Notes from the Peanut Gallery: Soft Porn.. Chicken Style

So...

Sam, aka, MzInspiredmind is one of my favorite new friends I've made over the last couple of years. Hardly a workday goes by that we don't fire off emails about this, that and the other. Just a smart chicken, real down to earth.

And an Oldgirl likes chickens like that. She good people!

She is who Cinnamon Sugar is based on. Well, Cinnamon Sugar is who Sam would be if the wheels fell off her life long ago. Cinnamon Sugar is, in affect, her alter-ego. Fortunately, that didn't happen. She helped me develop that charcater! Thanks, chick!

So, with all that said, she emailed me a photo over a month ago. I didn't open it until I took one of my rare jaunts over to facebook and saw it. THEN I opened the email. And I saw this...




I sat at my desk, peering at this curiously. Then I glanced over my shoulder to see what CowgirlCre was doing. She was working hard, but I called her over.

"CowgirlCre! Come look at this!"

*CowgirlCre rolling her chair over to my side of the cubicle*

And the notes...

From the Peanut Gallery...

Began.

LadyLee: "That's a nice picture!"
Cowgirl Cre: "Sure is!"

I sent the following email to Mzinspiredmind:

LadyLee: *cues up porn music for a chicken*
Mzinspiredmind: HAAA!! Not even!!!

LadyLee: What does she have on? She's not matching. And what is that she covered up with? *lee touches LCD screen with inkpen* Is that a sheet??
CowgirlCre: Looks like a sheet.
LadyLee: One wrong move and she gonna show it ALL!

I fired off another email to Mzinspiredmind about this.

Mzinspiredmind: "Those are boy shorts. And I have on a leopard bra."
LadyLee: "Them boy shorts, they a little loose, aren't they? We thought it was a sheet. Thought you were nekked under that sheet."
Mzinspiredmind: "LOL! No! Yea, they are made out of sweatshirt material, not the sexy ones."

I relayed this to the CowgirlCre. And we went on analyzing the picture.

Then we started trying to make out the words in the top right hand corner of the picture . This jumped off a whole nother discussion that had me and CowgirlCre going O_o.

LadyLee: *lee peering hard at picture* What does the writing up in the corner say?"
CowgirlCre: "I don't know."
LadyLee: "Forever Faith Prostestants!!"
CowgirlCre: *raised eyebrows* "What? What kind of ministry they have!?"
LadyLee: "What kind of services do that church provide?"

*Lee and Cre burst into a fit of giggles*

Of course, another email went out:

LadyLee: "We thought that the words in the corner of the picture said "Faith Forever Protestants!"
Mzinspiredmind: "LMAOOOO!!! I CANNOT w/you, Ma'am!!! It's called Forever Faith Photography!"

At one time my boss walked up. Me and Cre looked back at her.

Bosslady: "Who is that?"
LadyLee: "That's Mzinspiredmind! She taking Valentine's day pics for her fiance!"

I don't know what she said to me. Had to be something work related.

But we ignored her. She walked off.

Then we focused our attention back on the picture.

Me and CowgirlCre got into an argument about her foot gear.

LadyLee: "What she got on her feet?"
CowgirlCre: "Some high heels!"
LadyLee: "Those are not heels! They are swim socks!"
CowgirlCre: "They're heels! You just can't see the heel parts!"
LadyLee: "Why are they purple? Why is she not matching!?"
CowgirlCre: "The heels match her eye shadow!"
LadyLee: "Those are not heels! They are swim socks.

I fired off yet another email to Mzinspiredmind.

LadyLee: "Dude. The purple shoes. Are those high heels or swim socks."
Mzinspiredmind: "Those 'shoes' are actually socks, electric blue socks."
LadyLee: "Chicken. Why aren't you matching?"
Mzinspiredmind: "The photographer wanted to give the carefree chillin' in my bedroom illusion."

This answer satisfied the Peanut Gallery.

Poor Chicken. I know she was in her office thinking "I ain't NEVER sending that Oldgirl LadyLee a picture."

EVER!!!

But you gotta admit, honey... this is not worse than when you told us you were part Irish... and we got on you BAD about that, i.e., not knowing your Irish heritage.
CowgirlCre even found an Irish weather forecast on youtube. We emailed it to Sam... we wanted her to work on the translation.

I would send fond greetings every morning for awhile... in the Irish language. LOL!

*Sam throws her computer out the window*

That's a nice picture, gal! Real nice indeed!

(We asked it there were other pictures. She said yes, but eh... And we hollered: NO! Don't send those! This one is just fine!)

Thanks for allowing us to post and discuss!

And you KNOW me and Cre will be harrasing you hard about something else in the future!

*Mzinspiredmind gives Cre and Lee the hard side-eye*

My Day in Court, Part II

Click here for My Day in Court, Part I

Chele was happy the court ordeal was over.

And she ran out of that courthouse like it was on fire.

She had to, because she kept looking over her shoulder, imagining the baliff coming fast after her, hollering,“Stop. The judge changed his mind. He made a mistake. Come back to court.”

Not on your life, buddy. Her paperwork, her signed proof of ticket dismissal, was in her left hand.
And that copy of Auto Weekly magazine was in her left.

She found her car in the parking lot a block from the courthouse, and hurriedly got inside. She put her key in the ignition, then froze where she sat.

Did she really see that old woman in the courtroom, or was it just her imagination?

She didn’t know.

But she could see the woman, the twinkle in her eyes, the bend of her back with age. She remembered feeling the creak of the as the woman sat down next to her. Chele remembered the high copper shine of the pennies in the penny loafers on the old woman’s feet. She remembered the feeling of the woman’s thigh flush against her own. That’s just how close the old woman had sat to next to her.

Did she imagine it all?

Hard raps on her car window startled her. It was the parking attendent.

“Ma’am,” he said. “If you hurry out of here before six, you can still pay the daytime rate. Otherwise your parking fee will be 10 dollars.”

Chele cranked her car. She looked at the digital time display on the console. It was five forty-five.

She paid the attendant and left, still looking over her shoulder, hoping the baliff didn’t come out hollering for her to get back in the court so she could pay her fine.

And still wondering if the old woman, if any woman, had even sat next down to her.

Chele shook her head in an effort to clear her thoughts. “I’m going to go home, get changed, and go running. That’s what I’m going to do. Nothing like a good run to calm my nerves.”

Chele got home in thirty minutes. That was good, considering the state of downtown traffic in the DMV. It’s amazing how smoothly traffic flows when there are no accidents, or better yet, when there are no drivers slowing down to look at accidents.

She thought she would be at the courthouse for only half a day, as she figured it should take no longer that a few hours to pay the ticket, or negotiate some type of payment plan for the ticket. She’d plan to come home, have a late lunch and go for a run.

And there was still a little time for a run, even though it was late. She liked running at dusk, just before the streetlights came on. And there was time to get that in. She couldn’t run as long as she like, though, but something was better than nothing.

Chele changed into her running gear and grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. She grabbed her keys from the table, but stopped when she saw the copy of Auto Weekly laying there.

She really needed to return it. And now was just a good of time as any.

A quick search on google maps showed that Arcadia Drive was in the nearby Arcadia Springs subdivision. It was the newest subdivision in the area. It contained McMansions, and Chele remembered the protests against such housing development in the area. As usual, big money won out.

Common sense soon took over. People stopped protesting once the area attracted newer and better stores for shopping.

Chele herself was in love with the new Target store.

She decided not to print out directions, and upon driving around the Arcadia Springs subdivision, she immediately regretted not doing so. Every roadway was named Arcadia: Arcadia Lane, Arcadia Way, Arcadia Avenue, Arcadia Circle, Arcadia Street, Arcadia Way.

Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia!

Everything accept Arcadia Drive.

Chele hit the steering wheel with her fist. “I give up. Can’t say I didn’t try. And that’s all I can do.”

Just as she was resigned to giving up looking for the correct street, there it was: Arcadia Drive.

She made a quick left turn onto the street and slowed her car in an effort to find street address 123.

“114, 116. . . all even numbers.” She turned her attention to the other side of the street. “119, 121. . . there’s 123.”

She slowed her car to a stop in front of the mailbox.

The two story brick house was well kept and quiet. Several ferns hung from the porch rafters, and wind chimes rang softly with the breeze. A black Mercedes sat at the top of driveway, and a blue tarp covered car was further down the driveway.

And flowers similar to the one the old woman wore in her hat lined the front of the house, interspersed betweened perfectly trimmed bushes.

“I am really tripping,” Chele muttered as she stared at the flowers. She grabbed the magazine and got out of the car. She was just about to place it in the already open mailbox, which already contained mail, when the front door of the house opened.

“Hey, who’s the lovely young lady around with my mailbox? Are you stealing my mail or making a delivery?”

Chele looked up at the sound of the voice.

The delicious vision of a man walking towards her made her knees weak.

“I’m Ralph Jones,” he said, his baritone cutting through the silence of the afternoon. “And you are?”



Afterword.

*silence*

Does Chele need me to put in another call to the IT department?

LOL

Well, well, well...

Go Chele.

*lee jumps up on cubicle desk*

I said "GO CHELE!"

Stop standing there like a punk, and tell that dude Ralph Jones what your name is!

"My name is Chele... shawty."

(I think that would cause dude to turn around and go right back in the house. )

Get your MACK on, Chele! Get it, girl!

LOL.

Interesting.

I am enjoying writing this little story. All from silly writing prompts. But it seems to be going well. I absolutely love flash and short fiction. I have about 5 novels in my head right now, but I can't say I like writing long form stuff too much. But this short and quick fiction? Loved-ed it!

Stay tuned for part III sometime next week :)

Monday Afternoon Snack

Meant to post this morning...

But oh well...

An after lunch snack on a Monday will have to do.

This weekend was a quiet one, more full of errand running than anything else. Of course I didn't get everything I meant to get done finished up. And that's okay. Today is a new day. I'm going to work it out.

I saw Grandma this weekend. That was interesting, as she does like to talk my ear off. I gave her a belated birthday gift - a 6 pack of socks. Everybody can use some socks. (of course, I had NO idea what to get her. And there's nothing like warm feets).

I talked to my sister this weekend. She said "Lisa, I just called to say Thank you."

*crickets*

"Uh... for what, man?"

"Just for encouraging me with my personal goals. I talk to my friends, and they are not even talking about such things."

"Uh... ok, man."

LOL.

Her friends, man, I tell you. It's bad enough that they don't have much going on, but they turn around and talk trash to her about her goals, etc. Pisses me off.

Too many times I've told her, "Don't talk to them broads. Come in here and talk to Oscar-Tyrone or something. At least he don't talk back! Ugh!"

Shoot. Reminds me of an old favorite quote that I put up once.

"Don't discuss your uncommon dreams and goals with common people."

Really though.

That's all I have for today. I'm gonna try to post most of the week. No promises. I got a LOT of stuff to put up.

Song of the week. Not sure why I'm just coming across this song, but I loved-ed it!




This is an interesting song... She said they'd been driniking while doing this song. And I can tell! They has some liquor in them! LOL

And it sounds especially good in Lucy the Lexus' deluxe sound system.

*lee cheesing XTRA hard*

I like the song for the hard turn it takes from hardcore to slow and mellow in the middle. That's some originalness right there!

That's all I have for today...

Tomorrow... "My day in Court, Part II"...

*Chele spits her water all over her computer; Lee hands her the phone so she can call the IT department for the umpteenth time*

Chele is one of my favorite bloggers and authors.

This must be "Mess with Chele" month.

*Chele punches lee in the nose and throws her out the window*

HA HA!!

Refresh yourself with "My Day in Court, Part I"

And have a great week. On purpose!

Friday Night Special

Looka here, looka here...

Posting on a Friday Night...

Late Friday Night...

Posting during club hours on a Friday night!

LOL

Meant to post this morning. THAT didn't work out.

I'm in the bed now... with the laptop, of course.

This has been a good week. Still here, still kicking, blood running warm through my veins = A good week.

Indeed.

Lucy the Lexus. I didn't go to church tonight, like I like to do on a Friday night. :( UPS has been trying to deliver Lucy the Lexus' license plate, and I had to go all the way out to West Hell to pick it up tonight from the distribution center. I was NOT happy about that.

But Lucy has her license plate and registration.

I would like that title in the mail, please. Please and Thank you.

I've been staring at it out the side of my eye. Really loving it, but hoping that sucker don't tare up on me. My sister Kentucky thinks I need to run it out to Texas and back. That will tell it all right there, baby! LOL.

Lucy is driving smoothly. In sun and rain. Can't even tell she's on. So we'll just assume she is a good car. No complaints here!

Trip to the dentist. I went to the dentist this week. I couldn't get any work done because I have to talk to my immunologist to make sure I can get premedicated if I need to be. That bothered me a bit because certain antibodiotics throw me off the roof healthwise, and I don't need to take the wrong stuff.

But the dentist... Good gracious alive... The man was FINE!

That is all.

He is someone that LadyTee had recommended.

"I go to him, honey. You walk up in there and you see them old white folk. You not gonna mess up their grill. Nope. That's why I go to him."

I remotely remember her saying the man was fine (well, her cousin Cupcake said he was), but I didn't remember until he walked into the room. He walked in the room and said "I'm Dr. Watson".

I wanted to holler "And I'm Dr. Parker... baby!"

Ha Ha!!!!

Nerp. I didn't do that. I almost forgot my name, man. He was GORGEOUS!

We talked about what my x-rays showed. I have some surface cavities and I need some deep cleaning. (Uh, I haven't been to the dentist in the new millineum).

I drove by LadyTee's house afterwards. She was out in the garage getting some things together for the Kidney Foundation to pick up.

"Girl, why you didn't tell me about Dr. Watson? That dude there... WOW!"

"Honey," she said, "I ain't thinking about all that. He can look like George Burns for all I care, as long as he can fix my grill."

And LadyTee means that, too.

But it don't help that Dr. Watson is a fine brother. He has to be late 30s, early 40s, but he look like he just turned 21. He had his hands all up in my mouth.

If I woulda had some liquor in me, the Good Doctor. woulda got BIT!

LOL

The receptionist was talking to me about my next appointment. I stood there staring at her. She looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"I'm not making an appointment until you tell me how much it cost."

She went on talking. I just stared at her like she was crazy.

Serenity_23 had giveng me a good stern lecture before my appointment about estimates and planning of dental work out over time.

The receptionist printed out my estimates. My share of the costs after insurance was $300.00. Fine. I let her make my appointments.

Cannot wait to see the good doctor again, honey! Glory!

That was the highlight of my week right there. Woo-hoo!

Otherwise, it was a decent work week.

Song of the week. I really don't care for Maxwell, as I like my male sangers to have some bass in their voice. Some base, some tenor... something. That doggone falsetto gets a little old.

BUT I like this remix of Ascension set to an old SOS band beat.




That's what's hot.

With that, the Frieday Night Special is over...

You don't have to go home, but you need to exit the House of LadyLee.

And you be sure to have a great weekend... ON PURPOSE!

My Day in Court

I was sitting there, in the courtroom, waiting.

Waiting to be called about my unpaid parking ticket from 1999, and casually reading an auto magazine to pass the time.

I’d been there all day long, long enough to be amused by the fabulous stories of many who were trying to get out of paying their tickets.

I’d been there long enough to become bored by their tales of woe.

I’d been there too doggone long.

I, of course had a tale of my own. You see, the ticket that I was here for, it wasn't even mine. Ray, my boyfriend at the time, had used my car to make a run to the gas station. He needed a pack of cigarettes. And he parked in the handicapped parking spot in front to the gas station. I remember him telling me about it.

"I got it, Chele. Soon as I get my check, I'll pay it."

He never paid it.

And I forgot about it.

We broke up three months later.

I don't know why I was with him anyway. I don't smoke, and I don't like smokers.

I suppose the smooth talk and the good loving weighed in more with me than the unfurling of stinky gray smoke from his lips.

I wondered if the judge would have sympathy when it came time for me to tell my story?

The day was fast coming to an end. I glanced down at my watch and noticed that it was close to time for the court to end its session for the day. I was sitting there getting cold. Earlier, when the room was full to capacity, I’d been a little warm.

Going from being hot to cold let me know one thing.

I’d been in that place far too long.

An older woman walked into the room. She looked ancient, like she'd founded and ran the Underground Railroad with Harriet Tubman. The pillbox hat she wore atop her head had a single yellow flower sticking from the top. Her coat was a dark tweed, or plaid. I couldn't tell. She wore matching pants and brown penny loafers with thick white sweat socks.

The homeless had wandered into the courtroom, I thought. Oh joy.

She looked all around the courtroom- up at the judge's bench, at the baliff, even at the lights in the ceiling.

Then she looked at me. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. And she walked my way.

This type of thing always happened to me. Of course, there were tons of unoccupied seats in the room. As a matter of fact, I was the only one there, and for some reason, the last to be called.

But people who were crazy targeted me.

it was like I had a sign wrapped around my head that read, "Hey, please harass me. I don’t mind. Harrass me!"

The woman sat next to me, a little too close. I scooted over, just enough so that her thigh wouldn't be touching mine. She leaned forward and looked at me, wrinkles moving on her face as she smiled, baring teeth that were in desperate need of a hard bristled toothbrush. Then she looked down at the magazine.

"Watcha reading there?" she asked.

I glanced at her and her smile broadened.

"Auto Weekly," I replied. I scooted over just a little bit more, hoping she would get the hint not to talk to me any longer.

"You like it?" She asked.

"It's okay," I said. I didn't bother to tell her that it had been placed in my mailbox by mistake. That would've started a whole nother line of conversation.

“Is it yours?” she asked.

I looked down at the magazine in my hand, then at her. “Uh, well yes it is.”

“Did you buy it?”

“Uh,” I said. “No I didn’t.”

Why was I even talking to her? I should’ve told her that it was none of her business. And that she should leave me alone. I had a 13-year-old parking ticket to worry about. Who cared about a frickin' magazine?

“If it’s not yours, you should make sure it gets back to it’s rightful owner.”

I nodded and smiled.

I doubt if I would go looking for the man whose name and address appeared on a white sticker on the front of the magazine. This man Ralph Jones' address was the same as mine, accept for the street name. And I had no idea where Arcadia Drive was located. None at all. And I wasn’t about to go searching either.

There was no need to return it. This was a car magazine, not a car itself.

"Do you have any fingernail polish remover?" She asked. She stretched her hand out before her. Her nails were ragged and the paint was chipped. "I could surely use some."

Now why on earth would she go change the subject like that?

"No ma'am I don't."

"That's fine. We’re in a courtroom. It’s not something us ladies would do, sit in a courtroom and maintain our nails, now is it?”

I nodded and smiled again. I opened the magazine to a random page. It just so happened to be an advertisement about beef jerky and how it was the best snack in the world. My mouth watered for it, even though I'd never had it before.

“You want a piece of my granola bar?” the strange woman asked. “It’s the one with the chocolate chips and walnuts in it. It’s very good.”

And it was my favorite.

I wasn't going to let her know that, though.

“No thank you. I’m not sure we’re suppose to be eating in the courtroom.”

That was a lie. I hadn’t seen a sign. And I saw the baliff eating a Mr. Goodbar earlier. As a matter of fact, I saw him scarf down two that day with a twenty ounce diet coke.

“Your nails are beautiful. You get them done at Long Nails Spa, don’t you?”

What was all this granola bar and nail talk?

An even more important question: How on earth did she know I get my nails done at Long Nails Spa?

I didn’t answer. I gave the same head nod and plastic smile.

“You sure you don’t want a piece of my granola bar. I have half left. I've been here all day too, and it's good to have a little something to eat. I didn’t bite off of it. Just broke pieces off with my hand. You’re welcome to a piece.”

“No thank you,” I said, although my mouth watered for it. But whether she’d bitten it or had broken off pieces with her fingers, there was no way I would have any. I didn’t know her, and it was unsanitary.

The judge walked in and peered down at his docket. "Miss Matthews, since you're the only one here, we will just have to let you go. I don't even want to try to add up the cost of paying a 13 year old ticket. We’ll be here all night.

I yelled out "What about the lady here?"

I suddenly realized that was stupid. Here he was willing to let me go, and I was holding things up.

"What lady?"

I looked to my left. No one was there. “She was just sitting here.”

“Uh, okay,” the judge said. He glanced over at the baliff, then back at me. “How long have you been here, Ms. Matthews?”

“All day,” I’d said. “I arrived at eight this morning, just like they instructed me to do when I called about my ticket.”

“And here it is, five thirty in the afternoon. Being here that long will make one delusional.” He smiled over at the baliff. He turned his attention back to me. “Maybe she’s seeing things.”

“Maybe it was a ghost,” the baliff said.

"Or an angel," the Judge added.

They both laughed hard.

I stared down at the empty seat on the bench beside me.

“Ms. Matthews?” the judge said, jarring me from my thoughts.

“Yes, Your Honor?”

"Angels don't count, but one had to be with you today. You’d have to sell your first born to pay a 13-year-old ticket."

"Yes, I thought that would be the case. Expensive indeed."

"I'm looking at your driving record here and there's nothing here. Absolutely clean all these years. Not even a parking ticket since then. So I tell you what. I'm going to excuse this ticket. I'm willing to bet that you're not going to go out and lead the police on any high speed chases."

"No, I don't see me doing that, Your Honor."

"And I don't see you parking next to any fire hydrants or in handicap parking spaces either any time soon."

"No, I won't be doing that either."

"Well, I think we should get on out of here." He signed his name to some paperwork and pounded his gavel on the bench. "Your ticket is dismissed. Unless you have some more protesting you want to do. I'm willing to hear you out, but I won't be happy about it. My wife usually has dinner on the table for me, and I'm not going to be happy sitting here listening to you and thinking about how my dinner is getting colder and colder. I might just throw you in jail. And we don't want that, do we now?"

"No we don't," I said as I rolled up my magazine, grabbed my coat and purse, and hightailed it out of there.

I needed to get out of there fast.

I was going to find 123 Arcadia Drive, and return the copy of Auto Weekly to Ralph Jones.

I also made a mental note to buy a bottle of nail polish remover the next time I went to Wal-Mart.

Next time, I'd be ready for that angel...

If, no, when she showed up again.



Afterword

That was from my Women of Color Writing Workshop last Friday night.

Writing Prompts: Use the following in a story:

1. Half eaten granola bar.
2. an unpaid parking ticket from 1999
3. fingernail polish remover
4. A copy of Auto Weekly Magazine

Those writing prompts like that are a little hard, especially when you only have 7 minutes to work it all out. I worked it out to the tune to 390 words. The final story above was close to 1600 words, after approximately 2 hours more work on it. I used it as part of my nightly writing goal of 500 words per day, and that worked out well.

That one was for you, Chele! Haven't jocked you in awhile.

LOL!!!

I hope you enjoyed it.