It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time!

This Just In! The word is that America is having some teeny tiny pesky economic problems. Ho Hum! Sound the alarms! I mean for years factories have closed, jobs have been outsourced to India and now you have to have a freaking PHD just to be somebody’s secretary! I wonder as I wander what was the news outlets’ first clue that something was wrong? Well now that the sh*t has hit Wall Street’s fan, the epicenter of all things Capitalism, folks have started to care because well it’s directly hitting them. Never mind about the po folks who got sucked into the American dream with adjustable rate mortgages who have been struggling for years. I mean shame on them knowing they only made $10 an hour, but double quadruple shame on the greedy folks who approved them for $250k mortgages.

But as for me, a single girl, who rents, and has her 401k in some “secure” government plan somewhere none of this is hitting me on “Main Street”. I mean for real for real, I’ve been broke for a long time so I’m not having suicidal thoughts nor am I writing my Congressman about approving the bail out plan. I’m just trying to exist and survive, but what else is new?

Now, I have noticed that my dollar doesn’t stretch like it use to. That now it costs a little extra for my tacos at Chipotle or for my Dove body wash, but that’s just the way things go. There are always periods of feast and famine. And regardless folks are always going to find a way to eat. As for me, I’ve decided to supplement some of my lunches on the town with some good ole peanut better and jelly samiches at my desk, just keep a few coins in my savings account and such-not to buy gas or anything. But to my surprise when I went to the PB&J aisle at the store the pickings were slim. I’m talking like communist Russia or New Orleans September ‘05. I wondered aloud to my grandma if everyone was starting implement the negro diet of peanut butter jelly, chicken ramen noodles, fried bologna sandwiches and red Kool Aid?

Hmmmm. Is anyone else seeing what I’m seeing? Maybe there is a new business opportunity here. I could help school some of these newly strugglin’ folks how to live their life like a have not. Teach them how get the cable hook up, or make a pack of bacon feed 30 folks. I could help them learn that there is really no different between orange juice and orange drink. What a success I’d be! Waaaaait. Damnit! I can’t get a loan for my start up Capital! This blows! Stupid banks and their stupid overestimations!

I’m writing my congressman...just as soon as I finish this sandwich!

See You In Seven

Technology Dependency Time-Out

I was going to kick this week off with this great lamb recipe I tried yesterday or how it feels to be a married woman without kids in a room surrounded by married women with kids BUT…something happened two days ago that shook my world a little bit hence those topics will have to wait.

So what is it that shook you up, you say?

Well, I was heading North on 1-95 and my cell phone starts trying to sync with my laptop. Ba-beep! Ba-beep! Now paranoid Courvoisier starts thinking…what the heck, my laptop isn’t in the car nor did I activate that function…is someone trying to hack into my PDA? LOL. Then CCC (cool, calm and collect) Courvoisier thinks…hacking is very unlikely, since you are doing like 75mph in a car…just cancel the function. So I did that and the cell phone possesses a mind of its own and starts to sync all over again. Like I told it to do that. It was unreal. I was having an iRobot moment with my Palm on 95.

At this point, I am like just take out the battery and soft restart that bad boy. Which I also did but when it restarts it starts syncing again! There goes CCC out the window, somewhere between exit 21 amd 22 at 80 mph! My phone has lost it and so have I! For those of you who don’t know me, my PDA is my saving grace, it holds way too much information about me. I would have much rather lost my wallet.

Okay...so forget about the baby shower I am supposed to be at because I CAN’T CALL them to explain the situation. I am now on a mission to find the nearest Sprint store and by chance I find one but it is closed. I have no idea where I am in PA and once again I CAN’T CALL 411 to find the nearest Sprint store. So I decide, let me see if this guy in the Verizon store could help me out. This fool is going to look at me, and say,

“You do know you are in a Verizon store, right?”

It took everything in my soul to repeat my question, which was, “I am not familiar with this area, my cell phone is malfunctioning, do you know where the nearest Sprint store is?” Because what I really wanted to say was,

“You don’t say?”
then smack him with my palm across his head in hopes that it would reboot itself.*

Ahh, it was over! Courvoisier has been defeated. No phone. I went to the party and I went home. When I got home I started looking up a Sprint store that would open on Sunday to repair my phone because I didn’t think I could function without my cell phone for 24 hours. I also called the most important people I know so they could not only have my home number but tell me what it was.

Then sometime before I fell asleep and woke up Sunday morning, I decided maybe this break from technology is what I need. Break the dependency. The last time this happened I panicked and had a new phone in hours. This time as much as I wanted it to go the same way, it was not going to be the case.

Sunday turned out to be an interesting day. It was very refreshing...once I got over the fact that I didn’t really lose any information. (CCC is too cool to not have a back up.) It was so refreshing that I am going to take my time getting my phone fixed. I will let you know next week when the refreshing feeling wears off!

This weekend just served as a reminder, to loosen up on the technology dependency. We are fully able of functioning without it.

Happy Monday Y’all!
Peace ☺

*Apologizes to the young boy in Verizon, I was really frustrated.

Sorry I Can't Come to the Computer Right Now

Hello world! No official blog entry today. Awwww....fret not I shall return. In the meantime, I am leaving you with an old school flashback video! Yes, it's a coked out Chaka Khan and Co., better known as Rufus! How about when I was a child I thought Rufus was a person. I'd be lookin at my parents album covers talking about where's Rufus? Ahhh good times. And so enjoy and dance at your desk! That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

we is a beautiful thang

I'm not married yet, but like every single gal under the sun, I've developed a few opinions on how thangs ought to be when i do jump that broom. Mind you, these opinions aren't based on fantastical musings as mint julep drifts off to sleep each night. Rather they've been gleaned over years of non-matrimonial relationships of which i've been a part and my observations of married folk nationwide. One such trueism that I've seen confirmed time and time again - A wife should never, eva....eva eva join in other folks talking down about her husband.

Case in point. Last Saturday I attended a co-worker's football party, trying to be social and meet the peoples of the office, well the peoples of the caucasion persuasion this time. There I was cheering for the home team like it was my alma mater. Downing flaming dr. pep.pers and something we created called a bluerdi like a sorority girl. During a lull in the debauchery, a few of the co-workers began to lament the departure of Sarah. See Sarah's husband had recently moved to D.C. for a new job and the plan was for her to follow him there in a couple months. And understandably Sarah was not too happy about leaving the office.

The back story is that Sarah met Peter while they were working together in the City. Sarah went to grad school far far away and then a couple years later, Peter followed Sarah and enrolled in grad school as well. Somewhere along the way Sarah and Peter got married. Sarah gets a great job doing what she loves but when Peter graduates a couple years later he can't find a job doing what he loves in the far far away place. But he does find a job in DC, so he takes it and waits for Sarah to join him. But like I said Sarah is still here in far far away land.

Cut to Saturday's party. Dick and Jane, two of Sarah's bestest friends on the job are crying in their cups of beer about how lame it is that Sarah has to go and why can't she just stay, fcuk Peter and his new job. Dick and Jane are pretty much on some make his lame ass come back here Sarah, you wear the pants honey!

Now instead of Sarah putting Dick and Jane in their places for talking smack about her man, Sarah joined in. Like really joined in. She pretty much co-signed on everything Dick and Jane were saying. She laughed at their jokes and made a few of her own: I bet at this very moment, Peter is in Madam's Organ having a beer in some liberal pub lamenting the gentrification of D.C. unaware that he is gentrification. he he haw haw. Hi-5's from Dick and Jane. Then Sarah pulls out her cell phone and says, Let's prank call him! Jane gets on the phone yelling/crying for Peter to bring his ass back/let Sarah stay.

Pure craziness!

It's quite alright to joke wit yo mamanem bout how hubby forgets to take out the trash. Or laugh over drinks with your girls about how lovably nerdy you think your man is. But when you get a kick in when he's been pushed to the ground by your friends, that is just foul! That's your husband. You're his wife. Ya'll are a unit. You should support him in the streets even if you kick his ass behind closed doors when y'all get home. Sarah needs to suck it up and carry her happy ass to DC. Peter moved for her so now it's her turn. Tough cookies if you don't like it. You do it because you are a we!

Nothing should come between that. Especially not your words and antics in supposed jest while you're allegedly drunk.

what say you?

B*TCHASSNESS IS ALIVE AND WELL...

So, I have to interrupt my regularly scheduled programming 'cuz folks want to act a fucking fool. So, my musings on the economy will have to come another day, my thoughts on the parameters set on the presidential debates must be delayed -- why you might ask??? Well, Bellini just had an encounter with a BITCH and her ASSNESS do tell Bellini, do tell...yes, I must oblige you!

So, after an eventful day of a workshop, business lunch, and other typical work-related events... I'm driving home. Now, in my neighborhood (across from a park) where the little league teams are in full effect, spectators tend to park on my street. That's cool, but what ain't cool is when a fuckin' fool initiated to park and then chose otherwise, u-turns and situates her car diagonally--thereby splitting the road in half... and utters "Move BITCH."

Bellini's got your bitch.

So, I tell the stupid heffa "BACK UP." She retorts that I should. Well, I put the cark in PARK. And parked, I did. She mumbles, I ain't scare of you. silence is muthafuckin' golden I decide to take the time to decompress and follow-up on messages I had received during the day... "You ain't got to call nobody," she quips. Little does the bitch know, I'm a grown fuckin' woman and I don't feel the need to respond to anything she has to say. Upon, the dumb bitch realizin' that I wasn't going to move... she decides to pull off. Not before I give her ass the finger.

Folks, I'm really not petty, but Lawd pity this fool--'cuz Bellini ain't the one. Don't fret folks, everything is cool, 'cuz I'm here typing this just for you. I just hate to inform you. . .
B*TCHASSNESS IS ALIVE AND WELL...damn

And to think Puff was actually on to something.

cheers,

Bellini

Dance I Say!

So I went to a thirtieth birthday party on Saturday and was once again reminded of the ugly American institution of slavery. Yes, I’m weird like that. I know this is not the typical thought of a partygoer on a Saturday night, but I wasn’t drinking, so it is what it is. As Flo Rida blared off the iPod and a circle formed around the spastic gyrations of the birthday girl’s coworker I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. Here was a white woman dancing and singing for the entertainment and enjoyment of a room full of black folks.

It was a spectacle, a la this right here. Dance white lady, dance!

My friend who invited me to the soiree wondered how anyone could face Miss Sally on Monday morning. Miss Sally, who was constantly mistaken for the birthday girl’s supervisor (thank the Lawd she wasn't). Miss Sally who had Supermanned, had gotten low, had bumped and grind and saw nothing wrong with any of it. Personally I can’t imagine seeing any of my coworkers on social level…a happy hour? Sure. But inviting them to my birthday party? Hell no! I mean how would you react if your Miss Sally type coworker (and older white woman) asked you the status of the Jackson Report after you watched her essentially make a fool of herself in front of your friends and family? Cue side eyes and suppressed laughter. It’s easy to blame general debauchery on the rain and the Vodka. And I know liquor makes folks have a good time, for some it's a basic requirement. But I’ve always been of the thinking that alcohol just brings to light the desires that have been latent but always there, which made Miss Sally’s singular dance party all the more scary. Alcohol lends balls to people as it takes away their inhibitions, but sometimes it goes even further and robs folks of their shame and embarrassment. Two essential things necessary to save face…or at least tiny shreds of dignity.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I laughed my buttocks off at Miss Sally’s expense. But then felt bad as people encouraged Miss Sally to keep shaking her tail feather. Miss Sally surely thought she was doing something, yet we were all laughing at her and not with her. Even as she sat down to rest the crowd wasn’t through. We wanted more good times, more giggles, more off beat movements, and exclamations that Miss Sally sure was one crazy ass white woman.

And then I thought of the numerous black folks who’ve had to play Miss Sally’s role in this American drama, only sober and painfully aware. How circles of Anglo faces encamped them to be entertained by our dancing and singing for hours on demand. The irony then made me sad. The dancing made still me laugh. Our collective demand on Miss Sally also made me scared. And when Miss Sally said she was ready to go home at 2:30 am…the party ended. Why? Because there was nothing left to entertain us, not even ourselves.

See You in Seven

What do you say, Courvoisier? (Part 1)

Sometimes you have to kick Monday off with a little fun...Brenda needs our help.

Dear Courvoisier,

For the past six months, I have been trying not to become emotionally involved with my buddy. However, our lovemaking has become increasingly more intense. Instead of calling on Jesus, like I use to…I now scream his name. Even though I have shown an additional interest in our lovemaking my buddy on the other hand, insist on leaving immediately after, even when I offer to cook breakfast in the morning. Everybody knows men will leave their wives for some homemade breakfast! The question is “Why is he doing this?”

Yours truly,
Brenda

Dear Bren-Duh!

I don’t know if you are familiar with the rules of having a f@*! buddy but here are a few of the rules you might want to follow. Let me break down for you…ladies take heed…shhh!

1. Never ever f@*! a buddy that is husband potential. If he has a job making more than $25,000 annually, then do not consider this man a buddy. But if he lives in his mother’s basement and calls it his apartment because it has a separate entrance…this is buddy material.
2. Never ever choose a buddy you think is hotter than you. If your heart flutters every time you talk to this person…he is NOT buddy material.
3. Never ever offer a buddy the option to wash up, let alone spend the night. Remember to collect wet naps from various fast food restaurants for this event so that they can clean up on the way out.

Now in case you have broken some of the rules, here are some indicators that you are CAUGHT-UP:

1. When you call the act lovemaking,
2. When you offer to cook that reggin breakfast, and
3. When you give him the praise and not the lord!

Lastly, if you find your nose wide open…there is only ONE thing you can do and that is to NEVER EVER speak to him again! No texts, no calls, no emails and don’t even engage in self-gratification with him on the mind. It is important to remember that this type of buddy is for sex only.

Till we talk again,
Courvoisier
Mz. Courvoisier if ya nasty.