ah. ah. ah. junior L word announced. and all my brain can think of is "i wonder how long its going to be until they open that little frozen custard stand down the road."
good lord i am a fat kid.
okay, back up. before i get into all THAT, i have to discuss some facts:
1. i am from the midwest. eighteen years of my life. we're talking working class town, cheap beers, watching football on a small TV with a continually snowy reception (no pun intended), getting excited for spring ('winters not over 'til may 15!' was a saying of my parents, apparently referring to the blizzard of '92 or something), the smell of bacon in the afternoon, meat-packing plants, having your cousins live next door, eating lutefisk and sauerkraut and bratwurst and best of all: FROZEN CUSTARD*.
2. there is a frozen custard stand opening up on 13/14th & pike. soon. (!!!!!!)
3. you can't imagine how excited i am.
anyways. i spent the last two days telling everyone i could about the frozen custard stand. best news of my week. in fact, my life isn't that exciting as of late. i mean, besides working a McCatering event on wednesday, a visit to el doctor on thursday (where i kept on my coat, boots and clutched my purse in hopes that i could convince myself that the number on the scale was mostly my baggage and not my newly acquired chub), working behind the bar at A.R.J. on friday and a wee bit o' excess drinking to start off the weekend last night. not much. so i think it is safe to say that frozen custard is the best news of my life right now.
so, last night, in a moment of (ew i was about to write passion but that sounds sorta creepy/romantic) drunken bedroom revelry (all i could think of), when barista boy grabs my face and holds my hand and mumbles a bunch of things to me (all the while i am attempting to make him stop talking by kissing him) and i just keep saying "what? what are you saying? what's that?" like some sort of 80-year-old grandma, he suddenly blurts out,
(oh gawd)
"i really, really like you."
and then there's that moment of silence where i am supposed to blush, hug his neck, giggle and repeat it back to him, but i just stare up at him drunkenly with my mouth half open.
he strokes my hair and whispers "what are you thinking? what is on your mind at this very second?"
and that's it. i am still thinking about frozen custard. no joke. i was wondering if the new stand would have a flavor of the day, and if i could acquire a calender of flavors-of-the-day, to know what days it would be worth it to haul my fat ass three blocks down the road.
and that's when i blurt out,
(why)
"frozen custard!"
appendix!
*frozen custard is delicious. it is sort of like ice cream, but with eggs added to the cream and sugar part of the ice cream. and the machine that makes it produces less air bubbles or ice crystals or something, so its dense and rich and creamy. it is a wisconsin specialty. also, it is life-changing. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frozen_custard
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
one sugar-coated fat tuesday
let's get one fact out of the way. the highlight of mardi gras 2009, for me, was a stack of three (3) fluffy buttermilk pancakes, served to me free of charge at the international house of pancakes.
mardi gras / fat tuesday started off something like this. i was dreaming that McFlannel had asked me to go to another show (yes, okay, sometimes my dreams are a bit ninth-grade-esque) and i felt bad, but went anyways, subsequently abandoning barista boy (who in my dreams was continually holding a portafilter, oddly). i think i might have even sleep-mumbled "i would love to, ----!" after which i was shaken out of my dream by said barista boy, who laughed and asked who i was talking to. back to reality.
i half sat up in bed. the rain streaming down the windows, the large room full of records and posters, a pile of shoes and socks and undies on the floor. i look down and see myself entangled, once again, with barista boy in his creaky old home.
after a few hours of cuddling, going back to sleep, waking up, making out, cuddling ... (you know. rinse n' repeat.) i finally detangle myself from his sheets and start getting dressed. he hangs over the side of the bed, watching me try to find my bra. i am grumpy, not wanting to travel all the way to redmond that afternoon for my McCatering job. it is pouring buckets, i have to go all the way back to capitol hill to get my uniform, and i am hungover. barista boy hands me my undergarments (a highly embarrassing faded orange bra with a pink bow in the middle, compliments of my high school taste in lingerie and current lack of clean laundry) and listens to me grumble. he has a far-away, sad look on his face. sometimes he gets like this.
it bothers me. it bothers me that there is so much about him i don't know. we never, ever talk about the ex-girlfriend. i think he may have tried to bring it up once or twice but i switch the subject. it just feels weird, like someone you're dating showing you their dead wife's clothes. that stuff should be kept in a locked closet.
but then again, we are NOT dating. and it was so recent. and he can't detach himself from that past. the half unpacked boxes all over his new room, the photos all over myspace. his weird bed sheets (side note. while having a drink at linda's with my friends ian and dennis a few weeks back, i confided in them about a pressing issue in my mind. i tried to choose my words carefully, but they all rushed out at once. "should i be concerned if ...he has little mermaid sheets?" a second of silence, then ian and dennis were pounding the table and laughing. they never let that one go). anyways, the weird bed sheets, apparently "inherited from his ex-girlfriend." and now, at this moment, barista boy was staring up at a funny amateur acrylic painting on his bookshelf. it was of a small, square-jawed girl with intense black-lined eyes, grabbing the hand of a tall, lanky boy wearing a red sweatshirt. the old couple. a piece of art. and he still had it.
i pretended not to notice and got my shoes on. barista boy, suddenly snapped out of his trip down memory lane, grabbed my hand. let's make coffee before you leave, he whispers, kissing my neck. i sigh, smile, and agree. what the hell, let's pretend for five minutes.
on the bus back to my house a while later, i get a phone call from McCatering, inc. the secretary informs me that the event has been canceled for the day and i do NOT need to haul my ass all the way out to redmond! i secretly cheer, even though it means i don't get paid. but, in a moment of clouds-parting-and-rainbows-and-sun-and-maybe-a-unicorn-or-two, she informs me that events canceled day-of mean that i will be paid for a minimum of five hours. for doing nothing. hot damn!
i get back to my house and my roommates are sitting around in the living room. they ignore my bus ride of shame look (same clothes, unbrushed teeth, eyeliner all over my face) and immediately shout out good news number two of the day: it is free pancake day at international house of pancakes.
at this news the clouds LITERALLY parted, the sun appeared and dried up all the nasty rain puddles all over capitol hill. in two minutes we were sitting out on the front steps, soaking up vitamin D and unzipping our american apparel hoodies. my house walked as a collective over to the junkie-ridden IHOP 3 blocks away and prepared to wait half an hour for a stack of free pancakes. it was so, so worth it. i poured four different kinds of syrup on mine. best day of my life.
the rest of the day was a lovely haze of recovering from 3000 calories of pure glucose, watching bottle rocket with my roomies all crowded comfortably on the couch and making vague plans for getting off said couch. around six, frey came over and she and i decided to hit up liberty for happy hour, some former roommate girl talk time and to visit her McCrush of the moment. mostly successful, but we did end up with a bitchy little server who tried to correct me when i ordered a 'french 76' (its made with vodka instead of gin, and that is its proper name. i know, i work behind a bar) andddd micah tagged along. i love my roommate micah to death, but he is sort of the little brother i never had and never really wanted. you know. he sat in between us two ladies whining about his weekend and work, while downing three mexican cervezas. in the end he didnt have any cash so we ended up paying his tab. whatever.
afterwards, i parted ways with my friends and headed over to THE coffee shop to see if i could score some espresso and a little breaktime fun. barista boy closes on tuesdays, so i knew i would catch him. i was right. he was in the back room, eating a gyro when i showed up (a little boozy, too). he was surprised to see me but we talked for a bit while i stared at the printer (what did that printer spit out the night we tore up the back room like it was part of the set of "zack and miri"?). and then i realized something. we are awkward. i knew it before, but it never bugged me that much. my mind suddenly jumped back to a conversation i had with McFlannel the night we got drinks before the show. we were sitting in this intimate corner of the cha cha, deep in conversation about our families, about death, about life. we connected on every single level. it was nuts. i had no reservations. and now, barista boy and i stood around awkwardly, trying to make conversation about some article in the stranger. i sighed. barista boy looked around and saw his buddy walk into the coffee shop. "oh! its ----! i'll be right back, ok?" and kissed my cheek swiftly before running off to spend the rest of his break laughing heartily with his friend.
is this it? is this going to fizzle out, like every other one of my boy situations in the past two years? another pin on the map of capitol hill and my ridiculous history of unintentionally hitting up each and every business, from one end of broadway to the other. seriously, this needs to stop.
mardi gras / fat tuesday started off something like this. i was dreaming that McFlannel had asked me to go to another show (yes, okay, sometimes my dreams are a bit ninth-grade-esque) and i felt bad, but went anyways, subsequently abandoning barista boy (who in my dreams was continually holding a portafilter, oddly). i think i might have even sleep-mumbled "i would love to, ----!" after which i was shaken out of my dream by said barista boy, who laughed and asked who i was talking to. back to reality.
i half sat up in bed. the rain streaming down the windows, the large room full of records and posters, a pile of shoes and socks and undies on the floor. i look down and see myself entangled, once again, with barista boy in his creaky old home.
after a few hours of cuddling, going back to sleep, waking up, making out, cuddling ... (you know. rinse n' repeat.) i finally detangle myself from his sheets and start getting dressed. he hangs over the side of the bed, watching me try to find my bra. i am grumpy, not wanting to travel all the way to redmond that afternoon for my McCatering job. it is pouring buckets, i have to go all the way back to capitol hill to get my uniform, and i am hungover. barista boy hands me my undergarments (a highly embarrassing faded orange bra with a pink bow in the middle, compliments of my high school taste in lingerie and current lack of clean laundry) and listens to me grumble. he has a far-away, sad look on his face. sometimes he gets like this.
it bothers me. it bothers me that there is so much about him i don't know. we never, ever talk about the ex-girlfriend. i think he may have tried to bring it up once or twice but i switch the subject. it just feels weird, like someone you're dating showing you their dead wife's clothes. that stuff should be kept in a locked closet.
but then again, we are NOT dating. and it was so recent. and he can't detach himself from that past. the half unpacked boxes all over his new room, the photos all over myspace. his weird bed sheets (side note. while having a drink at linda's with my friends ian and dennis a few weeks back, i confided in them about a pressing issue in my mind. i tried to choose my words carefully, but they all rushed out at once. "should i be concerned if ...he has little mermaid sheets?" a second of silence, then ian and dennis were pounding the table and laughing. they never let that one go). anyways, the weird bed sheets, apparently "inherited from his ex-girlfriend." and now, at this moment, barista boy was staring up at a funny amateur acrylic painting on his bookshelf. it was of a small, square-jawed girl with intense black-lined eyes, grabbing the hand of a tall, lanky boy wearing a red sweatshirt. the old couple. a piece of art. and he still had it.
i pretended not to notice and got my shoes on. barista boy, suddenly snapped out of his trip down memory lane, grabbed my hand. let's make coffee before you leave, he whispers, kissing my neck. i sigh, smile, and agree. what the hell, let's pretend for five minutes.
on the bus back to my house a while later, i get a phone call from McCatering, inc. the secretary informs me that the event has been canceled for the day and i do NOT need to haul my ass all the way out to redmond! i secretly cheer, even though it means i don't get paid. but, in a moment of clouds-parting-and-rainbows-and-sun-and-maybe-a-unicorn-or-two, she informs me that events canceled day-of mean that i will be paid for a minimum of five hours. for doing nothing. hot damn!
i get back to my house and my roommates are sitting around in the living room. they ignore my bus ride of shame look (same clothes, unbrushed teeth, eyeliner all over my face) and immediately shout out good news number two of the day: it is free pancake day at international house of pancakes.
at this news the clouds LITERALLY parted, the sun appeared and dried up all the nasty rain puddles all over capitol hill. in two minutes we were sitting out on the front steps, soaking up vitamin D and unzipping our american apparel hoodies. my house walked as a collective over to the junkie-ridden IHOP 3 blocks away and prepared to wait half an hour for a stack of free pancakes. it was so, so worth it. i poured four different kinds of syrup on mine. best day of my life.
the rest of the day was a lovely haze of recovering from 3000 calories of pure glucose, watching bottle rocket with my roomies all crowded comfortably on the couch and making vague plans for getting off said couch. around six, frey came over and she and i decided to hit up liberty for happy hour, some former roommate girl talk time and to visit her McCrush of the moment. mostly successful, but we did end up with a bitchy little server who tried to correct me when i ordered a 'french 76' (its made with vodka instead of gin, and that is its proper name. i know, i work behind a bar) andddd micah tagged along. i love my roommate micah to death, but he is sort of the little brother i never had and never really wanted. you know. he sat in between us two ladies whining about his weekend and work, while downing three mexican cervezas. in the end he didnt have any cash so we ended up paying his tab. whatever.
afterwards, i parted ways with my friends and headed over to THE coffee shop to see if i could score some espresso and a little breaktime fun. barista boy closes on tuesdays, so i knew i would catch him. i was right. he was in the back room, eating a gyro when i showed up (a little boozy, too). he was surprised to see me but we talked for a bit while i stared at the printer (what did that printer spit out the night we tore up the back room like it was part of the set of "zack and miri"?). and then i realized something. we are awkward. i knew it before, but it never bugged me that much. my mind suddenly jumped back to a conversation i had with McFlannel the night we got drinks before the show. we were sitting in this intimate corner of the cha cha, deep in conversation about our families, about death, about life. we connected on every single level. it was nuts. i had no reservations. and now, barista boy and i stood around awkwardly, trying to make conversation about some article in the stranger. i sighed. barista boy looked around and saw his buddy walk into the coffee shop. "oh! its ----! i'll be right back, ok?" and kissed my cheek swiftly before running off to spend the rest of his break laughing heartily with his friend.
is this it? is this going to fizzle out, like every other one of my boy situations in the past two years? another pin on the map of capitol hill and my ridiculous history of unintentionally hitting up each and every business, from one end of broadway to the other. seriously, this needs to stop.
Monday, February 23, 2009
problem(s) solved?
i woke up early this morning, which was weird. i don't do mornings. my dream morning is actually waking up at noon, not even in the morning. and then going back to sleep.
this morning, i opened my eyes and couldn't go back to sleep. i was stressed about a few things. it all started last week, as i was wasting time (aka the economy --> shitty --> everyone in the whole world getting their hours cut --> me included --> too much time, no money --> wandering around stores window shopping while dodging hungry sales associates hoping that you will buy something --> you don't.) in bailey/coy books. i got a call from the catering company i sometimes work for. they wanted me to work a few events this coming week, which i eagerly agreed to. i mean, yes, working a catering event means i have to take out my nose ring, wear a retarded looking "white bistro" uniform, chunky black shoes and am often forced to run around some defense lawyers of western washington annual banquet ("...and here's the man who successfully got so-and-so aquitted! and we all know he was guilty as hell!") picking up half-eaten goopy plates and answering questions about the bar ("whaddya mean its not open bar!?"). BUT its a job, its hours, its a tiny paycheck i receive twice a month that i use to pay for things like a roof over my head. so yes, i am a a temp worker. and i am okay with it.
i got the address of the events i was supposed to work over the phone from the cantankerous secretary at the "premiere event staffing firm" that i work for. and then i realized that i would need to find a ride. this led to remember the last time i got a ride from a fellow caterer. brent, the late-20-something-year-old guy with the unnecessary beard and equally unnecessary ego. i hop in his car last week, wearing my dumbass uniform and panting from rushing around to get ready. "okay, we're a few minutes behind schedule but i'll try to make up for lost time," he whines, looking at the clock on the dashboard of his circa-1990 volvo station wagon. "sorry," i smile, unphased by brent's nagging. the events of my morning, which included waking up entangled with my cute barista boy in his bed, listening to belle & sebastian on his record player in my undies and losing at attempts at getting dressed (its difficult when you have a smooth-talking boy who keeps pulling you back into bed and covering you with kisses. just sayin'.), had me in a fog of secret sighs and giggles. "what are you so happy about?" brent snarled, in a sudden rage of frustration over punctuality and most likely, lack of sex. "you have a good date or somethin'?" i just giggled again and brent looked even more pissed off. "that reminds me. i need gas money," he grumbled, stomping on the gas. ugg. bastard.
anyways, i wake up this morning and realize i have another catering event that i need a ride to. i texted brent, but no reply. aaron, another creepy caterer who seems to only pay attention to me when he knows i am available, gave me the same response. the bus seemed to be the only option, but with me having a job interview (YES) at 3:00 i wouldn't have time to take the four million buses necessary to make it out to redmond, where the event was being held. shit.
which leads me to the next problem. guys treating me differently when i am not totally available. or am i available? i don't even know. okay. so, hypothetical situation. totally single girl is having drinks at her favorite bar, sees a bunch of baristas from her favorite coffee shop having drinks next to her. is invited over, ends up cozing up to one particular barista boy who walks her home, gives her a kiss on the cheek and slips her his number. text-flirtation ensues, a date follows, and naturally, one night he sneaks her into his coffee shop after hours and they have a hot romp all over the coffee shop countertop, knocking over bean hoppers, stacked cups and accidentally printing nine pages on the office printer in the back room. i still don't know what those pages contained... i mean! hypothetically speaking, of course. all a possible scenario.
part two. somewhere along the line, the "pre-dating" talk comes up. we're in bed, and we both sigh "this is great, but we can't get all relationshipXcore on this." i finish that statement with the reasoning that i am moving to new york soon (hopefully) and he simultaneously blurts out "i just got out of a six year relationship."
oh. shit.
so. not in a relationship. just messing around. sleepovers. etc. right? but then the next morning he wakes me up with kisses and asks me if i want to get breakfast. WTF?!? not just grab a coffee and walk around. sit down breakfast. hand holding. puts phone on silencer to be with me. boyfriendXcore.
and then the other night, while out for drinks with his friends, his buddy punches his arm and calls him a dumbass or something. barista boy smiles, kisses me playfully (ah! in front of friends! why does he keep doing this?), and breathes "she doesn't seem to mind. in fact, i'm convinced that's why she likes me." when did i tell him i liked him? I NEVER DID. the junior 'L' word has not been unleashed yet. let's slow down, buddy.
so i have a cute barista boy who i may or may not be in a relationship with. all the guys in my life are either jumping on the overprotective train (my guy roommates) or the asshole train (creepers who apparently wanted to do me). mostly a bunch of co-workers from McCatering or my Actual Restaurant Job fall into this second category. brent. aaron. graham (the 30-something at A.R.J. who follows me around whispering things that are borderline sexual harassment and then laughing "juuuust joshin' ya!"). and now McFlannel*.
so, McFlannel is you, you know, sort of perfect. but as soon as my barista boy started making an appearance with me all over town, McFlannel has retreated to that obviously hurt friend who thought he was more than a friend sort of behavior. at work he is quiet and polite towards me, but no more beers together after work, or walking around the park, or flirt texts. hm.
a few days ago, my barista boy lost his phone. at first i was cranky. i couldn't get a hold of him, so no hanging out/going out to bars with him/subsequent sleepovers. and then i realized, i am a single lady (cue beyonce please). i don't need to feel like i can't go out without him on my arm! so i head out to a good show (one that i told him about weeks ago but he probably forgot about). i bring a good book to read in between sets. hot damn. ha. as i am walking down 10th towards the always classy king cobra, i accidentally collide with someone exiting oddfellows. of course. McFlannel. he smiles wide and hugs me. "i run into you EVERYWHERE!" he laughs, showing his perfect jawline and scruffy beard. "i'm just about to go to a show... wait, are you going too?" of course we are going to the same show. he holds up his metro man bag, complete with a good book. "i was just going to read a bit before the show," he explains, blushing, "nerdy, i know." i laugh, shaking my head. that's exactly what i was going to do. "you wouldn't want to grab a drink with me before the show?" he asks, carefully.
that's exactly what i was hoping you'd say.
in conclusion. i woke up this morning, way too early. after a bunch of pointless texts to find a ride to my McCatering job, i realized i had the day wrong. no work today. problem number one solved. i can get to my job interview and hopefully get this job at a cute little creperie, adding to my hours and my paycheck and my life will be vastly improved. problem number two solved (?). keep your fingers crossed. and barista boy found his phone. he texted me this morning. "found phone! how was the show the other night?"
problem number three. the show was great...
appendix!
* McFlannel is a 20-something soft spoken guy from around the neighborhood who spends his time covering other people's shifts when they are too hungover to work, volunteering with children, sitting at good shows, reading good books, looking good, and playing board games with his equally good-looking roommates. i run into him EVERYWHERE. granted, i live in the same neighborhood. but i see him practically every day it seems. like main-characters-in-a-movie-that-takes-place-in-new-york-but-conveniently-run-into-each-other amount of running into each other. probably because we have all the same interests. or whatev. a few months ago we started texting each other a bit more, started hanging out a tiny bit. and then one drunken night i ran into barista boy and suddenly we are like dating (?) and McFlannel is no longer an option (?). oh, he wears a lot of flannel. that is the reason for the McNickname.
this morning, i opened my eyes and couldn't go back to sleep. i was stressed about a few things. it all started last week, as i was wasting time (aka the economy --> shitty --> everyone in the whole world getting their hours cut --> me included --> too much time, no money --> wandering around stores window shopping while dodging hungry sales associates hoping that you will buy something --> you don't.) in bailey/coy books. i got a call from the catering company i sometimes work for. they wanted me to work a few events this coming week, which i eagerly agreed to. i mean, yes, working a catering event means i have to take out my nose ring, wear a retarded looking "white bistro" uniform, chunky black shoes and am often forced to run around some defense lawyers of western washington annual banquet ("...and here's the man who successfully got so-and-so aquitted! and we all know he was guilty as hell!") picking up half-eaten goopy plates and answering questions about the bar ("whaddya mean its not open bar!?"). BUT its a job, its hours, its a tiny paycheck i receive twice a month that i use to pay for things like a roof over my head. so yes, i am a a temp worker. and i am okay with it.
i got the address of the events i was supposed to work over the phone from the cantankerous secretary at the "premiere event staffing firm" that i work for. and then i realized that i would need to find a ride. this led to remember the last time i got a ride from a fellow caterer. brent, the late-20-something-year-old guy with the unnecessary beard and equally unnecessary ego. i hop in his car last week, wearing my dumbass uniform and panting from rushing around to get ready. "okay, we're a few minutes behind schedule but i'll try to make up for lost time," he whines, looking at the clock on the dashboard of his circa-1990 volvo station wagon. "sorry," i smile, unphased by brent's nagging. the events of my morning, which included waking up entangled with my cute barista boy in his bed, listening to belle & sebastian on his record player in my undies and losing at attempts at getting dressed (its difficult when you have a smooth-talking boy who keeps pulling you back into bed and covering you with kisses. just sayin'.), had me in a fog of secret sighs and giggles. "what are you so happy about?" brent snarled, in a sudden rage of frustration over punctuality and most likely, lack of sex. "you have a good date or somethin'?" i just giggled again and brent looked even more pissed off. "that reminds me. i need gas money," he grumbled, stomping on the gas. ugg. bastard.
anyways, i wake up this morning and realize i have another catering event that i need a ride to. i texted brent, but no reply. aaron, another creepy caterer who seems to only pay attention to me when he knows i am available, gave me the same response. the bus seemed to be the only option, but with me having a job interview (YES) at 3:00 i wouldn't have time to take the four million buses necessary to make it out to redmond, where the event was being held. shit.
which leads me to the next problem. guys treating me differently when i am not totally available. or am i available? i don't even know. okay. so, hypothetical situation. totally single girl is having drinks at her favorite bar, sees a bunch of baristas from her favorite coffee shop having drinks next to her. is invited over, ends up cozing up to one particular barista boy who walks her home, gives her a kiss on the cheek and slips her his number. text-flirtation ensues, a date follows, and naturally, one night he sneaks her into his coffee shop after hours and they have a hot romp all over the coffee shop countertop, knocking over bean hoppers, stacked cups and accidentally printing nine pages on the office printer in the back room. i still don't know what those pages contained... i mean! hypothetically speaking, of course. all a possible scenario.
part two. somewhere along the line, the "pre-dating" talk comes up. we're in bed, and we both sigh "this is great, but we can't get all relationshipXcore on this." i finish that statement with the reasoning that i am moving to new york soon (hopefully) and he simultaneously blurts out "i just got out of a six year relationship."
oh. shit.
so. not in a relationship. just messing around. sleepovers. etc. right? but then the next morning he wakes me up with kisses and asks me if i want to get breakfast. WTF?!? not just grab a coffee and walk around. sit down breakfast. hand holding. puts phone on silencer to be with me. boyfriendXcore.
and then the other night, while out for drinks with his friends, his buddy punches his arm and calls him a dumbass or something. barista boy smiles, kisses me playfully (ah! in front of friends! why does he keep doing this?), and breathes "she doesn't seem to mind. in fact, i'm convinced that's why she likes me." when did i tell him i liked him? I NEVER DID. the junior 'L' word has not been unleashed yet. let's slow down, buddy.
so i have a cute barista boy who i may or may not be in a relationship with. all the guys in my life are either jumping on the overprotective train (my guy roommates) or the asshole train (creepers who apparently wanted to do me). mostly a bunch of co-workers from McCatering or my Actual Restaurant Job fall into this second category. brent. aaron. graham (the 30-something at A.R.J. who follows me around whispering things that are borderline sexual harassment and then laughing "juuuust joshin' ya!"). and now McFlannel*.
so, McFlannel is you, you know, sort of perfect. but as soon as my barista boy started making an appearance with me all over town, McFlannel has retreated to that obviously hurt friend who thought he was more than a friend sort of behavior. at work he is quiet and polite towards me, but no more beers together after work, or walking around the park, or flirt texts. hm.
a few days ago, my barista boy lost his phone. at first i was cranky. i couldn't get a hold of him, so no hanging out/going out to bars with him/subsequent sleepovers. and then i realized, i am a single lady (cue beyonce please). i don't need to feel like i can't go out without him on my arm! so i head out to a good show (one that i told him about weeks ago but he probably forgot about). i bring a good book to read in between sets. hot damn. ha. as i am walking down 10th towards the always classy king cobra, i accidentally collide with someone exiting oddfellows. of course. McFlannel. he smiles wide and hugs me. "i run into you EVERYWHERE!" he laughs, showing his perfect jawline and scruffy beard. "i'm just about to go to a show... wait, are you going too?" of course we are going to the same show. he holds up his metro man bag, complete with a good book. "i was just going to read a bit before the show," he explains, blushing, "nerdy, i know." i laugh, shaking my head. that's exactly what i was going to do. "you wouldn't want to grab a drink with me before the show?" he asks, carefully.
that's exactly what i was hoping you'd say.
in conclusion. i woke up this morning, way too early. after a bunch of pointless texts to find a ride to my McCatering job, i realized i had the day wrong. no work today. problem number one solved. i can get to my job interview and hopefully get this job at a cute little creperie, adding to my hours and my paycheck and my life will be vastly improved. problem number two solved (?). keep your fingers crossed. and barista boy found his phone. he texted me this morning. "found phone! how was the show the other night?"
problem number three. the show was great...
appendix!
* McFlannel is a 20-something soft spoken guy from around the neighborhood who spends his time covering other people's shifts when they are too hungover to work, volunteering with children, sitting at good shows, reading good books, looking good, and playing board games with his equally good-looking roommates. i run into him EVERYWHERE. granted, i live in the same neighborhood. but i see him practically every day it seems. like main-characters-in-a-movie-that-takes-place-in-new-york-but-conveniently-run-into-each-other amount of running into each other. probably because we have all the same interests. or whatev. a few months ago we started texting each other a bit more, started hanging out a tiny bit. and then one drunken night i ran into barista boy and suddenly we are like dating (?) and McFlannel is no longer an option (?). oh, he wears a lot of flannel. that is the reason for the McNickname.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
attempting to escape
typical morning. i wake to the sound of my cell phone ringing. its work; someone called in sick and they want me to cover. i really need the hours, but i am such a lazy shit that i rustle up a TB-worthy amount of phlegm from my lungs and practically spit it over the phone line at them. "well (i say between fits), i can definitely come in but i will need a few minutes to get up the strength to swallow my (HACK) medicine." no, no, they assure me. you stay home and rest. we'll find someone else.
A for effort!
i attempt to go back to sleep but the lack of heat, dim lines of grey seattle sunlight and the realization that i am wasting my life keep me awake. i grumble, throw back the covers (perky flower-patterned comforter left over from my more positive dorm days) and stumble out to the bathroom. the smell of my roommates' decision to adopt two cats hits me in the face. ick. the tub faucet is dripping. the toilet is half running. the sink keeps making this plunk, plunk, plunk noise because the pipe broke, and all we could think of to fix it was to put a giant mop bucket under the drain to catch the runoff. don't worry, we have to empty that disgusting orange motherfucker into the tub four times a day. sometimes the cats drink out of it too. welcome to my life.
after a successful bathroom visit in which i avoided touching anything or breathing through my nose, i walk into the icy kitchen to rummage for something to quell my slightly wine-induced morning nausea (i only had four glasses the previous night! doing well). i found my new box of raisin bran on the counter, tipped over and ripped into like a hungry pack of dogs had forced their way into the house. i managed to salvage four flakes and a raisin. i noticed a sloppily written note on the floor. 'borrowed some cereal,' it said. ah. downstairs roommate. just turned 21, going on 55. as in 55, and been drinking his whole life. whatever.
i return to my room and survey the possibilities for my day.
1. clean my room. it is a mess of clothes on the floor, clothes on my dresser, clothes on my bookshelf and clothes on clothes. and then underneath the clothes there are piles of unpaid bills. and movies to be returned. and many other things. from where i sit on my bed i can spot a broken mirror, empty cereal bowl (you better believe i dressed up those four flakes with some expired soy milk), a jam jar filled with water and one orange converse shoe.
2. along with room cleaning, there is always a need for clean laundry. i have definitely run out of clean undies. i am now on my emergency supply which includes granny panties and 'rag-time' lingerie.
3. pay bills. deposit pay checks. gather up tax forms. basically, pretend that i am a grown-up. i checked my bank statement online today and -$56.87 was not good news for me.
4. clean the litterbox... okay that's a joke. i'm not going near that fucker. let my cat-loving roommates do it.
5. go to a coffee shop and read. okay, not just any coffee shop. THE coffee shop. with THE barista. aka THE boy. yep, i have outdone myself in ridiculousness. my dating/hooking up record has been annoyingly, well, SEATTLE. there was the microsoft employee. i then moved on to the philosophy major with the moped. oh, don't forget the bartender from greenlake. for a while it was a harvard exit theater boy, who went dumpster diving with me on cold nights. trendy wendy. value village. i moved from one end of broadway to the other.
(done with the list, moving on to complaining about relationships) and now. here is my real dilemma. much bigger than what to do with a pair of incriminating undies. i want out of seattle. i love this little place with all my heart. capitol hill is like this funny little town on some silly TV show where you see the same characters in every episode (i.e.: 'slats', the gaunt junkie-looking pool player who is EVERYWHERE?). my raisin-bran stealing, cat-lovin,' beer guzzlin' roommates are amazing. but i can't be tied down. i am a restless spirit, always have been, and always will. i have dreams of moving to chicago, new york, buenos aires. somewhere! i need to be unattached. i need to get out while the goings good, you know?
so why did this barista boy have to show up in my life, right now?
oh lordy, that sounds like some sort of introduction to a late 90's high school romantic comedy. sick.
A for effort!
i attempt to go back to sleep but the lack of heat, dim lines of grey seattle sunlight and the realization that i am wasting my life keep me awake. i grumble, throw back the covers (perky flower-patterned comforter left over from my more positive dorm days) and stumble out to the bathroom. the smell of my roommates' decision to adopt two cats hits me in the face. ick. the tub faucet is dripping. the toilet is half running. the sink keeps making this plunk, plunk, plunk noise because the pipe broke, and all we could think of to fix it was to put a giant mop bucket under the drain to catch the runoff. don't worry, we have to empty that disgusting orange motherfucker into the tub four times a day. sometimes the cats drink out of it too. welcome to my life.
after a successful bathroom visit in which i avoided touching anything or breathing through my nose, i walk into the icy kitchen to rummage for something to quell my slightly wine-induced morning nausea (i only had four glasses the previous night! doing well). i found my new box of raisin bran on the counter, tipped over and ripped into like a hungry pack of dogs had forced their way into the house. i managed to salvage four flakes and a raisin. i noticed a sloppily written note on the floor. 'borrowed some cereal,' it said. ah. downstairs roommate. just turned 21, going on 55. as in 55, and been drinking his whole life. whatever.
i return to my room and survey the possibilities for my day.
1. clean my room. it is a mess of clothes on the floor, clothes on my dresser, clothes on my bookshelf and clothes on clothes. and then underneath the clothes there are piles of unpaid bills. and movies to be returned. and many other things. from where i sit on my bed i can spot a broken mirror, empty cereal bowl (you better believe i dressed up those four flakes with some expired soy milk), a jam jar filled with water and one orange converse shoe.
2. along with room cleaning, there is always a need for clean laundry. i have definitely run out of clean undies. i am now on my emergency supply which includes granny panties and 'rag-time' lingerie.
3. pay bills. deposit pay checks. gather up tax forms. basically, pretend that i am a grown-up. i checked my bank statement online today and -$56.87 was not good news for me.
4. clean the litterbox... okay that's a joke. i'm not going near that fucker. let my cat-loving roommates do it.
5. go to a coffee shop and read. okay, not just any coffee shop. THE coffee shop. with THE barista. aka THE boy. yep, i have outdone myself in ridiculousness. my dating/hooking up record has been annoyingly, well, SEATTLE. there was the microsoft employee. i then moved on to the philosophy major with the moped. oh, don't forget the bartender from greenlake. for a while it was a harvard exit theater boy, who went dumpster diving with me on cold nights. trendy wendy. value village. i moved from one end of broadway to the other.
(done with the list, moving on to complaining about relationships) and now. here is my real dilemma. much bigger than what to do with a pair of incriminating undies. i want out of seattle. i love this little place with all my heart. capitol hill is like this funny little town on some silly TV show where you see the same characters in every episode (i.e.: 'slats', the gaunt junkie-looking pool player who is EVERYWHERE?). my raisin-bran stealing, cat-lovin,' beer guzzlin' roommates are amazing. but i can't be tied down. i am a restless spirit, always have been, and always will. i have dreams of moving to chicago, new york, buenos aires. somewhere! i need to be unattached. i need to get out while the goings good, you know?
so why did this barista boy have to show up in my life, right now?
oh lordy, that sounds like some sort of introduction to a late 90's high school romantic comedy. sick.
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