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

November 30, 2010

Taxi Tales: Eubanks

 As a karate expert, I won't pontificate about the seemingly fluctuating state of mental illness amidst today's cult of personality. There's nowhere for people to go in these crazy times and the numbers are too damn high (spoken in this voice).  

That disclaimer of sorts aside, every now and again I'll find myself in the most random of random-est situations. It has finally dawned on me that for the past seventeen years of my life, I've been walking around with an invisible WEIRDO WHISPERER stamp emblazoned on my forehead, only visible to members of the Special People's Club. A signal akin to that whistle only audible to cats and dogs. Of course, I nor those with any semblance of sanity or stability have the ability to see it. Which makes it somewhat difficult for me to navigate and avoid certain personalities and circumstances. I mean, what other explanation could there possibly be for the strange, David Lynch-like encounters I find myself becoming an unwilling participant in?  ... 
While en route to a meeting at a facility I've never been to before, I decided a cab would be my likeliest bet, if I were to successfully reach my destination within a certain time-frame and in avoidance of having to walk up and down that particular street looking perplexed, searching for some elusive building. The directions I was given were opaque at best and I just wasn't in the mood for all of that hunting foolery. I dealt with shoddy directions two weeks prior, while carrying a heavy package to a post office I was told was only "three minutes away" from where I was working. It wasn't fun.
The cab driver was a chatty, middle-aged Black man. The cab? A raggedy and stale, onion-y smelling vehicle that rattled... the type of taxi where late-night 'business deals' took place... transactions squirted and crusted to a dry, inconspicuous stain on the backseat. It certainly wasn't one of the fresher looking or smelling ones. Pressed for time, I Kanye-shrugged and scrambled on in the back. Foreboding told me I'd be in for an unusual ride when my driver parked across the street from me, then called my cell phone claiming not to see where I was... despite my standing in front of a major, looming historical building downtown waving madly at him... in his line of vision. He stuttered, "I'oun see you... ummm where you at? Oh, that's you? Want me to stop in front of there?" I hung up on him, rolled my eyes, and just crossed the busy street. 
Upon getting in, the cabbie apologized for the state of his car and explained he was driving that one until his new one was ready. I shrugged my indifference and repeated the address I needed to get to. He made small talk, then kicked around ideas as to where the building in question might be. Then suddenly... 
"Are you the type who likes to hold your feelings inside?" 
Confused by the question, I pressed my lips together then shot an "oh boy, here we go" look in his direction. I didn't answer. 
"Well, I'm the type who likes to hold my feelings inside," he continued. "See, it's because I know a lot of information. Information the government don't want nobody to know about." 
I stayed silent and turned my head to look out the window. 
"You have a business card?" He asked. 
Looking down at my purse, I spied the top of my card holder nestled against my wallet, and pushed it down deeper, feigning as if I was digging for one. 
"No. Sorry. Fresh out." I lied, dryly... turning back to the window. 
"See, I know a lot of things. Big money maker stuff, but if I can just get a hold of some of these CEOs ... and just make that connection..."
"Oops, looks like we're here!" I interrupted. "That's 227. That must be the building!" I said, already halfway out the cab as I thrust 8 dollars at him. 
"Miss, you sure you outta cards? Because I really need to talk to someone to help me get this secret out there. Trust me, it's a big one that'd make people a lot of money. There's stuff I know about the government folks don't even know about. I don't even really like talking about it. I usually hold it inside" He pressed. 
"Yup, all out." I answered brusquely, still trying to scramble out. "Thanks again!" I said, fearful my holder would fall out... spilling several of my glossy cards on the floor of the cab as my judgement. 

He thrust a generic YELLOW CAB card at me. No name on it... 
"Call me please," he insisted, "So I can tell you some of the ideas I have... or just call me if those folks in there start aggravating you." 
"Ummm..." I started... 
"Just call me, uhh ... Eubanks for now." He answered.
"Right." I said. 
"Don't lose that." He warned. 
"Mmm hmm." I answered, finally free of the stale cab's clutches (I was having issues getting the eff out, as if I were being pulled back by some adamant force of nature)
Free of the cab's pull and of Eubank's shifty, money-making secrets. And out into the fresh air ... quickly up the stairs to the building... and no I didn't look back at the cab. 
That invisible WEIRDO WHISPERER stamp must've been glaringly bright yesterday morning ... 

May 07, 2009

Les Miserable: A Bus Tale About Peace and Harmony

Sooo -
These past couple of days, my bus rides to work have been relatively peaceful. Benita Butrell hasn't been on recently ... thank goddess. Very good, very gooood. Peace, serenity and... "You need to move your umbrella! If I trip over it I'm gwanna bus' you in your fucking face!!!" Threatened the West Indian woman who walked on all be-scarfed, red with malice and anger, to the the heavy set Latina woman... minding her business and plugged into her IPod. Me? On the inside, I'm like "whoa, whoa, whoaaaa Neeellyyy." Seems many of the bus passengers were exclaiming the same thing with their eyes. A relatively quiet ride suddenly disrupted like a sunny picnic by a bolt of lightning with thunder.
Let's rewind.
This morning was a wet, gloomy rainy one. I recall boarding the bus with relative ease. I didn't trip, I didn't have to step over anything. I sat across from the Latina woman, whose small, purse sized umbrella (of the Totes variety) was nestled tightly on the floor, wedged between her feet. Out of the way, inconspicuous and damp.
I boarded... okaaaay, Regular Joe Schmoe boarded... ooookaaaay.... Young woman boards sans any probs.... ooookaaaaay.....
Angry Jamaican woman boards. NOT okay. She gets on with no apparent problem and sits her ass down. Then suddenly she yells from her seat, in her heavily accented voice- "Your umbrella is on the floor!"
The Latina is looking away, calm and bobbing in time with her music. "Your umbrella is ON THE FLOOR." Crazy yells! Still no response. Finally the Jamaican woman gets up out of her seat, taps the Latina woman on her arm frantically and yells, "I said..."
"I know it's there." the Latina woman answers calmly without unplugging her music, and casually turns away.
"WELL YOU NEED TO MOVE IT BEFORE SOMEONE TRIPS OVER IT!!! IF I TRIP OVER IT, I'M GONNA BUS' YOU IN YOUR FUCKING FACE!!!!!"
The Jamaican woman yells from her seat. The Latina shrugs at her and continues to enjoy her music.
"YOU NEED TO MOVE THAT UMBRELLA BEFORE SOMEONE TRIPS YOU STUPID BITCH!!!!"
Latina casually turns to the woman and says, "No one will trip. You see it when you get on."
"WHAT BALLS. WHAT A STUPID BITCH" THE Angry Jamaican yells. "Whatever." said the Latina casually. With that, she calmly got up and off at her next stop. I felt like saying to El Pollo Loca, "Bitch be COOL, you're sitting down already, and your crazy ass didn't trip, What the Bombaclaat?? DAMN." But just scowled in her direction instead.
What the HELL? What on earth provoked that unwarranted attack? See, I had my tote bag on the floor of the bus, out of the way, tucked in-between MY feet. What if she decided to direct her venomous, hot garbage at moi? I really commend the Latina woman for her casual indifference. I reeeeally do, because some people simply ask for it. They BEG and PLEAD for it.
What prompts folks to wake up in the early morn and decide to spew their misery onto others??? And so early, pre-coffee. The NERVE!
Anyway, check out this Interesting blog post about about a man's vow to wait 6 months before he kisses a woman. She may have to resign herself to using creams, jellies and toys.

December 15, 2008

Still Alive

I've yet to have the internetz hooked up at my home. I'm working on it. I hope the result will happen soon! I'm Office Xmas partied out. And look forward to spilling open on a semi-regular basis! Anyway, it's always interesting to see one's co-workers dancing, interacting with their significant others and somewhat under the influence. While some visuals are somewhat traumatizing, it's interesting and quite fascinating nevertheless.
Happy Holidays!

November 29, 2008

Bus Tales: Black Friday

Oh yes. It is the return of Bus Tales indeed. I've never really paid much attention to the day after Thanksgiving so aptly dubbed Black Friday. See, while I can appreciate an excellent deal, and love sales more than the next spender, I'm not a shopaholic. In fact, I hate shopping and do it online in the quiet sanctity of my home, pants optional. I cannot stand large crowds or places where massive groups of people congregate, and so I avoid places like parades, festivals, strip malls on the weekend, crowded elevators (if I can), buses packed to capacity (sometimes I have no choice), and spaces of the like.
INTRO: Friday, Early AM- Late Afternoon
Yesterday, my sisters were up at 4:30AM primed and ready to go huntin' for great post-Thanksgiving deals. I turned over and went back to sleep on my mother's chaise lounge. As the day progressed, I rocked back and forth, going through cell-phone withdrawal, because I lost mine last Saturday. I felt discombobulated (I've grown so attached) and cut off from the rest of society without it, but I sat and lazed about... procrastinating over having to go out into this Black Friday world where folks were getting stomped to death by crazed lunatics trying to purchase $300 computers and being shaken down by sneaky perps lying in wait, ready to rob happy shoppers swinging their bags in the crisp, autumn air. It was late in the afternoon, and my sisters still hadn't arrived.
I waited. And pissed around. Procrastinated. Waited... before finally deciding to go shower. Bathed and freshly scrubbed, I still did eff all. I effed around on my mom's computer. I ate more Thanksgiving desserts, while web surfing and emailing folks back and forth. Finally at around 3ish, my sisters returned. Frazzled and spent. I slowly got up from the computer and shuffled around deciding it was now or never. I figured the bulk of the crowd had probably dissipated. My mother shook her head at my late start. I shrugged at her. Needless to say, the mall was besieged by manic shoppers, large baby carriages, and mischievous teenagers meeting to do who knows what. I saw the diablo in everyone's eyes. I weaved in and out of bodies, trying hard to duck heavy, swinging shopping bags... throbbing and bursting at the seams from marked down merchandise! I suddenly felt faint. Faces started to bleed together, eyes became large and black, no whites to speak of. I started to sweat in that hot mall and undid the top button to my coat. My kneecaps started to go numb. I knew T-Mobile was just around the corner and I hung on for dear life as I forced my legs to work at a feverish pace so I could do my business and get the fuck out of there.
Needless to say, the BUS ride to the mall and back was just as harrowing...
PROLOGUE
The bus was packed to capacity. I sat there in my seat as standees weaved unsteadily in front of me. Afraid that someone might fart in my face, step on my foot, or fall in my lap, I clutched my purse tighter. I put my leather gloves on. I took them off. One talkative guy sporting a plaid ivy cap, backpack and a limp arm (with a hand that had loooooong nails) who'd tried to engage me in conversation earlier at the bus stop about his early shopping experience, stood up front and ran his mouth to the bus driver (an attractive, full-figured, middle-aged Black woman) about a wide array of interesting topics. They included but aren't limited to: his taste in women, his dark side, how he was writing a book on numerology, philosophers, his temper, his aversion to spicy women and how they gave him heartburn, his preference for MILD women, more about his dark side, how he was a true artiste who had to go to school for it and hated anyone with natural talent and no passion, the 8 Guinness stouts he drank during Thanksgiving, a cat he had named Baby who knew how to doo-doo in the toilet and used to lick his face and massage his back, and subjects of the like. He went on and on.
Suddenly, I noticed a rather slight man running alongside the bus and then finally in the street, risking the risk of getting hit in the process. The bus driver cursed him before deciding to pull over and stop for him. Breathless and toothless, he complained about her not stopping initially... she told him to shut the hell up and be thankful that she stopped because she "didn't have to" and to stop "figuring" (he said he figured she didn't want to stop for him) and sit down somewhere. He kept muttering. "You're STILL complaining," the driver noted, in disbelief. He laughed, embarrassed at being scolded and squeezed up front with the rest of the standing bodies. I kept my eyes averted to the floor of the bus. Trying desperately not to give in to PSIS. The bus jerked forward, then stopped for a woman with a thick West Indian accent and close cropped hair, which she wore in a natural. She squeezed on and engaged the driver, the man with the limp arm, and the toothless complainer in a spirited conversation about Thanksgiving, the curried coat she said she'd made for herself, her divorce, and her upcoming Christmas trip to Jamaica.
"Oh, I wish I was going there!" the toothless man said excitedly. "Now Jamaican women are HOT!!!" he continued.
The limp arm man chimed in, agreeing. The West Indian woman chuckled with satisfaction. She turned to show her appreciation, unfortunately and much to my chagrin (because I'd been looking at the back of her head through the sea of standing bodies)- she was the exception. Weeell, the woman was attractive in that avante-garde Wandaesque (from In Living Color) but not as extremely fugly way, if you're into that, definitely no Grace Jones though. She had on a nice, stylish warm down coat, however and her accent was nice. She made her way off when her stop came up and bid the front of the bus revelers adieu. Still amped, the toothless man continued to cackle and talk about women with Limp Arm... suddenly an unused crack needle fell out of his pocket. No one seemed to notice but me. Due to my neuroses (read: keen eye), I always tend to note the minutiae. I was riveted and enthralled by the crack tool. I looked at the needle then back at Toofus. I looked across at a guy with black rimmed eyeglasses (and equally as amused by the cracktacular goings-on up front)- to see if he had noticed. He seemed caught up in the rapture of the conversation unfolding up front, so I don't think he did. I stared back at the crack needle. See, judging from Toofus's skinny build (he said he was 140 pounds during parts of the animated chatter), piss poor dental hygiene, and over excited demeanor I was 110% certain he wasn't a diabetic. He cackled, his body shook. He appeared antsy. Suddenly he caught my gaze, looked down and finally noticed he'd dropped the host to his lil piece of crack heaven on the floor. He hurriedly picked it up and nervously shoved it back in his jeans pocket without missing a beat. I smirked. This time he shoved it deep down, ensuring it was nestled and safe in the confines of his pocket. His stop finally came up, he quickly said his goodbyes and pushed off taking one last, brief look at me.
We'd finally made it to the mall, where I struggled and elbowed my way towards my destination...
Epilogue
The bus ride back to my mother's house was relatively normal until the bus picked up passengers from Vine Street, sometime after 7:20pm. One guy under the influence stumbled on, he stood up front fidgeting inside his coat picket. "I got my bus card driver, I ain't tryin' to get a free ride," he promised. "You can sit down and look for your card," the driver advised and lurched forward. The man stumbled up front, right across from me and next to an extremely large man in a red Salvation Army apron (one of the annual holiday bell ringers stationed outside major spots trying to raise money for the organization, no doubt). " 'Scuse me" Drunk Puss said to the man, who moved over, allowing Drunky more space. He continued to fiddle for his bus card. He looked across at me. I turned away quickly and closed my eyes. "Hey Miss!" I pretended not to hear. Kept my eyes closed. " 'scuse me, MISS!" ... my eyes stayed closed. "MISS!!" I finally opened my eyes and slowly turned in his direction. "I like your boots!" I blinked lazily at him. Disinterested. "They're so shiny, and nice, and full of goodness..." I turned away from him and closed my eyes once more. He continued to spout a bunch of ridiculous and drunk banter as he dug 'round for his bus pass... A man with a cane (who smelled like a booze fiesta) also stumbled on and plopped down next to me- (Liquor, meth and crack must've been marked down as well, because folks under the influence were out in droves). Drunk Puss was apparently familiar with the new passenger, stood up to greet and fell on top of the old man, knocking into my shoulder in the process. I sighed heavily, irritated, and squeezed my eyes shut tighter, and put my hand over my face to block the pain of this circumstance out. "Oh, I'm sorry!" Drunk Puss said to his acquaintance.
"I love you man, but not THAT much."
He found his bus pass and FINALLY made his way up to settle his fare. He plopped back down and caused some more drunken damage. Finally the bus driver jerked forward and pulled over to the side of the road. He switched on the light up front. Sighing and anxious to get home, I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, annoyed by the slight delay. I heard the driver whispering on the emergency phone. Probably about Drunk Puss, to a supervisor. A preemptive measure perhaps? He sat there for about five minutes, " 'scuse me driver, is there a PROBLEM!" Drunk Puss yelled up at him. The driver didn't answer. "Hm. Should I get OFF??" he yelled. Someone from the back of the bus answered, "Yes!" Passengers snickered.
The resident drunk passenger finally stumbled off shortly after the driver took off, much to everyone's delight. I'm starting to truly understand WHY the day after Thanksgiving is called Black Friday. It is undoubtedly a dark, scary experience. I'm none too worse for wear, however. And am furnished with a new cell phone to replace the lost one. I did this all for technology. ...

May 31, 2008

Sucio

Yours truly was enjoying a delectable Chocolate Lava Cake, garnished with candied walnuts, a side of vanilla gelato, and a sprig of fresh mint- at one of my favorite eateries during my lunch hour, when a Caucasian Man of Slight Build and with dark hair, walked in and sat at the bar. Upon settling in ... about three chairs away from me, he ordered a "coffee with Bailey's," in a brusque, yet familiar voice. I was caught up in the rapture of my delicious dessert, the stresses of work and workplace rivalries forgotten in that moment of space and time, so I didn't notice Man of Slight Build's lunch companion. Suddenly, I heard the trendy and very blond restaurant hostess cooing. "Ohhhh, you're sooooo cute. You're such a gooood boooy." Then I looked up. ... There, on M.O.S.B. 's lap was a Yorkie, small enough to travel in a Louis Vuitton pet tote.... naked, exposed, and out in the open, in an eating establishment, no less. Suddenly my neuroses started to kick in. My mind raced!
"IS THAT EVEN LEGAL??? TO HAVE AN ANIMAL, IN AN EATING AND DRINKING ESTABLISHMENT???? THERE ARE TABLES SET UP OUTSIDE! WHY ISN'T HE OUT THERE ENJOYING HIS SPIKED COFFEE???!!! THE WEATHER IS WONDERFUL! GO OUTSIDE!" It screamed. Repulsed, I slowly and calmly put my dessert fork down. Just then, M.O.S.B.'s coffee with Bailey's arrived, topped off with a heaping mountain of whipped cream.
Another blond waitress came over and cooed some more. "Ohhh, you're sooo cuuuute! You loooove daddy, don't you???" she said, as she massaged the area behind its pert ears.
"I EFFING HOPE SHE WASHES HER HANDS THOROUGHLY, WITH SOAP AFTER THIS!!!"
My mind screamed. "He only likes filet mignon, steak, and chicken," M.O.S.B. opined, smugly. "I don't see the point in giving him regular dog food. It's all oats and grain and animals don't really live off of that," He continued. For I'm assuming he believes his little furry cretin only deserves the best. To punctuate his point, M.O.S.B. scooped up a dollop of whipped cream and fed it to his little beloved. The dog lapped and licked his master's finger greedily. "Yeah, daddy's not supposed to feed whipped cream to you, right?" The bar patron cooed to his lap dog. After a period of time, the man told his little pocket pooch that there was no more whipped cream to be lapped, because it was "aaaaaall gone." I eventually returned to my dessert, chocolate ecstasy triumphing and overwhelming my brief feelings of disgust.

February 10, 2008

Rolling With the Punches

Life is still chug, chug, chugging along. Work keeps me pretty busy, I've been consuming large doses of chocolate, coffee, and smoked almonds... prescribed by Dr. Jones, M.D. and struggling to find sleep however and wherever I can (sometimes I pass out fully clothed, not having the energy to change into my PJs, and not waking up until the next morning with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my eyeliner smeared all over my eyes). I takes it however I can get it. That's what facial cleanse, a nice hot shower, and toothpaste is for. The apartment hunt also rages on. I'm hoping late Spring early Summer will find me laying down a deposit somewhere cool. The weather has been grey, brisk, and foggy complete with snow showers or just simply rain. I've also been watching a lot of horror films, for some reason...
This past Thursday, I had my first official work related altercation (it had been building because she had been acting the fool from word go), which leads me to the conclusion that some people are just predisposed to lunacy, ignorance, and being les miserables in search of company. New kid on the block or not, I am never afraid to stand up for myself particularly if I feel as if my livelihood is being threatened. There is never any reason to feel intimidated by someone just looking for trouble, because they think they can. Unfortunately for her, she discovered that I am NOT the one, and I only need to state my case once. I don't need to yell, wiggle my neck, or jab my finger to get my point across. I refuse to engage in some sort of back and forth power struggle every single day I come to work, and I make my point in a level, stern, yet controlled voice. I make sure to maintain eye contact to show how unafraid I am. Considering the tumultuous experience I left at my previous place of employment, I do not plan on engaging pettiness, gossip, disingenuousness, and behaviors of the like.
I'm busy, preoccupied, there for very specific reasons... to perform tasks and contribute my expertise and work ethic as best as I can, and to be cordial to everyone so I can go home in a relatively decent mood. My brain is full to capacity and there's no room for irrelevancy. Period. Needless to say this past Friday, she was sweetness and light. And I still don't like her, but I'm glad she was acting human... because all we have to be is cordial and civil to one another, to reach work related goals. I don't know why people think the work place is for unproductive socializing and trying to start some unnecessary mess. It's not a place for escandaloso! I also appreciate the warnings I received and the support shown me ... encouraging me not to take that ish personally, because of someone's issues. I gots to roll with the punches maybe, and dust that ish off.
On an interesting note, whilst standing, waiting for a cab on a dark, particularly wet and foggy evening, A man walked by me and asked me if I needed a ride anywhere. I politely declined and told him I had a taxi on its way. He walked half way to his car, turn and yelled, "How about dinner then?!" I laughed. He walked back over and made his case: "I am really spontaneous, I'm not married, no girlfriend, I'll give me your number and you can think about it." He also told me he had planned on getting take out for dinner, but decided to stop by the supermarket and get fixings for a nice dinner. One of the most genuine approaches I ever experiences sans the stupid pick up lines. I accepted his number. And finally called him Friday after I returned from lunch, to say "hello." We spoke briefly. He said he had been thinking about me the previous day, saying to himself that I wouldn't call. I told him, I phoned because he seemed genuine and wasn't corny... I said in a previous post that I am too preoccupied to entertain prospective dates. Why do these things happen at the most inopportune moments?
To be continued. ...

February 01, 2008

Bus Tales: Miguel

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

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

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

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

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

Fin

January 05, 2008

La Guerre des Soeurs

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

December 03, 2007

Unusual

This afternoon around lunch hour, I stomped down the street. The weather was frigid and rather grey and wet. There were slushy patches of harmless ice in strategic spots, on the asphalt. As I walked, I came upon a cluster of people standing in the middle of the sidewalk, spectating. Getting ever so closer, I saw a huge hawk in the crowd's midst... perched on top of a pigeon's carcass. Feasting and watching the crowd warily. As if warning them not to get too close. Not due to any hallucinogens or illegal substances, I've been known (in the company of me, myself, and I) to hallucinate or think I've seen something, that turned out to be a figment of my sick and twisted imagination. So I continued on with my gait... thinking lunch hour traffic had simply stalled for some ridiculous reason. Closer, I discovered the hawk was indeed, very real. At once mesmerized and intimidated, I made sure to do a wiiiiide semi-circle around the bird, as I didn't want to get too close. The people oohed and ahhed. "Enjoy the rest of your lunch!" One man shouted at the bird, as he left the crowd of spectators. One woman in a beat looking fur coat lit a cigarette and sneered, "Ugh. That's disgusting." I felt like reminding her that the food chain worked in mysterious, natural, and necessary ways, and that the spectacle was no more disgusting than her dingy fur coat and the heavy, dark bags under her eyes. But instead I just shot her an annoying look. Finally tiring of being the center of attention and having its lunch break disturbed, the bird spread it's massive wings, flew through the crowd (which seemed like the equivalent of flipping a figurative bird), and then up and away, causing the onlookers to gasp, duck for cover, and then part like the Red Sea. I wanted to pull out my cell phone and snap a picture of the anomaly, but was too chicken-dookey to get that close and risk being attacked by the large, winged creature. So I stood a ways from the crowd, and looked on from a distance. Anyway, I snapped a pic of myself instead and stole image of the bird from the internets.

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 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.

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 19, 2007

Lucky Days

As if it's even possible, I've found yet another way to be eccentric.
I'm finding that I wont wake up, unless the digital "hand", if you will, on the clock, strikes number thirteen after the hour. Sounds strange, I know. But, I sleep with a deck of Ryder-Waite tarot cards under my pillow (wrapped in cloth) so bear (left) with me. In any event, my theory is if I wake up on the 13th minute after every hour, I'll have a decent day or that some semblance of luck will strike. So instead of waking up at 6:00, I'll hit the Snooze button and lay there until 6:13. At times, I've taken to setting at least one of my alarm clocks (I set at least 3, one of which is fifteen minutes ahead), to go off at 5:10AM, and will proceed to lay there for 3 additional minutes. The key is to hop out of bed quickly, before the minute is up. Once the 14th minute strikes, I feel screwed and will accept the fact that my day will probably be a little bent. I must say, a couple of good things (sometimes in the midst of certain annoyances) have worked out in my favor within the past two weeks or so. I really think this method to improving my karma is fumbling it's way towards... well... working? ... I'll keep all interested parties hip to this newly discovered insanity.