Crackheads and Coffee

Yesterday my cousin related a story that was just TOO good not to share. As both buddies and fam, we trade our triumphs and woes. It goes without saying that sex, relationships and the lack thereof are among the topics discussed. Just when we thought we had it figured out, my cuz witnessed something that can only be described as a "what the fuck" moment:

I'm sitting on the train minding my own damned business when the doors open and in jumps this crusty crackhead looking extra fidgety. He stops and examines a seat, dusts it off and assists his girlfriend in sitting down. Once she sits down, she lays her head in his crusty lap where she begins to fall asleep while he's picking lint out of her hair. I thought I had seen it all, but interracial crackhead love is just more than I'm ready to handle right now. I can't even get a brother to Supersize my Happy Meal.

Okay, I know this sounds petty, but I am a lil' salty about a crackhead having a "better" love life than I. I mean, yeah, I don't have to worry about various communicable diseases and missing electronics, but still...

One of my good friends was regaling me with one of his infamous "Tales from the Titty Bar." Usually I can tolerate them, but once he started talking about the one eyed bouncer, I sort of lost it. Not funny? Eh, I guess you had to be there.

So my sister and I had a bit of a falling out. I swear on a stack of Prince CDs that I was NOT the asshole in this situation. But nobody in my family is speaking to me. Not my other sisters, my dad, the family dog...well, there is no dog, but you get the picture. My phone hasn't rung once. In any event, I called my sister to see how everyone was doing blah blah blah. She then proceeds to tell me about this big party that she and her husband have been planning for this weekend. That was my first time hearing about it and even then there wasn't even a hint of an invite. *shrug*

I take my coffee very seriously. Most New Orleanians do. If you were born before 1980, you were drinking the stuff while you were still on the bottle. (By the time you are five, you've also had your first taste of beer, but that's another topic entirely.) Therefore, you can imagine my disgust when, Tuesday, I was given a foamless latte. But in an effort to be a kinder, gentler Breez, I shook it off. After all, it's just foam. Maybe they were in a rush. So yesterday I gave them another chance. Again, no foam. TOTALLY unacceptable. Part of my day includes letting a little of my turbinado sugar get caught up in the foam, the subsequently enjoying the small taste explosion. Bastards! This morning I went to Starfucks. Sure enough, they gave me foam, but I paid almost a dollar extra. Can we say Pyrrhic victory?

Am I the only one that notices that white people are ALWAYS running? And I don't mean jogging to stay in shape. I mean just running EVERYWHERE. In the grocery store, in the middle of the street even when there's no traffic and the sign says "walk", from their driveways into their houses, on the subway platform even when there's no train in site, on Sundays in the mall parking lot. Where in the hell are they going? I think I'm going to just stop one of them and ask them one day. This has baffled me for years. If anyone has the answer, please, enlighten a sista.

Is it me, are do people get way too deep into sports and whatnot? Don't get me wrong, I get hype watching games my damn self and love nothing better than a nailbiting competition, but I'm not getting paid. I've seen folks come to blows at games. Or what's even more special, I've seen folks come to blows over MADDEN. What is THAT shit about? It always tickles me when guys talk about that game then refer to "their defense". What the hell? I'll never understand that. But then again, they don't understand my fascination with shoes so I guess that makes us even.