time, Big Mr. Bad called me a total of 24 times.  (only 3 voicemails)  

That really put me off, so I answered the phone when he called on Saturday evening.  (I didn't count the 9 times he called me on Saturday in the previous total.)  "Do you realize how many times you've called me in the last 2 days?"  "Alot"  "yeah, what the hell is up with that?"  "I was worried about you."  "You never left a message to that affect."  "Well, no..." "It was my sisters birthday, not that I owe you an explanation, especially when I told you we had some stuff planned earlier in the week." "Oh! I forgot, I'm sorry"  "Yeah we'll its not cool with me, that shits not cool at all.  I think you need to take a step back." "Uh..." "I'll Call You, if I change how I feel.  Ok?"  "Uh"  "Ok!?!" "Ok..." Click.

Trouble's Corn Chowder

this is in honor of LadyShay, without whom I would have never had the idea.

I can never leave a recipe alone.  Just. Can't. Do. It.  I have to add something, change it and some way, claim it as my own.  So when Lady Shay posted a link to this recipe for Corn Chowder, I had to do something to it.  I couldn't resist.  For one thing, I was out of chicken stock.  And vegetable stock.  And I'm not really a fan of cream of corn soup, although I actually do have that in my kitchen cupboard.  So I searched for other recipes.  I found ones with evaporated milk.  And half and half.  And lobster.  And crab.  And bacon.  Wait a minute that bacon one has a corn stock base, and I have fresh corn.  But I didn't want to use bacon fat to fry my onions.  And I wanted to put red peppers in it.  And carrots, I love carrots.  And I didn't want to make that much soup, cause its just me and Mommy.  So a recipe was born, makes about 3 servings...

2 Ears Sweet Corn

1/4 onion (I used red and yellow cuase there were two small pieces left over in the fridge, I also prefer small onion pieces, so cut how you like them)

2 cloves of fresh garlic, diced

2 small potatoes, peeled and cut into small cubes

3/4 cup of milk

just enough olive oil to coat the bottom of a small skillet

a nice fat pat of butter, almost a tablespoon

6 baby carrots, cut into bite sized pieces 

a little section of fresh red pepper, seeds removed, cut into small pieces

seasoning to taste

sharp cheddar cheese (optional)

grilled chicken breast (optional)

Cut kernels from cobs, set aside.  Break cobs into 1/3s and place into what I like to think of as a small soup pot aka the pot I use to boil pasta in.  Add a little more than 1 1/2 cups of water.  Season to taste.  (I used a little salt, some cayanne pepper, garlic and onion powders) Bring to a boil then reduce to a simmer and cook for 20 minutes to make corn stock.  Remove the cobs, make sure there is no silk in the stock.  (The original recipe said to drain the stock, but I just used a slotted spoon to make sure there was no corn silk...)

While the stock is simmering, warm a small skillet over a low fire, coat the bottom with a little olive oil, and melt your pat of butter.  Add chopped onion, garlic, and red pepper, cook for about 5 minutes or until the yellow onion is translucent.  

Add the potatoes, carrots, milk, and onion mixture to the corn stock.  Taste and season according to preference.  (I added some thyme, rosemary, and a little more salt - I tend to be very light on the salt usually, thats why I needed more)  Bring to a simmer and stir to prevent foam from forming (its hard to skim with the kernels of corn)  Cook until potatoes are tender.  Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary.

I cut up a piece of grilled chicken breast and mixed it in with the chowder.  Then I shaved a nice little cheesy mound of Cracker Barrel Extra Sharp Cheese on top.  It went great with the biscuits I made from scratch yesterday...

Lil Sister Blues

I had a pretty craptastic weekend.  It started off ok, with massages with Hautechick on Thursday, but went straight to hell after that.  Major highlights include me being treated like a 12 year old by my sister in front of all of her friends and telling Big Mr. Bad to chill the fuck out.

Hautechick had a party on Friday night at this bar on the Lower East Side.  She invited all of her friends and told them to be at the bar at 8pm.  Why so early, I have no fucking clue.  So I head over to her and the Artist's house, figuring I'll catch a ride into the city.  And I wanted to give Hautechick her prezzies.  I should point out at this juncture, that I have yet to receive a birthday gift from my sister.  Didn't matter.  I found an adorable Coach skull keychain (25% off thank you!) and some Marc Jacobs black wool shorts (can't go wrong with something black and Marc Jacobs if you're looking for a gift for Hautechick)  She loves everything, but she's no where near ready to go.  The Artist ask if I would mind leaving with him, cause if I stay he fears Hautechick is going to take even more time to get ready.

The Artist tells me that he's also giving a ride to one of his friends.  I met him before, he's kinda slow and still hasn't figured out that I have locks and Hautechick has an Afro, and is darker than me, and is taller than me and has bigger boobs than me.  So of course he walks up with his date and says "Happy Birthday!"  "Damn it!  Thats the second time, I'm Trouble, the Artist is married to my sister, Hautechick!"  Strong reaction maybe, but that shit irks the hell outta me.

So we all pile into the Artist's pickup - its a crew cab, but just barely - and head to the City.  Arrive at the spot and there are some knifed up chicks sitting at our table.  No problem management removes them and we sit.  Couple of minutes later here comes one of Hautechicks friends, she does the double take then realizes that I'm not Hautechick.  Three more of her friends come in and do the same damn thing.  Now its like 9, still no Hautechick.  

I'm making small talk, drinking and eating.  Having fun, then in comes my sister.  One of her friends calls to me, "Hey Trouble, are you going to the strip club later?"  Ripeshit interjects, "Oh no!  My little sister is not invited to come."  I dont know what the hell they are talking about, but its pissing me off.  I find out later that the afterparty is supposed to be at one of the most well known strip clubs in the NYC area.  Well at least its well known in hip-hop circles.  And I'm not invited apparently because I'm her "little sister."  Uh, bitch youre only like 3 years older than me.  GET OVER YOURSELF!

The kicker is when everybody bails on her except for one of her friends and the Artist.  The one friend who is going is asking me to come with and Ripeshit says, "I'm putting little sister in a cab and sending her home to Mommy.  She can't go."  Ok fine bitch, I'm used to you pulling that big sister bullshit when its convenient.  Funny how it never comes up when you're asking me to buy you some designer shit or to borrow my clothes.  So I said something along the lines of I'm used to Ripeshit being an ass to me and made her pay for my cab fare.  The Artist was going to give me the money, but I made Ripeshit give it to me.  Petty, yes, but it made me feel better.  It also made me feel better when I found out today that Hautechicks friend that went with her, fell asleep in the car so they just headed home...

Showerworks...

I grew up in a brownstone.  A lovely gem of a house with stained glass windows, wainscoting, multiple fireplaces, built in bookcases, and my favorite thing - the huge bathroom on the third floor with the clawfoot tub.  I loved that tub.  It was soo deep that I used to be able to float in it as a kid.  Many a great naval battle was waged in that tub.  I had a flotilla of toy boats to play with.  Oh, and a rubber duck.  And a frog.  I loved that frog.  Anyway, bathtime was always a production for me.  And it was always fun.  

Sooo, when I moved into the new house a little over 8 years ago, to say I was disappointed with the bathroom was an understatement.  Sure the old bathroom was drafty, and the clawfoot didn't really have a shower (or a shower curtain for that matter.)  But it could all be forgiven soaking in that tub, burning something and reading a book on a Sunday afternoon.  I could escape into that bathroom for hours.  The new bathroom - can I just say that the tub doesn't even come up to my waist when I'm sitting in it.  

I try and make the most of it though.  That little ass bathroom is packed with color.  And bath products.  Hautechick was over here on Saturday.  She went into my bathroom for some shampoo and came out with; a hairdryer (why the hell I have a hair dryer when my hair has been locked for 8 years we'll never know), some eyelashes, facial loofahs, some shower gels, some lotions, some band-aids, a new toothbrush for her and one for the Artist, some toothpaste, and some conditioner.  I didn't have any shampoo.

At any given time, you can find at least 5 kinds of shower gel (the Lemon Sugar is one of my favorites Shay), at least one type of Dr. Bronner's Soap, and 3 kinds of facial cleanser in my bathroom.  Not to mention at least 5 kinds of lotion (some coordinating with the shower gels and always at least one kind of cocoa butter - I'm currently loving the body butter that Vaseline has come out with), 2 types of body butter, and 2 lip conditioners.  Bath and Body Works is having a sale, so I am currently stocked with mostly stuff from there.  For the winter I like the soap free body washes because my skin gets dry and I obviously am a SBCAA (Snarky Black Chick Against Ashiness)

And lets not talk about all the stuff that I have for my locks.  Whoever said that dreadlocks are low maintenance has obviously never met me...

ps - I love Dr. Bronner's Soaps!  It's a great thing to keep in your bathroom.  I use it to wash my locks, and my face and my body!  It can also be used in a pinch as toothpaste if you run out - I only suggest using the peppermint one for this purpose.  And you can always use the bottle for reading material if you're on the can!

Coockaberry

Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree

Merry merry merry merry life had he

(that's how I learned it but its supposed to be Merry, merry king of the bush is he)

Laugh, Kookaburra, Laugh

Kookaburra gay your life must be.

Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree

Eating all the gumdrops he can see

Stop, Kookaburra, Stop, Kookaburra

Leave some there for me.

Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree

Counting all the monkeys that he can see

Stop, Kookaburra, Stop Kookaburra,

That's no monkey, that's me

Kookaburra had two little girls

Sweet as sugar

and smiles like pearls

Laugh, Koookaburra laugh Kookaburra

Gay your life must be...

This song always makes me a lil weepy, cause my Daddy taught it to me and Hautechick when we were little.  I always thought that he made it up, but its actually an Australian Children's Song.  I also always thought that it was Cookaberry, hence the title of this post.  And I always thought that Cookaberry was my Daddy.  My lyrics are a little different than the original.  The second line is supposed to be Merry, merry king of the bush is he.  But that didn't make sense to lil girls from Bed-Stuy.  Why would anyone want to be king of the rose bush in the front yard?  That thing used to always stick me.  And the last verse I made up when I was 8, after Daddy passed away...

It was all a dream...

...I used to read WordUp Magazine!  (whose got the next line?...)

As a kid, I really wasn't into watching tv too much.  I was more of a doer than a watcher.  Still am.  But there were some exceptions.  I've mentioned a couple of them, The Muppets, Sesame Street, Electric Company, Mr. Roger's Neighborhood (although I really only like the Land of Make Believe.  You know, the whole puppet thing...)  I also really really really loved ice skating.  Which is completely strange.  I got kicked out of more than one ballet class for my inability to stand still (or pay attention if you have them tell it.)  And I was never ever anywhere close to what you would call a girly girl.  Yet I loved ice skating.  

I think I was about 5 when I finally got a chance to actually ice skate.  I had just started kindergarten, and one of Mommy's co-workers was taking her two kids (a daughter thats younger than Hautechick and older than me, and a son that younger than me by about 2 years) and asked Mommy if she wanted to make it a playdate.  Of course this was the early 80s so no one called them playdates back then.  I was fucking stoked!  I talked about it all week.  Could not wait.  Didn't even care that I couldn't stand the two kids we were going with.  I was gonna ice skate!

So, Saturday comes.  Its a cold clear perfect fall evening for ice skating in Prospect Park.

Mommy:  Tiki (that what Mommy called me when I was a youngin), slow down!  I know you're excited, but you need to slow down and find out what you need to do.  Please be careful!

Trouble/Tiki:  But Mommy, I dreamed about ice skating last night!  I know how to do it!

Mommy:  Tiki just listen to the lady, she's going to explain it a little, ok?

Trouble/Tiki:  Ok, Mommy

She should have never turned her back.  My mother that is.  (What's my name?  Trouble, in case you forgot.  Eh, who am I kidding.  I just wanted to get yall to say my name)  Cause as soon as Mommy turned her back, I was off.  Laced up my skates, and hit the ice!  Ah ha!  I know what you're thinking, that I literally hit the ice.  Shoulda bet you a dollar, cause not only could babygirl ice skate,  I was like a fucking ice skating prodigy!  By the time Mommy found me, I had figured out how to turn!  And you know what she said to me, "Shit!  You really did know how to skate!!"  

I never did figure out that sitting still and listening bit, so I never took any lessons.  But I'm still pretty damn nice on a pair of ice skates.  I could give Apollo Ono a run for his money!  Weirdly enough, I can't get the hang of rollerblades...

Happy Birthday Hautechick!!!

in case you dont know, Hautechick is my sister.  Basically snarkyblackchick v1.0.  I'm v2.0, I was gonna say less kinks, but it depends on what you're talking about.  She turned 3, 2 months after I was born, and the jerk bite me!  Couldn't stand to have someone cuter than her in the house, so the jealous lil heifer bite baby Trouble.  She told our Mom that she wanted to see if I was real.  

So today, Hautechick and I went for 90 minute deep tissue massages.  Can I just say, "Ahhhhhhhhhh!"  I'm of the opinion that if it doesn't hurt a little, the massage isn't worth my time or money.  And I gotta say Graceful Spa (and Services) always delivers.  It's not luxurious, but its clean and I've never gotten a bad massage at either place.  Be sure to request one of the newer treatment rooms if you go to Services though.  That one is more of a quick stop, perfect for a lunch time massage if you work in Midtown East.  And you really can't beat the prices.

This was actually the first time that I had a male masseuse.  I think I actually prefer them now.  My lil dude Jacky, found every little knot I had.  And something must be said for a man's larger (and sometimes stronger) hands.  But the real reason that I think I prefer a male is because if Jacky was any indication, they respect your personal space a little more than a woman would.  Yes, I want you to reach that knot in my shoulder.  But do you really need to rest your saggy tits on my side in order to do it?  Women have no problem yanking down your panties to tuck in the sheet.  Dude today was very subtle and efficient.  No excess touching, nothing of his resting on me.  and did I mention the whole, "Ahhhhhhhhhhh" thing?

I am totally relaxed.  But that also might be contributed to this fondness for mojitos that I seem to be developing.  Drunken lunches are grrrrrrr-eat!  Even better when the come after a 90 minute massage

Oooooo weee!

I can vividly remember the first time that a man told me that I "put it on him."  Yes, I can honestly say that there has been more than one man, and more than one time.  I'm not bragging, which will become painfully clear in a minute.  You see the reason that I vividly remember that first time is not the obvious one; cause my leg started shaking and I think my heart stopped.  No, the reason that I remember is the opposite, I didn't come.  And I remember thinking, "you have got to be fucking kidding me?!?" when dude kissed me on the forehead and wanted to cuddle in post coital bliss.  I also remember thinking in the restless hours that followed, that I really wasn't trying to put it on him, I was trying to get mine!  I guess thats what I get for being selfish.  And to make matter worse, none of my usual midnight moves (i.e. - accidentally brushing my ass across his groin, a warm puff of breathe on his neck, a stray hand across a masculine nipple) would rouse him.  And that stupid smile on his face was really starting to piss me off...

And before I forget...

GO GIANTS!!!

they've got nothing to lose and I totally believe its gonna be one hell of a Super Bowl.  Go Big Blue! 

The Bald Pussy

I'm not speaking in code, or calling anybody a name, I'm really gonna do a post about bald pussies and why I'm not a fan.  Not that I'm a fan of pussy or anything, strictly dickly thank you!  

But it seems to be the "in" thing for women to do.  I think it was Eva Longoria who said something about how a brazilian wax makes her feel sexy.  Uh, what the fuck is so sexy about having a pussy that looks like it belongs on a 5 year old girl?!  Before puberty hit, I couldn't wait til I had some hair down there cause I figured that meant that I was grown.  Now you want me to rip my badge of womanhood out by the roots!?!  Are you fucking kidding me?  Don't get me wrong, I don't condone a wild bush.  When I was at the Levian Cult Camp, I had this counselor whose bush used to stick out the sides of her bathing suit.  All puffy and shit, and I used to think, why doesn't she cut that shit down.  I'm all for trimming and maintaining.  But why the fuck do I have to be bald?

Last March I was on my way to Cancun for a week so I went for a wax.  I usually shave because you can do it whenever but in the winter my skin gets really sensitive so I figured that the wax would last me longer with less irritation.  I didn't ask for a brazilian, yet chick was gonna take everything off.  "What are you doing?!?  Not bald, shit, I'm a grown woman and would like all my parts to look like it thank you!"  "You dont want clean?"  "yes clean, no bald - leave me a strip at least!"

Why do people assume that hairless is cleaner? Its actually not. The hair is there to prevent things from getting into the cooch.  Its a defense, and I'm all about the defense!  So you take off all the hair and all those little things that might have gotten stuck in your pubes are now in your cooch!  Gross yet true.  (Ladies please properly clean your cooches, thank you!)

Bald pussy also makes me think of changing diapers.  Which makes me think of shit, which is definitely not sexy.  

I've heard guys say shit like, "I'm not going down on a woman unless she's bald down there."  Meanwhile they have no problem trying to stick their hairy balls down a woman throat.  Reciprocity momo!  I'm not asking you to shave your base and balls for me.  Shit, a little pubic hair in the mouth never killed anyone as far as I know.

So in conclusion I say, ladies, keep your hair, but keep it neat.  And to the fellas I say, do you really wanna look at a pussy that could belong to a 5 year old girl?! (if you do you need to seek some serious help)

C- c- c- c- c- crackhead!

You know I'd do it!  I'm sorry this shit shouldn't be funny but it is.  Specially when you realize that Viv is Halle Berry...

I Swear fore God and 4 Other White People...

so today I heard that ALLEGEDLY Amy Winehouse is in rehab and has admitted to using crack. (see that ALLEGEDLY Afers?) Well there were those pictures of her and what appears to be a crack pipe and while I enjoy her music, I can't help but think, what an asshole! 

I grew up in NY, so I remember a time when you couldn't walk down a street here without seeing or stepping on a crack vile.  And it didn't matter where you where, all neighborhoods were affected.  Families were destroyed.  All over a stoopid little rock.

So I'm posting this video of Gator from Jungle Fever.  Yes, it is slightly funny, but it is also a very real portrayal.  A little reminder that crack is whack...

What set me off...

you might want to take a look at the definition of defamation.  and by the by it would be comprehends, not has comprehension.

Listen Trouble.  You said that it was 'one-sided' ...I will repost everything, because I clipped it.  Think for two seconds that neither of us had colour.  I apologized to Pretty on her blog for my behalf and if this has turned into a laughing matter between all of you, that is fine.

Trouble, it was not your place to get in our argument.

As for visiting blogs, I came to yours constantly, and left comments.  You only came to mine recently and then you have been acting like I am a leper.  I don't care.

And from what I just read that Anners posted, it looks like a bunch of you are talking smack about me (how mature!). You have my email.  Write me.  Or post it on your blog.  I read it.  Do not speak of me as if I don't exist.  I have never seen anyone turn their attitude as quickly as you, Trouble, and I really thought highly of you at one point.

If PB don't want to come back, not many of us knew her anyways.  She never made it a point to come to my blog and still never could answer the 'loopy' question. Look back and tell me one reference to my medications making me loopy.  Try not to be so one-sided yourself, Trouble.

I don't even have a problem with PB because I never knew her.  I didn't get a chance to meet her...but you...I can't believe your ways.  But it's the internet.

Maybe Anners, in some small way, is playing you, but in a mature way, and let's pretend I am PB.

Don't worry, when I am done with the CSS here, I am going to start on my blog and if you like I will send you an invite to see how I really, really, really feel.

This comment was posted on TypHo Boulevard prior to the posts below.  Of course you can no longer find it on there because someone erased it.  Anyone else remember the Pink Elephant post?

Harlequins Greatest Hits

I notice you like to pop off at the mouth when you think I'm not around to defend myself.  That's a real punk move Harlequin.  Think I changed shit?  Well I can't I can only erase a comment, not moderate it.  Thats how my blog is set up.  You hit like a 3 year old girl by the way...

harlequin has comprehension said...

Trouble, you got issues.  You got in the middle of a discussion with PB and I.  You made a big to do over nothing and would not let it go, changing your post after I comment on the other page...it's triflin'. 

PB, I shold not have apologized to you.  You are weak.  You are insecure.  You are dead in my eyes, so quit talking shit.

Yeah you graduated in 1990, and brought it back in 2008, PB.  I thought you loved to put off a persona of a strong woman, we see who the weak one is.

So you two little girls have tons of fun.

3:40 am

Little girls, but we see who was the first one to resort to name calling. And you know I didn't change shit, that your MO, erasing and editing.  You have the comprehension level of rock.  Should we go back to my post about 1HIVPositive and how despite a perfectly comprehensible introduction to her blog, you were the only one who thought that it was PB with HIV?  

harlequin is done said...

PB, you are the punk on the internet, trying to, for lack of a better term, cyber bully a bitch who don't play little girl games with people who can't read and once again:

shit stains in my draws is all ya'll is.

Don't worry Trouble, I will bid adieu and you can trollop on the Blvd.

3:42 am

Again with the name calling, could it be cause you really dont have shit to back you up?  And why dont you try wiping your ass, that might eliminate those shit stains.  

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....

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..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!

Bullshit and Fuckery

If anyone has a problem with me, fucking say that shit in the comments and stop beating around the fucking bush.  Grow the fuck up people!  

So let me get this straight.  I'm not allowed to come to the defense of people I like?!?

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...

Yeeeeeoooooouuuuuccchh!

I SLAMMED MY POINTER FINGER IN A FUCKING CAR DOOR!  And I was drunk enough that I didn't really feel it.  But it was gross looking.  So I cleaned it and slapped a bandaid on it.  I don't know, I've always had a thing for bandaids.  When I was little I used to sneak them out of the medicine cabinet and put them on myself.  In the morning, I used to take the off before Mommy or Daddy found them.  But of course they always did when the changed my sheets.  Anyway now my finger is starting to throb.  And its my right finger too!  I need that finger!  And that means I won't be able to change my polish for a while cause the gash is right under my nail.  At least it's good polish, Chanel.  I don't care what anyone says, that shit is worth the money.  Goes on smoother, dries a lil quicker, last a lil longer.  If you can afford it try it.  Shit, I got distracted!  What the fuck was this lil rant about again?  Oh yes, my fucking pointer finger and how I fucked it up.  I deserve some chocolate for my pain....

I'm Going Going Back Back to Cali...

ok so actually this will be my first time.  Going to visit Oakland and my god mommy!  She's gonna introduce me to a doctuh!

I drank the effing milk!!!

so I wander into Mommy's apartment this morning and she's making pancakes.  Mmmmm, Mommy makes the best pancakes!  So I'm hungry.  But then she says to me, "Why didn't you tell me the milk was bad"  And I'm all "the milk was bad?!?"  and she's all "yeah it was thick as shit, you didn't notice?"

So now I feel sick cause I put it in my tea! (I don't drink coffee, I'm hyper enough as it is! and it gives me a tummy ache)  I frothed it so I didn't notice that it was bad.  Which is really strange cause I'm usually the one that is like, "this smells funny" two days before everyone else.  And even though it was over 24 hours ago, I swear I'm about to be sick!  So I haven't eaten yet today.

I think I'll go eat a Sweetie