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

May 09, 2008

This Little Bird's Coming Out of It's Nest

Dear What'syourname,

I thought it over for the briefest of moments... a very brief moment. As I sit here, even now, munching on Cherry Berry Nut Mix, interrupting my red wine thoughts to ponder your proposition... the answer is fat chance. I don't think so. Absolument pas! Nunca! Aller merde vous! Basically the totality of my final answer is the equivalent to No. But thank you anyway... which is an unequivocal and emphatic, Not in this lifetime... ever again. Have a great weekend though... sans moi.

xoxo Coffey

February 15, 2008

... Didn't You Know This?

That wretched, waste of time and money holiday... the one that starts with a V and shall remain nameless, is finally done and over with.
I always find it amusing when couples wait once a year to do something thoughtful and sexy for one another, before settling back into the routine of being jerks to one another. I smirked on the inside as a co-worker discussed how mean and cold his siggy other acted toward him, prompting him to consider calling it quits over the past weekend, before she called apologizing... all sweetness and light. Bitch knew that V day was on the horizon, that's why. Word on the street is that he got her an assortment of lovely gifts anyway.
I rolled my eyes as I listened to the frazzled bartender at restaurant Hot Tomatoes, sitting in wait for my lunch as he complained about the dozens of reservations overwhelming the restaurant for the evening... "people don't realize, we'll be extremely busy and they expect to be in and out in like 45 minutes!"
"Call me jaded, but I don't understand what all the fuss is about..." I opined. "It'll be done and over with in hours, and couples will go back to clawing at one another's throats on the 15th. But perhaps I'm just saying this, because I'm single..."
"Yeah..." he agreed before throwing up his hands at the ringing phone and rushing to answer it... Another hopeful patron probably wanting a reservation, no doubt. And then there was that attractive, young, sharply dressed and perfumed Hispanic couple I passed on the street later on that evening, after clocking off from work... arguing en route to Hot Tomatoes, as girlfriend struggled in her pointy-toed stiletto boots, to keep up with her agitated boyfriend, as they stomped to their destination over melting snow piles.
Ask me how deep my scowl furrowed, as I shook my head at the tacky assortment of plastic hearts, pitiful looking single red roses individually wrapped and contained behind cellophane plastic (for a whopping 5 to 10 bucks a pop), white teddy bears holding red heart pillows with the words "I Love You" painted on the front, and other stupid bric-a-brac vendors were hoping to hawk to desperate last minute shoppers, who didn't have time to order that delicious (and pricey) flower shaped cantaloupe bouquet from Edible Arrangements.
The most infuriating moment, however? ... Walking into CVS Pharmacy and discovering every last bit of fucking chocolate... every box of Hershey's Pot O' Gold (on sale for $3.88) sold the eff out!! The inconsiderate vultures. I wanted to push the shelves over in blind, white hot fury, but instead purchased a pack of cellulose facial sponges, black liquid eyeliner, and gum and stormed out into the damp, dark winter malaise, in a moue of glossy indignation and disgust.
The bitter ramblings of a young woman, never having been in love and cynical about the complex maze of dating? Perhaps. Or maybe just realistic and an staunch advocate of consistency in genuine behavior and emotions, just 'cause... not prompted by some corny holiday, that dictates you should go broke buying someone's affections once a year.
This morning, as I made my way to the entrance of my place of employment I came upon a sad looking, red, heart shaped mylar balloon, with Betty Boop on the front... flirty and dripping hearts lying on the ground. Dejected on February 15th. The last remnants of the previous day already forgotten and only remembered to begin with, due to some overwhelming sense of obligation. Half deflated and out of place in the backdrop of a crisp, bright, wintry-white morning as people hurried around it, rushing about in long, black winter coats... faces grim as they clutched their oversized Starbucks cups as if the 14th never happened. Clutching my own dark roast, I stopped and looked down at it. I shook my head. That pretty much summed up V-day. I stepped on Betty's face with my favorite pair of calf boots and rushed in to start my day.
P.S. to the man whose phone number I accepted a couple of weeks ago, because I thought you were genuine... TEXTING a response to someone's voicemail message, after "hoping" that they'd call: "Thanks! Talk to U Later" and then following up by calling at odd hours: 7:30 AM as you're getting in your car (I heard you unlocking your door), calling and then hanging up sans leaving a voicemail, texting "Are U up??" @ 12:20AM on a week day are NOT the proper ways to woo someone for a date and is rather dubious. Been there, done that... and the shirt I have to prove it? I use it to clean around the house. Strikes one, two, AND three. You're out!

February 10, 2008

Rolling With the Punches

Life is still chug, chug, chugging along. Work keeps me pretty busy, I've been consuming large doses of chocolate, coffee, and smoked almonds... prescribed by Dr. Jones, M.D. and struggling to find sleep however and wherever I can (sometimes I pass out fully clothed, not having the energy to change into my PJs, and not waking up until the next morning with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my eyeliner smeared all over my eyes). I takes it however I can get it. That's what facial cleanse, a nice hot shower, and toothpaste is for. The apartment hunt also rages on. I'm hoping late Spring early Summer will find me laying down a deposit somewhere cool. The weather has been grey, brisk, and foggy complete with snow showers or just simply rain. I've also been watching a lot of horror films, for some reason...
This past Thursday, I had my first official work related altercation (it had been building because she had been acting the fool from word go), which leads me to the conclusion that some people are just predisposed to lunacy, ignorance, and being les miserables in search of company. New kid on the block or not, I am never afraid to stand up for myself particularly if I feel as if my livelihood is being threatened. There is never any reason to feel intimidated by someone just looking for trouble, because they think they can. Unfortunately for her, she discovered that I am NOT the one, and I only need to state my case once. I don't need to yell, wiggle my neck, or jab my finger to get my point across. I refuse to engage in some sort of back and forth power struggle every single day I come to work, and I make my point in a level, stern, yet controlled voice. I make sure to maintain eye contact to show how unafraid I am. Considering the tumultuous experience I left at my previous place of employment, I do not plan on engaging pettiness, gossip, disingenuousness, and behaviors of the like.
I'm busy, preoccupied, there for very specific reasons... to perform tasks and contribute my expertise and work ethic as best as I can, and to be cordial to everyone so I can go home in a relatively decent mood. My brain is full to capacity and there's no room for irrelevancy. Period. Needless to say this past Friday, she was sweetness and light. And I still don't like her, but I'm glad she was acting human... because all we have to be is cordial and civil to one another, to reach work related goals. I don't know why people think the work place is for unproductive socializing and trying to start some unnecessary mess. It's not a place for escandaloso! I also appreciate the warnings I received and the support shown me ... encouraging me not to take that ish personally, because of someone's issues. I gots to roll with the punches maybe, and dust that ish off.
On an interesting note, whilst standing, waiting for a cab on a dark, particularly wet and foggy evening, A man walked by me and asked me if I needed a ride anywhere. I politely declined and told him I had a taxi on its way. He walked half way to his car, turn and yelled, "How about dinner then?!" I laughed. He walked back over and made his case: "I am really spontaneous, I'm not married, no girlfriend, I'll give me your number and you can think about it." He also told me he had planned on getting take out for dinner, but decided to stop by the supermarket and get fixings for a nice dinner. One of the most genuine approaches I ever experiences sans the stupid pick up lines. I accepted his number. And finally called him Friday after I returned from lunch, to say "hello." We spoke briefly. He said he had been thinking about me the previous day, saying to himself that I wouldn't call. I told him, I phoned because he seemed genuine and wasn't corny... I said in a previous post that I am too preoccupied to entertain prospective dates. Why do these things happen at the most inopportune moments?
To be continued. ...

January 23, 2008

No Love

Amidst all the chaos, the trials and tribs, my fall and subsequent rise. In the crux of my moving, job hunting, cursing my bad luck, finally starting and now settling into a new job, apartment hunting, contemplation, absorption, ups and downs... In the midst of this egomaniacal reverie... I haven't, not once, entertained the thought of dating, men, signiffy others, sex or lack thereof, or the joys of digital manipulation, even. It has been awhile since I've lamented over my solitary confinement. I haven't thought about ghosts from my pasts at all. They've all become nameless, insubstantial phantoms. I don't wonder what they're doing, I don't care where they are. I don't remember how they look, smell, how much they got on my nerves. What they did to make me sigh with resignation. No dating... away with the online dating profiles, peer to peer contact, considering dating prospects, making eye contact and averting my gaze right before something clicks... all of these things have become my current reality. Because I haven't thought about it until this second, none of it has really mattered or made me feel any self-loathing and self-pity. Oh, I've become quite used to my aloof and cold nature and have settled into my chilly exterior (my interior is quite warm). I honestly don't know what to make of it really. I'm neither pleased with myself or unhappy about how self contained and focused I am. Once things have quieted down, only time will tell what the dating future will conjure up. What creatures will come slithering out from under their moist rock, which normal, sane, handsome gentlemen will take me off guard in spite of myself or what embarrassing yet salacious fodder I'll feed to the masses (or perhaps keep to myself). ... Only time will tell. I am ready for another adventure abroad... this much I know is true.

July 30, 2007

Permutations on Love

Often on this blog, I lament a lot over being single and not having found my Rebel Prince, not ever having been in love, so forth and so on. As the aging process continues it's cycle (I'll be 30 next month), I realize that I'm not even ready to settle down with someone. A man would truly have to be something akin to one of the 8 Wonders of the World in order for me to fall head over heels and give up the solitude I so enjoy more and more each day. Fellow blogger, Hedonistic Pleasureseeker said it best, when she commented on the Over It entry:
When married people try to set me up I get a little suspicious. First, couples only seem to want to socialize with other couples. It's totally lame, but at least be a little flattered that they're trying to make it "ok" for you to be a part of their little group. Unattended marauding females being so dangerous and suchwhat, you're "safer" around their boyfriends/husbands if some OTHER guy has claimed ownership of your vagina. Men won't respect YOU, but they WILL respect the property rights of other MEN. I know, it's creepy, sexist and gross but it's the truth. Another reason I get suspicious is that I sense that some of them are jealous of my freedom and want to make me as unhappy as they are. Misery loves company! I love not being joined at the hip with someone I have to constantly negotiate with. "What do you want to do?" "I don't know, what do YOU want to do?" BAH! I want him to get out of my house so that I can take a bath and paint my toenails in peace!
I could not have ranted it better myself. As I believe I stated before, being a loner... enjoying my solitude does not mean that I am ALONE or lonely. All of this pining for someone... wanting... grasping... hoping... was all for naught. Particularly considering that I quite possibly would've had the relationship not having been ready for it or even truly wanting it. I would've grown stone-cold like a neglected cup of coffee. The concept of a full time lover would've grown stale. I don't even really want to entertain potential suitors or go on dates anymore. Having a hubby or a live in lover would mark an end to dancing in my underwear as I sing along to the Dream Girls soundtrack. It would mean no more sampling sauces and dipping the spoon back in the pan (a luxury I enjoy since I'm cooking for one). I'd have to eat Nutella out of the jar, on the down low. And worst of all, I'd have to share closet and bathroom space! I'm certainly not ready for that. If I happen upon a bar all by me lonesome, that's the way I want and planned it... and have every intention of leaving alone. A woman sitting with a glass of wine is nothing more than that. It's not an indication that she's on the prowl, hoping to be chatted up and treated to an additional drink and regaled with lascivious stories... at least that's not the case with me. Perhaps all I wanted all along were warm boy parts to keep my mattress warm. Notwithstanding the fact that the thrashing, tossing, and turning my dreams generate produce more than enough heat. How enlightening.

July 12, 2007

Over It

Dear Dating "Experts",
I've never been one to follow or give much credence to dating rules. At the same time, I've read my fair share of the advice dispensed in books, in magazines, on television shows, and various other media outlets. I admittedly gave some of what you all said some serious thought. A lot of your dating propaganda sounded good and it made perfect sense. To some degree it still does. However, at this stage in my solitary life I'm truly and really over it. It's exhausting, and an awful lot to swallow (no pun intended) considering most of it is to no avail. Going with the flow and truly enjoying being single never felt so good! 30 is inching near. In fact, it will be my reality as soon as next month. I look forward to it and welcome it with open arms. I'll envelope this milestone and smother it with a massive bear hug and a thousand sloppy kisses, dating experts. As the day looms, my singlehood doesn't feel freakish. The sympathetic, slow head shakes and reassuring "You'll meet someone soon" comments will continue to be met with indifferent shoulder shrugs. It's not that bad. Really. There is a huge difference between being alone and being lonely. I'm far from lonely.
You see, all the dating advice in the world can't predict when or how complementary love will happen. Knights in shining armor, rebel princes, Mr. Right ... none of these fantastical specters can be forced into existence based on a list of dating do's, you all seem to love to comprise and update at every turn. In fact, I'm not even sure that kind of perfection exists. All your ruuules and dating how's are perfect for helping Mr. Right Now materialize like a light breeze... before evaporating into a blast of hot, thin air. While I know you all mean well, you need to let the masses be. No amount of orgasmic bed tricks, pretend bashfulness, or man-scaping is going to force someone to fall in love if they aren't ready or genuinely feeling someone. Let us single people fumble towards ecstasy on our own without your unwarranted tsk tsking. Let the cards shuffle and unfold naturally. More importantly, stop making single-hood seem like an incurable social disease that burns, oozes, and leaks if left untreated.
xoxo Coffey

February 25, 2007

These Boots Were Made for Sticking Up Your...

If Jimi says he's a Voodoo Child,
then I'm Isis
and Hathor is my confidante.
My glower freezes you,
but despite the chill of my gaze
you begin to liquefy into a sticky puddle
that hardens at once...
like candle wax.
I've worked a root dispossessing you of
those things you consider most crucial to
your masculinity...

You know, the older I get, the more comfortable I feel in my skin, in my being, with myself. I've said this numerous times before, but this time I truly feel it, as much as I proclaim it and mean it. It's a from of release that is hard for me to describe. Nothing is perfect and I am still in the throes of life's trials and tribulations. But I don't feel black anymore. I don't feel a need to curl up in a corner in a fetal position, when things become overwhelmingly stressful. I stress out, but I also find ways to cope. That realization in place, my tolerance when it comes to dating is zero. If there is no chemistry or if I feel annoyance or negativity over the phone, I am more vocal about my disdain for things, and I make no apologies for it. The prospective may feel chagrined or may even deem me as being too picky, but honestly, I don't care. It's that welcome chill or coldness rather, that I I refuse to ward off anymore. It's quality over quantity as far as I'm concerned. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's someone who doesn't know me, who feels the need to be overly critical, negative, nit picky, and sans a sense of humor. All this before even developing any type of rapport or before any valuable time has been invested. I don't feel the need to explain myself to anyone, about the way I live, the ways I choose to make myself laugh or feel happy, or anything else I choose to do with my free, personal time. I am thankful that people, men, show their true colors right from jump, however... it makes "nexting" them that much easier and sweeter. I've come to terms with the fact that I may be single for a while longer. No need to lament over it. Call me a "bitch"... if you must, it's not a very original tag. And quite tired and overused, if you ask me. Life is too short to settle, for the sake of warm man-parts to weigh down my mattress. It's definitely too short to waste on miserable, unhappy human beings. Besides, if I were that hard up and desperate for d*ck, I'd work the stroll at The Point, in the Bronx and make it a lucrative endeavor.

That's it.

February 01, 2007

Full Moon/Speechless

As I stare up and out of the window, from behind my laptop's monitor, I see that the three celestial bodies are indeed, aligned. There is a perfect full moon this evening. It's rumored (based on folklore and superstition, not fact) that full moons tend to be the cause of eccentric behavior and strange situations. Perhaps it was the moon, luminscent and voluptuous this evening, that rendered a man speechless when he upon seeing me. I ran an errand today after work and had about fifteen minutes to kill afterward, before my scheduled bus was slated to arrive, so I decided to browse about the stores at a nearby shopping plaza. As I stood in one spot, poring over an item or two, an attractive and pleasantly accented black man, wearing a Fedex uniform approached me. War face on... I scowled slightly at him for interrupting my thoughts. In a low voice he said,
"Excuse me, I walked by and saw you and I just had to say hi."
"Oh" I replied, slightly annoyed... "Hi" and I went back to my browsing. He walked off, and then backtracked.
"I'm so sorry to bother you, but the way you look... oh my god. Do you have someone waiting for you in the car?"
"Why?" I asked suspiciously. "I'm was so scared" he replied. "I don't want to upset anybody. But I had to come back and say hi." Interested in a brief exchange I decided to answer, "No."
"Are you seeing anybody?"
It took me a split second before I decided to lie. "Yes, I am" I said regretfully, so as not to make him feel bad. "Oh my. Tell him I said good luck!" he said... breathless... and walked off to pay for his purchases... but then he backtracked again. "Where are you from?" he asked. "Here" I said, matter-of-factly. "You look Kenyan" he remarked. "The way you look. Ohmygod." Now I was amused... as I don't think I've ever rendered any men speechless with my mere presence. I felt like I was re-enacting a scene from the movie, Coming to America. "Where are you from?" I asked. "Uganda" he answered. "I am imagining myself out of my uniform, dressed nicely... with you on my arm, showing you off. I'm so sorry, but. Oh my. I need to go." At this point, I couldn't help smiling from ear to ear. "Can I wait for you outside" he began... "so I can talk to you?" "I'm sorry" I said politely. "I don't have any time." Which was actually the truth. "Oh my" he said, breathless, yet again. "I can only date one person at once." I told him... taking my lie to yet, the next level. "Ohhhh nooo. He said. You can do more than one." then he remarked... "Ohhh, I should go. Oh my!" I looked to my immediate right and saw a young couple smirking at the exchange. I would have probably given this man the time of day, but my gut... my "third eye" led me to believe that this man was NOT single. I've decided to always go with my initial gut instinct, as I've gotten into sticky situations due to my ignoring it. My gut was gurgling big time... so I didn't expound on the exchange and let it taper off. Besides. I don't relish the thought of getting cut by an angry Ugandan wife, but I feel compelled to admit, this was a tremendous boost to my ego and femininity.

January 30, 2007

Got Sense? or Internet Dating 101

I could write a rambling diatribe about how I feel, after seeing the promo posters of a shirtless Daniel Radcliffe (aka Harry Potter), posturing next to a horse, for the very adult play Equus, but wont. I could also ponder the rather intimate fraternization between P. Diddy and Sienna Miller as reported all over the celebrity blogs and entertainment news programs... but wont do that either. I'm still mulling this one over, in fact. Instead, after having read an article written by Celia Ellenberg for this month's Jane Magazine, I've decided to make a few observations and comments about the seconds of pleasure and seemingly endless pains of internet dating. Apparently Miss Ellenberg, after a frustrating dry spell and lackluster dating prospects, plunged head-first, into the pool of internet dating, tossing aside all of her prior thoughts about it being for "losers," and registering with several sites, including and Internet dating is as common now, as gathering socially at a party or a bar to hobnob with viable prospects. Both concepts (on or off-line) is a meat market, every man, woman, and child (of legal age of consent) for themselves. It's not as taboo as it once was, and finding a friend or mate via cyberspace is a good way for busy professionals to get right to the meat of the matter, without having to be a serial barhopper. This said, I've even registered with a few sites, over the course of a few years, not to meet my Rebel Prince, but more out of curiosity (and amusement)... to see what correspondences, possible coffee dates, makeout partners, and friendships I could strike up. Needless to say, I'm still single and perplexed. Using my own experiences and the horror stories of various friends and acquaintances, I've composed a quicklist of dont's and some a few do's to help make the process somewhat painless and easy to navigate...
  • Guys, don't try to engage a woman in sexual talk and phone sex during the very first phone call. This is your first opportunity to make a good impression, and if you can't even keep your testosterone at moderate levels during a phone call, then perhaps you're destined to remain single and horny.
  • Ladies, don't engage in sex talk within 10 minutes of meeting your date and keep your kit on until at LEAST the second or third date. Also, don't dress like a high class hooker or coke addicted, disco-skank. You want to be respected? Then carry yourselves accordingly. Also, don't get wasted on the first date. Believe it or not, most men don't find excessive drinking, during a date, appealing.
  • Guys, ask a woman about herself every now and again, throughout the evening. You all accuse us of talking to much, but I've been in situations where the man will just drone on and on and on, about himself, his cars, his job, how much money he rakes in, the ex-factors... It's not just about you. I realize the whole process of dating and meeting for the first time in general, is nerve wracking, but remember you're sitting across from another person who'd like to give you some insight about herself, her life, current events or what have you, too.
  • Men, don't send a woman an inquiry, particularly requesting more photos than the 6 or 7 she already has on her profile, and don't greedily ask for specific types of photos. Especially since many of you have few photos, if any at all. Also, don't email someone with your pictureless profile (that reads you'll provide one upon request) and then expect a prompt response, if any. It's called reciprocity! I don't get why people even bothering registering, if they're leery about posting a photo.
  • Ladies, don't dig for gold or dumb yourselves down. You may think this is appealing, sexy, and this type of behavior may work to your advantage in some instances, but sometimes it's okay to act like an **gasp** responsible, intelligent, and adult woman. If a man is intimidated by your intellect, then he's not worth the tiny pebbles stuck in the crevices of your Louboutins. Also, stop acting entitled and get past the first date, before you ask for shopping sprees or before outlining what your "going rate" is. It makes it bad for the lot of us. Bthe time a man meets a woman who's genuine in her motives, he's already jaded and mean.
  • Men, don't eye up other women in the presence of your date. It's rude. At least have the decencey to wait until your date takes a potty break before your wonky eye starts to rove.
  • Also men, if you find someone interesting and it graduates to Yahoo Messenger or AIM, complete with webcam interaction... be fully clothed and don't try to get your rocks off cybering. They have specific rooms and websites you can visit (for a paltry fee) for that. Visit one on your own time.
  • Ladies and gents... Did your online interaction make it to realtime? DO make eye contact and let things unfold naturally. Nothing should be forced.
  • Ladies, don't text, email, or instant message your dating prospect nonstop, wondering where you stand after 3 piddly dates or online chats. Let the cards fall where they may. Besides, neediness is unappealing and desperate. Same thing applies for guys as well. If it's meant to go further, then it will. Don't force a circle into a square. If it tapers off... let. it. go. Don't obssess. No one likes to feel rejected, but you win some, you lose some. There's always someone better or more compatible... and if it tapers off during email or IM interaction... then perhaps it's for the best anyway.
  • Women, don't plaster your profile with pictures, featuring you spread eagle in your thong, lingerie, or booty shorts, and then complain about the lascivious messages and propositions you're receiving. Be sexy and attractive, but keep it classy... not assy.
  • Do be complimentary of one another. A little flattery goes a long way, but don't fish for compliments.
  • Ladies, if you plan on meeting a prospective date from the internet, bring at least 20 or 30 bucks with you juuust in case.
  • Lastly, to both parties, do make sure you screen accordingly. Chat online for a spell, and then work your way up to the phone. A few scags will undoubtedly slip through the cracks (I know this all too well), but be as discerning as you possibly can.
That's it. Date it out.
Dating sites as recommended by Jane Magazine
  • Find love in the air. This site apparently offers you the opporutnity to handpick your seat mate, whilst flying the friendly skies.
  • For people who don't want to shag.
  • The voluptuous and sexy need love too.
  • Like Star Wars, Star Trek, and other geeky fare? Register here.
  • Hippies, vegans, and evironmentalists unite!
  • for Debbie and Danny Downers. Or is it called Emo?
  • for sports fanatics to engage one another.
  • Pets need loving too.
  • Like Hotties? Are you particular about looks? Register here. Read the list of criteria before registering, however. They truly and really don't want fugs uploading profiles on their dating site!
  • STD Singles? Pretty self-explanatory.

November 16, 2006

Shakespeare in L-L-Lo-Lust?

Recently, I met the acquaintance of a British gentleman, whom I’ll refer to as, Shakespeare. Now I usually don’t blog about specific dating/social experiences, unless they’ve made some sort of indelible impression on me, and this man has aroused my curiosity.

Apparently I’ve had an impact on him as well and he is seemingly smitten, as he has professed the need to “court” me, even though I’ve told him that my heart is nothing more than a chunk of ice and he'd probably have to climb massive walls, to reach me, as past experiences have found me far gone in this abyss between dark and light, space and time. He says that he’d like us to be great friends first, of course, but that he’s up to the task of slowly chipping away, towards this Ice Queen’s core. Fascinating.

Shakespeare, who has traveled extensively, has texted me poetic sentences (much to my chagrin, as text messages cost a fortune), such as "Tranquility is on its way" and the like, in addition to emailing me poems he has written and claims to be “inspired by” me. He called me one evening, and said that he had a dream, that we were in Italy, standing in front of the Trevi Fountain, and that we threw coins behind our shoulders, full of mirth and merriment, as we held hands. I must say, that I’m not used to this sort, and am quite leery, and I explained this to him. But I must admit, my radar doesn't register a read on this one. I've been thrown for a bit of a loop. I’ve often wondered whether this man is intoxicated and possessed by a liquid spirit during our conversations, and I don’t know quite how to respond to these advances. I’m usually rendered speechless as I mumble, “Is he for real?” It's almost enough to make my cold, black heart stir... almost.

Needless to say, here is one of the poems I got in my email’s inbox this morning…

I Hunt for a sign of you in all the others, in the rapid undulent river of women, braids,shyly sinking eyes, light step that slides, sailing through the foam.

Suddenly I think I can make out your nails--- oblong, quick, nieces of a cherry----; then it's your hair that passes by,and I think I see your image, a bonfire, burning in the water. I searched, but no one else had your rhythms, your light, the shady day you brought from the forest; nobody had your tiny ears.

You are whole---exact----and everything you are is one, and so i go along,with you I float along,loving a wide Mississippi toward a femine sea.

I'm falling!!

November 04, 2006

Something Wicked This Way...

It’s official…

The pulsating organ known as my heart, has hardened into a chunk of cold, hard ice. What once quivered and vibrated to a smooth, successive melody, is now a shortened, detached staccato note.

Potential suitors have been forewarned. It’ll require massive amounts of chipping and power drilling to reach its core. It’ll take a miracle cure (laden with generous amounts of heat and warmth) to make it melt

Much against my inclination, I’ve grown cynical about dating, like, love, giving, any hopes of receiving, and men. I feel as if I’m priming myself for a macabre war of the s-exes. I’ve lost a few battles, but plan on winning this combative fight.

In light of this sudden epiphany, I’ve learned a great deal about resilience, myself, and what my boundaries are. Gone are any feelings of tenderness, the capacity to cry, and the lethargy one feels, when caught up in the rapture of he. The look in my eyes paint a vivid picture of indignation… look long enough and you’ll see a perfect, dark storm manifested by strong winds of exasperation and the fury only a fed up woman, at the end of her rope, feels.

Are these ramblings of a woman, grown bitter about her prospects, and the improprieties of former paramours? Yes, indeed they are. I’ve no remorse, for hindsight is 20/20. I've only the strong urge to point, aim, and fire.

September 20, 2006

Men are from... Hell

baby i been listening to fucking woman talk for 34 fucking years you are all the same thats why i call it select hearing lol, can u hear me now?
This is what somejerk I'm acquainted with, had the audacity to e-mail me today, after I pointed out how he failed to understand the crux of what I was trying to say to him in a prior e-mail, where he said I was acting "brutal" towards him. And this is the reason why I'm still single, not looking, and downright cold and mean. It's official... I'm cursed and probably wont meet anybody worth a damn dime in this lifetime, until I'm dry as a leaf and over it, anyway. Not that I'm not over it already. And no, I don't plan on becoming a twat-munching wonder either. In the meantime, now would be a productive time to learn how to master the art of the voodoo doll.

December 02, 2005

Like Water For Chocolate

Safe Chocolate Handling: Basic Instructions, as suggested by the Guittard Chocolate Company.
Water and Chocolate in the Kitchen Quite simply water in any form, droplets, vapor, or ice, should be kept away from chocolate until a recipe calls for its addition. Use extra attention to be sure utensils are totally dry. Try a little water in some melted chocolate and you will see that it changes the texture from smooth to livery and then fudge-like. Once water is incorporated the function of the chocolate is entirely changed and may not work properly. This cannot be reversed because the water has now become trapped in the chocolate.
Breaking a Chocolate Bar Even though it seems like a large knife is needed for a large job such as breaking chocolate, a strong, short blade knife is best or an ice pick. Place the piece of chocolate on a flat, well-supported cutting surface. Position the chocolate then force the knife through at a right angle to the surface to shatter the chocolate. Do not hold on to the chocolate while shattering. This is safer and the pieces rarely move too far from the block
Burning Chocolate Excessive heat while melting will produce side effects such as thickening, lumpiness, grittiness, darkening, and finally carbonizing and smoking. These problem damage the flavor and handling and cannot be reversed. Chocolate need never be heated above 120°F. Heating in a pan directly on a burner is never recommended. ....
The similarities between how gingerly one should handle chocolate, and how gingerly a man should act towards a woman, are astounding... particulary those instructions detailing what happens once chocolate is burned. ... Leave it to me to draw the parallel.

November 27, 2005

Curiosity Killed The Cat: A Long Discourse in Five Chapters


Wednesday afternoon found me antsy and anxious to leave work early, to run what I imagined would be, some quick errands, as my best friend Cat was coming to visit through to Sunday evening. A lovely, hearty time was had. No complaints about her visit. What transpired later on in the evening, following her safe arrival, however was a whole other matter. Let me walk you through it. P.S. I pondered not sharing this story because I am trying desperately to block it from my mind. Yes. It's safe to say I was traumatized. Cat surmised that it was just too funny (albeit it a little freaky) not to share. 

Chapter I

About a week and 1/2 ago, I put a profile up on a popular social-networking site, in hopes of maintaining contact with those friends spread-out around the country. It seemed innocent enough. I was not looking for dates; but was open to gaining new contacts and networking, in addition to staying in touch with friends. I filled in my profile stats and uploaded some “artsy” looking pictures of myself. Messages started trickling into my inbox, most of which were from local men varying from ages 20 to 38 and some of whom wrote the following... 

"Yo, you like white guys? If you do, then I'm da one, holla".
Or …

"Yo, your name coffey fits you, because you're dark and delicious, no disrespect". 

And my personal fave…

"Yo' coffey, you caffeinated enough to keep me up all night?" 

Another was a lengthy request from a man from Ghana who said that if I wasn't interested in being his pen pal, he would appreciate it if I'd pass his information on to someone else who would be. Delete. I chuckled at the messages (to mask my dismay) and immediately trashed them in the cyber-bin. Some inboxes were innocent enough; requesting to be put on my friends list, so I obliged. I even sent a friend request to poet and actor, Saul Williams, to which he promptly accepted and reciprocated, I was stoked. Needless to say, I started exchanging messages with a man, 29 years old. We in-boxed back and forth and he seemed normal enough. We seemed to share similar interests, he lived close-by, he was respectful and very articulate; I made sure to compliment him for acting respectful in his initial query to be virtual friends. Weeks later, he offered his phone number and asked me to call him at my leisure. A week after receiving the number, I’d finally mustered up the courage to use it. In my defense, it had also been an extremely hectic month for me, so I simply just didn't have the time to call a stranger. He was patient, seeming to understand. 

So on a Tuesday at around 9pm, I finally decided to call him. I got his voice-mail (sigh of relief). He sounded pleasant on his voice greeting. I left a message, which included my phone number. I told him I'd be busy the next couple of days, because my best friend was visiting from out of town, but that I'd try to call back, perhaps from work. I supplemented my voice-mail message with an email, asking for a reprieve, because I didn't want him to think I was a wishy-washy jerk, because I kept telling him I'd call, and didn't. He e-mailed me back and assured me that he understood and mentioned he was out having dinner with friends anyway, and didn’t think I was being a flake at all. 

Chapter II
I leave work early and I go grocery shopping. I buy a new liner for my shower curtain and my decision to go out and about, the day before a holiday. I get home later than I wanted to, missing the opportunity to meet co-workers for drinks (which was probably for the best, since I need to stop wasting money). I put my groceries away and I straighten up my apartment. I hang my liner up in my shower. Things are still pretty uneventful this evening in my rush to organize, before Cat's visit. I later have a brief conversation with my co-worker, expressing my apologies for missing drinks. Cat calls. Tells me she'll be driving up with a friend, who's visiting her family here in Connecticut and to expect her at 9ish pm. 9ish comes as does Cat. We laugh. We catch up. Cat gives me some earrings she brought back from Turkey and relays hilarious tales of being called "choco-lat" and ending up having to pay the taxi fare for two passengers she had shared a cab with and who stiffed the Turkish driver. 

I open a bottle of red and pop a Red Baron four cheese pizza in the oven, while we talk and catch up some more. I tell her about the seemingly charming man I've been corresponding with and how I had no expectations, as I didn't register an account there for dating purposes. She tells me of some cold-hearted cad she'd thought things were going good with, until he did an about face from afar via e-mail, no less. We curse him, and shake our heads. I fill her in on Buddha and our exhausting phone conversation. We curse some more. We shake our heads at our haphazard and lovelorn, dating lives. My phone rings. I suspect that it’s friendship site guy. I don't want to answer the phone. Cat insists because she's nosey. I answer. It's him. I tell him my friend is in town. He suggests that we should all meet up, for a drink. At this point it's 10:30pm, and we've already settled in. I had just taken the pizza out of the oven. We were only on our first glass of vino but I run it by Cat, anyway. She nods her head eagerly, apparently as curious as I was. We say yes, he says to meet him at a specific location. I tell him that it's 10:30 and we had no intention of trying to catch a bus at that late hour. I suggest we meet another time. He insists, so I tell him to meet us. He says he doesn't drive. "Oh, you don't?" I say. 

"Well I don't either."
"Will this be a problem?" he asks.
"No,” (I was lying), "I don't have a car either so why would I? Cat and I are straight up urban in this respect." I joke with him. 

He agrees to meet us at an agreed upon location. I offer to call him a cab. The cabdriver I usually call, when in need of a taxi. He vacillates in deciding where he wants to be picked up from. I suggest that he pick one place and stay there. He does... finally. This worries me a bit, but I brush it off... Needless to say, the evening would go downhill to hell in a hand basket, from there. 

Chapter III 

Friendship list guy is safely deposited by old reliable cabdriver. He calls to let us know he's there waiting. Cat and I walk the two minute walk and into the agreed upon meeting place… and there he is, sitting. He's a little shorter than I thought he'd be and somewhat awkward. A bit Poindexterish, but “nerd” is my type… so in essence, not bad at all. I hold out my hand to shake his, and he moves in and embraces me instead... tightly… extremely tight. I'm a little unnerved, but I laugh nervously and say, "Wow, um, tight hug". Cat and I exchange looks. We walk to another nearby location, a wine bar, and the guy turns out to be a bit annoying, with what he talked about, the whole way.  Abridged verdict? Friends List guy turns out to be a fucking freak. I can't even begin to describe the bizarre stuff that went down. These are merely the highlights…

He is rude, he is touchy feel-y. He gets angry when I tell him not to violate my space. He says his last relationship ended, because he text-messaged his ex-girlfriend too much. The more he talks, the more freaked out Cat and I become. Cat excuses herself to the bathroom a couple of times-- (later she would reveal to me that she just stood there and stared, wide-eyed, in the mirror in disbelief at how horrible this whole experience was). The evening continues to grow increasingly worse as it wore on.

Upon sitting down, he tries to come off as a connoisseur of wine and cheese, and insists that we "get anything we wanted." We decline not to mention the waitress says the kitchen is closed. We all agreed on a bottle of red wine, at his urging… because apparently, he was stuntin’ like Daddy Warbucks or somebody. The waitress brings our bottle. Since I’m sitting closest to her, she pours me a splash to taste before pouring the round. I raise the glass to my lips to taste however; Poindexter grabs my glass, starting an awkward game of Tug-o'-War. His fingers clasped tightly around the middle. "What are you doing??" I say, mortified. "This is MY glass!" He finally lets go, in defeat. The waitress stares at him, somewhat incredulously, pours the round and skedaddles the fuck away from the table.
Still smarting from the wine glass fight I was engaged in, I wasn’t full prepared for when Poindexter promptly shared with us, that he’s the proud owner of a prosthetic foot… and insists on showing it to us. Cat asks him where he’s severed from; he obnoxiously insists showing us rather than just answering the question, in a desperate bid to prove his macho worth. “Just tell us where it’s severed from." I insist, annoyed and uncomfortable. He went on some long, Danny Downer diatribe about the loss of his mother… which is undoubtedly sad, but he lingered on the discussion for far too long; which is a bit much if you're trying to impress a girl. He kept saying, repeatedly, over and over again how his mother was my size. ???

"My mother was her size. She was HER size okay" (pointing at me, talking to Cat). "My mother used to be her size..." 

"MY size?" I ask, wanting him to move on.

"No, it's not even funny!" He says. (I wasn't laughing).

Cat finally interjected. "Yes, she was a healthy, voluptuous woman, okay, go on."

"My mother used to be her size." (Again) "And she went down to like 90 pounds in 2 weeks. IN TWO WEEKS!! She lost 90 pounds in like TWO WEEKS? Okay?!"

He relayed the details of her death in such an obnoxious way, it made for an awkward feeling at the table. He says, the car accident which led to the dismemberment of his foot, happened like the day after (or whenever) his mother died. A friend was with him in the car and he claimed that it was “a freak accident and had nothing to do with his anger over his mother’s death.” He was the driver, by the way. We ask if the physical therapy was difficult and if his prosthetic foot took some getting used to. He defiantly folded his arms across his chest like a petulant child and said, "NOPE! I was up and walking the next DAY!"
Cat and I nodded slowly, somewhat unnerved by the folded arms and puffed out chest; lips pursed and pooched out, as he glared across at Cat. He then proceeds to go on a long diatribe about how he used to create Drum–n-Bass music, with his friend (who had moved to California), but that he simply doesn’t want to do it anymore. “I could create hot beats NOW if I WANTED to, but I just don’t WANT to.” He insists loudly with a curt and defiant shrug. 

“Then don’t?” I suggest… warily and somewhat bemused, as I looked across at Cat.
During the conversation, he kept saying (lasciviously and non-stop) how much he loved the gap in-between my two top teeth and it began to irk me. "Yeah, I like it too," I said dryly. At this point I began to mentally check out big time. He then says that he likes mosh pits and hardcore, deep throat, rock. He then proceeds to demonstrate some of the loud guitar riffs he favors, by creating a loud, deep, guttural sound, from his throat. “DUH DUH DUH, DUUURNNNN…” “Okay, okay… we get it,” I say nervously as I put my finger to my lips to shush him, my eyes darting around the place. He keeps inching closer, trying to caress my face and put his arm around me, like we are a fucking couple. I remove his hand, yet again. “What the hell was THAT??” he says, all angry and smug. I remind him that I don’t know him and that he’s violating my space. 

Allow me to do some more abridging; the night finally ended abruptly and with him storming off angrily, because I continued to avoid his physical transgressions against my person. That did not bode well with me folks, I condone uninvited breaches against my body and I let him know it. I removed his arm from around me, because once again, he was being aggressive and violating my space with the pawing and such. "What the fuck was that??" he said angrily, and stomped off. 

This douchebag also stiffed us on the bill, leaving us standing there in disbelief. Not only did he not pay for the bottle, but he had the nerve to underpay his portion of the bill, even though he drank far more of the bottle than Cat and I did! And please note, at the beginning of the evening he bragged about what a big cheese connoisseur he was, and how he spent damn near 40 bucks on a small wheel of sheep's milk cheese and insisted that we get what we wanted, on him. He has unresolved issues and needs to be medicated.

Chapter IV 

Cat and I stomped home in the raw, brisk autumn air, silently and in utter disbelief… ambushed, again. Once we were able to get our bearings enough to comment, we couldn’t stop talking about what had just happened. “That sucked!” Cat said.
“What was THAT??” I asked out loud.
Cat decided the evening called for a greasy burger and chili cheese fries (for her of course). We stopped at the greasy spoon near my apartment building. She placed her order. And we waited. Some dude stops in to pick up his order and complains about the price.
"Don't blame me, blame the government" the Indian man behind the counter says, in a heavy accent. "Those mudderfuckas are raising up prices everydey!" ...

Chapter V 

Poindexter text messaged me “Good Morning” the following Friday, as if nothing happened. I didn’t answer. He followed up about ten minutes later with a phone call.
Oh, get it! Get it!” Cat insisted… with her instigating ass. 

I took a deep breath and I answer the call… “Hi Sweety” he says cheerily, as if we are an official item. As if he hadn’t been a rude, obnoxious cocksucker the night before. AS IF HE HADN'T STIFFED US ON THAT FLIPPING BILL, THE NIGHT BEFORE!  I managed a terse “Hi.” “Are you busy?” He asked
“Yes.” I said dryly.
“Um, do you want to call me back?”
“You know what? No. I don’t want to call you back. I don’t think we have as much in common as we both initially thought.” I told him, a tight voice. 

I say this as carefully as I could... censoring myself of the things I truly want to say, because this mofo is nuttier than the moose munch from Harry and David and I didn’t want to set him off. Those lot, you have to handle with care. 

“Why do you say that?” he asks, just as tightly.
“Because we don’t. Good luck with your Drum-n-Bass.” I say.
“Okay, thanks” he says tersely and hangs up.  It’s over.

Cat and I look across at each other and burst out in hysterics. 

Cat and I had a wonderful Sunday brunch and then later stopped at a bar/restaurant on the way home, for a cocktail. 

A middle-aged gentleman... a foodie, seemingly with big time clout proceeded to have all sorts of delectable edibles heaped upon us; grilled asparagus, flat bread with caramelized onions and cheese, Tiramisu, Chambord with club soda and lemon. He insisted on spoiling us further, until we had to stop him, one hand on our stuffed bellies, but not before some Plain Jane woman sitting next to me insisted on knowing “what we did” to prompt this gentleman to treat us to such epicurean delights.
"Nothing" we both shrugged, in unison. And I stared at her challengingly… prompting her to disagree, see… because I deserved this treat after having to contend with that horrible quasi-date a few nights prior. Then she engaged us in some weirdo discussion about edamame. Go figure.
You’ve just been Arthured” the gentleman said at the end of the night. We thanked him and his lovely bartendress wife and we left. 

This past Wednesday had to rank as the WORST experience I've ever had in my life. No more, will I lament my singlehood. Not to the extent that I did, anyway. Bad date encounters of this magnitude make me thankful to be single, actually. That evening definitely rounded out every other horrible dating don’t I've encountered, thus far… thus far as I doubt it’ll be the last or worst. 

I am fortunate that Cat was available and able to tag along on this horrendous meet-and-greet. I think my derring-do stemmed from having someone to accompany me…. safety in numbers, so forth and so on. 

The stuff that goes down in my life, I should consider writing in a screenplay, though.

November 21, 2005

You're Blind Me with Stupidity: A One Act Play/First Person Narrative

 Scenario: A few months ago, while hovering in front of one of the insurance buildings downtown, I met an attractive, artsy looking guy... I'll call him Buddha. It was raining that day. Not hard, but sort of misting. Let me walk you through the Affair That Never Was…

 ... I was huddled under my umbrella, waiting for a bus. This rotund, light-skinned, black man entertained us would-be bus passengers with loud, dissonant singing. He would throw in an occasional "whoo!!" for emphasis. I guess he wanted to give the impression that he was tearing some shit up, notwithstanding the fact that the singing was loud, distracting, and downright horrible. I saw a pair of feet, inching somewhat closer to me, during the impromptu concert. Donny Hatha-find-a-way had made his way closer towards those of us standing near a stoop.

He sat down, and continued on with his show. I looked to my left and saw the feet move closer, next to me. I thought the pair of feet was merely trying to inch away from D.H.-Not. Finally, I put down my umbrella, and there I saw him. Buddha. Mr. Wonderful In all his tall, lanky glory. Clad in denim... poetic, with a thick, glorious crown, stuffed under an Ivy cap. "Hi," he said. I returned the greeting. We engaged in small talk.
He asked where I was from. I told him. He said I looked other-worldly; unlike anyone living in town. He dug my style, and said my hair was "beautiful" I spied my bus pulling up to the stop. I bid him farewell, he asked for my phone number before I scurried away. He thought it'd be cool if we got together sometime for lunch, coffee, or an "activity at his church" I quickly made it clear to him that I was unashamedly atheist, and that particular activity would probably not be happening anytime soon. I told him I wasn't looking for anyone to proselytize to me. He named some weird sounding religious sect he belonged to... I put my hand up to stop him and shook my head no. Anyway, I said bye, and ran for my bus.

Several weeks later (around the time I got invited to talk about my blog), he called and left a message on my voicemail, while I was enroute to Trinity College, to see about this graduate course on blogs. I didn't hear from him, for weeks. I had no way of reciprocating his call, for he never gave me his phone number. ... First conversations are just as crucial as the first date. They're very telling. You want to make the best impression, possible. Needless to say, he didn't.

 It started off okay. He said he was born in Jamaica, and raised in Brixton. He asked me if I knew of Brixton. I said, "Yes, it's like the Harlem of London..." he continued on anyway, cutting me off, as if he were enlightening me on something I didn't know about -- (insert my first eye roll here). The conversation continued going downhill, increasingly. He tried to convince me that Jamaica didn't have any problems to contend with, and how racism didn't exist there. I said, "Um, excuse me, but Jamaica is rife with economic problems, and while racism isn't as cut and dry as it is here... “He cut me off, again, in all his long-winded glory.

Um, Jamaica has all kinds of people. Um, um, there is no racism... blah blah blah blah... owes money to World Bank… blah blah blah blah, so you should check your facts first, before you make that statement."
"EXCUSE YOU, I began, but I did, and I do check my facts. Perhaps you should let people finish their thought before you cut them off and condescend to them."
He continued on with his hot-winded, weirdo diatribes, about himself and how Jamaica has all sorts of people. He was repetitive, is a horrible listener and self-absorbed. I told him several times that I have 2 sisters; he'd talk about himself, and then ask me repeatedly, if I had any sisters or brothers. I'd remind him that I already told him I did, several times during the course of our conversation. I asked him what his interests were. He went on some strange rant about how he's trying to be discovered. I asked him what he was doing to ensure that he would be discovered. He stuttered around the question; so basically, nothing. No drive. He'd ask me about my interests, cut me off... yet again, this time, claiming to "know me and what my dating history has been like" because I reminded him of his girlfriend, oops, "my friend" Belinda, and would proceed to tell me how he thought I was. He had no clue. He went on.... and on... and on. He gave me his phone number... We got disconnected. I called him back. Instead of a greeting from him, I got one from a recorded message saying, the subscriber you called, has not set up an account yet. ???????? I shrugged, and went back to reading The Times, which I stole from work.

Ten minutes later, he calls back. "Sorry, I got a prepaid phone. I used up my free fifteen minutes, and I have to put more minutes on the phone. I'm talking to you from a pay phone now." strike bazillion. (He'd already used up strikes one thru several billion with his propensity towards talking incessantly about nothing and himself and not having a pot to piss in, or a window to throw it out of).

We continued our hand at having a quasi-intelligent conversation, to no avail. He picked up where he left off... talking about himself. He thought he knew everything. I asked him if he had an e-mail address I could contact him at. He said that he wasn't computer literate and didn't know how to operate e-mail (At the ripe age of 28, no less. How does he function at work, IF he's being honest about even having a legitimate job??) He wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise. I sighed heavily, several dozen times. "Hello?" he said, in response to my sighs; he said he wasn't living anywhere in particular... with a bunch of guys, that he wouldn't dream of inviting a girl there. It sounded sketchy to me. He kept asking me where I lived, impressed that I lived alone. I declined providing him with the details. See, I'm not too keen on men thinking just because a woman lives alone that's a ticket for him to hone in and take advantage. Not on my dime. He continued to drone on, about... nothing. He said he likes to prepare exotic meals (several dozen times, he repeated this) and mentioned he was extremely Afrocentric, but didn't mind interracial dating. At one point, I put the phone on speaker, set it down, sat back, and continued to read the NY Times. Paris was still burning. North African youth were being reassured... He kept going... French-Senegelese playwright and author, Marie Ndiaye's play Hilda is appearing off-broadway, in NY... in a limited run. …  and going...  French-born Ndiaye had her first novel, "Quant au riche avenir" published at the age of 17. ... wow,  interesting. … and going...

 " know, there's Jamaican-Chinese and White Jamaican... there're a lot of different cultures in Jamaica. They just owe a lot of money to the World Bank. Hello? Hello?"
He had the nerve to suggest that I should call him, so that we can get together for lunch. I picked up the phone upon hearing the low battery beep... I tried to cut him off, tell him my phone's battery was about to die; to hold on and let me plug it in its charger. He just kept babbling. I said, "HELLO-OOOOOOOOOOOO-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO???" He kept going, slowly, In this boring, low, stutter-ridden monotone. I finally gave up, shrugged, and flipped the phone shut. I figured the likelihood of him calling me back was... well... not likely, since he didn't have a phone. He was probably sans change, so the pay phone would've been out.

Two weeks ago, at about 11:30pm, my phone rang... I didn't answer. I figured it was him. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Thursday, at 8:30 in the AM... on my day off.. My phone rang. I thought it was one of my sisters or perhaps my mother. I answered.

"Hi, coffey, it's Buddha. Why don't you call me?"
"Are you kidding me, calling me at 8:30 in the morning ??? I have to go!"
"Wait!" he says. "I got a new number, a new prepaid phone. I got this hot new deal..."
"Dude, whatever, I'm hanging up." 

He hurriedly spit out his new number... breathless... as if sensing I was about to push the hang-up icon on my phone. Fin
You know, as much as I lament my single status, it's frustrating when guys don't get the hint when you tell them you aren't interested after all and that you don't have anything in common. I wanted to like this guy. He seemed my type. I think the situation irritates me so, because I just don't like when someone else's baggage seeps into my life. I like simplicity. I have my share of problems, but nothing too dramatic. And I like it that way. I also felt just for a spell, "Why me? Why can't I find someone compatible?? What did I do to deserve such horrible luck?"

It's not so much about me not having someone. It's about me being a magnet for the biggest bunch of losers known to man. Buddha, fuck off. You disappoint me. Don't call me again. Thank you and have a nice day.