Hang Loose

Lemme tell ya’ll a lil sum sumthin’ . . .
Yesterday, my greatest pleasure was coming home, taking off my underwire bra and laying up under the air conditioner. Underwire bras are evil and they need to be destroyed! Unfortunately, an underwire bra is the only thing that gives my exhausted, 30 year old breasts the boost that they need. When gravity takes over, it is the underwire bra that is there to the rescue. But it is definitely a love/hate relationship.

Lemme tell ya’ll a lil sum sumthin’ . . .
Please don’t make the make the mistake of buying a cheaply made bra or continue to wear a bra that has “bite the dust”. This is not to say finding a bra to suit your budget is wrong. But I suggest that you choose quality over appearance or quantity. Pick a bra, like you pick your fruit. Cuz, what may happen is the resentful wire holding up your breast will decide it no longer wants to support you. Yes, the underwire has taken on a life of it’s own and is plotting against you. It then prepares to launch what I call an “Underwire Coup”. Determined to upset the relationship between you and your bra, it finds a way to infiltrate the boundaries of your bras fabric. Inch by inch it works itself half way out of it’s shell and before you can say “good googlymoogly” a rebellious underwire is attacking your underarm. Stabbing discomfort is all you will know as the underwire relentlessly jabs your side. Stick and move - stick and move - the underwire is expert at irritating the hell out of you.

Lemme tell ya’ll a lil sum sumthin’ . . .
Sometimes a sister needs to hang on to her dysfunctional underwire bra. Although the underwire has gone astray, there is still one good wire left. In an effort to hang onto of my favorite bras, I removed the wire that was tearing into my delicate flesh. However, due to the fact that I now had one titty posted up as it should be and the other hanging at half mass, I had to turn the bra loose. Lopsided breasts are not attractive to anyone, unless perhaps you have a cockeyed lover who has one eyeball leaning to the side. He won’t notice the difference.

Lemme tell ya’ll a lil sum sumthin’ . . .
In case you didn’t know lingerie is expensive. A decent matching bra and panty set is going to cost you much more than it should. If you want to rotate a fresh set of drawers on at least a 7-day schedule. (And I hope you do) Be ready to drop down a pretty penny. I think the fashion industry has lost their damn minds for what they are asking for a bra and panty set these days! Good luck trying to find a matching set on SALE. You find a great bra, but they don’t have the panties in your size. You find the perfect panties but the only matching bra left is a 29AA cup. I was in the store a few months ago sweating like a hebrew slave over the SALE rack. What do you brothers know about that? When is the last time you picked through a sales rack for some affordable - quality - drawls?

Lemme tell ya’ll a lil sum sumthin’ . . .
I shouldn’t be too much concerned about beautiful undergarments and matching sets these days. I’m the only one who sees my “drawls”. As long as they are clean and unsoiled I’m good to go. I could be walking around in some plaid, bleach stained bloomers and a bra that has Christmas Trees on it and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. Nobody is going to know what lies beneath my freshly pressed, well put together, ensembles. Ha! It’s true. Now I’m over here thinking about some holy (not divine but raggedy) tights I wear in the winter time. *laughing*

Lemme tell ya’ll a lil sum sumthin’ . . .
Tights aint cheap! At least not the kind I like to wear . . .

May President Bush Choke On A Hot Dog

*Enters Angelique - standing on her soap box - clearing her throat into the microphone*

My Peoples,
Tomorrow is so called “Independence Day”. Yes, I will take my son to see fireworks. Yes, I will enjoy B-B-Q and the company of family and friends. Yes indeed I will be happy as hell that I have a day off from the JOB. But it won’t have much to do about some British Christian rebels defeating their pillow biting - rotted teeth oppressors.

And I’m not even going to get started on how my Native American people were robbed of their land an spiritual beliefs. And how I could never go to Ellis Island and look up my ancestors names, due to the fact they didn’t come America by choice. None of my people were even allowed the courtesy of being an “Indentured Slave”. I’m not going to start flowing on that because we already know the deal.

However - I will hit you off with a classic.

THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT BE TELEVISED

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and drop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruption.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
Blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
Hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Wood and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
Thinner, because

The revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mays
Pushing that cart down the block on the dead run,
Or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not predict the winner at 8:32
or the count from 29 districts.

The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
Brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of young being
Run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a red, black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the right occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
Women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.

The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock
News and no pictures of hairy armed women
Liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
About a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a germ on your
Bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.

The revolution will not go better with Coke.

The revolution will not fight the germs that cause bad breath.

The revolution WILL put you in the driver’s seat.

The revolution will not be televised, WILL not be televised,
WILL NOT BE TELEVISED.

The revolution will be no re-run brothers;

The revolution will be live.

Written by Gil Scott- Heron way back in the 60’s
- - - -
Honestly it’s not just about “Black Revoulution” but a revolution for ALL repressed people. No matter what your skin tone or culture. Now that would be something to celebrate:)

“Relations”

I live in a large three story duplex.
I have two new neighbors: Ms. Lavera and Ms.Pat.
They live upstairs - I live downstairs.
My crazy ol’ uncle lives on the third level.
Ms. Lavera is in her early 70’s and Ms.Pat in her early 50’s.
Both women are very nice, but I suspect that each has a colorful past.
Ms. Lavera likes to drink brandy. I recently learned that she keeps a loaded pistol under her mattress just in case some punk is feeling lucky.
Both of them like my son and think he is such a “mannerable” young man.
Ms. Lavera likes to give him money for the ice cream truck.
I don’t bother them and they don’t bother me.

Last night I climbed the stairs to pay them a visit.
I wanted to apologize for any disturbance I may have caused during the “LAUGH AT THE GLASS” incident.
Lately, I’ve been playing my music kind of loud so I wanted to make sure that I hadn’t bothered them with the “bass”.
I like to keep the harmony amongst my neighbors and me.
- - -
I hadn’t talk to them for a few weeks.
Ms.Lavera wasn’t home but Ms.Pat was.
She was posted up in a LazyBoy recliner- wearing a watermelon colored “house coat” and smoking generic menthol cigarettes.
I didn’t look like she was doing too much of anything.

We went on to make small talk about this and that. Every time I would start in on a topic - she would cut me off and tell me a story of her own. For every word I spoke, she would come back with 20 more. Blah blah blah. Finally she took a breath. That’s when I said:

“I just wanted to apologize if I made too much noise the other night. A guy I know popped up at my door unannounced and . . .”
BEFORE I COULD SAY ANYTHING ELSE - she cut me off again.

Ms.Pat: I heard ya’ll fuckin’ the other night.

Lique: *turning crimson* Oh my goodness! I am soooo embarrassed. I’m so sorry.

Ms.Pat: There’s no need to be embarrassed. You are a young woman. Please don’t be embarrassed. There’s nothing wrong with that.

Lique: I am so sorry.

Ms.Pat: I could hear everything. Ya’ll was going at it for a long time.

Lique: *shaking head* Oh my goodness! I am so embarrassed and I am so sorry.

Ms.Pat: I could hear him too . . .panting. I use to hear my other neighbors, fuckin’. They are husband and wife and they use to go at it all the time. I use to get so “hot”.
- - -
I was thinking to myself: TMI LADY! TMI! Too Much Information! How the hell does one excuse themselves from a conversation like this? I swear - I am always finding myself in some kind of odd situation. But I guess that’s what makes my life somewhat interesting. In the meanwhile, Ms. Pat was still flowing . . .

Ms.Pat: I had to get up and out of the bed, but I didn’t want to disturb you. It sounded like you were having a really good time. These floors creak, so I very quietly tip-toed into the livingroom and sat on the couch. It took me awhile to get in here (the living room) w/out making any noise. I just sat there reminiscing about when I was young and hot. I haven’t have any dick in 6 years. I’ve had some bad experiences. I’m afraid of men. A lot of men try to talk to me, but I just don’t want to be bothered.

Lique: *speechless and intrigued*

Ms.Pat: Ms.Lavera came out of her bedroom and asked me why was I sitting in the living room so late at night. She asked me if everything was okay.

Ms.Pat smiled and then proceeded to point at the floor.

*Rolls of laughter burst out of my gut*

Lique: No - you - didn’t!
Ms.Pat: Yes - I - did!

Whatever is whatever . . .

Supervisor: Angelique, why aren’t you working?
Angelique: Um . . . cuz I didn’t see you coming . . . ?
Supervisor: *frown*

*smile* I’m a liar. Such dialog never took place. I’m too smooth to get busted! I do my job. But that’s exactly what it is - a JOB. I’m crying on the inside ya’ll. I am crying - crying - crying. I was meant to be a SUPERSTAR - a mover and a shaker. Perhaps I could be a interior designer or a magazine editor - or maybe a personal shopper? I want to travel the world and speak several languages. I want to wake up in the morning and look out a window that has a glorious view of the Mediterranean sea. Instead - I work in a box - under florescent lights. I perform tasks that wouldn’t make a lick sense to a person outside of the industry. The people are gray and boring. Oh well, I’ve made some extra dumb mistakes in my life. So, I only have myself to blame. *boo hoo* . I’ll be aight. No need for pity.

One thing did make me laugh: A co-worker of mine came dressed in a 2 piece black - “pleather” (plastic leather) outfit (jacket & pants). She accessorized the ensemble w/ a white belt and white boots. *shaking head* She looked like she was auditioning to be “Storm” for the next sequel of X-MEN. I wonder what was going through her mind this morning?

Me so sleepy today. I haven’t had much rest lately. There have been some terrible rain storms/tornados in the metro area. I’m afraid of thunder. The storms came through and killed all of my flowers! I spent $50.00 on flowers and lawn care stuff. My geraniums are without petals. The pansies are limp. Damnit Mother Nature, you owe me some cheddar!

I miss my son. He’s been away at “fishing camp” all week. Luckily, it hasn’t been raining where he is. He’s having a good time catching fresh walleye, perch and blue gills. There are a lot of lakes in Minnesota. Now that I have all this free time on my hands. I haven’t done anything all week. My phone hardly rings.

I’ve been visiting a lot of blogs lately. There are some very talented people online. I come back to my place and it looks so very generic.

Anywayz - I’m going to take a nap. Then I’m going to wake up and grill myself a steak. I bought some pretty pink and yellow flowers from the farmers market today.

Toodles~

Laugh At The Glass

“Dirk Diggler” popped up on my doorstep last night - unannounced. I do recall that several days prior this rude intrusion, I had left a message, asking him NOT to call or attempt to see me. In detail - I told him all of the reasons why he will never -ever - ever- encounter my space again. I guess he didn’t take me seriously. I suppose he figured that calling me and asking if could he come over - would leave an opportunity for me to verbally reject him, once again. Showing up in person - unannounced would catch me off guard, and how could I resist him in person? I guess he thought wrong. I didn’t let one pinky toe past the security door on my porch.

Dirk: *Knocking at the door*
Lique: *Opens Door*
Lique: What the FUCK do you want? Didn’t you get my message?
Dirk: NO? (Lying thru his pretty white teeth)
Lique:Let me turn on the light so I can see your face when you are lying to me.

I then proceeded to tell him once again that he will no longer be a part of my world and why. Apparently - I’m funny - even when I am irritated. He couldn’t help to laugh at some of the things I said. I do have a way with words. He had never seen this side of me. I think it almost tickled him.

Lique: Oh - you think this is funny?
Dirk: *trying to look serious* he stuttered . . . n-n-n-n- oo!!
Lique: You think this is funny, huh? Well laugh at the glass!!

I slammed security the door in his face - turned around- and took my butt in the house like I?m suppose to. I never looked back. The door was designed in the early 1900’s and weighs at least 200lbs. It is made of solid oak. In the center of the door is a large picture window made of thick and heavy glass. I left his ass standing right there to “laugh at the glass”. But, I guess he stopped laughing when he realized I wasn?t bluffing.