Coffee Rhetoric: I am NOT the one
Showing posts with label I am NOT the one. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I am NOT the one. Show all posts

April 23, 2011

Pedestrian Tales: You Don't Measure Up Sir

As often as I find myself in interesting and sometimes compromising situations on the bus (some man gave me his number the other day, and said he "sees" me "a lot" downtown and insisted we should have lunch. Even though I disagreed, I feigned like I was entering his number in my phone anyway) or in a taxi (I've been driven around by some colorful and seemingly unstable Yellow Cab drivers)- I often stumble into random and somewhat awkward scenarios while walking the streets and minding my own business. This past week was no different. I usually roll my eyes behind my of dark shades, purse my lips irritatingly, and ignore the foolatry I'm being propositioned or antagonized with and keep pushing forward or I cross the street and simply  re-route my progress. Every now and again however, I like to deviate from my usual mask of disdain and loathing for much of man-kind and play along... sort of like I did in this Pedestrian Tale... 
It was a particularly windy spring day, late afternoon... post-work rush hour as I took quick, hard-stomping strides towards Webster Bank at City Place, anxious to get some cash so I could hit up the noodle bar at The Market at Hartford 21. A lanky, not up to par, younger looking man appeared out of nowhere, and started walking alongside me. "I like your bag. That's nice," he said, side-eyeing me up and down. "Yup, thanks" I answered dryly. I walked at a clip and he managed to keep pace. I was almost at the bank and wanted him to veer off and leave me the hell alone. "I like your shades too... they fit nicely on your face," he continued.  "Umm-hmm" I said aloofly. 
"Yeah, you look really nice. So do you have a man or anything?" He asked promptly. Suddenly, I stopped walking (plus I'd arrived at the door of Webster Bank's enclosed ATM machine).  
"Yes." I answered with a polite smile. "I'm practically married!" 
"What do you mean, practically married?" He needed to know.  
"I live with my paramour." 
"Oh. You faithful? How old are you?" he asked.
"I've no reason not to be. He pays the rent and all of the utilities, bills, cable. He takes me on all expense paid trips and dinners, plus he does most of the cooking. I'd hate to mess that up. Plus I'm 45. Probably way too old for you."  (Lies!)
He blinked at me. "Um, I promise you it'll be worth it, to get to know me. You're just my type too. You look like you're 28-years-old." He pressed.   
I surveyed his low slung, too big for his frame jeans and unkempt cornrows from behind my shades and asked "Would you be willing to inherit all of those expenses?" He thought about it for a second, then said, "Oh. Okay then. It was nice meeting you."
I nodded in a self-satisfied WINNING on tiger's blood sort of way, because in my past experiences dealing with unwanted suitors, lying about being "taken" left them undaunted. 
He turned to leave me be, but not before asking, "So, um... you got any sisters?" ... 


March 26, 2011

Attack of The Social Networking Whingers

Histrionic Personality Disorder: Histrionic personality disorder is a condition in which people act in a very emotional and dramatic way that draws attention to themselves... This personality defect seems to affect a lot of users of social networking sites; especially Twitter and Facebook. Unhappy and angry at the world, and used to barreling their way through life with a dark cloud hovering over their heads... causing torrential downpours o'er top of others', the wonders and immediacy of social media has accelerated the impact in which many Negative Nellies and Neds can offend and annoy... almost ruining the experience for others simply trying to utilize the medium to connect, network, and just enjoy themselves. 
I've only recently started enjoying my Twitter timeline all over again, after avoiding my feed due to a number of assholes, narcissists, and jerks. They were at the top of the timeline... always... and the frequency of their vitriol seemed to saturate my feed, overriding the ones I actually enjoy reading. Their sanctimonious indignation as they criticized other people's updates or Tweets, notwithstanding the ridiculous randomness of their own. This post was a looong time coming, because quite frankly I'm fed up. 
The Whingers are projectors... whining at a rate faster than the speed of light. Perhaps they desire more followers and wish to be @'ed with more consistency, so rather than asking for more followers, simply deleting "friends" or unfollowing someone, they practically hold a press conference, complete with the pomp and circumstance of it all... ANNOUNCING how unworthy the social media masses are, of their rhetoric... perhaps hoping some poor soul will beg and plead not to be one of the ones on the chopping block... "Oh, I hope you won't unfollow me. I thought we were cool!" one misguided soul will probably try to reason, not seeing the public announcement for what it is... a cry for attention and validation, because anybody just looking to scale back will just do it
The Whingers rail against other people on their Facebook status updates for not showering them with praise and adoration or for not stopping what they're in the middle of doing to answer their instant messages, not keeping in mind that people may have a small window of opportunity to jump on quickly and then off before getting on with life... and so Whingers will make more idle threats but not before mentioning how brilliant they think they are or how they "keep it real" while everyone else is fake for not engaging their foolery and insults.    
Look, enough already! Social media, if used with enough savvy, can be a fun, beneficial, and enjoyable forum to utilize. I understand people are passionate about certain things and need to vent out loud. However, if you hate life and are just looking for attention, to bully and/or insult people because you're insecure, don't want to read what other people have to say because you think your word is the only one that's born, or to be a play-play celebrity/mover-n-shaker in your own mind, then you should probably abstain and stop making it an unpleasant experience for others. If you're a Whinger, love dishing it out sans being able to take it; keep in mind, you don't have the right to antagonize people using this medium just because you can't get a grasp on life. Perhaps a therapist's couch would be more fitting, just put a fork in it already and avoid collecting followers and other Facebookers if they annoy you so much. Just Tweet/update your Facebook status into an abyss of nothingness.  
That is all.           

February 12, 2010

Hathor Take The Wheel

I did not want to bat an eyelash over John Mayer’s recent FAIL interview with Playboy Magazine, but the more in-depth I read it- (in its entirety, because I did not want to comment based solely on the excerpts that got everyone in an uproar)- the harder I blinked and the more perplexed I became. I will not comment on the obvious homophobia or misogyny and ageism he displayed whilst commenting on his former girlfriends (‘right made the acid in my stomach gurgle with displeasure), nor on the lack of confidence he has in his manhood for he spoke at length about his sexual prowess and technique as well as his need to prove himself and be better than the former flames of his conquests. 
What I will rant and rave about however, is John’s proclamations that he has a “hood/nigger” pass, suggesting that having one somehow justifies his never ending, assholish behavior, asinine public comments and Twitter rants. He said he was "Very" just like Black folks. "V.E.R.Y." and so it absolved him of stupid behavior. Man, I guess (not).  John also name dropped Kanye West, a fellow partner in lame grappling with his own P.R. issues and who in 1996 (publicly creamed his trousers over the splendor of biracial women or “mutts” as he affectionately called them, Jay-Z, and other rappers, who, shall I add, seem color-struck and enamored with all things lighter-skinned and/or non-Black themselves, and will never miss an opportunity to bash dark-skinned Black women or to drape themselves with the finest of racially ambiguous vixens. But I digress... 
John Mayer… who always manages to fellate his foot hungrily, deep-throating it with gusto whenever he has the media’s attention… felt his scrotum swelling with douche water after waving his “nigger pass” in the air... going on to gloat, after being asked if Black women threw themselves at him  (a stupid question in and of itself), that while he has a Benetton heart he just couldn’t open himself up to the possibility of entertaining Black women, due to his having a David Duke cock.”
insert record screeching to an abrupt stop right here
Correct me if I’m wrong, or perhaps I’m out of the loop, but I had no idea Black women were drowning John in a river of crème de la coochie. I was completely unaware that this rather uninteresting and bland musician was the stuff that makes Black women swoon with unbridled desire. John also went on to make vulgar remarks about noted Black actress Kerry Washington’s hotness and how she might possibly suck a dick and say, “Yeah, I did it, so what?” for she’d undoubtedly break a Caucasian cad’s heart because she's "crazy like a white girl," or some such nonsense to that effect, his love of porn, and how every White dude bulged out of their boxers for sitcom character Hilary Banks from the The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Additionally, while John Mayer is entitled to his preferences, why do it at the expense of Black women by suggesting that we are somehow not worthy or significant enough for someone as inane as he is? Listen, at the end of the day, I don't need John's racist penis to validate me as a Black woman or any other White man with a "nigger pass" or otherwise for that matter, so I'll sleep well this evening, but imagine the shock and furor had Halle Berry stated she had the heart of Coretta Scott King but the vagina of Minister Louis Farrakhan ... Mmm hmmm... Think, think, think... famous people. THINK before you spew. 
To the assholes who gave Mayer a “nigger pass,” Therein lies the problem, jerks. You make it OK for dumb-asses to engage in hipster racism because you’re giving them the go-ahead to do so…ofttimes at a Black woman's expense.  And then you’re the same jack-asses who want to mollywhop your White buddy, because he said,  “Nigger please!” Um. No sir. You can't have it both ways. Good for the goose but not for the gander??
John Mayer or any other wanna-be down chav gets no “hood pass” from me EVER. I don’t care how many BLACK friends you collect, I don't care how many close White friends I happen to connect with, and I don’t care how many of your BLACK FRIENDS said it was OK to make stupid statements steeped in bigotry. It is never OK to wallow in ignorance because you think it's the hip thing that will get you an *in.* Real talk. I don't hand those types of passes out. Null and VOID. 
Mayer, choked up and regretful (because his publicist told him to be ), issued a tearful apology onstage in the middle of a performance in addition to taking to his Twitter page yet again to partake in some major damage control. I refuse to stroke his ego by saying, “Awww, he made a mistake.” A mistake is something that’s unintentional and not predicated on arrogance and one’s privilege. He's sorry, because folks got pissed and his statements were not well received, because just like many White people who share Mayer's sentiment(s) about being "down", it's always cool to smile proudly and proclaim how much Black people love you, as a way to justify making ignorant (regardless of one's intention) statements out loud. And to co-opt the cool parts of being a racial minority, while rejecting the difficulties of being one. 
In the grand scheme of his stupidity, self-loathing, and narcissism however, I do not believe that Mayer is a racist. And I don't care if his David Duke cock wants to burn a cross at my window, because I am personally not, nor have I ever been rubbing myself raw over John Mayer. He is a bigot who hates women, however... and is a sad a victim of his own delusions of grandeur, arrogance, and sexual inadequacy. And to those Black folks who think it’s cute for some "others" to trash-talk your mothers, aunts, dads, brothers, uncles, and sisters (yes, those of you issuing out the free "nigger passes" to your White buddies)… stop perpetuating the disrespectful behavior. Enough is enough.  
Perhaps Mayer's attempt to fumble towards ecstasy and understanding will help us mull over the topics of race and gender a little more closely, and think before we open our gobs... trying to be clever. And a simple, "No, Black women don't throw themselves at me. Not at all." would've sufficed, John.

Read more about Mayer-gate 2010---

January 28, 2010

Me Talk Pretty One Day

Snow fall, plus minimal sleep, coupled with grumpiness, divided by exasperation, multiplied by, "Wait, I'm flummoxed," plus "Bastard(s) please!"- minus zero booze equals my mind is on a marathon run, and it has a case of the disappointeds. 


"Sex only goes so far — then you want to be able to talk to the person..." -creator of that sex robot, talking, woman thing.
  • Smile! 
  • Slim down! 
  • Just nod! 
  • Go easy on the intellect, will you!
  • You're way too sophisticated for me (read: your brain is too high maintanence).
  • Only weigh-in when deferred to. 
  • You look angry. 
  • Bitch! 
  • I've created you in *my* image. Live up to it dammit!
  • Be infallible, pwetty pweeeease!
  • You're aging. Stop it at once before I upgrade!
  • I'll stalk you until you *do* give in! 
  • You're comfy with your sexuality? Then you're a slut, WHORE!
  • You can turn on the smart now. I'm ready for you. Bring it!
  • You should like this list of preferences, cuz it makes me happy and secure ... 
So many demands. The list seems endless. It becomes even more asinine and disturbing it its growth. Perhaps now that the latest and greatest in technological minds has created a sex robot (fresh off the AVN Porn Expo's showroom floor)  that focuses on "appealing to the mind." Real, living, and breathing women born of flesh and blood can exhale a little bit and get somewhat of a reprieve from living up to so many standards. Even if it seems to aim to make us obsolete (or to appeal to the socially inept male mind, who can't mesh well or deal with real female interaction anyway). Alas, an inanimate object, masquerading as a woman, reminiscent of a corpse can listen intently, as its human lover reads it passages out of David Levy's 'Love And Sex With Robots.' Ladies, hold tight to your vibrators. It doesn't judge or criticize, and will never demand that you "smile!" while walking past it.

January 24, 2010

Slippery When Wet


I recently damned the complexities of dating and all its bullshit to hell. Cynicism aside; Upon further discussions with friends newly found and old, recent meet & greets, as well as random acts of thinking on a lazy Sunday afternoon, I've concluded that finding a decent person to spend quality time with on occasion, is akin to holding onto a slippery bar of soap, while trying to keep your shit together in prison. I've never been to prison and have no aspirations of landing my big break in that particular environment, but I would imagine that lathering up in a communal shower while deep in thought over how the hell you found yourself there... and then dropping the soap, only to bend over without thought or caution and get reamed within an inch of your life in an opportunistic sneak attack, is a traumatizing experience to say the least. You have to hold onto that bar of soap for dear life, and be methodical with every move you make as you lather your skin in a circular motion, shifty eyed and leery.

Dating requires patience, maintaining tough but supple skin, methodical movements, intellect, caution, and engaging in a carefully choreographed Adagio dance or angry Tango Ultimo with the opposite sex. As frustrating as trying to foster or nourish a certain level of intimacy or rapport with someone is; Being aloof, intuitive, and resolute is a must. Because if you let yourself slip up and get mired in the foolishness--- bam! You're doubled over, screwed out of nowhere. It's le marcher fou des sexes for sure. I'm constantly dancing over potholes and bird shit. I've even tripped over a crack or two... But all praises due to ỌṣunI always manage to regain my footing before going down, face-first like a cheap, ten dollar whore. Not sure what my score card would read like though. I shudder at the thought. And I bathe with shower gel most days, rather than soap sooo--- yeah.

January 06, 2010

I Wish You ILL

It's official--
The mechanics of dating and its games has made me cynical. I never thought I would say the dreaded 'C' word out loud, but I am Coffey So Finicky, evermore. The advice books by men geared toward single women (ahem, Steve Harvey) with dubious track records of their own. The bullshit, the nonsense, the flakiness, the obvious lying and disingenuous behavior... It seems to know no bounds. If I hear one more man whine about how his last experience... or how his best friend's friend got hustled by a golddigger, who needed $50,000 transferred to her account, before she peeled of her panties- as a way to justify is jerkery, I may need to sharpen my nails into angular points, and claw my(or his) eyes out. I've no sympathy for men who get "took" as it were. Because many of you have laid the groundwork for and choreographed this sort of shady adagio dance, between the sexes. Don't project your insecurities and obvious shallowness-gone-wrong, onto other women with good intentions.
Perhaps some women of my ilk are destined to stay single and live a life riddled with carpal tunnel syndrome and AA batteries. But sometimes, I think that alternative is well worth it... if only to side-step the nonsense and fuckery associated with dating... and all the "messy unnecessaries" it entails. And anyway, I'll always still have great hair and skin. That is all.

October 02, 2009

Dear Juan (say it with the spit in the back of your throat),
While it was (not) somewhat of a pleasure meeting you at the bus stop last night, let me assure you, I have no interest in hanging out with you while your girlfriend is in the hospital, preparing to push out your seed.
Juan, propositioning a woman at the bus stop because you felt put upon for having to get your betrothed some jerk chicken at a nearby Jamaican restaurant and run various other errands for her, is the least you could do, considering she's indisposed and can't really do those things for herself. Also, the fact that she literally lives right down the street from me- a fact you so eloquently pointed out in addition to telling me you live in New Britain, are originally from Oakland, CA, and that you don't really know anybody from Hartford- is just not a good look.
I am unemployed Juan, and am desperately pounding the pavement so that I can get employed. I honestly don't need your girlfriend kicking in my front door, cursing me out on my voice mail, or whatever fallout that may result upon learning you're keeping company with me. Trust me, I do not want anymore annoyances in my life... especially of that sort. When I tried to reason with you, and tell you how asinine you sounded, you responded with: "It's not really that serious. We don't mesh well together. I'm hyper and she's more laid back and mellow. I'm bored, I need to have fun! Her ex-boyfriend is always calling her... even though she keeps telling him it's over."
Puzzled, I asked: "If it's not that serious, then why is she in the hospital about to have your baby?" "Yeah, well, she wanted a baby. I mean, we have another child... and we broke up, but it hasn't even been two months since we got back together and she got pregnant already, again!"
Since vomiting the lemon pound cake I ate prior to leaving my apartment, all over the front of your shirt wasn't really an option, I asked, "She got pregnant by herself?? TWICE? Fascinating!" Confused and slightly unsure you said, "Well, I mean, I got her pregnant, but she really wanted a baby, sooo... Can I just get your phone number? I'll just give you MINE then. I just need to kick it with someone and have some fun. I don't really know anybody around here. And she has me running all over the place getting jerk chicken and all this other stuff... I'm trying to take care of her business and mine too" you said, nodding towards the black duffle bag laying at your feet. Then you proceeded to ask me if I indulged in the chronic, if I had any children, and "Where're you headed now?? Do you drink? Can you call me tonight?" I blinked incredulously at you... Juan, none of these things are cool. They aren't sexy, and your approach is just... garbage. It was cute that you thought I was 25 years old though. I'm a firm believer in moisturizer. Anyway, that was THE ONLY charming thing that came out your mouth.
Please get your act together Juan. Juan get your life here! I hope I never run into you again.
xoxo Coffey

September 04, 2009

NOT. The. One.

As my ears are forced to listen to the torturous, auto-tuned enhanced song Mariah Carey warbles about Eminem (allegedly) being obsessed and upset with her- (the airwaves and media has been saturated with the contents of this song, one can't help hearing about it... even if one isn't even listening to the radio)- I'm left wondering; Why IS he so obsessed with her? Is his ego that fragile that he is incapable of letting go of an alleged fling that happened many moons ago? Is he so immature that he has to assassinate Mimi's character with lyrics that're asinine and borderline violent? Thanks to romantic and poetic songs such as Eminem's "Bagpipes of Baghdad" which prompted Mariah's "Obsessed" (he asked for it), which then bred Eminem's "Warning" as a response, the public (those of us who finds his misogynistic vitriol boring) gets to roll its eyes collectively.
Eminem's desperation and egocentric need to latch on to the past seems flagrantly obvious (to me anyway). And NO I'm not a Mariah Carey fan, NO I don't care about either of them, and YES I am late to the party featuring the adagio dance between these two, especially since the novelty of 'Obsessed' has all but worn off, but the issue serves as a good point of reference for the initial point of this post, so work with it, as it is somewhat reminiscent of a recent turn of events, and have left me wondering why some men (and women, I'm fair) can't seem to move on with their lives if a woman, as politely and delicately as she can, declines their advances, say they aren't interested in them, or say they're interested in or dating someone else. The world is saturated with millions of other available women who may be better looking, more charismatic, more witty, and more sexual, but because rejection is a hard pill to swallow for some, they obsess and antagonize the one who isn't interested in their companionship.
Listen, logging onto certain social networking sites to doggedly email, IM with ridiculous requests and questions, or agitate the object of your affection and calling yourself sneering with mocking & unfunny jokes, and bragging about your accolades so she realizes what she's giving up is NOT the way. Behavior like that is unbecoming. It's obnoxious, annoying, and it speaks volumes about one's self-importance and why you may (or may not, who knows?... who cares?) still be single to begin with. Rejection might cause one to experience a feeling of dejection however, everyone is NOT going to want you or care about your stature. Get over it. Life is too short... so moving on and exploring other dating prospects and more pertinent and worthwhile activities would seem to be the likeliest options.
Please get over yourself and stop with the antagonistic and obnoxious behavior. That is all.