Coffee Rhetoric: Busted
Showing posts with label Busted. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Busted. Show all posts

April 20, 2009

Update- Tales from the Darkside and Home Improvement

Conversations that transpired while walking around my neighborhood this past Friday:

Encounter 1: Lady buffalo stancing outside Family Dollar and Carlos's Supermarket: " 'Scuse me MISS. You got a dolla'??" Me: "Nope." Lady: "How about fifty cent? You got ANY change?????" Me: I shook my head emphatically and hurried inside towards my destination for Folgers and flip flops.

Encounter 2: While walking from Green Apple produce market

Man: (standing next to disheveled Black woman: "Scuse me Miss... you think you can give me and my friend here some money...." Me: Shook head emphatically and hurried inside.

**I come back outside from store**

Woman (beggar's friend), in a slow, drug induced drawl: "Scuse me... MISS. Can I have some..." Me: Shaking head so hard my neck pops, as I hurry down the street towards home... Woman (yelling after me): "Well, you got a CONDOM den??"
Encounter 3: The best friend (Cat to those not in the know) visits. After settling in, we head back out at around 10pm... Cat, being the genius that she is... parks TWO WHOLE BLOCKS away! We stand and wait outside, in the mild night air, waiting to cross the street...
Condom Lady approaches... head lolled to the side as she lumbers over, like a corpse out of Night of the Living Dead: "Scuuuuse Me. Ladies... Ya'll got aaaany money I can..." Cat and I in unison: "NO!" We run out into busy traffic, desperate to get away from Condom lady. Bitch is lumbering towards us at a clip now!
We make it. I verbally abuse Cat for parking so far away!! And Onward Life has been somewhat busy. I'm still... still... settling into my apartment. It is starting to feel a lot like home, however. With several free acquisitions, a few priced next to nothing accents, switching things around and figuring out (through trial and error) what works in this particular space, things are starting to come together. I now have a king sized bed and board (sans frame, but not dire) today. I'm excited. The bed is huge. Bedding will be costly, but I plan on NOT paying more than 30 dollars for king sized bedding.

Check out what's going on thus far

Oh and I also acquired this amdist the madness.

November 29, 2008

Bus Tales: Black Friday

Oh yes. It is the return of Bus Tales indeed. I've never really paid much attention to the day after Thanksgiving so aptly dubbed Black Friday. See, while I can appreciate an excellent deal, and love sales more than the next spender, I'm not a shopaholic. In fact, I hate shopping and do it online in the quiet sanctity of my home, pants optional. I cannot stand large crowds or places where massive groups of people congregate, and so I avoid places like parades, festivals, strip malls on the weekend, crowded elevators (if I can), buses packed to capacity (sometimes I have no choice), and spaces of the like.
INTRO: Friday, Early AM- Late Afternoon
Yesterday, my sisters were up at 4:30AM primed and ready to go huntin' for great post-Thanksgiving deals. I turned over and went back to sleep on my mother's chaise lounge. As the day progressed, I rocked back and forth, going through cell-phone withdrawal, because I lost mine last Saturday. I felt discombobulated (I've grown so attached) and cut off from the rest of society without it, but I sat and lazed about... procrastinating over having to go out into this Black Friday world where folks were getting stomped to death by crazed lunatics trying to purchase $300 computers and being shaken down by sneaky perps lying in wait, ready to rob happy shoppers swinging their bags in the crisp, autumn air. It was late in the afternoon, and my sisters still hadn't arrived.
I waited. And pissed around. Procrastinated. Waited... before finally deciding to go shower. Bathed and freshly scrubbed, I still did eff all. I effed around on my mom's computer. I ate more Thanksgiving desserts, while web surfing and emailing folks back and forth. Finally at around 3ish, my sisters returned. Frazzled and spent. I slowly got up from the computer and shuffled around deciding it was now or never. I figured the bulk of the crowd had probably dissipated. My mother shook her head at my late start. I shrugged at her. Needless to say, the mall was besieged by manic shoppers, large baby carriages, and mischievous teenagers meeting to do who knows what. I saw the diablo in everyone's eyes. I weaved in and out of bodies, trying hard to duck heavy, swinging shopping bags... throbbing and bursting at the seams from marked down merchandise! I suddenly felt faint. Faces started to bleed together, eyes became large and black, no whites to speak of. I started to sweat in that hot mall and undid the top button to my coat. My kneecaps started to go numb. I knew T-Mobile was just around the corner and I hung on for dear life as I forced my legs to work at a feverish pace so I could do my business and get the fuck out of there.
Needless to say, the BUS ride to the mall and back was just as harrowing...
PROLOGUE
The bus was packed to capacity. I sat there in my seat as standees weaved unsteadily in front of me. Afraid that someone might fart in my face, step on my foot, or fall in my lap, I clutched my purse tighter. I put my leather gloves on. I took them off. One talkative guy sporting a plaid ivy cap, backpack and a limp arm (with a hand that had loooooong nails) who'd tried to engage me in conversation earlier at the bus stop about his early shopping experience, stood up front and ran his mouth to the bus driver (an attractive, full-figured, middle-aged Black woman) about a wide array of interesting topics. They included but aren't limited to: his taste in women, his dark side, how he was writing a book on numerology, philosophers, his temper, his aversion to spicy women and how they gave him heartburn, his preference for MILD women, more about his dark side, how he was a true artiste who had to go to school for it and hated anyone with natural talent and no passion, the 8 Guinness stouts he drank during Thanksgiving, a cat he had named Baby who knew how to doo-doo in the toilet and used to lick his face and massage his back, and subjects of the like. He went on and on.
Suddenly, I noticed a rather slight man running alongside the bus and then finally in the street, risking the risk of getting hit in the process. The bus driver cursed him before deciding to pull over and stop for him. Breathless and toothless, he complained about her not stopping initially... she told him to shut the hell up and be thankful that she stopped because she "didn't have to" and to stop "figuring" (he said he figured she didn't want to stop for him) and sit down somewhere. He kept muttering. "You're STILL complaining," the driver noted, in disbelief. He laughed, embarrassed at being scolded and squeezed up front with the rest of the standing bodies. I kept my eyes averted to the floor of the bus. Trying desperately not to give in to PSIS. The bus jerked forward, then stopped for a woman with a thick West Indian accent and close cropped hair, which she wore in a natural. She squeezed on and engaged the driver, the man with the limp arm, and the toothless complainer in a spirited conversation about Thanksgiving, the curried coat she said she'd made for herself, her divorce, and her upcoming Christmas trip to Jamaica.
"Oh, I wish I was going there!" the toothless man said excitedly. "Now Jamaican women are HOT!!!" he continued.
The limp arm man chimed in, agreeing. The West Indian woman chuckled with satisfaction. She turned to show her appreciation, unfortunately and much to my chagrin (because I'd been looking at the back of her head through the sea of standing bodies)- she was the exception. Weeell, the woman was attractive in that avante-garde Wandaesque (from In Living Color) but not as extremely fugly way, if you're into that, definitely no Grace Jones though. She had on a nice, stylish warm down coat, however and her accent was nice. She made her way off when her stop came up and bid the front of the bus revelers adieu. Still amped, the toothless man continued to cackle and talk about women with Limp Arm... suddenly an unused crack needle fell out of his pocket. No one seemed to notice but me. Due to my neuroses (read: keen eye), I always tend to note the minutiae. I was riveted and enthralled by the crack tool. I looked at the needle then back at Toofus. I looked across at a guy with black rimmed eyeglasses (and equally as amused by the cracktacular goings-on up front)- to see if he had noticed. He seemed caught up in the rapture of the conversation unfolding up front, so I don't think he did. I stared back at the crack needle. See, judging from Toofus's skinny build (he said he was 140 pounds during parts of the animated chatter), piss poor dental hygiene, and over excited demeanor I was 110% certain he wasn't a diabetic. He cackled, his body shook. He appeared antsy. Suddenly he caught my gaze, looked down and finally noticed he'd dropped the host to his lil piece of crack heaven on the floor. He hurriedly picked it up and nervously shoved it back in his jeans pocket without missing a beat. I smirked. This time he shoved it deep down, ensuring it was nestled and safe in the confines of his pocket. His stop finally came up, he quickly said his goodbyes and pushed off taking one last, brief look at me.
We'd finally made it to the mall, where I struggled and elbowed my way towards my destination...
Epilogue
The bus ride back to my mother's house was relatively normal until the bus picked up passengers from Vine Street, sometime after 7:20pm. One guy under the influence stumbled on, he stood up front fidgeting inside his coat picket. "I got my bus card driver, I ain't tryin' to get a free ride," he promised. "You can sit down and look for your card," the driver advised and lurched forward. The man stumbled up front, right across from me and next to an extremely large man in a red Salvation Army apron (one of the annual holiday bell ringers stationed outside major spots trying to raise money for the organization, no doubt). " 'Scuse me" Drunk Puss said to the man, who moved over, allowing Drunky more space. He continued to fiddle for his bus card. He looked across at me. I turned away quickly and closed my eyes. "Hey Miss!" I pretended not to hear. Kept my eyes closed. " 'scuse me, MISS!" ... my eyes stayed closed. "MISS!!" I finally opened my eyes and slowly turned in his direction. "I like your boots!" I blinked lazily at him. Disinterested. "They're so shiny, and nice, and full of goodness..." I turned away from him and closed my eyes once more. He continued to spout a bunch of ridiculous and drunk banter as he dug 'round for his bus pass... A man with a cane (who smelled like a booze fiesta) also stumbled on and plopped down next to me- (Liquor, meth and crack must've been marked down as well, because folks under the influence were out in droves). Drunk Puss was apparently familiar with the new passenger, stood up to greet and fell on top of the old man, knocking into my shoulder in the process. I sighed heavily, irritated, and squeezed my eyes shut tighter, and put my hand over my face to block the pain of this circumstance out. "Oh, I'm sorry!" Drunk Puss said to his acquaintance.
"I love you man, but not THAT much."
He found his bus pass and FINALLY made his way up to settle his fare. He plopped back down and caused some more drunken damage. Finally the bus driver jerked forward and pulled over to the side of the road. He switched on the light up front. Sighing and anxious to get home, I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, annoyed by the slight delay. I heard the driver whispering on the emergency phone. Probably about Drunk Puss, to a supervisor. A preemptive measure perhaps? He sat there for about five minutes, " 'scuse me driver, is there a PROBLEM!" Drunk Puss yelled up at him. The driver didn't answer. "Hm. Should I get OFF??" he yelled. Someone from the back of the bus answered, "Yes!" Passengers snickered.
The resident drunk passenger finally stumbled off shortly after the driver took off, much to everyone's delight. I'm starting to truly understand WHY the day after Thanksgiving is called Black Friday. It is undoubtedly a dark, scary experience. I'm none too worse for wear, however. And am furnished with a new cell phone to replace the lost one. I did this all for technology. ...

February 01, 2008

Bus Tales: Miguel

This Friday was a long and tiring day. I'm convinced that once Friday comes, we're put through the ringer on purpose by some antagonistic force, as a way to make us EARN the luxury of relaxing, after having made it through another tedious work week. The day drags on, there's one annoying occurrence after another, your feet hurt, headaches abound, and no amount of watching the time will make it go any faster. You're stuck. You simply must ride the wave until you're finally washed ashore, gasping from its impact. Speaking of washed ashore, it also rained buckets, like a pregnant woman does right before she gives birth. It was chilly, wet, dreary and gray. Making today even longer and more harried.
In any event, I got my favorite and most comfortable pair of boots repaired. Shoe repairmen and makers impress and fascinate the hell out of me. I'm always stoked when I go pick up a pair of shoes that I've taken in to be repaired at a relatively low price. It's like buying brand new shoes. Of course my favorite part of the transaction is seeing the satisfaction on the repairman's face, as you exclaim, "Wow! They look great! Thank you!" as he nods knowingly. In any event, I braved the element called rain to go get them. I simply couldn't wait until Monday. I wore them home. The bus ride home was equally as tedious, in addition to crowded, long, and wet... but oh so amusing. Let me explain...
A harried Hispanic man with is head shaved completely bald, clad in light wash jeans (very late 80's, early 90's), and a thin hooded jacket boarded the bus holding an open can of Coke. Rather than sit down, he stood next to the driver and directly in front of me rambling on in a gravelly voice... in Spanglish to the bus driver. The conversation went as follows...

"Mira! You goin' to Garden Street?" Bus driver (also Hispanic) nods. Then asks him in English where he needs to get off at. Agitated, the man then launches into some strange (and extremely comical) story about his roommate Miguel. He says some other things in Spanish before loudly exclaiming, "Man, I just got back from Home Depot! I had to go cash my check and go all da' way to Home Depot because my roommate Miguel, he left me with $1001 in back rent!!" He mutters some other things in spanglish to the driver. "My roommate just escaped from the convalescent home and everything and the cops came lookin' for him, right? The cops kicked in my door man! Lookin' for Miguel. I told them he wasn't here! They had the nerve to tell me I hadda pay a hundred dollas to replace that door that THEY kicked in!!"

Bus driver mutters something I can't hear because I've got my face buried in my coat, trying to hide my smirk. Miguel's roommate complains,
"I said, how come I gotta pay it!! I didn't kick it in! Ya'll kicked in my door and now I gotta pay?? Man, I went to Home Depot and bought everything I needed. I bought a new lock, the cement (or whatever he said) to make it hard... I said I'll fix it mahself! I paid forty dollas for all that stuff! I fixed the door myself!" They came kicking in MY door, I said Miguel ain't here. I live here. This is MY apartment. I pay the rent!"
"Yo, they kicked in my door. I fixed everything but the lock. THEN they told me I gotta pay fifty dollas to replace the lock!"

"You know, Miguel he's, he's 62 years old and he escaped from the convalescent home, and they lookin' for him 'cause they said he suicidal! He's got a lotta pro'lems!"

"Yo, so look... *insert more spanglish*... then Miguel had the nerve to come ova' to MY place, breakin' up my mailbox and shit... so I took pictures of him, you know, destroying my mailbox, then I beat his ass down! I kicked his ass!"
"I got arrested for assault! I was like, look! Mira! He came over destroying MY property, so you know, I showed them the pictures I took on my phone, of Miguel trashing and breaking up my mailbox and shit. So they reduced the charge to disturbing the peace! I hadda go to court and they just gave me a PTA (whatever that means) and that's all. But still. They still lookin' for Miguel. Alright man, gracias!"
Then he proceeds to grab his open can of Coke, flick his hood up on his bald head, hunched his shoulders in response to the wintry chill, and descended the stairs, thereby concluding the embattled tale of Miguel. ...

Fin

October 03, 2007

GodIS Help Me

I have the worst headache I've had in a long time. I feel as if my brain is trying to push its way out, through the back of my head. Oh yes. It's one of those days where you turn on your auto-pilot massive proportions, where the pounding is so intense, you sort of stumble to the side almost drunkenly, in your quest to walk upright and ignore the pain. switch, and the sudden need to be heavily medicated starts to plague you. It is a head ailment of In a desperate attempt to collect yourself, you prop yourself up against any available wall or table's edge and try to pull your 'ish together. You feign a weak "I'm okay" when someone stares at you quizzically and asks you if something is the matter. It's a headache so powerful, that it carried over from the day before, despite the fact that you medicated yourself (in vain) Anyone who talks to you about some petty insignificant thing, you want to scream, demand that they "Shut up!" Because they only make your head feel worse-- Yup, that's exactly how I feel today.

August 17, 2007

Delusions of Grandeur

I'm someone to aspire to or towards rather. Who knew? All this time, I've been lamenting over having the worst karma of anybody in the nation, only to learn that someone considers me a gem. See, this morning I lugged a backpack, my tote bag, my sunglasses, and a cup of coffee down the street. A balancing act I struggled to conquer and win. I fought to open and then put on my shades with one free hand. I finally had to stop in order to accomplish that particular task, because I kept jabbing myself in the eye and mouth with said shades' handles. Needless to say, I made it up the street to the bus stop, shades on face and coffee still in-tow. I won the battle. Not a drop of hot coffee seared its way through my slacks, burning my ample thigh. I felt triumphant. Anyway, two other men were standing there when I approached the stop. One of them greeted me (before telling his partner to "look out" under his breath so he would move out of his and my way so as not to er block?), "Hello beautiful, how are you this morning?" I responded by mumbling "Good morning" with something akin to a smile, but was more like a sneer. Either way, it sufficed. I stood a couple of feet away from the men, and because I'm not particularly fond of myself, I listened to my greeter talking rather loudly to his acquaintance (and also cursed myself for forgetting my MP3 player at work) ...
"...Yeah, yeah. I was wondering what happened to you! I didn't see you at work for the past couple of dayz! Yeah..."
I couldn't hear what dude numero dos was mumbling, because my ambitious greeter proceeded to hijack the discussion, blithering away rather boisterously. He continued...
"Yeah, yeah, yeah! I'm trying to get me a little something better. Trying to find me a job so I can get me a little something like that. (juts his chin in my direction) Here what I'm sayin'?"
*sigh* I didn't hear dude numero dos's response. I was just glad to see my bus making its way down the street. I honestly didn't know whether to feel flattered, amused, or disturbed. It's official. I have DOUCHE MAMA stamped on my forehead. No amount of exfoliating will remove it, or so it seems.

August 04, 2007

Fifteen Additional Minutes

So, I mentioned in a previous post that I got interviewed by Fox 61 News reporter Rick Hancock. Well, the segment is upon the web and I was conflicted about posting the link, because quite simply I'm a narcissist and my own worst critic. I always find something to pick apart and criticize, especially when it comes to pictures and such. In any event, you all (interested parties) probably have some semblance of an idea about how I feel about how I look and sound on camera. *ahem* I will admit that it is not as bad as I initially thought It'd be. I don't think I sound special like I feared. I do sound like I'm from Orange County or some such place, however. Not cool. Anyway, there's no hiding. The segment and podcast are up on the Fox 61 News site for the masses to see and therefore easily Googleable for anyone nosy enough to go through the trouble... so no amount of dragging my feet will keep my short interview from being seen. You all see my big mug plastered on here all the time, not to mention I promised I would link it. I'm a man of my word, so let me save your Google hand the trouble and offer up the goods. The podcast can also be found on the same site
Enjoy.

August 03, 2007

Bus Tales: The Crazy

Yesterday was a scorcher. It was one of those hot days that made you sweat even if you were standing still. The concept of there being shade was nonexistent. There was no escape from the heat. I swear that my blinking made beads of sweat form on my forehead. So I tried to do it from behind my large sunglasses sporadically, as I hate to sweat. One interesting thing I noticed is that oppressive heat tends to bring what I refer to as The Crazy out in full force. It's like night of the living dead. Walking corpses trudging down the street with glazed-crazed looks in their eyes.
Several years ago, while en route to a gallery exhibition, a friend's car broke down in a questionable neighborhood. That day stands out in my mind as if it happened only yesterday because it was in the middle of the afternoon, and it felt as if it was a thousand degrees. I remember having to remove my watch because any thing that made contact with my sweaty skin made the heat that much more unbearable. We sat there for almost two hours, after having pushed that heap of junk over to the side of the curb (it broke down smack dab in the middle of the street, at a green light). We sat, and we sat, and we sweated, and sat. No air conditioner, no cold beverages. Just the windows rolled down, to no avail because there was no wind to speak of. Suddenly a shirtless man ran down the street, right by the car, waving a rather large knife in the air. Yelling and cursing. At first I thought the heat was making me hallucinate but alas, my mind was not playing tricks on me. I remember sweat trickling, glistening down his brown back as he ran like a crazed lunatic, ready to cut a mofo. Needless to say, we quickly rolled the windows up in that hot car, locked the doors, hunkered down with alarm and fear and with 'O' mouths, we said a silent prayer to ourselves. After having mouthed a collective "What the EFF??" Anyway, her parents finally came and rescued us in an air conditioned car. We never made it to that exhibit. I did go home and write a poem about it though.
So yes. yesterday it was that kind of crazy inducing heat. I boarded the bus and it was a relatively quiet ride, until this visibly drunk (or drugged up?) man boarded from a stop on Albany Avenue... stumbling and full of The Crazy. See, people afflicted with The Crazy always seem to single me out at some point during one of their spells. So I hastily put my ear plugs in and turned up the ol' MP3 player (not that that ever helps). He ranted and raved. Stumbled down the aisle, yelling for "change for a dollar!" He made his way to the back. Because I hate myself, I paused my MP3 player to listen and heard him slurring his way through some incoherent anecdote to some young girl in the back. Something having to do with a White woman being on her cell phone and her legs splayed... wide open. I think I heard him refer to the white woman by some unsavory name. The young girl in the back chuckled nervously, in that "please go awaaaaay" fashion. Unfortunately he stumbled his way back up towards the front and continued ranting. I rolled my eyes, silently hoping he wouldn't say anything to me. There was a young man about 19 or 20 years old, with cornrowed hair sitting next to me... sort of perpendicular actually. He looked annoyed as well. Man afflicted with The Crazy sat directly across from Cornrows. I forgot to mention that I had a large Panera Bread bag sitting next to me in the seat. I heard Man Afflicted yell in my direction: "YOU NEED HELP WIT' DAT BAG!!!" I ignored him and turned the music up louder. "HEY! EXCUUUSE ME. HEY! I SAAAAAID, DO YOU NEED HELP WIT DAT BAG!!!" I continued to ignore him, and stare out the window. Out of my peripheral view, I saw him lean closer... "NO!" I said quickly and turned away. "WHY?? You don't need help?? FINE THEN. Who CARES" and he proceeded to try to cuss me out, but his poisoned brain matter made his thoughts disjointed. His coded language indecipherable. "YOU CAN DO WHAT'CHU WANT!!!" He continued. Just then, Cornrows muttered, "You need to leave that junk alone and stop bothering people." "What?!" Man afflicted challenged. A bit taken aback. "I said, leave that junk alone" Cornrows repeated. "Maaan, I ain't oon no junk. I was just trying to be nice and ask her if she needed help with her bag! I ain't on no junk! She can go 'head. I don't care!" "Man, shut up" Cornrows said. Man afflicted started muttering something about Louis Farrakhan. *sigh* Who knows? Who cares? Why me? Luckily my stop came up shortly thereafter. But I do know that Cornrows' verbal smite towards Man Afflicted with The Crazy was a welcome reprieve.

May 16, 2007

Sucio

Dear Mr. Man (and I use Mr. and Man loosely):
Every now and again, I see you in the A.M. as I wait in front of the Holiday Inn Express downtown, for my bus to arrive. You're usually wearing a t-shirt that illustrates the fact that you're a street cleaner. Perhaps this is your chosen profession, or perhaps that's what a judge sentenced you to do for committing whichever petty crime you indulged yourself in. Either way, I appreciate the fact that you clean up the debris, ciggie butts, that you sweep away the hocked loogies on the ground, shards of glass, or what have you. I'm grateful that you're working towards keeping the city clean (even if it's something you may not have chosen to do on your own accord). I'm glad you do that, even if you slither by me lasciviously with your broom and dustpan, and croon in the slimy sounding melody: "How you doin'?" as your eyes dance up and down in all their prurient glory... Usually I pretend not to see or hear you as I hide behind a mask of dark shades and disgust. Sometimes I suck it up, choke down the bile rising in my throat, and manage to mutter some sort of terse reply to your greeting. Perhaps the last time you saw me, you mistook the slight twist of my mouth (in disdain) or the sneer for a sheepish grin because this morning, you ambled by once again, and this time you stopped... right in front of me, much to my chagrin.
" 'scuse me sweeth'a't, you know how to get rid of text messages in a cell phone?"
I stared at you, at once flummoxed and agitated... I also rubber necked past you, and noted my bus at the stop light just down the street. I considered how long it would take me to reach for my pepperspray, and any nearby police cruisers in the surrounding area in case you decided to try something stupid. I pondered all of these things, in the brief moment of space and time you asked me that ridiculous question, before sighing exasperatedly and answering "What?"
"I got a lotta text messages in my cell phone and I don't know how to delete them. You know how to do dat?"
I glared at you from behind my shades again, and then shrugged indifferently before replying
"Go to your phone's menu settings and you should be able to access the tools you need to do that."
I rubber necked over your shoulder one mo'gin to see what was taking the damn bus so long at that stop light! "Can you jus' show me, 'cuz I don't know how to and I got a lot of them" you said, as you sidled, uncomfortably close next to me and flipped open your cell phone. I stared at you incredulously and said, "ummmm, I don't think so..." Then you shoved your phone in my hand and said, "I honestly don't know how to delete them" and you moved even closer next to me, almost shoulder to shoulder... I stared up at you, annoyed by this uninvited intrusion on my personal space , your phone sitting loosely in my hand, me ready to drop it on the ground, when I noticed you staring down my effing shirt. I angrily shoved your phone back at you and moved away, the nausea and loathing working it's way back up my throat... luckily the bus I needed was making its way towards me. You? You looked slightly alarmed at my reaction... and said, "Uh, okay sweeth'a't... thanks anyway" and skulked off. I hope you didn't think I'd be impressed or happy by your behavior! Perhaps it has been a long time since you've sidled up next to a woman, perhaps my enchanting scent drew you in and made you practically dry hump my leg... in any event I don't appreciate it... and your lamer than lame tactic was pure comedy and more importantly, it wasn't cool. You were going down the right road, if you were looking to get maced.
xoxo Coffey

April 28, 2007

Bus Tales: The Tell-Tale Toofs

This past Friday, as I boarded the A3... en route to work I noticed it was more crowded than usual. Unfortunately and much to my chagrin, I had to be a standee. I turned and scanned the passengers, seeing if I could spy an empty seat... noting that a few jackasses were merely taking up seat space with their cargo. Shrugging, I decided not to bother and decided to be fine with standing. Now, I realize a lot of times when composing these particular tales, I relay just how unsavory the A.M. (and P.M. in some cases) smells are when I board the bus... the stale, wet potato chip, dank basementy, bad breath stench that swaths me in a shower of stank. Unfortunately I have a sensitive nose that's sensitive to unpleasant odors, and sniffs them out like a police pooch sniffs out hidden crack dens and marijuana gardens. Such is my woe, nothing was out of the ordinary in that regard hence, this bus tale lamentation. In any event, I pursed my lips and accepted the unpleasant wafts of b.o. for I knew I didn't have a long trip to endure. Suddenly, the bell tolled and several people got off in front of The Hartford financial/insurance company on Asylum Avenue, which left several seats free. I hurriedly made my way to a seat towards the middle, and plopped my ample behind and purse down behind a woman, wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt. Suddenly, said woman turned around... nose turned up her nose in distaste... looked at me and complained, "you smell like mint CANDY or MINT or something..." as she sniffed her dissatisfaction with my minty fresh ( and ripe for making out) breath! Startled, bemused, and annoyed, I scowled at her with my best "bitch please" look. She continued to leer at me, like she wanted me to give her an explanation as to WHY my breath smelled so minty, so early in the A.M. I pursed my lips as if to say "turn around" ... She did. I couldn't help but notice during this weird standoff that her breath wasn't so minty fresh, and I'm 110% certain I spied all of three teeth (or toofs) ... making up an macabre and incomplete grill.