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

August 21, 2009

The Sads

How exciting! I got myself a summer cold. I'd gone THIS long without getting sick and now...
It all started with the notorious sinuses. I fought it hard with all that I had at my disposal... neti pot, tea, water, and massive amounts of Vicks (which I use for virtually EVERYTHING). I even walked from downtown to my hood in the sweltering hot last night (fifteen minute trek excluding stops at crosswalks and at the local market up the street from where I live)- hoping to sweat the poison out. Oh I sweated, my pores cleansed ... but this morning I woke up feeling like some sinister, demonic thing had taken up residence in my chest and throat. That demon also made me break out into an itchy rash/hives I'm struggling HARD not to scratch... oh alright, it's the summer heat causing the rash. Oh the fight isn't over. Having a cold is just as uncomfortable in 90+ degree weather, as it is in 30 degree winter weather.
Oh this fight isn't over yet. I shall slay this demon STAT. All I wanted to was to regain my chi.

August 11, 2009

Getting On

Coffee, tea, wine, friends, me. Me, wine, coffee, he. He, she, a little poetry, family, books, and cultural activities... These things among other interests are helping me keep my sanity. These. things. are. helping. me. keep. my. SANITY.
I haven't inhaled any toxic or noxious fumes. My mind is still crystal clear. I have intermittent moments of frustration, but I'm still here. I can still hear. I'm can steal here. I have STEEL back there.
I'm rambling. But it's all incoherently connected. Thursday will find me spilling open in front of strangers, Saturday will find me a year older and ever the more wiser. Next week will find me still ducking, bobbing, and weaving as I shadow box. The week after next, I'll still be standing and tanner... my resolve stronger.
Needless to say, I've stumbled, but I'm none to worse for wear, despite those frustrating interludes. In SPITE of those frustrating interludes.
That is all.

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.

July 15, 2009

Summer Symphony...

Summer Time, and the living is easy. Fish are jumping... and the cotton is high...
Spit globs on cement, neck tattoos... Lazy, disgusting and lumbering pigeons, camel toe.
Muffin tops abound, bubbling over too tight waist bands, ... crazies unhinged, mumbling on the bus and whilst stomping down steamy city streets... menacing almost, but ignored nonetheless. The pungeant perfume of b.o. on stuffy public transportation wraps me in a tight embrace as I choke down the sick rising in my throat...
Ill fitting denim shorts digging into fat thunder thighs... as they ride, ride, riiide up betwixt and between sweaty delicates... thighs rubbing together like sticks at a camp fire... ahh Summer Time and the living is easy....
Toddlers screaming down the street as agitated mothers jerk them about, men walking down the street topless, as their carefully nourished beer F.U.P.A.'s jiggle shamelessly in the summer breeze... tees slung over their shoulders, prisoners just released from the penn trying to sell inspirational poems, begging for any monetary contribution... Fish are jumping, and the cotton is high...
Teenagers in sagging skinny jeans and fitted graphic tees, non-chalantly gliding by. Tweens cursing up a storm out of earshot of parents. Free and careless. ... Oh your daddy's rich, and your ma' is good lookin'... So hush little baby, don't you cry...
Vendors peddling fake haute couture, luxury purses, and perfume oils as the smell of fried foods and hot steamy garbage circulate and dance a slow Tango around the city's landscapes...
"How you doin's" from rubber necking dudes you've no interest in....
Jazz festivals, ice cream trucks, Italian ice, and mosquitoes.
Summer in the city has defintely arrived folks.
Lily Allen said it best in this vid... That is all.

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.

August 04, 2007

Bearded Lady

I hate body hair. I've been an avid shaver since the age of 12 and use depilatories and creams (provided they're safe, hypoallergenic, and wont skin me alive). I don't get hair on my legs but I shave the imaginary ones I know are there anyway. The only visible hair I acknowledge is the thick, coarse mass on my head. Luckily I'm not a woman who requires electrolysis, monthly bikini waxes, and who needs to shave her chin. I think my complex about body hair developed during my middle-school years.
Whilst taking a pre-pool shower before the required swim class I resented in the most violent of ways- (we had to get suited up and then rinse off, in a communal shower- any body lotions perfuming our persons, before diving in the pool, so as not to get residue in the water)- I happened to look to my immediate left at one of the more popular girls in my class, rinsing off and talking animatedly to her friends while they waited to walk with her to the swimming pool. She wasn't addressing me at all. She didn't even look in my direction but that didn't stop me from looking in hers, to listen to whatever superficial rant she was rambling on about. I hate myself terribly because I also happened to look down. In the Netherlands, I noticed she had a thick, black, coarse Chia Pet growing out the sides of her green one-piece. The beast couldn't be contained, and so it snaked it's way from each side... mocking me. I was horrified. I averted my eyes quickly and scurried to the pool. Needless to say, that experience scarred me. I rushed home right after school, found a men's Bic razor in the medicine cabinet, and shaved my delicates, arm pits, legs, you name it, I shaved it off. I shaved it off and never looked back. I shaved with passion unbridled.
Fortunately I have minimal amounts of body hair and shave the ones that sprout up a couple times a week. As far liking men with massive amounts of body hair and unruly beards, I prefer long, unkempt beards and hairy backs. That being said, I met a good male friend of mine for a drink a few days ago (his treat). My dear friend. Attractive, well dressed, with a keen fashion sense. My friend of the nice light brown skin (a result of Italy intermingling with Africa). I feel confident relaying this story because I know the likelihood of him reading it is... well... not very likely as he's not technologically savvy nor does he have access to the internet and rarely ever web surfs (knocking on wood). My dear, attractive sweet friend. Whom I've known for a spell and who I always suspected was closeted behind thick winter sweaters, coats, button downs, shoes, and summer apparel. Tucked waaaay in the back behind the "in case I run out of laundry" wear. His choice. His demons to slay. I stand behind him regardless. I just would like to see him happy. I'm a huge supporter of his (prospective) brethren. They make my heart dance and sing. I understand why they choose the rainbow as their symbol. I'm a self-described hag and think it's important for people to be themselves and not hide what they can't help being. I keep my mouth shut regarding such matters, because it's not my place to dictate to someone when they should be themselves. Anyway, my dear friend seemed rather flirty and touchy-feely... leaving me flummoxed. He threw me off even further by relaying an erotic dream he had about me. Despite my confusion, I responded the way any mature adult would. ... "EWWWWWWW!!!!! UUUUGHHHHH!!!"
"You weren't saying that in the dream." He said, coyly.
I clasped his hand in one of mine and used my other to pat his, platonically and friendlike and then quickly changed the subject. I turn 30 in a matter of days. Lately, I've been singing the praises of singledom. I enjoy my solitude more and more and appreciate it for what it is. That being said, I'm not dead nor am I desperate. I don't want to live out the rest of my single days playing a beard. It's not a lifestyle I envisioned for myself and it'd make for a pretty inactive and boring sex life, no? That charade would also be murder on my drain pipes and a bitch to sweep up, as it'd grow wilder and more bedraggled... becoming evermore out of control and hard to manage, that not even Nair or Epilady would be able to contain it.

August 02, 2007

Fifteen Minutes

This humble blogger was interviewed by Fox News (Channel 61 here in Hartford, CT) yesterday afternoon. I think it went well. I hope. Rick Hancock (the journalist who interviewed me) was very pleasant and asked some insightful questions. I was even lit by one of those tv light thingies and mic'ed. I blotted a about ten minutes before they arrived, so I don't think I was too shiny. The segment airs tomorrow night. If I don't sound too toolish or look super heiferish in stature (I wore all black) I'll link the segment and podcast here on this blog. In the meantime, I'm trying to cool off. It's a million degrees outside and my skin is burning from the sun's impact.

July 10, 2007

I'm not feeling Summer...

... and it doesn't give a squirrel's nut about me. Otherwise it wouldn't cause me such distress and discomfort. My boobs are sweating... and that's never good... I don't think. To quote a line I heard in a movie recently, it is (indeed) hotter than a jalapeno's coochie outside. Yes, yes, I know we're in the throes of summer but that doesn't make me feel any better. Once winter hits and snow and ice abound, I'll bitch about how cold it is outside, how I ruined another pair of boots, or how I slipped on some black ice and busted my ass. Why can't it be spring-like all year round?? Get bent hot, humid, stifling air!