I made eleventy-one hot chocolates!! Nothing says good time Friday night like customers who order 4 at once. I love my life.
This counts as a post, right?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
These are a few of my faaavorite things...
...and also a few of my pet peeves. Hey, life requires a little balance. First, the boo list.
Top Ten Pet Peeves
10. Making hot chocolates (see previous post)
9. When people stand too close to me in Target. Really? This isn't Europe people. Personal space. Respect it.
8. Customers taking the wrong drink, particularly when it's a large chai and they ordered a small latte. No, your drink didn't take steroids and suddenly morph to be 8 oz bigger.
7. Espresso grounds under my finger nails.
6. People walking three abreast on the sidewalk, completely oblivious to the fact that I'm trying to get past them. Maybe if I breathe like Darth Vader, you'll notice me and that you need to move.
5. When customers ask if we have restrooms. Nope, we don't do that here, but there is a tree right outside that you can help yourself to.
4. Loud cell phone conversations, or even in-person conversations, especially in coffee houses. No Miss, I do not need to hear anymore about the intricacies of breast feeding. I can't believe you meet with your best friend to discuss these things in public. Eww.
3. People who order their freezers all the way to the top, want the music turned up louder, and complain about the lack of ice in our free water pitcher. And when these all occur in one human being. Shout out to my co-workers, you all know who I'm talking about.
2. Road construction on H Street. I feel like they've been paid to dig large holes with large machines that make an inordinate amount of noise and then refill them with big globs of uneven asphalt. Dixon's shocks can't take much more.
1. People severely lacking in common sense. You can't teach that stuff. You either have it or you don't, and if you don't, oh my goodness, the number of times I have to take a breath and count to ten...
And now, the yay list. Goes without saying, God supercedes all of this. Putting Him in a list seems rather asinine.
My Favorite Things
10. Hint of Jalapeno Tostitos. Where have you been all my life? I can't believe I've been ignoring you on the gorcery store shelves.
9. Cute writer/lawyer student guys that hang out at Ebz for hours on end. Sigh... Move over fellow barista, I'll take this one's order.
8. Movies that make me want to learn how to sword fight. Or ride horses. Or learn to do both simultaneously.
7. Kings of Leon, in spite of the sketchy lyrics.
6. Moments when there's no where else I'd rather be and no one else I'd rather be with.
5. Chic-Fil-A. Waffle fries... need I say more?
4. Places on the planet where just looking around makes me feel the blood running through my veins. Can't describe it any better than this.
3. My mom. That's right. You totally made this list.
2. Dancing. Period.
1. The night sky. Anywhere on the planet, it's pretty darn spectacular.
Top Ten Pet Peeves
10. Making hot chocolates (see previous post)
9. When people stand too close to me in Target. Really? This isn't Europe people. Personal space. Respect it.
8. Customers taking the wrong drink, particularly when it's a large chai and they ordered a small latte. No, your drink didn't take steroids and suddenly morph to be 8 oz bigger.
7. Espresso grounds under my finger nails.
6. People walking three abreast on the sidewalk, completely oblivious to the fact that I'm trying to get past them. Maybe if I breathe like Darth Vader, you'll notice me and that you need to move.
5. When customers ask if we have restrooms. Nope, we don't do that here, but there is a tree right outside that you can help yourself to.
4. Loud cell phone conversations, or even in-person conversations, especially in coffee houses. No Miss, I do not need to hear anymore about the intricacies of breast feeding. I can't believe you meet with your best friend to discuss these things in public. Eww.
3. People who order their freezers all the way to the top, want the music turned up louder, and complain about the lack of ice in our free water pitcher. And when these all occur in one human being. Shout out to my co-workers, you all know who I'm talking about.
2. Road construction on H Street. I feel like they've been paid to dig large holes with large machines that make an inordinate amount of noise and then refill them with big globs of uneven asphalt. Dixon's shocks can't take much more.
1. People severely lacking in common sense. You can't teach that stuff. You either have it or you don't, and if you don't, oh my goodness, the number of times I have to take a breath and count to ten...
And now, the yay list. Goes without saying, God supercedes all of this. Putting Him in a list seems rather asinine.
My Favorite Things
10. Hint of Jalapeno Tostitos. Where have you been all my life? I can't believe I've been ignoring you on the gorcery store shelves.
9. Cute writer/lawyer student guys that hang out at Ebz for hours on end. Sigh... Move over fellow barista, I'll take this one's order.
8. Movies that make me want to learn how to sword fight. Or ride horses. Or learn to do both simultaneously.
7. Kings of Leon, in spite of the sketchy lyrics.
6. Moments when there's no where else I'd rather be and no one else I'd rather be with.
5. Chic-Fil-A. Waffle fries... need I say more?
4. Places on the planet where just looking around makes me feel the blood running through my veins. Can't describe it any better than this.
3. My mom. That's right. You totally made this list.
2. Dancing. Period.
1. The night sky. Anywhere on the planet, it's pretty darn spectacular.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Irritated
Do you ever just have one of those days when you wake up already irritated? Perhaps due to a dream, or maybe just something that happened the night before. Then before you know it, you're at work, and half a second after you arrive, EVERYTHING is on your nerves, not the least of which is the freakishly loud grumbling coming from the oversized, probably overworked freezer in the back that's size can only be justified by its intent to hold bodies. However, despite my mood and the noise in the back that was tempting me to slam my head against a wall, I did manage to scrape up the remnants of a smile, paste them on my face, and ask "what can I get for ya" to the next customer in line. My answer to their "how are you today" was "Ok. Ish." which no one really understood, but I just shrugged and continued to look at them expectantly. Praise JESUS only a few people ordered hot chocolates today, as making those things is the bane of my existence. The powder is too fine, it leaves mushroom clouds reminiscent of a mini-Hiroshima, and if I inhale too soon after appearance of said mushroom cloud, I then erupt into a fit of hacking that tends to draw a look of alarm from the customer; a look I of course dismiss with a wave as I use the world's tiniest wire whisk to mix the chocolate sludge at the bottom of the cup, my cocoa stained knuckles whirring around in time to a bad rendition of whatever pop song to which someone has chosen to produce an acoustic cover. The worst so far is a cover of Abba's Dancing Queen. Really? Any disco slow dance song was never meant to be a new campfire favorite. Or belted out by a guy that sounds like Aaron Neville with bronchitis. That's just a bad idea all around.
All in all, today was a day, one that thankfully ended on an up note with a large dose of Chipotle and Mr. Pibb Xtra. Now I have a burrito baby in my belly. Nothing says a good night's sleep like indigestion.
All in all, today was a day, one that thankfully ended on an up note with a large dose of Chipotle and Mr. Pibb Xtra. Now I have a burrito baby in my belly. Nothing says a good night's sleep like indigestion.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
H Street
H Street feels like a foreign country sometimes. Scratch that, most of the time. The most obvious reason is because I’m in the minority, but there are other more subtle things: bars on the glass, plastic flowers peering through windows covered in milky film, the peeling cracked paint decorating the brick facades. The city government is trying to spruce this place up. Parts of the street have been repaved with trolley tracks and evenly poured asphalt bordered by neatly laid sidewalks that declare the cross street in engraved concrete. Shiny black lampposts tack down the blocks like relics from the 1800s. Yet all of these accoutrements can’t distract from the local color or the glaring cement construction walls taking up most of the space that should be used for cars. It’s been this way for years, and outside of a daily dose of jackhammering, there isn’t much evidence of progress farther east on the street. Orange and white striped cones litter the landscape in more abundance than the neighbors walking down the street, the neighbors that carry on a conversation regardless of the fact that there’s an entire city block between them. Yelling is common place here, as are several colorful words that would be more conspicuous in their absence then shocking in their presence.
This place has a weird disparity of life. At the same time the poorer African-American neighbors are lounging on street corners and playing checkers in one of the eight barber shops dotting the street, the younger, hipper, richer white yuppies are creeping in like ants at a picnic. There’s a yoga place in between 3rd and 4th, a hip sandwich store just beyond 11th, an artsy coffee shop a block and a half past the 5 year old performing arts center. As good as these places may be for the revenue of the neighborhood, they don’t really cater to the neighbors. The flavor is changing, the taste is becoming more refined. Could the people here use the performing arts? Do they need sandwich shops and wine bars? Inherently, these are good things, but perhaps they should retain H Street’s original flavor, cater more to this culture made up of everything from overly confident youth on bikes to the elderly shuffling down the street with history stamped on their faces. These people are the backbone of this quarter. This is their hometown. Unfortunately, the ones inhabiting the rows of houses just off of this amalgam of brick and pavement won’t bring in the kind of revenue that could boost this part of the city’s economy. At the end of the day, it’s all about the money. H Street can’t afford to cater to them. If it did, it is doubtful the yuppies would care to venture outside of their chic haircuts, perfectly faded denim, and modern white walls spattered with designer art to experience a world so vastly different, yet right at their back door. Sometimes all it takes is a step...
This place has a weird disparity of life. At the same time the poorer African-American neighbors are lounging on street corners and playing checkers in one of the eight barber shops dotting the street, the younger, hipper, richer white yuppies are creeping in like ants at a picnic. There’s a yoga place in between 3rd and 4th, a hip sandwich store just beyond 11th, an artsy coffee shop a block and a half past the 5 year old performing arts center. As good as these places may be for the revenue of the neighborhood, they don’t really cater to the neighbors. The flavor is changing, the taste is becoming more refined. Could the people here use the performing arts? Do they need sandwich shops and wine bars? Inherently, these are good things, but perhaps they should retain H Street’s original flavor, cater more to this culture made up of everything from overly confident youth on bikes to the elderly shuffling down the street with history stamped on their faces. These people are the backbone of this quarter. This is their hometown. Unfortunately, the ones inhabiting the rows of houses just off of this amalgam of brick and pavement won’t bring in the kind of revenue that could boost this part of the city’s economy. At the end of the day, it’s all about the money. H Street can’t afford to cater to them. If it did, it is doubtful the yuppies would care to venture outside of their chic haircuts, perfectly faded denim, and modern white walls spattered with designer art to experience a world so vastly different, yet right at their back door. Sometimes all it takes is a step...
2 am
It's 2 am again. For some reason during the last month I have found it cool to stay up into the wee hours of the morning. I'm blaming it on New Years Eve, an event from which I still have yet to recover. My body, however, is not a convert of these early morning bed times. Sigh. My excuse tonight is - I have to write something! I created this thing with the sole intent and purpose to get something down on paper (read computer screen) on a daily basis, a task I failed at yesterday, well technically both yesterdays since I've already surpassed the slide into tomorrow, and now, although not technically terribly interesting, I'm spitting in the face of resistance. Ha! Take that!
All of this while I listen to the lady with the cane walk by the alley outside my window against the back drop of the retards that have decided to inhabit the H street parking lot, making loud ridiculous comments despite the fact that it is, indeed, 2 in the morning and there's a row of houses behind them. Ahh, but they're young and having fun! Who cares if they're waking the neighbors? It's times like these I wish I had a Rottweiler; big, nasty and slobbery, programmed to scare the bejesus out of anyone as soon as he heard the F bomb. I'd call him Fluffy. Go get 'em boy! Show 'em who's boss.
All of this while I listen to the lady with the cane walk by the alley outside my window against the back drop of the retards that have decided to inhabit the H street parking lot, making loud ridiculous comments despite the fact that it is, indeed, 2 in the morning and there's a row of houses behind them. Ahh, but they're young and having fun! Who cares if they're waking the neighbors? It's times like these I wish I had a Rottweiler; big, nasty and slobbery, programmed to scare the bejesus out of anyone as soon as he heard the F bomb. I'd call him Fluffy. Go get 'em boy! Show 'em who's boss.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
In the beginning...
...there was me, deciding to finally get my sass on the internet. I am a writer after all, so I figure this only makes sense. Unfortunately, the beginning was very short, and I abandoned it in favor of taking a nap. Argh, Resistance! You have won yet another battle. But the war goes on...
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