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

February 12, 2010

Hathor Take The Wheel

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

Read more about Mayer-gate 2010---

July 23, 2009

Bus Tales: Buttcheek Touches Seat


Dearest Blog Diary:
Wednesday was a warm day. While most might say it was beautiful outside, considering all of the rain we've had in Hartford, CT, I found it hot and hazy in most areas in the city. Cities tend to be especially steamy during lazy summer days. I mean, public transportation is a hot bed for errant body odor and various other unpleasantries I want no parts of. What can one do? Nothing... and so I'm usually at peace as I'm sitting there inhaling short spurts of stifling air every so often, between holding my breath for the 10 minute ride.
Downtown, on a connecting bus en route to my mother's house is where I would be lightly slapped in the face by true elegance and sophistication. Two troglodytes in love and smug about it. Initially, as they held one another in a tight embrace (attached like a carbuncle on someone's ass), as they boarded the bus, I had difficultly making out which was male, and which was female. Upon further inspection, I determined the troll in the backwards, bedazzled NY Yankees cap was indeed a he and the the other one with its hair gelled down tightly on its forehead, over its thick eyebrows, and around its ears like a swim cap and rubbing its swelling (pregnant?) belly was a she. Duly noted. They sat tight against one another. She held on for dear life, seductively rubbing the sequins on his cap as she massaged the back of his head. She looked around the bus, whispered in his ear, he quickly scanned his closest surroundings and they both laughed. Are they making fun of people? What nerve!
Eyes, masked behind large dark shades as I sat in the back- (don't Rosa Parks me, it was crowded!)- I watched them. He fidgeted a lot in his seat, slouched, and also wore dark shades. She continued to rub, knead, and whisper while I struggled to hold my coffee down, when I noticed the young woman's face sitting directly across from them and two seats in front of me. I snapped out of my stupefaction and followed her disgusted gaze down towards the man's baggy jeans. They were sagging around his bottom. Now growing up and living in an urban area, I'm familiar with this fashion trend, most commonly associated with young teenaged boys, who have a love affair with showing off their underwear however, what I saw... what would assault these brown, almond shaped eyes were not the man's underwear... oh noooo! What I spied was the brown of his buttcheek. The fact that he was commando wasn't the most vile development, but the fact that his naked butt was making contact with the seat was! Marring an already germ filled communal vehicle even further, where someone else would sit shortly after his departure... with his butt juices.
Blog diary, I honestly don't know what else to say beyond this point, so I'll just end by saying I didn't think summer could get anymore gutterbutt. What did I do to deserve that?
That is all.

April 22, 2009

I'm Thirsty...

... and I've been strongly advised to boil the tap water before I drink it. Well, I did and it isn't cold yet!
And to think of all of the hundreds of times I joked to my bottled water guzzling friends, "What's the point? We live in America. The water is fine!"
Now, they say that rotifers and copepods aren't harmful, but I'm not willing to risk the risk... so I'll stick to this here gin... until my boiled water cools down.

January 13, 2008

Moooooaaaaan...

So, I completed the first full week at my new job. The people are personable, encouraging, and extremely helpful, and I look forward to working with them and actually moving forward and growing, after an extended period of time. Morale seems to be positive, no one comes in with pinched looks on their faces, and it's good to be someplace where there's potential to move up and learn, and the people aren't possessive, petty, rude, or conniving and actually foster a healthy work environment. Moreover and most importantly, I have my own workspace and have furnished it with two plants and a candy jar filled with sweet treats. It has been busy and there's plenty for me to do. I definitely hit the ground running. They showed no mercy and I quickly learned how to get into the swing of things. Fast paced is always good. On a stank note, I celebrated the completion of that week with a nasty case of food poisoning. Oh yes. I spent the bulk of my weekend vomming out the days' contents from my stomach, feeling hot & feverish, and sweating. I haven't eaten since Friday. I've only had water. My older sister made me some broth with brown rice. So in essence, there is no estrangement. It involves too much hard work and energy and I'm just too lazy to exert that much time and effort into something petty, and risk scattering my forces. I tried, but only lasted a few days. So eff it. Best to fight (like we frequently do) and move the eff on. I've two sisters and don't relish being out on the ledge all by my lonesome. No matter how much and how often we get on one another's nerves. I'm going to go lie down for a spell longer because while the worst of my ailment has subsided, there is still some gurgling and dull cramps in the pit of my stomach. Pardon me for saying this at the risk of speaking ill of a massive chain, but I think I shan't EVER eat another donut or drink any coffee from Dunkin Donuts ever again.

November 10, 2007

The Disintegration of Sexy Times

I've always been indifferent toward porn. It has never prompted any deep desire in me, during my precocious pre and late teen years to watch out of curiosity, amid all the salacious buzz. Sneaking a peek at the erotica on Cinemax after 11pm, finding and then reading Jackie Collins's titillating plots, Erica Jong's Fear of Flying, and the illustrated educative wonderment of The Joy of Sex was it for me. I didn't watch hardcore porn until I was in college... with my best friend. We watched out of sheer boredom. We walked down to the town's local video store and picked something from the late seventies/early eighties, much to the cashier's amusement. It featured an interracial raunch fest. Basic man on woman boning. Nothing too shocking or sexy and void of anything particularly depraved and disgusting. The usual cheesy fare, in fact. Neither of us found the antics sexy or arousing. We laughed raucously and critiqued the clownery of it all. Pure comedy. We decided perhaps we were too intellectual and snotty to get it. Other then a porn clip online here and a legitimate art house flick there- (most recently the movie Short Bus, which featured unsimulated sex)- it hasn't interested or enticed me since. Despite the rash of filmed celebrity sexploits being "leaked" online. Over the years... after having watched and read a great deal of "behind the scenes" documentary style films and books, I've came to the conclusion that porn is not erotic, is silly, quite frankly, ridiculous. Most of the pornographic material being released is filmed and produced by men. Men and their distorted visions of how women should look, what ridiculous sexual positions we should be bent in, and how we should act. Despite rumblings to the contrary, I doubt any of the women acting in these films have any actual orgasms. Hair flinging, head whipping, and high pitched 'O' and fuck yeaaah sounds, I'm sorry but the orgasm is fake. All in all, it's harmless fun for the lonely, lecherous, and in some cases... the socially inept. I've never been one of the protesters screaming for the industry to be banned. That being said, a lot has changed with the porn industry. The ever increasing advances in technology, the internet, video cameras, webcams, and the like have made porn more accessible and more achievable for aspiring porn mongers. Any amateur can film their sexual exploits and upload them onto Xtube or Pornotube with relative ease. In turn, the industry has become a virtual free for all. College fraternity houses host parties where group sex and orgies abound, while their peers (men and women spectators) stand off to the side, cheering the guerrilla fuckfests... clutching beers, fists pumping in the air. All in front of the camera and easy to view over the internet. These "gonzo" type films have raised the stakes... and the stakes have become even more disturbing and depraved in their delivery. The acts women subject themselves too is enough to make the most hardened, difficult to offend person cringe. And it takes a lot to make me want to gag and then vomit in my mouth or turn away with disgust. Some of it is downright perplexing. Such as the compelling documentary Sex: The Annabel Chong Story, which documents- Grace Quek's (Annabel is her porn name)- rise, exploitation, and eventual retirement from the porn industry. Annabel allegedly pioneered the whole "gang bang" trend in the industry. Nothing was too graphic or hardcore for Annabel. She performed a diverse array of hardcore sex acts, including "triple penetration." Annabel's motives for starring in The World's Biggest Gangbang were troubling as the documentary delved into her past. Needless to say, this current wave of pornography breeds misogyny and encourages violence toward women. Spat on, slapped, pissed and defecated on, penetrated and fisted in every orifice by several different men at once... It's sickening. And it's distressing. Particularly the gonzo films featuring Black, Brazilian, and Latino women. Men take trips to urban areas (usually scouting in a van of some sort) in search of "Black ghetto sluts" willing to oil up, shake, and then spread their cheeks in a seedy looking hotel room, on film. The perpetuation of sexual stereotypes frustrate the hell out of me. Two steps lower and more debased than the garbage shown in rap videos. And those in and of themselves are bad. I'm open and believe in people having the right to engage in whatever consensual sexual act they desire... but some of this stuff is troubling, notwithstanding my liberal stance. And it's not behind closed door. I think challenging what's wrong with the porn industry as it depicts itself today, does not a prude or anti-sex type make. I do believe there's something wrong with people who don't challenge this sort of behavior, the women who willingly subject themselves to this sort of humiliation, and the men who encourage them to do it or who are sitting at home with their hand down their boxers watching it and then thinking it's okay to go out and mistreat women, outside the realm of that business. In fact, I'll go as far as to say that the behavior in these gritty porn movies- the degradation, the abuse, the spitting, skull f*cking, quadruple penetration, crude talk, choking etc. are anti-sex. Here's a small snippet from Robert Jensen's book, Getting Off:

It hurts to know that no matter who you are as a woman you can be reduced to a thing to be penetrated, and that men will buy movies about that, and that in many of those movies your humiliation will be the central theme. It hurts to know that so much of the pornography that men are buying fuses sexual desire with cruelty.

It hurts women, and men like it, and it hurts just to know that.

Donkey punched, penises rammed down their throats until they puke, heads dunked in toilet bowls while they're being reamed from behind, faces saturated with semen and pee, wanting to jizz on a woman's face... Is this the type of sexual interaction men are craving to have with women?? Do you all secretly fantasize about making some woman vomit, while you force your penis down her throat? If so perhaps I should get my delicates stitched closed and look into becoming a nun.
Read a more substantial excerpt from Jensen's book here.
Also read this Money Shot entry, from October 29 blogged by Girl with a One Track Mind.

September 12, 2007

I Dig

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

August 03, 2007

Bus Tales: The Crazy

Yesterday was a scorcher. It was one of those hot days that made you sweat even if you were standing still. The concept of there being shade was nonexistent. There was no escape from the heat. I swear that my blinking made beads of sweat form on my forehead. So I tried to do it from behind my large sunglasses sporadically, as I hate to sweat. One interesting thing I noticed is that oppressive heat tends to bring what I refer to as The Crazy out in full force. It's like night of the living dead. Walking corpses trudging down the street with glazed-crazed looks in their eyes.
Several years ago, while en route to a gallery exhibition, a friend's car broke down in a questionable neighborhood. That day stands out in my mind as if it happened only yesterday because it was in the middle of the afternoon, and it felt as if it was a thousand degrees. I remember having to remove my watch because any thing that made contact with my sweaty skin made the heat that much more unbearable. We sat there for almost two hours, after having pushed that heap of junk over to the side of the curb (it broke down smack dab in the middle of the street, at a green light). We sat, and we sat, and we sweated, and sat. No air conditioner, no cold beverages. Just the windows rolled down, to no avail because there was no wind to speak of. Suddenly a shirtless man ran down the street, right by the car, waving a rather large knife in the air. Yelling and cursing. At first I thought the heat was making me hallucinate but alas, my mind was not playing tricks on me. I remember sweat trickling, glistening down his brown back as he ran like a crazed lunatic, ready to cut a mofo. Needless to say, we quickly rolled the windows up in that hot car, locked the doors, hunkered down with alarm and fear and with 'O' mouths, we said a silent prayer to ourselves. After having mouthed a collective "What the EFF??" Anyway, her parents finally came and rescued us in an air conditioned car. We never made it to that exhibit. I did go home and write a poem about it though.
So yes. yesterday it was that kind of crazy inducing heat. I boarded the bus and it was a relatively quiet ride, until this visibly drunk (or drugged up?) man boarded from a stop on Albany Avenue... stumbling and full of The Crazy. See, people afflicted with The Crazy always seem to single me out at some point during one of their spells. So I hastily put my ear plugs in and turned up the ol' MP3 player (not that that ever helps). He ranted and raved. Stumbled down the aisle, yelling for "change for a dollar!" He made his way to the back. Because I hate myself, I paused my MP3 player to listen and heard him slurring his way through some incoherent anecdote to some young girl in the back. Something having to do with a White woman being on her cell phone and her legs splayed... wide open. I think I heard him refer to the white woman by some unsavory name. The young girl in the back chuckled nervously, in that "please go awaaaaay" fashion. Unfortunately he stumbled his way back up towards the front and continued ranting. I rolled my eyes, silently hoping he wouldn't say anything to me. There was a young man about 19 or 20 years old, with cornrowed hair sitting next to me... sort of perpendicular actually. He looked annoyed as well. Man afflicted with The Crazy sat directly across from Cornrows. I forgot to mention that I had a large Panera Bread bag sitting next to me in the seat. I heard Man Afflicted yell in my direction: "YOU NEED HELP WIT' DAT BAG!!!" I ignored him and turned the music up louder. "HEY! EXCUUUSE ME. HEY! I SAAAAAID, DO YOU NEED HELP WIT DAT BAG!!!" I continued to ignore him, and stare out the window. Out of my peripheral view, I saw him lean closer... "NO!" I said quickly and turned away. "WHY?? You don't need help?? FINE THEN. Who CARES" and he proceeded to try to cuss me out, but his poisoned brain matter made his thoughts disjointed. His coded language indecipherable. "YOU CAN DO WHAT'CHU WANT!!!" He continued. Just then, Cornrows muttered, "You need to leave that junk alone and stop bothering people." "What?!" Man afflicted challenged. A bit taken aback. "I said, leave that junk alone" Cornrows repeated. "Maaan, I ain't oon no junk. I was just trying to be nice and ask her if she needed help with her bag! I ain't on no junk! She can go 'head. I don't care!" "Man, shut up" Cornrows said. Man afflicted started muttering something about Louis Farrakhan. *sigh* Who knows? Who cares? Why me? Luckily my stop came up shortly thereafter. But I do know that Cornrows' verbal smite towards Man Afflicted with The Crazy was a welcome reprieve.

May 25, 2007

Nope

This morning, I was running late and wasn't in the mood for the type of condescension and patronizing tone only a a passive-aggressive manager, on a power trip can administer. I decided to dip into the chump change sitting in my checking account, and withdraw a few bucks to catch a cab. I walked across the street to the train station, in search of one. I saw a group of them, hovered over a game of checkers right in front of the station, where they all line up, at the ready for passengers. When I approached, they all looked up, and one of them said, "Hello gorgeous!" in that nasty, old man/dirty daddy way. I muttered good morning, between sips of iced coffee. Another asked, "You need a ride?" "Yes, thank you" I said. I recognized him as a driver from before, and he recognized me because he knew exactly where I was headed. "The museum, right?" he asked. I nodded, as confirmation. A third driver held the door open for me, as I climbed in. I nodded and smiled to show my gratitude for his chivalry. The back of my neck was already warm from the hot, 87 degree weather. I rolled down the window for a much needed breeze. Dirty Daddy asked my driver if he could ride along. Driver cackled and suggested that he ask me for my permission. Dirty Daddy stuck his head in, and said "Can I come ride along with you?" "Why?" I asked. And then I said matter-of-factly, "nope" before he could answer and then proceeded to roll the window up on him. Right before the driver pulled off, Dirty Daddy tapped on my window... when I turned my head to face him, he pursed his lips and blew me a skeevy kiss. "Get me out of here." I asked my driver, annoyed and disgusted. "Sure!" he said, as he laughed and guffawed at his colleague's lame attempt at picking up a young woman. "Don't mind him," he said... "He's crazy and needs a wife." I shrugged indifferently, to show that I was unruffled.
To Dirty Daddy: Please don't ever do that again. It wasn't sexy, and you almost made me throw up my Turbo Ice. Thank you. xoxo Coffey

May 16, 2007

Sucio

Dear Mr. Man (and I use Mr. and Man loosely):
Every now and again, I see you in the A.M. as I wait in front of the Holiday Inn Express downtown, for my bus to arrive. You're usually wearing a t-shirt that illustrates the fact that you're a street cleaner. Perhaps this is your chosen profession, or perhaps that's what a judge sentenced you to do for committing whichever petty crime you indulged yourself in. Either way, I appreciate the fact that you clean up the debris, ciggie butts, that you sweep away the hocked loogies on the ground, shards of glass, or what have you. I'm grateful that you're working towards keeping the city clean (even if it's something you may not have chosen to do on your own accord). I'm glad you do that, even if you slither by me lasciviously with your broom and dustpan, and croon in the slimy sounding melody: "How you doin'?" as your eyes dance up and down in all their prurient glory... Usually I pretend not to see or hear you as I hide behind a mask of dark shades and disgust. Sometimes I suck it up, choke down the bile rising in my throat, and manage to mutter some sort of terse reply to your greeting. Perhaps the last time you saw me, you mistook the slight twist of my mouth (in disdain) or the sneer for a sheepish grin because this morning, you ambled by once again, and this time you stopped... right in front of me, much to my chagrin.
" 'scuse me sweeth'a't, you know how to get rid of text messages in a cell phone?"
I stared at you, at once flummoxed and agitated... I also rubber necked past you, and noted my bus at the stop light just down the street. I considered how long it would take me to reach for my pepperspray, and any nearby police cruisers in the surrounding area in case you decided to try something stupid. I pondered all of these things, in the brief moment of space and time you asked me that ridiculous question, before sighing exasperatedly and answering "What?"
"I got a lotta text messages in my cell phone and I don't know how to delete them. You know how to do dat?"
I glared at you from behind my shades again, and then shrugged indifferently before replying
"Go to your phone's menu settings and you should be able to access the tools you need to do that."
I rubber necked over your shoulder one mo'gin to see what was taking the damn bus so long at that stop light! "Can you jus' show me, 'cuz I don't know how to and I got a lot of them" you said, as you sidled, uncomfortably close next to me and flipped open your cell phone. I stared at you incredulously and said, "ummmm, I don't think so..." Then you shoved your phone in my hand and said, "I honestly don't know how to delete them" and you moved even closer next to me, almost shoulder to shoulder... I stared up at you, annoyed by this uninvited intrusion on my personal space , your phone sitting loosely in my hand, me ready to drop it on the ground, when I noticed you staring down my effing shirt. I angrily shoved your phone back at you and moved away, the nausea and loathing working it's way back up my throat... luckily the bus I needed was making its way towards me. You? You looked slightly alarmed at my reaction... and said, "Uh, okay sweeth'a't... thanks anyway" and skulked off. I hope you didn't think I'd be impressed or happy by your behavior! Perhaps it has been a long time since you've sidled up next to a woman, perhaps my enchanting scent drew you in and made you practically dry hump my leg... in any event I don't appreciate it... and your lamer than lame tactic was pure comedy and more importantly, it wasn't cool. You were going down the right road, if you were looking to get maced.
xoxo Coffey

April 28, 2007

Bus Tales: The Tell-Tale Toofs

This past Friday, as I boarded the A3... en route to work I noticed it was more crowded than usual. Unfortunately and much to my chagrin, I had to be a standee. I turned and scanned the passengers, seeing if I could spy an empty seat... noting that a few jackasses were merely taking up seat space with their cargo. Shrugging, I decided not to bother and decided to be fine with standing. Now, I realize a lot of times when composing these particular tales, I relay just how unsavory the A.M. (and P.M. in some cases) smells are when I board the bus... the stale, wet potato chip, dank basementy, bad breath stench that swaths me in a shower of stank. Unfortunately I have a sensitive nose that's sensitive to unpleasant odors, and sniffs them out like a police pooch sniffs out hidden crack dens and marijuana gardens. Such is my woe, nothing was out of the ordinary in that regard hence, this bus tale lamentation. In any event, I pursed my lips and accepted the unpleasant wafts of b.o. for I knew I didn't have a long trip to endure. Suddenly, the bell tolled and several people got off in front of The Hartford financial/insurance company on Asylum Avenue, which left several seats free. I hurriedly made my way to a seat towards the middle, and plopped my ample behind and purse down behind a woman, wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt. Suddenly, said woman turned around... nose turned up her nose in distaste... looked at me and complained, "you smell like mint CANDY or MINT or something..." as she sniffed her dissatisfaction with my minty fresh ( and ripe for making out) breath! Startled, bemused, and annoyed, I scowled at her with my best "bitch please" look. She continued to leer at me, like she wanted me to give her an explanation as to WHY my breath smelled so minty, so early in the A.M. I pursed my lips as if to say "turn around" ... She did. I couldn't help but notice during this weird standoff that her breath wasn't so minty fresh, and I'm 110% certain I spied all of three teeth (or toofs) ... making up an macabre and incomplete grill.