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

December 21, 2011

Blogging Elsewhere: Dutch Magazine Labels Rihanna "De Ultimate NiggaBitch"

Ever since Barack Obama was voted into office as President of The United States, liberal types have been dropping constant memos stating: Obama’s presidency is proof positive that we’re living in a post-racial society!  In fact, they’ve been virtually imploring  people of color to stop griping about racism and to get a sense of humor about the piss-poor comedic stylings showcasing their hipster racism.
Barack’s presidency is considered the ultimate triumph over White supremacy.  Once the First (Black) Family settled into the White House, Black citizens suddenly felt comfortable enough to enjoy a slice of delicious, refreshing watermelon and that piece of chicken at the company BBQ without reproach or side-eyes from their co-workers.  People of the African Diaspora the world over (especially Afro-Europeans) rejoiced and seemed compelled to action as they re-evaluated their place among European society. Despite protests to the contrary, America is still grappling with racist agitators and questionable images portrayed in the media, even as we’re right on the cusp of 2012.  And while offenders in this country are often taken to task for fanning the flames of ignorance, Europe and European media outlets continue to have a complacent, laissez faire attitude or seem to harbor a lack of education when it comes to global race relations… particularly how it functions here in the United States. For instance, Vogue Italia came under fire this past summer for referring to hoop earrings commonly worn by women of color as “slave earrings” and made sure to amend their gaffe since the backlash.
This latest and flagrant act of ignorance came courtesy of a Dutch magazine called Jackie. Applying the wit of a hipster telling a racially insensitive joke, a writer for Jackie advised its readers on how to dress like super Popstar, Rihanna, without looking like “De Niggabitch”  …   …  Yes you read correctly. Someone from a legitimate fashion publication actually wrote an article touting the attributes that make a true “niggabitch”and titled it as such. See, a post-racial society prompts media types to use precarious language and reinforce stereotypes when referencing Black women…
“She has street cred, she has a ghetto ass and she has a golden throat. Rihanna, the good girl gone bad, is the ultimate niggabitch and displays that gladly, and for her that means: what’s on can come off. If that means she’ll be on stage half naked, then so be it. But Dutch winters aren’t like Jamaican ones, so pick a clothing style in which your daughter can resist minus ten. No to the big sunglasses and the pornheels, and yes to the tiger print, pink shizzle and everything that glitters. Now let’s hope she won’t beat anybody up at daycare.”  The journalist wrote… adding insult to injury by getting the Bajan singer’s country of origin wrong.
Jackie Editor in Chief Eva Hoeke issued a half-hearted and seemingly forced apology via the magazine’s Facebook page…
Dear readers,
First: thanks for all your responses. We are of course very fed up over this and especially very shocked. However I’m glad that we’re engaging in a dialogue on this page — not everybody does that. Thanks for this. Other than that I can be brief about this: this should have never happened. Period. While the author meant no harm — the title of the article was intended as a joke — it was a bad joke, to say the least...

July 21, 2009

It's a Mad Houuuuuuuse...

And I'm mad. If you've yet to read the media circus surrounding the arrest of Henry Louis Gates, Jr. then you're probably a bit perplexed by the public outrage... mostly by people of color. For those not in the know, Henry Louis Gates, Jr is a writer, literary critic, scholar extraordinaire, and tenured professor at Harvard University. He has hosted and produced compelling documentaries for PBS such as; American Lives and American Lives 2, where he helped noted Black American celebrities trace their lineage through DNA testing. Gates also created and edits an online magazine called The Root. So in summation, the man has the skills to pay the bills, and is a distinguished member of the literati. So it was with dismay and shock that many of us read that he had been arrested and taken into custody, where he was kept for 4 hours, before being released. Anger and exasperation soon followed after details of his arrest came to light.
Apparently, after returning from a trip to China where he was filming his latest documentary, Gates came home and discovered that his door was damaged, had jammed and so had problems entering his home. He then entered through the back, and he and the driver who transported him from the airport proceeded to try to pry the front door open. Upon doing so, said driver helped Gates bring his bags inside before driving off. Gates immediately got on the phone with the Harvard Real estate office to tell them about the damaged door. During his phone call, Gates noticed a police officer on his front porch. Through a recently released statement via an attorney/friend/colleague to the press, he would express his surprise at finding several police officers outside his residence. Apparently they were responding to a phone call placed by a neighbor- a 77 year old magazine fundraiser- that "two Black men with backpacks" were on Gates' front porch, one of whom was "wedging his shoulder into the door."
According to Gates' statement-After proving he was was a resident of the home, and after asking the interrogating officer for his badge number and name, and after showing substantial identification, the officer simply walked off sans an apology. Incensed (undestandably so) by the humiliation, Gates exclaimed that the police were displaying bias and being racist. To make a long story short, the police arrested him for "disorderly conduct" because he displayed "loud and tumulutous behavior."
I felt compelled to be thorough about the details leading up to his arrest, because general, mostly White consensus (because many have failed to read and grasp the details concerning the matter)- is that Gates deserved to be arrested, and that he had no right to question the obvious racial profiling that was taking place. To say I was upset by the comments displayed on the Boston Globes' comment board would be putting it mildly. I would then go on to read "Stop playing the Race Card" type propoganda on Facebook's "I Love Black People" board as well as on various other forums. Hence this blog post. One common thread in these comments were "Obama is the president, therefore RACISM NO LONGER EXISTS. GET OVER IT!"
Apparently ignorance is bliss for you naysayers. While it is true that minorities, namely Black folk, have made some strides... we have a looong path ahead of us. Uncompromising situations such as the one Gates experienced is demonstrative of that. How DARE you, having little knowledge about the daily struggles of minorities, tell us to get over it, and stop playing the race card?? I don't expect THE PRIVILEGED MAJORITY to even have an inkling of an idea of what it's like to have to fight to disprove racial stereotypes because people have no faith in your intellectual prowess. Until you many of you (this guy gets it)- take your heads out of your asses and stop pissing all over progress, then NO we will NOT get over it. Since when is it against the law and disorderly for one to express his opinion, on HIS PROPERTY? After Gates identified who he was and why he had to force his way into his home, the officer should have stopped questioning him, apologized for the intrustion, and moved on.
See, the visual that plays in my head, when I picture this happening to a White professor is as follows: Officer examines ID, and says, "Sorry to bother you and for the confusion Mr. Smith. Have a great day."
You mean to tell me that after a long trip, not being able to get into your house, and then having the coppers show up on your doorstep because of some busy body who thinks we're all suspect, to question you for only wanting to decompress that you wouldn't be ruffled by the experience?? Give me a break! You would be mad too! Period. The neighbor in question obviously thinks A Black man trying to force a door open, in broad daylight, whether she recognizes him, what was going on, or NOT, was suspect enough to call the cops rather than making sure she knew what she was seeing was in fact a burglary. While no charges have been filed against Henry Louis Gates, the scar still remains, and tax dollars have been wasted.
We will stop playing the RACE CARD, when it stops getting DEALT.
That is all.

July 16, 2009

Order In The Court

I've noticed an annoying trend in courting rituals. One more small annoyance to add to the already difficult process of dating. Texting. I am not one of those self-righteous, anti-technology people who goes on boring rants about the evils of social networking, texting, and mobile phones. As annoying and impersonal as those outlets can be, I am very pro-gadget and technology. While it has it's cons, technology and social networking has made it easier to keep in or get back in touch with long lost friends, enemies, frenemies, and prospective employers. Many things in life have negative aspects to them... you couldn't pay me to travel back to the dark ages. Advancement in technology is not the sole vice or annoyance society has to grapple with. The phenomenon is only as stupid as the moron accessing it... which brings me to my primary point.
Men- (I can't speak for women, because I don't date women and many of the ones I know aren't this inconsiderate, but I'll be fair and say I'm sure they're just as guilty)- if you've just met a woman for the first time, made out with her, groped her, etc... and you've decided "Wow, I like her and I want to talk to her and get to know more about her beyond this point" and you insist... DEMAND that she give you her phone number... and you make a point of programming it into your phone while she's standing there, then CALL her. This texting bullshit as the FIRST official attempt at communicating ... "Hey sexy" and "wat u up to?" is nothing short of rude and disrespectful, and it's not a good first impression. Not to me and many of my friends anyway.
How do you expect to develop any type of rapport with someone you supposedly like... or want to hop in the sack with by TEXTING grammatically lazy phrases??
Behavior like this is vexing and agitating. Myself? I may give your brusque and short messages the side-eye, and after careful consideration, might even respond a few times. I may even give you the benefit of the doubt that you'll actually CALL and I'll hear a live voice either on my voicemail or in real-time at some point throughout the course of the courtship. I'll do you one better; In the past, I've responded to text messages by leaving a voicemail, saying "Hi," asking to "Give me a call when you get the opportunity." Which means, TAG, you're it! Your turn! Only to get yet another text in response, RIGHT AFTER I've left the voicemail! After a VERY short while, your texts WILL go ignored! Trust this.
I will flat out refuse to respond, assuming that you have no desire to actually TALK for 5 or 10 minutes, which is enough time to determine someone's personality and whether you want to ask them out on a date. I'll assume that you aren't interested in setting up a time to meet up and that you have no real interest in me as a person, and that you're only wanting to waste my time by playing electronic footsies with your cyclical, same sounding two word sentences. ... "Hey sexy. Wat u doing? Wat u wearing?" Level headed and tech-savvy folk in the know realize that "wat u wearing?" is code for, "send me a topless photo, and I'll send you a pic of my genitals."All before being asked out on an ACTUAL date for coffee or a glass of wine, because you'd rather wile away valuable time sexting messages like some sexually precocious preteen: "i want u so bad. wish u were here."
Listen, I text more than the next person, but I'm usually texting with people I KNOW. People I have connections with. People I also chat to on the phone. My close and best friends, my sisters, my mother, acquaintances I pal around with, someone I've dated, don't despise and have maintained a friendship with, so forth and so on and I'm not making an ALL DAY AFFAIR of it. If I don't KNOW you and am making every attempt to GET to know you within the context of dating, and you don't reciprocate that gesture, then you may as well kick rocks. And don't you DARE send me a message at 1:00 in the MORNING asking, "hey u up?" OMG!! R U SERIOUS!? How dreadful! Moreover, don't respond to my obvious exasperation with your thoughtless time wasting, texting : "I thought u liked me ???" or "It's just easier to txt cuz am on the run." If you're on the run, then BE ON THE RUN! How about contacting the person of your desire when you AREN'T "on the run" and have a moment to spare.
Look, I'm not one for walking down the street or going about my daily activities, jabbing at my phone's keypad like crazy. I understand that some people love it, but my thumbs get tired, it wears on my nails, more importantly it's distracting and detracts from whatever it is you're doing. As many people as I see running their pie holes on the phone while en-route somewhere, that "on the run, can't actually call" excuse is utter doo-doo. Texting sentences on a small keypad, on the run, seems like it takes more effort than talking to someone for 3 seconds to say, "I'm out and about, just wanted to call to say hi and that I'm thinking about you, we'll talk later though!" and then you hang the eff up. Don't ask for someone's phone number if you have no intention of talking to them. Get their email address instead if you want to type at them.
Cut this foolishness out. It's not a good way to connect with someone you supposedly want to learn more about. KNOW them first before you start texting them a bunch of nonsense. That is all.

July 04, 2009

It's Alive!!!!!

This past week, I have made valuable use of my time. I cut up some juicy and delicious fruit, I saw Corey Holcomb headline a comedy show, I hung out with a great friend, and I'm sorta doing some household projects... oh yes, and I'm looking for a new job because I got laid off Monday. Here's my word: Why is it when you're laid off, people retreat from you as if you have the damn Bubonic Plague or they tsk as if you're a charity case or on the cusp of needing anti-anxiety meds? Or they feel compelled to forward any and every job posting to you, not keeping in mind that you've got this?
I understand that people mean well, but I am doing remarkably well. I got laid off from a JOB. A job that wasn't my dream career. I'm being compensated for it, it happens to the best of us, I'm optimistic, and I truly believe in the old adage that when one door closes, a window opens someplace else. Perps, look around you! In case you haven't noticed, we're living in shaky economic times. It is happening universally. I'm not the only person in history who has been laid off. I am confident that even in these times, I will find a new job soon. I had been looking prior to learning that the organization I worked for was in dire financial trouble. I am not a charity case. I am not expecting anybody to pay for my drinks, look after me, or help me with my rent and bills, so you don't need to retreat or head for the hills. I'm not about to emotionally implode either so no need to avert your eyes away from me.
Oh, and if one more person says, "Awww, have you been looking? What are you looking for? You'll find something soon" I'm going to stick my finger down my throat and vomit on them. It has only been a week! Making me feel as if I should be feeling like a steaming hot piece of shit only makes you look ridiculous in my eyes. I have a caring family, who lives nearby and an awesome true blue so if I need to vent or need help with anything, I'm all set. Attempts at helping me and then questioning whether I know what exactly I want to do with my life is nothing short of condescending and rude. It's akin to kicking a person when they've stumbled and then holding your food against their throat while they're struggling to get up and dust themselves off to fight back. I know how this process works. You want to help me? Offer to provide me with a reference like other level-headed folks have already done. Treat me as you once did when I was employed. If you run across something you THINK I'd or would be a good fit... go ahead and forward it, but don't make it your personal mission to be my career counselor like I'm wayward and pathetic. It may be hard for some folks to wrap their mind around the fact that I'm doing great and that I am actually pounding the pavement, but that is my reality. I'm sorry if you haven't grasped that yet. And one other thing... you don't have to avoid me, because chances are I am stoked about never having to work with or interact with you again and you need to realize what climate we're living in. The folks that matter and who can appreciate how to network with me in a productive manner, have my contact information and know how to reach me (this includes those who want to hang out and have a great time as well). And to those who don't know how exactly to interact with me anymore... if I need your help or advice... I'll offer it to YOU.
That is all.

April 30, 2009

Bus Tales: Kindly Shut The Hell Up

Dear Ranting Woman on the 7:55 AM Farmington Ave/Downtown Bus:
Every morning, regardless of whether I want to hear it or not, when I board the bus I can always count on you to go off on some random, loud tirade about any number of topics. None of the dots seem to connect, no one pays attention or responds to you, but you sit there... loud and pretentious with your raggedy, discount bin Beauty Max wig on... hootin' and hollerin' about the minutia. Eyes bugged, mouth twisted as you "hmph" and "tsk" about welfare recipients, how you don't go to work to pay for lazy women who push out "baby after baby", what a great job you think former jailbird Governor John Rowland did implementing whichever program he deemed necessary, so forth and so on. What the hell are you on about lady???
Its barely 8AM in the morning! Many of us are caffeine deprived, harried from rushing out the front door, and chomping at the bit to get to work or to the nearest Starbucks so we can get some delicious, robust java in our systems. We are mentally trying to prepare ourselves for the busy workday ahead of us, but we can't concentrate on our thoughts because you're flapping your gob nonstop. You sit there with a book open on your lap, but never really focusing on its contents, as you run your pie hole about a bunch of trivial B.S. that none of us want to hear, so early in the morning. The banality of your ranting makes me feel uneasy, not to mention it irritates the hell out of everyone else. I saw that man sitting next to you, giving you the side-eye a few mornings ago. He couldn't scramble off of the bus fast enough, when it was his turn to get off. And what about the two women trying to carry on a convo betwixt and between one another, with their indoor voices? You just kept talking over them with your loud, obnoxious, deep monotone. A succession of doo-doo on top of stupidity. Interrupting them. They finally gave up and sat quietly for the remainder of the bus ride, their mouths in tight lines!
Two A.M.s ago, imagine my despair and annoyance when I couldn't untangle my effing ear plugs so I could drown you out with my music! This morning however, I made quick work of detangling and plugging in prior to the bus's arrival. I was ready for you! Lo and behold, as soon as I boarded, you started running your mouth and wagging your be-wigged head, talking about (to no one in particular): "I gotta try to put mahself in a good mood!! Gotta see if I can get in a GOOD MOOD this mornin'!" Lady PLEASE! My fingers could not push the volume button up quick enough to drown out your hot garbage. Also, riddle me this: Why sit there with a damn book open on your lap, if you have no intention of sitting quietly and reading, til your damn stop comes up?? Do you wake up in the morn, look at your dry, haggard reflection, and wonder aloud, "I need to figga out how I'm gon' annoy and disturb the bus passengers taday? What can I ramble on loudly about... Hm, let me see-eee" ???? Methinks you do.
Listen, shut the HELL up, because everytime you go proselytizing and preaching about whatever it is you deem necessary to yell about, you effing put ME in a bad mood, and I have to re-route and reshuffle my own thoughts prior to my arrival at work. I pity the fool co-worker who has be within earshot of your nonsense, because I'm sure your fuckery spills over off the bus and within the confines of your place of employment.
Shut it!
Thanks
xoxo
Coffey

April 26, 2009

Brilliant!

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.

December 06, 2008

Gene's Coffee

Overheard Friday morning, while I was standing in line at Dunkin Donuts for breakfast and coffee...
Random, middle-aged White woman (standing in front of me, in line, talking to an older white man standing next to her): Gene asked me to get his coffee for him, I forgot to ask him how he takes it.
Random woman yells across at someone standing a few feet away, to my left.
Random woman: I am picking up a coffee for Gene! I forgot to ask him how he takes it! Do you know how he drinks his coffee?!
Man's voice yells: He takes it just like he takes his women! Black! The woman grows silent, and faces forward.
I smirked and frowned at the same time. I refused to turn to see where it came from, however. I felt like me snapping my head to the left was almost expected. I didn't feed into it.

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.

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!

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.

December 23, 2007

@!*!!

I blog alot about trying to slay some of my personal demons... but I honestly feel like up against a real, literal one that has decided to use my nose, ears, and head as its own personal condo!
I'm still in the throes of this massive sinus/head cold I have! I'm no stranger to sinus issues. In fact, I may just have a deviated septum (deviated septum = Hollywood actresses' new excuse to get rhinoplasty. P.S. What the hell is a deviated septum??). Anyway, self-diagnoses aside, methinks this is the worst sinus cold I've had in a long time! My head, nose, and ears are on effing fire! It's very uncomfortable, I haven't slept in about two days, I've thrown every thing I've had at it! We're talking heavy artillery! I was making progress yesterday. Everything started to clear out. I was in good spirits (figuratively and beverage wise), I could breathe freely, and I was relieved. This early morning (we're talking 3AM) I woke up, feeling like someone had poured acid in my nostrils as I slept. Now I can't breathe or taste (VERY unfortunate), my eyes are running, my gums are sore, I can't stop sneezing, and I'm very discombobulated. I'm typing slowly in an effort to cut down on grammatical erros and to formulate intelligible sentences here. We're talking THAT discombobulated. In fact, I'm so out of touch with reality that I actually sat there and watched Danielle Steele's Star on the tele. The WHOLE movie! While inside, I asked myself "why?" over and over again.
Ugh. Yes, I'm a whinger when I'm ill only because I don't get colds very often! But seriously, this is some serious bidness. It's like the demon was being pushed out of my system and on the way to the exit (blown out on a Kleenex basically) it caught hold of some rung or ledge, and is holding on for dear life... sharp nails and all. I just drank some hot miso soup for breakfast and downed some mango nectar (which has vitamin C). My goal is to have this monster slain by or before Tuesday!

Wish me luck. Im gonna go lay down and do some more whining.

UPDATE: The horrible force that has me feeling like a steaming pile of dog dookey, is called Sinusitis. Oh joy! "Nose irrigation" with a saline solution is recommended. Mine isn't particularly acute, so I gots it covered. Just sprayed some saline up the ol' nostrils. And I must say, it offered a bit of a reprieve from the intense inflammation.

November 26, 2007

Shut up and Drive

Last Tuesday evening, at the last minute, I decided to take a cab to my mother's house. Evening cab rides tend to be a little more tedious for me than those ridden during the A.M. hours.
The crazy, dysfunctional, trashy, lecherous, or geographically challenged drivers always shuttle me to my destination during the witching hour. And such was the case that night. He went on a looong diatribe about how he kicked weed, ciggies, and the sauce a looong time ago at his mother's urging. "I'm in my mid forties now," he said with a slight accent.
"I used to smoke weed aaaaaalll the time and drink a 6 pack every night. Then my mother said I needed to stop doing that. I did a lot of that in my twenties. When I was like 27 or 28. Now I haven't done that for 10 years. I don't drink at all"
"Oh" I said with dry enthusiasm as I stared out at the frigid inkiness. Considering he said he was in his mid forties, the math seemed a bit off, but whatever. I'm guessing he had a toke or a nip between his late twenties, mid thirties somewhere. In any event, I glimpsed his profile in the dark cab, noting a flash of yellow eye white thanks to a little bit of light streaming in off the slick street...
"She told me that sometimes I just need to listen to her. And I did. You know what else I did?"
I pretended not to hear the question, so I didn't answer... wrapped up in my own thoughts and need to get back on track. "You know what else I did?" he asked again. I sighed, "What?" I managed, dryly.
"I stopped hanging out with the old friends. I discovered they weren't my friends, because when I stopped smoking and drinking, they didn't want to talk to me anymore."
"Oh" I said. "That's good. Um, that you dropped your friends." I managed, rolling my eyes ... hidden by the shadows in the backseat.
"Do you drink?" Wanting the anti-vice proselytizing to end, I said with mock enthusiasm "Yup! Sometimes!" wishing for a flask filled with something potent to burn my chest, at that moment.
"I don't mind if people drink sometimes and wanna smoke. But I don't do it anymore."
"Oh" I said... dry.
"Do you smoke weed?" "I don't do drugs." I replied.
"Oh, that's good!"
"Are you cold?"
*sigh* "No. I'm fine."
"Oh, you're a real woman! Real women don't get cold!"
no answer... I merely jerked my shoulders in a careless and tight shrug.
"How do I keep from getting cold?" "What?" I asked, distracted and annoyed.
"How do I keep from getting cold? I'm still cold. And I am getting sick too."
*sigh* "Perhaps you should dress in layers and try wearing gloves. I dunno." I answered, spying his exposed hands on the wheel. I turned my gaze back toward the window, scowling. Once again annoyed at his intrusion into my Cabbies-should-be silent-and sans mindless-chatter-so-the- passenger-can think-time.
"So yes, I think it's good that you don't smoke weed. I think it looks horrible when a woman smokes. To see a woman rolling a joint or smoking a cigarette makes me think she is trash. And I wouldn't want her to be my girlfriend. I don't think it's appropriate for women to roll a joint. Do you agree?"
"It's not my place to be dictatorial to people. I think it looks tacky seeing anybody rolling spliffs." I opined.
"No" he said, "I'm not preaching, but it looks sooo tacky for a woman to be rolling a joint! Don't you agree? I don't wanna be with a woman like that."
*No answer* Shoulders jerk with a tight shrug once again.
"How do I find happiness?"
"Wha-at?!" I asked... my eyes darting over in his direction. Perplexed by this rather Special Ed-ish question.
"How can I be happy?"
I considered suggesting that he get back on the junk. Along with all the other mind altering vices he claimed to've given up, because he was being a reeeal drag during this cab ride. But instead I just shrugged and said, "I don't know. That's up to you to discover on your own."
"I have money. A place to live. A job. But I still can't figure out how to be happy."
"Drink harder booze, chain smoke, and pop anti-depressants" was riiight on the tip of my tongue. But I just shrugged.
"Maybe I could go on vacation. Take a vacation for like two weeks."
"Yup, sounds great. Umm, can you take a left here please."
And so he did. I perked up, glad that our rap session was coming to an end. "Thank you very much" I said as I handed him the fare.
"Thank you. It was nice talking to you." he said.
"Um hm." I answered, as I scrambled to get out of the car quick, fast, and in a hurry. "Take your time" he suggested. I got out with fervor.
"Byyyye" I waved as I ran up the wet driveway, afraid of being engaged again.

November 13, 2007

Rat Race

I can openly say (now) that I've been pounding the pavement for the past several months, job interviewing, hunting, fielding phone calls, mailing out resumes, receiving notices confirming receipt of my resume, wash, rinse and then repeat. Needless to say, the whole process is frustrating. It's the pits! Particularly when you're so close. Sooooo very close to being hired only to be told "Ohhh.... well you're too overqualified" or "We can't move forward with an offer for another two months. Sorry for putting you through SEVERAL INTERVIEWS AND PHONING EVERY LAST ONE OF REFERENCES, AND DOING THAT BACKGROUND CHECK ON YOU!! Please bear with us..." Notwithstanding the fact that you've answered all of their redundant (and sometimes condescending and ridiculous) questions, and have been more than accommodating in providing them with everything they need to move forward with an offer, including making yourself available at a moment's notice for another interview. I feel like a salesperson, going door to door selling your wares. One or two people invite you in. Let you sit down and go through your whole spiel. They nod. They ask several questions. They seem interested. They breathe in as if they're about to say, "I'm sold! I'll take two!" Only to change their minds and say, "Ohhh. I'm sorry. I'm not interested." Argh! Frustrating. Sometimes I wonder if those doing the interviewing, remember what it was like when they were practically groveling for their jobs... I need a drink.
The movie clip is from the film, Fear and Trembling, based on Amelie Nothomb's novel Stupeur et Tremblement.

October 31, 2007

Keeping a List

This past week coupled with this present week has been rather interesting, to say the least. For 3 consecutive days in a row, I've slept under a full moon... literally hovering o'er my head, just outside my window, In all its resplendent glory. I don't know if my moon has anything to do with the strange haps, but I'm convinced that I'm the only one who proceeds through life as if I'm an unwilling cast member in some Twilight Zone episode. Let's explore this short (but indelible) diary of occurrences. Shall we? Oh let's!
Saturday, 5:15PM:
As I was walking from the bus stop in front of Bushnell Park, en route to my apartment building a couple of blocks away, a shuttle driver pulls over and implores me to hop on for a free ride. I told him I was only mere inches away from my building, but he insisted. He said he wanted to "kidnap" me, so I rode the loop downtown with him. During the course of the ride, he suggested that I take some of the brochures from off the dash to read about the latest and greatest the city was offering. I obliged him, fully aware of his motivation. I stood up quickly, snatched some literature up, and sat down just as quickly. Seconds later, Driver would remark, "I just wanted you to stand up, so I can look," to which I remarked dryly, "I know. I figured I'd humor you, and let you get a quick peek. " Embarrassed and surprised by my response, he chuckled and said nothing more.
Monday, mid-Afternoon:
The Fire Marshall is scheduled to come test the museum's fire alarm system. It's difficult for him to focus on the matter at hand, because he finds my scent alluring. So alluring in fact, that he keeps sidling next to me and sniffing me. Deep inhalations of breath. While the few who notice, stand by, looking flummoxed by his behavior. He suggests that I work behind a cage, because men such as himself, are likely to pounce on me for smelling so good. I shrug indifferently. And manage a tight smile... or was it a grimace? His task complete, the Fire Marshall heads out and on his way. But not before walking over to where I'm working for one last, hearty sniiiiiiiiifffffff.
Wednesday, 9:15 AM, This Hallow's Eve:
As I'm standing at the bus stop, a white man (attractive and rather sane looking) around my age walks by me, towards the Holiday Inn Express... on his cell phone. Not finding what or who he seems to be looking for, he heads back in the opposite direction from whence he came but not before stopping and telling me how much he likes my shoes. In fact, the conversation went as follows ...
  • Perv: Hi, I really like your shoes. They're so hot.
  • Me (hiding behind large, dark shades): Thanks
  • Perv: They're smokin' Hot. They're so sexy. Listen, I'm sorta into shoes. Well... I have a bit of a shoe fetish.
  • Me: Do you, now?
  • Perv: Yes. Um, actually, can I take a picture of your shoes. They look so hot.
  • Me: No.
  • Perv: Please? I really like them. They look so hot on you. I would love to take a picture of them.
  • Me (considering an asking price): Umm. No.
  • Perv: Okay. Sorry to bother you. Have a great day. Bye!
Until this morning, I honestly didn't think my existence and interaction with the male populace could get any stranger. ...

October 25, 2007

Sucio!

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
Coffey

October 20, 2007

All day Friday, it rained cats and dogs. The humidity was high and the pressure on my chest and lungs was unbearable. I began to wheeze a little bit. There were intermittent moments of heavy down pours and then simple sprinkling with occasional misting. The day was gray and foggy. My morning and afternoon were relatively low key. A simple day off complete with a meeting followed by a quick stop home to change clothes, library visit to drop off DVDs and check email, and then a leisurely time spent in my favorite coffee house reading. The was evening stifling and caliginous. I got no reprieve from the humid air. And then all HELL broke loose! I'm alive to tell the tale, as vague as it may be here ...

October 12, 2007

Why?

I've been busy trying to improve the quality of my life. Unfortunately this process doesn't involve marathon sex, fruity (but potent) cocktails adorned with fruit, Oxycontin, yachts docked on the Mediterranean, whippits, or having acquired a wealthy sugar daddy. In any event, in the midst of all this business I've noticed a few things that have left me-- well-- flummoxed. Firstly, while standing in my small kitchenette sipping a cup of coffee, I noticed the pot's instructions warned against holding the coffee maker's glass carafe over someone's head. Umm, is this a serious and common occurrence amongst coffee pot owners? Do people usually deliver a swift blow to the head, knocking their loved ones, cheating husbands, and philandering boyfriends unconscious? Sure offers another alternative to dumping a pot of hot grits on someone's lap. Whilst on the bus recently, I also noticed a small baby store in the heart of the inner city, called Half on a Baby. I'm speechless. R. Kelly aficionados will understand my dismay.

September 08, 2007

Re-birth of a Nation

"the greatest americans have not been born yet they are waiting patiently for the past to die. please give blood" -Saul Williams
During the summer of August 9, 2006 in Sound Beach on Long Island, a heated confrontation at a party- (where he was accused of threatening to rape a young white girl some months prior to the summer celebration)- prompted Aaron White, a 19 year old Black teenager to leave sans argument, after it was demanded that he do so. On his way home (nearby Miller Place, a predominantly white community), Aaron exchanged a series of angry cell phone calls with 17 year old Daniel Cicciaro, who alerted Aaron White that he was coming to his home. Drunk, Mr. Cicciaro with four of his friends in tow (all white), proceeded on with the threat of their presence. All five angry teenagers pulled up in front of the Whites' residence in two cars shortly after 11pm and were greeted by Aaron White and his father, John White via the garage. Father and son felt threatened enough to arm themselves for the impending showdown. Yelling ensued, in which Cicciaro and friends allegedly hurled racial epithets and refused to leave. At some point during the melee, Mr. White (father) shoots Daniel Cicciaro in the face with an antique handgun he inherited from his own grandfather. Daniel Cicciaro is felled by the gunshot, and is announced dead upon arrival to the emergency room. John White- who moved his family to their dream home on the North Shore in 2004- is described as a harding working "upstanding citizen" with no prior police record and who has never committed a crime in his life. He expressed deep regret and sorrow toward the Cicciaro family, claiming the incident was an "accident' and that he never meant to shoot the young man. That his only intent was to protect his family and scare his son's pursuers away from his home. John White was charged with manslaughter and criminal weapon possession. Internet users would then blow online news forums up with hateful racial epithets upon hearing the father's fate. Including cries for John White to be hung from a tree. While the outcome of the altercation is tragic, indeed. Can one blame John White for protecting his family and his son? The teens were unarmed, yes. But alcohol, bravado, hate speech, anger... Perhaps Daniel would be alive today, if he and his friends hadn't tried to recreate some vigilante style style of revenge. It's purported that during the 911 call and the race to get young Daniel to the hospital, his friends were overheard (through the phone) spouting off even more contemptuous race rhetoric. ...
Miles away, in Jena, Louisiana racial tensions are also brewing. Reaching their peak on August 31, 2006 after a black male freshman asks the Jena High School principal if he could sit under the shade of the "white tree" (where most of the white students usually convened amongst themselves). The principal suggested that students could sit wherever they wanted to. Three white students disagreed however, because the next morning three nooses were found hanging from that very same tree. The three students were later found to be guilty of the infraction and were up for expulsion... which the school board and superintendent promptly overruled. The superintendent would later trivialize the threat as a joke, as opposed to a threat against Black students' sensibilities. The school administration would later fail to report the incident to the police or the FBI (such brazen incidents can and should be reported as a Hate Crime). The decision and subsequent indifference would cause racial animus to reach a fever pitch. A series of disagreements, racially charged fights, and arson would soon occur over the course of three months. Black students would continue to grow disenchanted and slighted by the school's administration and local law officials. These disagreements would eventually culminate in the assault of a 17 year old white student named Justin Barker, perpetrated by 6 Black Jena High School students: Robert Bailey, Mychal Bell, Carwin Jones, Bryant Purvis, Theo Shaw, and an unidentified minor. Barker allegedly hurled racial epithets, a charge his family denies. Barker was taken to the hospital and treated for a concussion, bruising, and various other injuries and released two hours later, in time for a ring ceremony. The Jena Six, however were arrested and charged with aggravated assault. The overzealous District Attorney would then decide to increase the charge to attempted second degree murder which could result in the defendants being imprisoned past age 50. This blow prompted outrage from the Black residents of Jena, because the charges were disproportionate to the crime. On June 26, Bell's sentence would be reduced to aggravated second-degree battery and conspiracy to commit aggravated second-degree battery. According to my research, a deadly weapon would've needed to be used, to warrant being charged with such. The DA argued that Mychal Bell's tennis shoes he wore during the day of the assault and kicked Barker with, were deadly weapons. The all white jury agreed. The other defendants' charges would eventually be reduced, leaving Mychal Bell to remain in jail, facing 22 years in prison. All are waiting for their day in court, which will happen later this month. So many conflicting accounts and mishandling of this case. The public outcry and online groups supporting the Jena Six are warranted. The case has garnered national attention and has drawn the ire and support of black leaders and organizations. Jena's Black community are skeptical that the boys will receive a fair trial. I mean after all, their wariness is justified considering the glaring segregation and aloof attitudes toward the "noose" incident. The Jena Six should indeed pay if they assaulted Justin Barker. But they should pay with a sentence that matches the crime. Most murderers and repeat sexual molesters get off with with less time. How much responsibility do Jena High School administrators bear, by deciding not to address the root cause of the issue to begin with? They, in essence, instigated a terrible situation by choosing not acknowledge it. A prank is stealing the school mascot or T.P.ing the halls. Hanging nooses, racially charged graffiti, and the like are not mere pranks. It's hateful propaganda that has no place in the school system or anyplace else... not in this day and age. It's frustrating that in 2007, issues of race still abound. Technology, the current cult of personalities, media, and celebrity help exacerbate hateful language and inane rhetoric. The structure of most institutions and a dubious this White House administration continue to disadvantage many ethnic groups by fanning the flames of xenophobia, racial profiling, and not accepting that we're in the midst of the 21st century! A multicultural era, where we should be evolved by now. Instead, we're slowly regressing. Most of us are still scratching our heads over the outcome of Hurricane Katrina. As much as I'd like to think we'll reach some sort of resolution on race matters, the fact is, I don't think there will ever be a workable medium. Period. That would require cooperation from the powers that be. That would require those same powers that be, to relinquish some semblance of control by distributing justice and equality fairly and accordingly. Fat chance of that ever happening. Divide and then conquer. The most antiquated (and seemingly effective) method in the book. ... Why do hate and growing racial disparities still continue thrive and fester? The Jena Six deserve a fair trial plain and simple, and are being railroaded. P.S. I'm dying to hear Ann Coulter and Bill O'Reilly weigh-in on the Jena Six situation, if they haven't already.

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