Editors Edict

Well, friends...here we are in 2012! I haven't published the Gazette since 2009. Time has sifted through my hands like sands of the hour glass....and these are the Days of our Lives. Yes, they are. And, now on to Bettie stuff.

I'm still working through what the new Gazette will look like; please hang with me as I figure out.

In the meantime, I very much want to share the Brown Betties Guide webisodes with you and hopefully find ways to start a dialogue about the hilarity that ensues when looking for love.

Until later,

xo,
Peppur
The Hot One

Brown Betties Guide:Tip #9
Be Happy Being #2…or #3

Is it really so hard to hold out to be his #1? Really? The answer is “Yes”. Sometimes.

Your creativity, patience, persistence and overall emotional resilience should be publicly rewarded. No one is stronger than you. No one has felt like shit more than you. No one has been ignored and picked over more than you. Yet, you still have the emotional and physical strength to say to your guy, “Hey, Joe. Won’t you give me some time?”

How to Look For Love: Tip #9 Be Happy Being #2…or #3

When I lived in New York, my apartment was on 110th and Central Park, which marks the end or the top of Manhattan and the beginning of Harlem. I was “seeing” a boy (note the quote marks) who would have late-night music gigs in Greenwich Village; he would call me from his cab ride home from lower Manhattan on his way home to Harlem. If he took the west side home, his cab would pass my apartment.

As soon as I saw his name on my caller ID, I assumed that he’d already been calling this girl or that girl on his way Uptown …Mya in Soho, Liana in the 40s, Karimah in the 80s and finally, Peppur on 110. I figured that in a way, even though I was actually Girl Number 2, 3, or Number 5, by the time he reached my apartment, I was clearly Girl Number 1 because I was the closest to his home.

Uh, yeah. Get the fuuudge outta here.

While I’d get dressed, rub the sleep out of my eyes and get myself downstairs to wait on the corner for his cab, I felt schizophrenic. One side of me said, ”Girl, get your ass back upstairs” while the other said, “Nooo, I need my engine oiled”. That good girl side knew there were other chicas: this particular Joe was handsome, charismatic, creative…what girl wouldn’t want this guy? (One of those sides shoulda been patting myself on the back for having such good taste!)

I just wanted him to give me some time. Isn’t it better to be one of many instead of zero of none? Who wants to be alone every night watching reruns of “I Love Lucy” while guzzling a jug of screw-top Merlot?? Not me, sister!

I thought, albeit naively, that maybe, if I held on long enough, gave it some time, I’d eventually be his number 1.

Well that never happened. But somehow, in a shitty sorta way, when my number came up, I was happy.

Have you been happy being less than Girl Number 1? (And by happy, I mean “not”. Unless, you actually were! Give us your secret! C'mon...share the wealth :)

Brown Betties Guide book now available on Amazon.com and www.brownbettiesguide.com

#BrownBettieism

Don’t look down when you are walking. The ground isn’t going anywhere. A Bettie knows to look forward…with a sophisticated stance.

Brown Bettie: Marliss Amiea

@MissMarliss

Tweet It. FB It. Share It. Do It. #BrownBettieism. Add your own. Join the movement.

Random Bettie Thoughts


Over the years, the Betties have recorded ourselves for different reasons. We now have The BB-Files. Get to know the Betties.

Peppur Chambers

Creator, Brown Betties

Who are we? The Brown Betties. That's who!

Marliss, Keena, Danielle, Peppur

Keena tells you a l'il somethin' something

@keenastar

Bettie Literary

Excerpt: "Harlem’s Awakening…" Let The Betties Begin 


This is the “True Hollywood Story” (as it were) behind the love affair between Joe and Harlem that plays out in the cabaret, “Harlem’s Night” performed by the Brown Betties.


Chapter 10 – A Manor of Speaking

Harlem ran up the freshly-swept concrete stairs to her Brownstone. Before she could turn the key, the door flew open and there was little Tilda full of smiles and jumpin’ with excitement.

Tilda was tiny and looked much younger than her eighteen years. Her smooth coconut skin glistened as the sun kissed her forehead. Her fingers moved quickly as she tried to tell Harlem something.

"Slow down!” Harlem signed back to her. Tilda had been deaf since birth, but had just learned sign language only eight months ago when Harlem enrolled her in St. Augustine’s School for the Deaf.
Tilda said, “The new costumes have arrived!” Now it was Harlem’s turn to jump with excitement. She and Tilda had spent weeks designing the beaded bodices of the new corsets that would debut with the new numbers for the Brown Betties’ performances.
That reminded her. She had to come up with a plan, or a really good excuse that would not only explain to Cora how Harlem was the owner of a brownstone that took up half a block and was formerly known as Lady Magdalena’s Manor…and how she and Tilda were the outfit behind the sultry Brown Betties who were quickly becoming the hottest dancers outside The Cotton Club.

She and Tilda headed for the drawing room where she could see the corsets laid upon her long maple table surrounded by several high-backed chairs upholstered in dark purple satin – Harlem’s favorite color. Rich magenta curtains complemented the room in a way that always made Harlem smile. She was about to pour herself and Tilda a brandy and soda when the doorbell rang.
Both women looked at each other with hunched, questioning shoulders as neither of them was expecting a visitor this evening. They both walked to the great oak door; Harlem waited while Tilda swung it open. Both their mouths dropped as they stared into the hazel eyes belonging to Honey. She carried two suitcases, a baby, and announced oddly, “I’m home!”

(c)2007 Pen and Peppur LLC