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

October 13, 2008

Breathe

I moved most of my things in this past Saturday. My body is sore (I'm not equipped for that type of manual labor, apparently)- made worse due to PMS related aches and pains. Some amazing people helped me at the eleventh hour, including a reliable close family friend. Also, thank goddess for wayward husbands, because this cool lady I've come to know- (who's also a lawyer and offered me some helpful tips and suggestions I may want to follow prior to settling in- including an offer to get my pad blessed by a friend of hers)- forced her significant other to pitch in as a way to pay for his dick dealing ways. Is it so difficult to stop engaging in vagina monologues, and stay faithful to your wives? I don't know if I buy the whole Monogamy is a myth, because we are driven my nature argument. Whether it holds some merit or not, I think we are all capable of exercising self-control and making rational decisions, especially if their wives are doing everything RIGHT, sans the nagging and bellyaching. ESPECIALLY since we are well past the pre-historic age. We are articulate, we walk upright, and we are cognitive. It becomes less about what's in our nature, and more about the CHOICES we decide to make, no?? Seems remaining faithful to one's wife (or husband) is an elusive code of conduct. If you're going to be a cheater, cut the "it's in my nature to cheat" doo-doo. But I digress.
Anyway, other than a few small odds and ends (shoes and clothes) I'm sorting through, I'm just about ready to settle in. Phase one is pretty much over. I've been making mental notes to help prepare me for Phase 2: Buying a lot of new shit- including a couch and a bedroom set. Oh bother. My head is throbbing just thinking about it. I'm sure I'll run into some relatively decent deals. I hope. In the meantime, I think it's safe for me to exhale. The worst is over.

October 05, 2008

In Motion

I picked up the keys to my new place Friday (as awkward as it was- long story but will explain later)- and will be moving soon... Now if I could just get the truck bit sorted out...

September 27, 2008

Update

It seems as if I'm slowly dissipating off the face of the blogosphere, but nothing could be further from the truth. As little time as I seem to be devoting to my chosen writing medium, I always and still like to defer to blogging as a way to decompress and simply write. Lots is going on and work (and trying to stay afloat in this tragic economic climate) has been keeping me very busy. As illustrated, I've been partaking in other productive activities as well. I'm finding that the older I get, the earlier my bed time needs to be. What is up with THAT?! I get tired so quickly lately and can't "hang" as long as I used to be able to! Struggling to stay awake and avoid nodding off at a fete while trying to maintain my dignity is not particularly sexy. Frequent insomnia notwithstanding, my night owl days seem to be coming to a brutal end. I may have to resort to... taking naps. Ugh! Queue vomit. Anyway, I'm not not participating in productive activities. Anything to contribute to my community. In any event, I hope to get back to some semi-regular blogging schedule once things settle down a bit. I have many stories, bus tales to relay, and musings to air. While posts have been infrequent, I'm definitely not ready to hang it up just yet.

August 23, 2008

Pondering

While I wait- (still)- to learn the fate of whether I'll be renting the cute condo I covet, a few random thoughts have crossed my mind. Firstly, as of a few days ago of my follow-up, the Cooooondo Assosheashon <-- (this is me being antagonistic and petty, because I'm anxious and hopeful)- is apparently "still processing" my application. Hmm, I wonder if they've even actually started that process, because considering it has taken the bulk of this month, I'm starting to wonder if I have a looong criminal rap sheet that I'm not aware of. Perhaps some miscreant has taken over my identity, and went on some sort of whirlwind crime spree. If this is the case, I wonder if this imaginary criminal has been caught, and if they have... I wonder if they're smiling with their eyes, in the mug shot???
The birthday is done and over. It was nice and it was plentiful. I'm officially 31, even though those of middle age scoff and still say, "you're just a baby." I beg to differ, but whatever. I've no desire to regress back to being a girl, and do fancy myself a still relatively youngish woman. Every year is a learning experience and imparts wisdom or something revelatory to my sanity and growth as a better person. Within the matter of a week, I've learned that it doesn't matter how old a person is, they enjoy wallowing in negativity and will shun anything that may contribute to their own growth. That some people need, look for, and find reasons to act malicious or petty. Ah, the beauty of being agitated for the briefest of brief moments in time right before deciding not to give a flying fuck.
Anydumbass, I've been mulling the possibility of taking on a second job. Something unconventional that will earn me a little extra pocket change. ... Something that'd keep me even more preoccupied while I inch my way ever so closely toward stability. I have to figure out what it could possibly be.
P.S. I swiped the "thinking woman" image from this website. I don't know who the artist is.

August 10, 2008

I'm Still Waiting...

... I haven't exhaled in about a week. Waiting can be exciting. But it's also one of the most nerve-wracking feelings and can exacerbate feelings of anxiety and indigestion. I'm not gonna exhale until I hear. ...

August 02, 2008

Closer

So, it turns out- (says the nice lady, whose cute lil condo is up for rent)- that I have to pass muster with a Condo Association. Her words exactly? "Hi Coffey, this is Condo Owner. I'm just calling to touch base with you about the apartment. The contractor is coming and the flooring and everything else should be finished by Monday."
"Sounds great!" I said.
"You just need to get approved by the condo association. They will do a background check and then I will call you and let you know for certain!"
Suddenly I got a horrible case of bubble guts.
"Oh, okay. Thanks for calling. Talk to you soon"
I chimed in, optimism holding on for dear life... or at least until the end of the phone call. You know that scratched/broke record sound effect one hears when "Fer sure!" turns to "Maybe?" Yes. That's the sound I heard in my head. Background check? While I have no criminal history to speak of, one never knows what a background check will produce. It's always nerve-wracking to have strangers poking around in your history. Things can be misconstrued! They can pass judgment over a simple misunderstanding! My neuroses knows no bounds. I am a worrier. I tend to think the worse. I understand that certain communities want to make sure they aren't residing in close quarters with pieces of trash. Either way, I feel so close yet sooo far away suddenly from my goal suddenly. Getting close and then having the rug yanked as I approach my destination, seems par for the course with me, sometimes. I'm hopeful. I. am. hopeful. Next week will dictate yay or nay.
On a completely random note, I received and obscene call at work Thursday. The appetizer to the main course, yes. The man's voice was rich. It was deep. It was Barry White sexy in its PROFESSIONAL and inquiring tone. As the conversation went downhill, however, that voice suddenly became lecherous. Skeevy in its interrogation...
"Hi, I'm looking for information on Such and Such Organization. Do you know anything about that?"
"Hm." I replied thoughtfully, "I'm not sure I have that info on hand. Let me ask around for you. You mind holding for one quick second?"
"Not at all, with your PLEASANT sounding self." his deep voice oozed. "You sound sooo nice and pllleasant." he breathed.
"Thanks. Anyway, give me a second." I said, taken aback but still trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.
Needless to say, no one had the answers I sought for this voice over the phone.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have information on the Such and Such Organization. We don't really work directly with them. And the person who MAY be able to help you is currently in a meeting."
I considered offering him some other alternatives. But then...
"Mmmmm" he moaned. "So you don't have a phone number I could reach them at...?"
"No, I don't. Sorry." I said, growing a little impatient (I had to use the restroom) and wanting to end the call, for I sensed it was about to take a strange turn... right smack dab in a gutter littered with used condoms, smashed ciggie butts, and a pair of dirty, ripped panties. Hmmm... are those undulating bodies I see pressed up against the brick wall??
"hmmm, mmm..."
he moaned some more.
"... Okay... ummm, can I ask you a question... oh my god..."
he moaned in that deep voice... "
"Do you LOOK as good as you sound?"
Suddenly I got a visual of this man, shut in his office, sitting behind a desk grimacing and leaning back in his chair... slowly unzipping his trousers... A co-worker appeared at my desk, and noticed the alarm on my face...
"Um, anyway, so yeah. bye!"
I said and hung up abruptly. I relayed the strange call to her and she let out a raucous laugh.
"You know you enjoyed it!" she teased.
"Um, perhaps I would have in the privacy of my own home. But not at my JOB!"
I shot back. ... Ironically enough, I watched Girl 6 last night. So in any event, my fingers are crossed and hopefully I will enjoy an obscene phone call or two, in the privacy of my new apartment? Perhaps the call and then last night's movie are positive signs?
Okay I'm reaching. ...

July 25, 2008

This Much I Know is True

The past week or two has been doggedly hot and humid. In the throes of a relentless heatwave, it was down right oppressive. People dragged themselves down the street. Irritability was high, a sheen of muck and moisture coated every body, morning rush hour finding those same bodies moving in slow motion. I couldn't seem to move an inch without sweating. Then came the rain, thickening the air with even more moisture. A few days ago, I sat on a crowded bus during one of the hottest, most humid days.
It reeked of burnt flesh, sweaty (and sweated-out) hair relaxer, perfume, greasy take-out sandwiches, tangy ketchup, moist bodies, bunk old wig, shitty breath, and the last remnants of deodorant before it loses its valiant fight against must and b.o. This unusual perfume left me delirious and gasping for a fresher smell, and so I pulled out the rolled up green cotton cloth I had in my purse (a co-worker described it as a "sweat rag" when she saw me patting my brow with it) and breathed in the faint but sweet smell of my Black Linen perfume oil. Then I begin to mull over a series of realizations...
I've come to realize that lately, time escapes me. Free moments are spent catching up on sleep, movies, and running errands. I haven't dedicated enough time to this medium and I miss it. Perhaps once I'm completely settled the way I need to be, I can resume some sort o regular writing groove.
I've also come to realize that when one runs into a male co-worker outside, en route to work... during rainy day, it's never wise to answer "wet" when he asks, "Hey, how are you?" It just seems like a very awkward answer to a relatively simple question... and can leave it open to lewd interpretation. Despite its innocent intention.
I realize how wonderful it is to find amusement in stupid behavior. Rather than growing agitated and angry, finding comedy in the inane is good fun.
I realize pants I wore only a year ago, are now too tight. And I don't give a shit. Because I still think I'm cute.
You know what else I know is true? That my inclination toward the sexy can sometimes be painful and uncomfortable, and so it's a great idea to carry flats with me to work, and to keep my Pumas in my bottom drawer, in the event that I forget to bring my flats.
One of the truest other things I know is that ill-fitting clothes are no match for an unfit, misshapen hulk of a body. And so the summer heat encourages bad wardrobe choices.
Summer also brings about The Crazy. Prompting folks to acquire bravado the size of Europe, so they engage in fisticuffs in the middle of the street.
I realize that I'm sick of seeing shirtless men (especially of the "beer gut" variety) stomp-strutting down the street with their tee or wife beater slung over one shoulder, and their titties jiggling and baking in the hot.
I realize that in this harsh economic climate, I'm growing greedier for money. I'm all about the money. Not anyone else's however. I rely on me, myself, and I when it comes to my livelihood. I also realize how much I love those $.99 songs on itunes.
Lastly, I realized that while I am excited and I feel good about yesterday, I can't be 100% at ease until paperwork is signed in black and white and money changes hands. So I'll continue to pay my storage fees in the meantime. But I'm thinking it's going to continue to be a productive summer!

June 18, 2008

Please Beg My Pardon...

... I've had a fun past weekend on Cape Cod with my newly braced-up (she just got braces)- best friend Cat, and haven't had time to relay the sordid details. With various annoyances; irritating personalities, work related fatigue, agitation with my apartment search, wishy washy types, and the like- I'm literally drowning in a sea of foolishness. I'm none too worse for wear though. I'm fine but extremely tired. Dating and the opposite sex are a mere after-thought (if thought about at all) these days. Nothing but over-the-hill, married, middle aged men looking to play games and rap a wack verse anyway, to see if they still have it. Whatever it is. So I'm missing nada. I'm reveling in me, myself, and I. And oddly enough, I don't feel an ounce of remorse. Anyway, I'll be back in a minute. I'm exhausted and suffering from insomnia.

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 26, 2008

Argh!

Oh Jesus Christ almighty, Do I feel alright? No not slightly, I wanna get a flat I know I can afford it, It's just the bureaucrats who won't give me a mortgage, Well it's very funny cos I got your fucking money, And I'm never gonna get it just because of my bad credit, Oh well I guess I mustn't grumble, I suppose that's just the way the cookie crumbles. -Lily Allen, Everything's Just Wonderful
Apartment hunting is turning into an annoyance unparalleled. Even more tedious than hunting for a job!
I don't recall it being this much of a pain in the ass. I assume that the current economic climate we're living in has a lot to do with it. Personal experience and research has dictated that it's definitely best to rent from an individual landlord or privately owned buildings. As individual landlords seem more human than CORPORATIONS, who lower your FICA credit rating, apparently, every time they do a background check on prospective tenants.
Unfortunately, I seem to live in a sea of LEASING AGENCIES, saturating the classified ads and internet and who have made the process of renting one of their shady "luxury" apartments stringent. In fact JUST TO LOOK is a nightmare- As illustrated by one leasing consultant from an apartment complex that shall remain nameless, who tried to effing con me out of 25 bucks to LOOK at an apartment, notwithstanding the fact their website said it was FREE to look and that the credit check is what costs 25 dollars! I'm not surprised, considering all the negative reviews I read about said apartment complex on apartmentratings.com . Questionable leasing practices and dubious building maintenance seem par for the course, apparently. My prior history with a leasing CORPORATION has made me leery, but this experiences has pissed me off and left a bitter taste in my mouth.
These corporations want every thread of your personal information... this includes tax forms, your first born, two drops of blood, a urine sample, a strand of hair, and your dignity (which I'm struggling to hold onto with every fiber of my being)- because they've NEVER had to go through this process before, EVER. And so can't relate **(rolls eyes)** I also promised myself I also wouldn't go on a diatribe about the fifty dollars holding fee another leasing agency has YET to reimburse me, for holding an apartnemt I essentially didn't get afterall. Or that my phone call has YET to be returned, concerning my damn money!
The condo I MAY have rented sounded really promising, had I not been stood up on Saturday like a jilted date, by the woman leasing it. And who did not return my calls, when I phoned her to tell her I was very lost and couldn't seem to find the unit. Despite having asked several people, one of whom, unwittingly, led me into a sleeping pit bull's lair. Fortunately there was no violent show down and my limbs are still intact. I spent a lovely Saturday afternoon distressed, tearing up-frustrated behind a large, dark pair of shades (PMS no doubt), and stumping up and down the street hunting for my would-be condo. Alas, to no avail.
So the search for an apartment for rent, owned by an honest landlord who has some semblance of dignity and isn't a money grubbing asshole, continues. ... I know this annoying set of circumstances is happening for a reason and that when I DO finally find it, it will be a match made in heaven.

May 14, 2008

Sensual Seduction

Tyra Banks's best and most rational lace front wig had a major pow-wow with her, and this time she finally listened... for Whitney Thompson, deemed the 'plus size' model contender for cycle 10 of America's Next Top Model, not only made it abroad (to Rome, Italy during the competition's final round), but she clawed and argued her way to the top three (in all her annoying glory), eventually becoming one of the final two before being crowned this year's winner by the model competition franchise.
While Whitney wasn't my favorite personality on the show this season, she has definitely set a precedent in a culture seemingly afraid and dismayed by a little extra flesh and sexy softness. The thickness prevailed.
It took 10 seasons, but voluptuosity finally triumphed. Most of the aspiring contenders of sensual body, seem to never make it to the top five let alone become one of the contenders that eventually get to travel to an exotic locale, let alone to the final two. The prelude to Whitney's triumphant moment included her sashaying down the runway, in a dress designed by Donatella VERSACE (unheard of!), putting her skinny, stiff competitor with the robotronic gait and thick Hawaiian pidgeon accent, to shame.
Is the world ready for a voluptuous woman to be America's NEXT top model? Probably not considering any frame that's above a size 6 is considered obese and unhealthy. I assure you however, that there's certainly nothing wrong with a shapely, healthy, active, and Fellini-esque frame bouncing its way into the psyche and hearts of a diet-conscious American public. It definitely encourages this cult of personality to open up its notion of what it considers as beautiful and sexy. While encouraging and inspiring young girls, hating themselves for not having Paris Hilton's flat pancake ass, Victoria Beckham's barely there silhouette, or Thandie Newton's prominent collar bone. The young girls living on 300 calories a day, killing themselves to look trollish and emaciated in order to fit into a pair of skinny jeans.
Whitney's winning moment dictates that it's okay (despite this latest study)- to be fleshy, sensual, and YES, active and healthy! That accepting and appreciating a comely frame is NOT advocating an unhealthy lifestyle full of saturated and trans fat and fast foods, as some people may suggest or are being led to believe. Because a healthy, fit, and sound body comes in a variety of forms. And, psst... a skinny body is not always the picture of perfect health. After Whitney's glorious moment, Tyra exclaimed, "The correct term is FULL FIGURED model, not PLUS SIZE" to which former model and panel judge, Paulina Poriskova answered, "It's not full figured or plus size. It's just beautiful!" And kiddies, it's not just THE FACE, but the whole package in its entirety. Because as Whitney opined, I too, also know the annoyance of a backhanded but well meaning comment ... "Oh you have such a pretty/striking face..." Now let's hope Whitney doesn't somehow, find herself on a season of Celebrity Fit Club, screaming hungrily and angrily at the judges when they chastise her for not meeting her weight goal.

May 04, 2008

Evermore Curiouser...

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice. `Who are you?' said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, `I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.' `What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. `Explain yourself!' `I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, `because I'm not myself, you see.' `I don't see,' said the Caterpillar. `I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, `for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.' `It isn't,' said the Caterpillar. `Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice; `but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?' `Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar. `Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; `all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.' `You!' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. `Who are you?' Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, `I think, you ought to tell me who you are, first.' `Why?' said the Caterpillar. Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away. `Come back!' the Caterpillar called after her. `I've something important to say!' This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again. `Keep your temper,' said the Caterpillar. `Is that all?' said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could. `No,' said the Caterpillar. Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, `So you think you're changed, do you?' `I'm afraid I am, sir,' said Alice; `I can't remember things as I used--and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together!'
-Alice in Wonderland, chapter 5: Advice from a Caterpillar

April 08, 2008

In Which Coffey Learns

During these stuffy sinused, work filled and busy days, I've finally had the opportunity to reflect on conversations heard whle out and circumstances I've run across. I've been taken to school, if you will. Inadvertent lessons taught to moi. As my ears pop and my nasal passages clear up, I'm suddenly awash in a brilliant sea of clarity. I've realized, in this current cult of personality, that people will simply continue to be themselves in all their loud, stank, uncouth glory. Bad, ugly, unhygenic, and overwhelmingly raunch. This much I know is true. I realize that people have no qualms about boarding the bus, early in the AM, taking their seat, and then breathing heavily... their breath reeking of jungle rot or hot garbage on a particularly humid day. I can sit here and ask the universe whether it's too much to ask or wish for certain people to floss, brush or scrape their tongue, gargle and take it to the back, perhaps pop a mint before venturing out into the world... But why bother? The answer is yes, it is too much to ask. And so I suffer silently. Fate decreed that this is the cross I must bear sans questions. I also learned while en route to the mall (on the bus of course)- this past Saturday, that a young Hispanic lass I'll call Romeo (all of maybe 16 years old) was headed in my direction to meet Lissette. Lissette, apparently, was going to meet Romeo at the mall, so that he could "fuck her." ... "Yeah," proclaims Romeo to his buddy, "Lissette's gonna meet me there so I can fuck her." To which his friend replied with a spitty chuckle/chortle combo. Ahhh, I learn something new every single day. Is this what young people do now? Do they have trysts at the mall?? Whatever happened to sitting in the dark, at the back of the theater? Or going to the park after dusk? Folks our future depends on these very same young people. In which case, I'd rather not be cryogenically frozen. I'll just go head and rot. I also learned that a mall is NOT the place to be on a Saturday afternoon, with a sinus infection. It was hot, it was extremely crowded, and I couldn't concentrate for I found myself wondering about Romeo and Lissette. I didn't want to run into them in some sort of compromising position. Speaking of young people, I also learned that in their quest for fame, they like to videotape themselves beating the living daylights out of some poor unsuspecting victim, in hopes of uploading it on YouTube. Yup, don't freeze me, just burn me and throw my ashes in the nearest ocean. Life's little lessons can be a bit overwhelming when swallowed whole sometimes. Now pardon me while I go wait for my food to digest ...

March 16, 2008

Ear Candy

... Just because this song has been stuck in my head for the past month.

March 15, 2008

The Gods Must Be Crazy

Why must the universe remind me, once a month, for one long excruciating and uncomfortable week, that I'm a woman. More importantly, why must I suffer for that very reason???
I planned on waking up early, this fine Saturday morn, to attend a St. Patty's Day brunch (complete with mimosas) at my workplace, but the powers that be had other plans for me... and it involves throbbing delicates, bloat, sore lower back, and a cramping lower tummy. This is what my weekend will end up being like (see below)... hope yours is just as pleasant. Men you just don't wanna know. You've no idea at'all. That's it...

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 01, 2008

Bus Tales: Miguel

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

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

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

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

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

Fin

January 26, 2008

Personal Space Invasion Syndrome (PSIS)

I've been documenting the crazy on here since about 2004. I think regular readers (assuming people have been following this blog for that long)- probably are hip to the fact that I am a self-described neurotic with a smattering of germaphobia and a dollop of obssessive behavior (i.e. where I place items in my personal space matters, as I insist things be placed a certain way, and that they're neat and organized). And while this much I know is in fact true, my quirkiness has not prompted any need for prescriptions used to combat any anxiety or psychotic episodes. In summation, I'm a relatively normal person- (considering the levels of actual weirdness festering out there)- who is slightly askew. I pump a celebratory fist at my eccentricities and don't plan on changing any time soon. No one's infallible. And for those acting like they are... you all need to cut it out. The prologue aside, if there's one thing I cannot stand, it is when people (particularly those not close with or familiar to me) invade and tamper with my personal space and belongings without my permission. Close talkers (if I back up a couple of inches... please don't move forward to close the already small gap)- If you don't come in a wine glass, we aren't about to kiss, or about to engage in relations... there's no need for anybody to be 2 inches away from my mouth, beyond the standard (6 to 8 sq ft), conversational closeness. I think violating someone's space; adjusting and taking other people's things without asking is rude, discourteous, and disrespectful... particularly if you're the type of person who resents having your things tampered with and especially if it's within the context of a communal (i.e. work) environment, where the majority of the space is already shared, to begin with. It's almost as if certain people feel as if they're entitled to behave this way, or they have the right to impose their tastes by strongly suggesting a person should rearrange things to look a particular way other than how they choose have it set up. I mean, you listen and humor people afflicted with PSIS by saying, "Oh okay, that sounds nice. But I think I'll just leave it like this" and they're adamant about trespassing, like an uninvited guest who insinuates him/herself into your home, rearranges the furniture, and uses your toothbrush! You can see their sweaty fingers and palms wiggling with the desire to touch your stuff. To rearrange, to fix and fuck everything up... making you ready to sling some pimp slaps. These people, who like to stand shoulder to shoulder, toe-to-toe... so close that you feel a little of their spittle spray your face during conversation. Making you shudder with disgust, also prompting you to tap your foot uncomfortably, to swallow hard, and blink furiously to keep from going nuts. People, listen, regardless of how crazy this rant may seem, this type of bahavior is definitely a spatial DON'T. I think we've gotten too comfortable in this current cult of personality. Manners are a thing of the past. We live in a culture that divulges TMI about bowel movements, itchy delicates, and explicit sexploits (some great to listen to, some not so sexy), where people will grope, expose themselves or rub up against strangers, and where people think it's okay to invade... to bully their way into someone else's orbit, scattering forces messing up the alignment of your small planets. All it does is create tension, anger, and more neuroses to grapple with. How difficult is it to be respectful of other people's space and property? It's not. Some concepts are fundamental and implicit. So back the hell up and keep hulking figure and hands off of other people's sphere, unless invited. That's it.

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.

January 05, 2008

La Guerre des Soeurs

When you consider who your adversaries are, depending on your situation, none cut like a sharp ginzu knife or are as compelling than antagonists from your immediate family. Situations brew, they fester, they percolate, and seethe. When they finally reach a fever pitch and culminate in an all out war of words purged and wild gesticulating... it makes for a nasty and uncomfortable situation. It also makes for some interesting revelations and necessary moments of clarity.
How does one navigate the complexities of family ties when you are disliked by a sibling... have known for years a close family member holds disdain for you and hate your guts, despite strained efforts to play "nice," or are (yourself) harboring distrust, mutual disdain, and dislike for a sib? The answer is, despite what you know is right... at a certain point in your life you don't anymore. You stop zig zagging. You end your journey, cut your unfortunate losses and reluctantly move on, because none of us have the luxury of choosing what type of family members we want or how we want them to relate to us. While some people have a great rapport with their siblings, others have strained ones that eventually crack and then break from the weight. All that's left to do is to remove yourself as far away from the person and situation as soon as time and resources will allow. And that's exactly what I'm aggressively attempting to do. A sad state of affairs, but considering the rough year I've had and my knack for catching a mean case of bad luck, I've grown numb to anything else negative that has happened or may potentially happen in my life. I feel and emote for those few seconds and then I glaze over... hot water turning into ice. Stoicism has become a code of conduct I've grown adept at. It's my armor and shield, if you will.
I never understood the concept of estrangement, of people separating themselves from immediate family members... moms, dads, brothers, sisters... until today. The next couple of months will probably be awkward, but c'est la vie. Such are the breaks for those who are "first born second." The world doesn't end. It may choke, sputter, and gasp for breath... but it doesn't end. ;-( ...