Coffee Rhetoric: Letters from the edge
Showing posts with label Letters from the edge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Letters from the edge. Show all posts

April 26, 2009


Dear Male (or Female- I'm fair) Populace,
Here's a NOBLE idea. It's a brilliant suggestion in fact. Listen close! ...

Don't date a woman, tell her how much you like her, engage in an adagio dance with her, and then blindside her out of the blue with: "I REALLY like you, and would obviously much rather be with you, but I'm old, desperate and lonely and am about to push my seed in the bush of some dysfunctional, narcissistic bitch who once treated me like dog doo-doo and had a gang bang in a hotel room once with 4 (or so) random men and called and told me about it, knowing it'd make me feel inadequate.

It's a horrible idea, she's not my soul mate, my friends think I'm stupid for being equivalent to toilet paper, I hate her guts, BUT I feel like this is my last shot to have a kid. I don't want to be lonely like the old men I see sitting in Borders Books and Music. I have to at least try. She called me a week ago, and said she'd be willing to bear my rotten seed, even though she agreed to once before when we were dating and then abruptly changed her mind, leaving me depressed and suicidal."
Okay, perhaps not in those exact words, but close enough true to life. Anyway, don't ever tell a woman that mmmkay? Casually dating or not, it sucks and is downright weird. Moreover, don't ask the woman on the receiving end of such nonsense, to agree to resume contact with you, to continue being your friend and "hang out" with you while you attempt to or are considering impregnating another. More importantly, don't ask her if you could still see her if things "don't work out" with getting said other hooker knocked up, and don't guilt trip her for mocking and cursing you afterward by whining...
"I know it's a bad idea, but you aren't interested in having children, and I feel like this is my only shot. I should at least trrrry. I doubt it'll even work out but I gotta try."

See, engaging in this type of behavior is a surefire way to get laughed at, verbally berated, cut, pepper sprayed in the eyes, or shot at. It's just not cool. Procreating with someone who treats you like dirt, you don't even love, and who loves you even less makes you seem desperate and pathetic. Fortunately there are still those of us who have the wherewithal to laugh and politely ask the likes of you to go to hell and to disappear out of their lives STAT. Of all the bizarre dating episodes, this rates right up there. It even has foot guy from this post beat.

The dating world is teeming with extraordinarily dumb fart knockers like this middle aged one (yes, douchery is universal and crosses all ages, economic levels, races, and levels of intellect. The shit is widespreading, like the swine flu.) I'm overwhelmingly amused and can't stop laughing. What clownery! Also, what a rotten reason to have a child. What a selfish and inconsiderate way to bring a child into existence, other than from the love of two people, who aren't in need of anti-depressants. You'll always be lonely. You don't need a kid, you need intense therapy. Batshit, loony, drama-filled women of the world UNITE. You'll always have some el stupido, insecure, manic depressive jackass to love you long time, and return like a lost dog finding its way back home. That is all.

March 25, 2009

Sleepless in...

It's 3:50 AM and I can't sleep. I've been drifting off and on since about 7pm. ... But not before I watched a scary movie... My books just toppled off to the side and knocked into my plant... but the movie can't be it...
I just brushed my teeth again, and applied and Mint Julep face mask... I'm still up.
I'm currently watching Strangers with Candy... a little comedy to cancel out the earlier movie's dark images of restless spirits... but I'm still up... blogging.
I supposed to wake up in an hour 1/2. I'm hoping I'm able to, because I can't seem to sleep soundlessly.
I pissed around a little, hoping to tire myself out. I washed out a wine glass, I cleaned out my coffee pot, I set it up and hit auto delay to brew later, this early-early morning. Cuban coffee... I put enough grounds to make it extra strong. But yet here I am... blogging at 3:58 AM.

January 03, 2009

M.Y.O.F.B. or Waiting for WALK

I trust that everyone had a productive and safe New Year's Eve and Day. Mine was quite interesting... fun but very interesting. Someone offered to stick his tongue in my ear and suck on my left breast for an extended period of time before switching to the right one. I, being the classy woman that I am, politely declined, but not before laughing hysterically in his face. Hopefully this year wont leave as many battle wounds as 2008 left. I shall start this year off the right wrong way, with a rant that's been brewing in the vault of my angry soul for some time now. It's about certain types of people who should be kicked in the delicates for not minding them and theirs. I call them unofficial and unwelcome crossing guards. Reckless pedestrians who have the huevos mas grandes to get angry at other responsible pedestrians for waiting for the right of way to cross!
I can't count how many times I've had to snap at, give the side-eye and or finger to people who deem it necessary to school me on how to cross the street, because I choose to wait for the effing WALK signal before stomping carelessly across with reckless abandon. Pardon ME for doing what I think is necessary for my own survival and safety! I've had men stand next to me and exclaim, "GO! You can cross now, GOSH!" while I waited for the street signal for me to WALK. "I know how to cross the (insert expletive) street!!!" I've often spat in their direction, prompting them to throw their hands up in exasperation at my refusal to be bullied out into the middle of the road before it's time.
I even had a police officer, buffalo stancing close by tell me to "Go ahead!" once while I waited at the crosswalk downtown. The light was green and traffic was busy and steady. After work rush hour travelers from every direction! "I'm waiting for the WALK signal!!" I yelled back at him, annoyed. "I'm in charge! No one's gonna hit you while I'm standing here!!" he yelled back. I simply sucked my teeth, rolled my eyes and waited for WALK. What could he do? ARREST me for waiting for the WALK signal??? Just yesterday, a gentleman and I were waiting at a particularly busy intersection, also downtown for the signal to WALK. A young mother who carelessly (without looking) strode out into the middle of the street with her young son in tow, nonchalant about just missing getting hit by an impatient turner had the nerve to say to us impatiently, "You can gooooo, the light's reeeed." The man cut his eyes at her and waited. I in my large shades lifted my leather gloved finger and gave her a signal of my very own. She rolled her eyes, but got the hint nevertheless. I could not have made myself any clearer.
What the EFF is it with you people?? Does seeing others wait for the WALK signal really get under your skin that much, that you feel it absolutely crucial to be obnoxious and rude about something that essentially, has no impact on you and the choices you decide to make?? Mind your own EFFING business! If you want to carelessly take off across a busy street sans a care in the world and risk getting creamed, that's your right. I prefer to wait for the WALK signal before deciding to cross. So if watching me waiting for the WALK signal agitates you so, then get over it.

June 08, 2008

Maybe a Dingo Ate My Baby

Dear People Who Don't Get it When I Say I'm NOT INTERESTED in Having Children,

Perhaps you aren't aware of it, but we live in an era where, what a woman decides to do with her body is no longer an undebatable issue as dictated by the patriarchal majority and stiff, uptight, puritanical other women with antiquated beliefs, who still think their SOLE purpose is to procreate. Spare me your, "Oh, you're going to be a miserable, lonely old lady"

and "Who will take care of you in your old age" arguments, because my ovaries and future as a senior citizen are my business. Vain attempts at browbeating me into pregnancy wont work. They only serve as comic relief and makes it oh so easy for me to become antagonistic and come back with a sharp yet witty retort. Your ignorance and narrow mindedness also prompts me to research the many ways in which I CAN'T reproduce. Hysterectomy anybody? Who knows someone? Hit me up.

I respect the fact that you've made the decision (purposely or otherwise- SUPRIIISE, guess he didn't pull out in time!) to have a child or children. I think many madres are great and do a WONDERFUL job. I commend you, because childrearing is one of the most difficult and underrated jobs. Hey, I'm the product of a woman who decided to be a mother. My sisters are mothers. Jesus has a mama, and finally I've met the acquaintance of many mother F'ers, and neither of those realizations or chance encounters have prompted me to wanna run out and find a sperm donor. To the contrary, in fact. Dispute me if you must and not that it's any of your damn concern, but at 30 years old, if I was ever meant to be someone's mom, I think I would have made it happen at this juncture in my life.
I can barely tolerate menstrual cramps, charley horses, and pre-menstrual bloat, so why would I put myself through the discomfort of pregnancy? I'm also a mercurial woman, whose temperament is ofttimes unpredicatable, depending on how each month plays itself out (some weeks are more tolerable than others). So the last thing I need to grapple with is Post-Partum Depression.
"Oh, but you'll make a GREAT mother!" some of you argue. As YouTube celebrity Chris Crocker says and for your own good, BITCH, PUHLEEZE!"
Just because I utilize the common sense my mother instilled in me and make rational decisions, doesn't necessarily mean I'm maternal and should run out and have a whole cadre of children. Pregnancy and motherhood serve as an inconvenience to the many things I enjoy or want to accomplish. Caffeine, wine, debaucherous behavior, spirits, galavanting and wanting to do whatever the hell else I want to do, at a moment's notice.
Selfish? Probably. But you know what else is selfish? Women who are uncertain about motherhood and will ignorantly squire children all over the place, with irresponsible men, knowing they don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. And who forfeit their maternal rights, leaving the foster care system responsible for their babies, which results in many neglected and homeless children. It's also selfish and backward of women to verbally flog other women for not wanting chilluns. So the eff what if I have "child-birthing hips!" How DARE you?!?....
Look, essentially me being without child is my prerogative. I don't owe an explanation to anybody. And you needn't explain the ways in which I'm selfish or foolish for being unapologetic about being not wanting children. I'm sick of defending myself against ignorant rants about me needing to prepare myself for a life loneliness. Loneliness is, as pathetic does. And I'm neither. I don't want a small human pushing its way out of my vagina. It's just that simple. Deal with it.
Regards, Coffey

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

October 25, 2007


Dear Man Standing At the Computer Across from Me at the Public Library,
Please stop looking up and glaring in my direction. Just because I'm not making eye contact with you doesn't mean I don't see you out of my peripheral view. It's making me uncomfortable. I came to the library to return some DVDs and to check my email, but really... when you sneak lascivious glances at people, at women... it makes them feel uncomfortable. It's bad enough these teenagers are hovering like a pack of hungry hyenas, waiting to jump on a computer to check their Facebook and Myspace pages... but really... this is ridiculous. Also, stop shaking the effing table when you lean forward and more importantly, stop aiming your juicy, phlegmy coughs in my direction sans covering your mouth! Considering you're facing me, those particular germs are making their make toward me, laughing maniacally as they shower me in a curtain of bacteria and sickness. I can hear them giggling over the prospect of inhabiting a fresh new host, every time you hack and cough with reckless abadnon! I cannot afford to get sick. It's uncomfortable, I hate it, and I can't focus when I'm congested with mucus.
Thank you and bises

October 17, 2007

Le John

Dear Cat,
I know you've been back home from your two week, work related jaunt to India for a minute, but I just want to welcome you back again. I enjoyed hearing about your sweet and sour experiences in Sri Lanka and various other places around India. While I found some of your calamities amusing and in essence poked you with a stick (so to speak), exacerbating your dismay, I begin to mull over your troubling encounters with India's toilets. When you said that many of them left much to be desired and others reeked of centuries old piss, your description of there being no toilet paper, but a hose and some "measuring cup" looking thing in its place, I must admit-- many unsavory visuals flashed and danced around in my sick head! I mean, I'm glad you didn't touch the hose. The thought of someone's pissy, dookey hands fidgeting with a hose & cup 'round their delicates and naughty bits, thereby tainting the hose, leads me to believe that said tools are ridden with all sorts of bacteria and germs. You had no clue what the cup was supposed to be used for and so you were smart and opted to pat down your delicates with the pack of kleenex you keep in your purse. Cheers and way to go with that! Smart. But I was still left to ponder how a traditional Indian toilet works, and so I took it upon myself to do some online research... and found this blog, with a picture of this diagram==> I'm guessing the idea is to use the hose to rinse down the ass and delicates after business is accomplished, and to use the measuring cup thing to douse one's business with water. I assume this makes the bits cleaner rather than using simple toilet tissue. Terrence Howard would definitely approve! Anyway, what is familiar to many cultures, makes those of us from the West bumble along and stew in a pot of ignoramus soup... I think I'll stick to tissue and Summer's Eve feminine wipes. Ignorance is indeed bliss during these circumstances. Enjoy!
Bisous Coffey

October 01, 2007

Where I Converse with Myself

Dear Self,
You drink massive amounts of coffee and water. And you have somewhat of an overactive bladder, particularly during those pre-menstrual days where ten times on the hour, every hour seems pretty typical. Par for the course, especially this past week and then today. You are aware of this, self. So why? WHY did you think it was a wise idea to wear your black, pin-striped high-waisted, nautical pants?? 12-plus buttons to fiddle with. Self, your fingers seem awkward and big, when you're making that mad dash into the loo, to get to the bog pan in time to avoid an embarrassing situation that'd send you home early. Fingers don't seem to want to cooperate and you're tempted to just yank down the flap of your trousers, sacrificing all 12 plus buttons. But you clench those kegels-- along with all the other muscles south of the border tightly, to keep from regressing back to your years as a toddler. Sometimes it just isn't practical for one to enslave her (or his) to fashion.

September 21, 2007

I Think? That's What Happened... Maybe? I don't know...

When you ASSUME. You make an ASS out of U and ME.

Dear Presumptuous One,
If there is one thing that irritates me, it's when people try to read or over analyze my demeanor, acts, body-speak, deadpan facial expression or what have you, and assume they know me within two minutes. People presume to think they have me aaaall-llll figured out in a matter of minutes, and then will try to read me the riot act, using their poorly gathered data against me. ahem- See, me? I prefer to talk to people. Cop a proper feel from the comeliness of their personalities, if you will. Ask, probe, poke, prod, confirm so that I truly know. Getting to the root of some matter does wonders when one is attempting to be accurate in their assumption about someone. As time consuming as it can be, I like to do thorough research. No one ever scored a proper grade on a term paper, having done shoddy research... not having cited their sources. Paraphrasing for their convenience, in that regard (when using direct quotes) just doesn't cut it. Period. You either quote or cite verbatim or don't bother attempting to relay or repeat. Makes for a sloppy argument. Makes for a dubious presentation. In any event, I bid you well on your journey. Perhaps in your new-prior life, this will be your best, last, greatest chance at a great start to a new, but familiar beginning. Makes sense? Good. It didn't make any sense to me either. I guess I'm hoping that you've learned your lesson and that you will proceed accordingly in your new dealings. Where I'm from, people tend to prefer personalities that are genuine and organic. In fact, I think that's a universal feeling. No one likes a disingenuous facade hiding behind a vacuous smile and dead eyes. Sayonara, my friend. And do your research thoroughly. People don't like being defamed and misunderstood, without so much as an inquiry. Your truth is not necessarily the truth. You're forgiven. Godspeed. Keep it tight.

September 12, 2007

I Dig

Dear Terrence Howard,
I'm a stickler for proper hygiene habits and so make sure to warsh my delicates as clean as a whistle. Because my neuroses (particularly in regards to hygienics) know no bounds and grows wild like unsightly pubic hair, on a weekly basis, I completely understood where you were coming from when you recently ranted about the importance of cleanliness:
"Do I think we need to readdress how we clean ourselves? Yeah. It took a long time for soap to catch on. Now everyone uses soap. So let's be a little more clean, you guys. Let's not be germophobic, but let's be clean when we can."
I do think you had people (women especially) perplexed and scratching their heads when you went on this rant just prior to the aforementioned one, during an Elle Magazine interview, however, discussing what particular female habits turn you off:
"Toilet paper - and no baby wipes - in the bathroom. If they're using dry paper, they aren't washing all of themselves. It's just unclean. So if I go in a woman's house and see the toilet paper there, I'll explain this. And if she doesn't make the adjustment to baby wipes, I'll know she's not completely clean."
and then during another recent press junket, you spoke about your fear of Serbian drive-bys. Go figure. Anyway Terrence, I think baby wipes just don't cut it as an efficient way for women (or men) to freshen up their delicates. They work wonders for babies, as a gentle alternative to wiping off eye makeup, and to freshen up your face on the go. But there are even better ways for us to "wash all of ourselves." Summer's Eve has these great and very convenient feminine cleansing cloths. They also carry a line of body washes, talcum powder, feminine deodorant spray, and hygienic products of the like. Terrence if you don't see baby wipes in a woman's bathroom upon your initial perusal, don't despair. Just know that there are other ways a woman may be maintaining her delicates. Perhaps she uses a simple wash cloth and a bar of Dove to make sure she's fresh and clean for you. I do think men could benefit from freshening up as well. Stale urine, pre-cum, and sweat does not a sexy smell make. And quite frankly, some men can be quite gamy and potent, and that is a turn off for many of us women. I do agree that the general populace needs to readdress the issue of cleanliness and how we maintain ourselves. There is nothing worse than someone thinking they're doing the environment a favor, by choosing not to wear deodorant. I actually think smelling bad on purpose (and with purpose) is inconsiderate and rude. We have so many wonderful products at our disposal (many of which are environmentally friendly), there's no reason for it really. Dental hygiene is another issue that needs to be readdressed as well. Flossing and gargling with mouth wash has never killed anyone. Terrence, I know the gossip blogs have deemed you off your rocker and christened you Terrence "baby wipes" Howard, among other names... but I saw past the rest of your unintelligible rant, and realized the meat of your argument: Cleanliness is indeed, a divine and noble concept! Get in touch with me, and let's talk about it some more.

August 21, 2007

Parents Gone Wild

Dear New Age and Young Mothers Who Ride Public Transportation:
I don't mean to sound rude, insensitive or grouchy, but as someone who has no children I feel compelled to speak out on the behalf of childless singles like myself who navigate your world. Yes, I've chosen to appoint myself unofficial spokeswhore because I know deep down inside, similar minds feel the exact same way. This comment thread on this blog pretty much indicates as much. And this article illustrates the universality of the problem. I see the looks of slight agitation briefly cross faces as victimized passengers board the bus (particularly in the morning). Why are they, we agitated? Because many parents (young parents especially) have no consideration for the rest of the general populace trying to get from point A to point B. I cross your paths each time I step foot in a mall (love how you bogart the aisles in Claires), restaurant, or cafe. My mouth puckers with distaste when you all come into the museum where I work ignoring the rules and the fact that other patrons are trying to enjoy the museum's offerings, or into a clothing store where I'm trying to concentrate or maneuver my way around, but can't because you're in the way with strollers and steadfastly refuse to move, or I'm being knocked into and jostled about near the clothing racks by ripping and running 4 or 5 year olds, much to the chagrin of the shop girls as you continue to browse, indifferent and undaunted. Enough is enough! I have to put my foot down at least where the bus is concerned. I try to be understanding in regard to such matters. I really do but, the sign on the bus POLITELY READS that you're supposed to fold or collapse your bulky strollers before you board. For your safety and for the rest of ours. Not to mention you're blocking the aisle, hindering other passengers from finding a seat or even getting beyond the front. Do you take heed or care? Noooo. You all defiantly leave your carriages open, obstructing the bus aisle because you feel some sense of entitlement! Because even though the driver may remind you to fold the carriage, he can't force you to or boot you off. Don't think I don't notice the looks on your faces... daring or challenging anyone to protest or ask you to please excuse them as they desperately try to squeeze by and take a seat, before the bus lurches forward. I see you roll your eyes if the driver does, in fact, remind you of the rule. People like myself put up with a lot! We smile empathetically in your direction when your unruly toddlers screech and scream shrilly on the bus and on planes. Arching their bodies as you try to hold them in place. We turn around and smile at you pleadingly when the backs of our chairs are kicked over and over again. Hard. But to know avail, because you do nothing about it. Well, I implore you all to at least show some effing courtesy where public transportation is concerned! I did not appreciate, for the second consecutive day in a row this week, having to stumble my way by your bulky stroller(s) that blocked the aisle, as you sat comfortably in your seat. Watching me teeter on heels, balancing coffee, a large tote bag, and my oversize purse... squeeeeezing and trying in vain, not to knock other passengers in the face with my cargo. You've no manners. You may argue that it's difficult and too complex a task to be bothered with holding a baby, and collapsing a stroller at once. Hey guess what? It's just as difficult trying to maneuver around some large, industrial sized carriage, blocking the bus aisle... particularly when crowded. You know what else? You should collapse the stroller BEFORE the bus appears at your stop or plan accordingly if you're traveling with baby and carriage in-tow. Rest assured, both our mornings (afternoons and evenings) will be a little less stressful and hate filled.
xoxo Coffey

July 27, 2007

Ain't Misbehavin'

Dear (male) drivers,
Recently on a particularly nice summer afternoon, I was standing outside on Woodland Street in front of the gate of Saint Francis Hospital, waiting for the bus. The sun was out, it was pleasantly hot, and there was minimal humidity. In total, it was a great day to wait for a ride without having to curse the elements: rain, humidity, hail, etc. See, the bus stop is a designated part of the sidewalk away from the busy street, where would-be passengers wait patiently for their ride to come at a scheduled time. Cars fly by in both directions. Filled with families, couples, singles, men and women. Going some place specific. Perhaps to run an errand, en route to the beach, or to the mall to do some shopping. I'd be willing to wager that when drivers, particularly male drivers, happen to notice an unassuming young woman (or man) standing there in large dark shades, gold ballet flats, black wide leg trousers, and a tee shirt listening to her MP3 player, they know she must be waiting for the bus. That particular street on the west end of Hartford (between Woodland and Asylum) where the Connecticut Public Television, St Francis Hospital, and St Francis Women's Center buildings prominently sit is not known for having prostitutes waiting outside in broad daylight. On a particularly sunny Saturday afternoon. And so I'm left perplexed and wondering why the gentleman who slowed down his whip in front of me and beckoned to me, thought I was going to pause my MP3 player in the middle of Cody Chesnutt's "Serve this Royalty," walk over at his beck and call, and then lean into his window for a chat? See, because only prostitutes walk over to a man's car when beckoned, to advertise their wares to that potential buyer while they inspect the goods... get a peek at the T & A. Since this isn't Hunt's Point in the Bronx, Atlantic City, or any place else where street hookerdom may be abundant in broad daylight I'm lost as to why my scowl and the bird I flipped in your direction left you looking confused and agitated before you gave up and sped off. Anyway, one suggestion would be to wait until night falls next time and to go trolling around in the north end of Hartford. Dutch point maybe? You might just find yourself a niiiice, crack infested prostitute on the cheap. Oh, and while you're at it, learn some new courting techniques. Have a great weekend sir
kisses Coffey

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

June 18, 2007

MY 75 cents worth

Dear 50 Cent,
I wish you would get off of Oprah Winfrey's tits already. Your lame attempts at dragging her name through the mud and trashing her in the media every chance you get, is nothing short of pathetic and uncalled for. All of the other rappers have moved on, and have stopped whining already about her not inviting any of you to be on her show... perhaps you should follow suit, my friend. Accusing her of being an "Oreo" and now opining in the July '07 issue of Spin magazine:
"She doesn't ever say anything that anybody from the ghetto is gonna ID with. Take a poll. You go out and find me some young black women who ID with Oprah...She can escape the fact that she's black because she's a billionaire"
Does our community more harm than good. I'm curious to know what exactly makes you an authority on BLACK WOMEN'S issues?? I mean, you only exploit us in your songs and show us gyrating and booty popping with blank looks on our faces in your videos. Perhaps you're bored or you've come to the realization that your songs are just as formulaic and contrived as your apparent cry for attention is... and so you need to keep your name in the media by riding Oprah Winfrey's jock. Lest your forget Fiddy, while Oprah hasn't been shot a number of times, the woman HAS paid her dues and is deserving of every accolade heaped upon her. You're talking about a self made BLACK female billionaire, who has used her fame and fortune to help further humanity and Black causes and other issues pertinent in our society. I guess opening a leadership academy for young Black girls in Africa, sponsoring poor children, helping encourage literacy, and helping Hurricane Katrina victims, don't register on your scale, eh? Either way, Fiddy, you're the sell out and "oreo"... I say this, because denigrating one of the most influential Black women, in predominantly white run media outlets, does nothing to further our community or promote unity. It only widens the gap. Need I also remind you, that most of the consumers purchasing your albums and yelling "G-G-G-G-G-G-G UNIIIIITTT! are young white teenagers from the suburbs? Get over the fact that you will probably NEVER get a seat (or have the opportunity to jump) on Oprah's couch. You're a crybaby and you're taking up all the oxygen with your moronic propaganda and self-hate. Your idiocy and misogyny knows no bounds, apparently. Get a life and sharpen your skillz.
xoxo Coffey
P.S. Thanks for putting your Farmington, CT mansion on the market. Feels good not to have to claim you as a Connecticut resident anymore.

May 16, 2007


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

December 21, 2005

Life Kicks

Dear Life,
I am hanging on by the tips of my fingers. All the shapes and the sounds don't fit into my mouth, so I'll make this lament a brief one. The past three months- while not tumultuous when measured by the trials and tribulations of others worse off than me- have been quite rocky. I am hanging on the by the tips of my fingers, and you seem to want to ensure my demise. Such harsh words, but, dear life, you stomp on my poor fingers as I struggle to cling onto this narrow windowsill. There's only a few inches worth to hold on to! I look down... carefully, and see the day-to-day crowd carrying on. The hustle and bustle of passersby... self-involved and indifferent to the ills of the brooding. You can be so cruel to me life. Quite unfair and unflenching when kicking me in the ass. I'm hanging on, teeth clenched, sweat starting to percolate on my forehead. I look up once again. focusing, desperately trying to pull myself up, over, and in. I'm trying to get leverage, my feet flailing in the air. Suspended. Desperately wanting to meet gravity, but now you send pesky pigeons... flying and flapping about my head, as I flail at them helplessly, with one hand, holding on and grasping for you with the other. You. Will. Not. Defeat. Me. Life! Regaining my equilibrium, both hands re-planted on the windowsill... adamant and defiant, I look down once more. I see the white rabbit that lured Alice tumbling down the black hole. He is tapping his foot impatiently, lamenting about his being late, as he checks his pocket watch. I see him disappear down a manhole, situated right in the middle of traffic, zipping by in each direction. My fingers start to slip. The manhole is gaping, wide, and black... waiting for my descent. The manhole licks it's lips. A large, pink, wet tongue. Waiting, in greedy anticipation, to swallow me whole. I am mortified but determined. With newfound vigor, I grunt and groan as I hoist myself up, pulling myself over the sill and onto solid ground. I made it! I made it! I didn't fall. I'm triumphant. Chest heaving, heart beating rapidly, I smile- (an uneasy victor)- at my having gotten over yet another hurdle. Now what's next life? How about a warning next time? I hate being ambushed.
Sincerely Confused, Me.

November 07, 2005

To the yellow cab driver who dropped me off Friday...

...I appreciate the fact that you gave me your business card several months ago, when I first rode in your rickety cab. I've used it a couple of other times since then. It's useful to know that I can call a reliable cab driver to pick me up, when I'm bogged down with groceries and the bus just isn't an option. Yellow cab drivers can be an irritating, rude, or downright crazy lot, so knowing I have a semi-reliable driver to call on is comforting. You're nice. It was kind of you to help me unload and then carry my groceries to my door, about two months prior. You engage me in interesting, taxi-cab confessional type repartee, as I smile politely in the backseat... feigning interest. I nod at the right moments... inserting, "wows" or "that's insane" to show I'm somewhat interested in what you're saying. It makes the ride go by quicker. While I do appreciate you coming at my beck and call, your suggestion that I add you to my cell-phone directory fell on deaf ears. I found it somewhat bothersome that you would have moxy enough to tell me to do so. This past Friday night, however, really took the cake. You got me home, safe and sound. I live in the midst of party-central, so I was excited when you found a parking spot, right in front of the door to my building. It made transporting my groceries from your trunk to my door, easier. I didn't have to cross the street. Anyway, thank you so much for helping me unload my edible cargo. Now that I have the niceties out of the way, I'd like to ask you to never, ever yell out the following as I'm walking to my door: "It was nice seeing you again coffey0072! I was so happy when I saw your number show up on my cell phone. Call me sometime! You know... to talk!" This, my cab-driving friend, prompted the smokers huddled outside the overhang of B. Cafe and Bar to turn around, befuddled as they looked from me to you, and back at me again. The confusion on their faces apparent, because they couldn't seem to make the connection. Your loud request got lost in translation. Not to mention it was an odd thing for a cab driver to yell out to his passenger. Me? I shrugged my right shoulder in response, a quick jerk translating into, "whatever, man." I opted not to spew the smart retort lingering on the tip of my tongue. I'd hate to not be able to call you, if I'm stumbling out of a bar or am stranded somewhere. Reliable cabbies are few and far between, as I stated before. But sir, you will get called, when I need a damn ride.
Sincerely, Coffey0072.

April 24, 2005

I understand: Open Letter my BFF, Cat

Dear Cat,
I completely understand why you have decided not to share in a traditional Puerto Rican meal with my family and I, at Jorge and Jan's house next Sunday, May 1st. You have to be back in Somerville to walk for hunger. There is a Walk for Hunger in my city, but the mileage just doesn't suffice for you. You want to do the 20 miles (was that it?), just for your own satisfaction... which is great! My mother- (who stumbled on this "provocative" blog by the way, much to my chagrin) - told me to tell you, "Tell Cat to bring her ass to the dinner and not to get on my nerves! " alas to no avail. You have your mind set on this endeavor... and I'm with you 100%! I will think of you as the other dinner guests are ripping into whatever pork dish Jorge is slated to prepare. I would eat a portion, just to commemorate your walk but I don't eat meat... sooo... but I will think of you nevertheless as the other dinner guest masticate every tasty morsel of the pig's flesh. I will toast to you with whatever wine Jan pours into my glass. The rich red (or crisp white) liquid sloshing from side to side as I savor the bitter-sweet taste of that particular varietal, watching Jan's cat, Tango get into mischief. Cat, I'm sorry that you always miss these wonderful little dinner parties at Jan and Jorge's. Everyone always asks about you. (sigh) Cat, this is an open letter saying that I understand. I promise that I'm not trying to entice you into staying longer than Saturday. I truly want you to walk for hunger! Maybe next time... Anyway, my friend, I will see you Thursday night!
xoxo Coffey