Tag Archives: coffee

A Park Play

12 Oct

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I am on vacation… sitting onna park bench, with a quad latté, watching a crow and two seagulls fight over a trash can.

…We’ll call ’em Ed, Vincent, and Jane…

…When I first arrived, Ed, (the snow white seagull) was lording over the lip of the can, not so much interested in exploring it’s contents, as being seen as owning them. He just stood there constantly looking around him to make sure the others were watching. “The others,” including a group of Mallards who were too busy picking at bugs in the grass, and what are apparently his arch nemeses: a Crow (Vincent), and brown speckled Seagull (Jane), who were watching closely from about five feet away.

…At first I thought it was an exercise in manliness on behalf of Ed for the benefit of Jane…as if owning the goods Vincent couldn’t, made him the better man. Especially as Vincent circled the can behind, and Jane began a yordle-yell, holding Ed’s rapt attention.

“Yeah, I got this, babe,” Ed seemed to wink, as Jane’s scream lowered to a sultry growl, “You got more than that, hot stuff,” she purred…until suddenly—!

–Vincent attacked from behind! It was immediate and vicious, as he shoved Ed from the top of the can with a body slam, leaving him dazed on the ground, flicking his head, with Jane immediately erupting into shrill laughter.

…”It was a whole Bonnie and Clyde set-up!,” I thought to myself in wonder, as Vincent nodded Jane’s way and began picking at the contents of the can. Ed, meanwhile, humiliated and bruised, yelled “Fuck you, Vincent!,” as he wobbled off on his own…away from the Mallards and past my table…where I wasn’t totally sure but I thought I heard him mumble, “…I hope you choke onna used rubber…”

…Naturally I had to laugh at this, spewing Cosmonaut coffee out my nose, and pulling Vincent’s attention for a half a second…

…Which was all Jane needed, to clear the distance ‘tween her and the can, jump up on its lip, and facing Vincent, let out a giant scream…biggest yet…which startled him so much he backed off the can into mid air and sorta hung there…like in a cartoon. When he came-to and tried to re-land, he got another yell from Jane…and then another.

“…But baby, I —”

“–PISS OFF!”

“…But honey you said–”

“–I SAID: OUT!”

…And then, I swear to you…she started reaching into the can and flicking trash at him…

“–AND TAKE ALL YOUR SHIT WITH YOU!”

“…What? What? I don’t understand…??”

“–YOUR CRAPPY CHIP BAG…THAT EMPTY CUP…THIS OLD TOILET PAPER ROLL. HOW MANY GD TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO GET RID OF THIS GD TOILET PAPER ROLL…!?”

“…But you said you liked the toilet paper roll. You said it would look nice in the front nest…”

“FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, I SAID THAT, VINCENT. A LIFETIME AGO. AND NOTHING HAS CHANGED! I CAN’T TAKE THE MONOTONY ANY MORE! ALWAYS THE SAME GRIFT, THE SAME END…THE SAME EVERYTHING. I NEED TO START THINKING ABOUT ME AND MY FUTURE AND WHAT I REALLY WANT OUT OF LIFE. AND IT’S NOT YOU VINCENT. WE’RE THROUGH.”

…After this final shriek of Jane’s refuse-flinging outburst, Vincent ceased his attempts at regaining his ground. He looked around assessing the damage of his rejected personal items strewn across the lawn, while the Mallard neighbors watching slyly from afar tried not to make eye contact, as they gossiped amongst themselves.

“…Janes finally doing it…I knew she would, I knew she would–”

“–Poor bastard, isn’t that just the way of it? She just had to do it on a busy Monday lunch break too…no privacy at all…”

“I always said it would never work: those two…”

“–Don’t be racist, Delphine…”

“– I’m not! It’s a matter of religion and temperament!”

…And so on…as Vincent, all alone, took flight, leaving all his mess of things and broken heart, behind.

I’m not entirely sure what the moral of the story is, as Jane continues to work on her trade-goods alone. Maybe it’s about how being a woman of independent means is infinitely more satisfying than settling into a life of “making due.” Maybe it’s a commentary on middle age crises and the need to reinvent oneself to reinvigorate life-purpose.

…And maybe it was just: Jane is a giant bitch.

…We may never know.

~D

Pizza-Coffee, With Barry & Ben & Jerry

14 Jan

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Just finished marrying the last of the coffee from the carafe into my already cold cup.   My fourth, all-told, for the day.  Naturally, nuking it is a necessity.

…But WHS Pimp just finished zapping his pizza.

…So now I’m drinking pizza-infused bold-roast.

It’s more than a little disgusting.

…You know how your coffee sorta settles a bit, and gets that film, floating on top…?

…And, you know how pizza has a lot of grease and somehow only gets oranger and greasier when nuked…?

The top of my coffee looks like an oil rig spew…slightly rainbow-swirled, and “wrong.”

…Yet, I am drinking it anyway. Never mind that the taste generally lines up to about what it sounds like it would taste like.

…Because: It’s coffee. (Sort of.)  I don’t want Idiot Gnome to make another whole pot, cuz I will DRINK the whole other pot.  So I need to just sit here, and swill my toxic sludge and shut up about it.

…’Cept to you…who never seem to care when I complain.

In fact, just the other day, someone remarked about how much day-to-day joy is lost from their coffee breaks, cuz work here ain’t the Hell it once used to be (for like two years or so.) 

I guess sometimes people miss complaining. 

…I knew that was true in the first person case (though in this regards, I certainly don’t miss it), but I’ve rarely heard that about OTHER people’s thoughts on someone ELSE’S horrible shit-fest. 

I like to think it is because everyone has BEEN in a shit-fest at SOME point or other, and it is just said person missing the camaraderie.  Or maybe making fun of it.   Or maybe feeling better about their own life choices.

We may never know.

…But for some reason, Boss is missed by some of you…and some people wish Idiot Gnome had a more developed “Greatest Hits” list.

Truth is, she’s sorta learning a little (in some things) and is cheap (in salary)…she takes the trash out without telling her, and goes to find us eats whenever we want (without grumbling)…so we’ve eased up on her a little.

…Which isn’t to say that we’ve no comments about her desk-personalization choices of Hello Kitty mouse pads and pink rhinestone-bedazzled stapler, tape dispenser and pen set…

…Or that we cease to be amused by her Whoville hair, floating like ever-changing colored feathers any given day to any given day. (She is currently in what one might call a “transition” from fading pink to auburn with blonde under-streaks…achieved by box-brunette on top of blonde, with a light red rinse just before Christmas, which didn’t take well, turning pinkish within a week.) Or the fact that she wears so much pancake foundation that the buttons on her phone cease to have numbers.

…Or her “adorable” habit of declaring how starving she is when we order food, then basically licking the top of the bun free of sesame seeds, declaring she’s “stuffed.”

She’s sort of like a pet at this point…where we keep her in her little front lobby cage, and allow ourselves to be amused by her daily idiosyncrasies, taking bets on her ability to do a project right the first time, rather than get all up in arms about it when she rarely does. Mostly because we totally understand her capabilities at this point, and know what NOT to trust her with…and she can answer a phone without falling all over herself (at last.)

…So we’re sorta good with that.

For now.

…But speaking of “pets”…did you know I’m fostering three for Cecil whilst she is out London way for the quarter?

Two frogs (Ben and Jerry) and a Beta (Barry.)

They live in one combined bowl, ‘tween Daphne and Niles, and seem to be adjusting just fine…though the frogs really freaked me out for the first couple days. Cuz they’re FROGS.

…Aquatic African Dwarf frogs, actually. But in time I was able to bond with them a bit, just out of curiosity. They’re very social and animated. If anywhere within sight line, you really can’t HELP watching them and their constant life of strife. Poor bastards work out all day long and don’t seem to get anywhere really. I bet they just long for sunshine and a rock. But I’m told not. So I just leave ’em be.

…In case you are at all interested in getting some as pets, I’d like to recommend them highly. As basically they do all the work, and make you laugh a lot in exchange for daily pellet feeding (I refuse the frozen worm thing), and a once-weekly bath.

…Which, if you wear giant rubber gloves that go up to your elbow, like I do…keeps you totally safe from accidentally touching one…which funny as they are or not…would totally NOT be okay.

I’ve decided that if I ever venture that way (post-fostering), I would name them Esther (Williams) and Fernando (Lamas). Cuz they seem forever to be doing extremely complicated choreographed water ballets, in between what looks to me like a yoga regime, involving a wide-reaching scramble to the top of the bowl, followed by starfishing in a free-float back to the bottom of the bowl, in zen-like stillness, whichever way they happen to fall.

…FOR. HOURS.

…I know. Cuz I’ve watched.

…I REALLY need a new show to focus on, you guys.

~D

How You Really Found Me

12 Jul

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Am sitting here on “lunch,” sipping my red eye (black coffee with a shot), eating what will (I’m sure) equal an entire cereal box worth of Rice Krispy treats, sent special delivery from Aunt and Uncle G, am listening to bad 90’s music that I love, and Naughty Girl has finally arrived from China.

…Not bad, as workdays go.

Tonight, we have our last Friday performance of “Earnest” as the Black Lab team begins their Seattle 48 Hour Film Fest without about half it’s last year members.  (A classic, on-your-feet, guerilla write-film-and-edit campaign of creative awesomeness.)  We wish them well from our various places on the planet…and will try not to feel guilty as we climb into bed tonight, (at whatever-dark-thirty), which is still more sleep than they will be seeing until about this time on Monday.

…Kill it, guys!!!

Meanwhile, it’s been a bit since I checked up on the full arena of blog stats here for SWAL.  Never did get around to writing that all-inclusive First Year BD post I was thinkin’ on…and lets be real, by this point I won’t ever be.  Still like to look in and see how the numbers and things are running though…and one of my all-time favorite bonuses is the “Search Term” list…that is: how people not on FB or WordPress, found me to begin with.

…That’s right, I know all your dirty secrets, you little freaks.  Yes.  I’m talking to YOU, “Consumer Fury” and “Redheaded Girl Feet.”

…But I won’t tell. 

…Except for right here. 

…But after that, I swear I won’t even whisper a word.

Some of my current favorite hits include (word-for-word):

“bar talk blogs”
“nerd girl pin up”
“I’m not bossy I just have better ideas”
“dame wars”
“sneezing+feet fetish”
“Drag Queen makeouts”
“gollum theatre cups”
“PMS monster”
“hyperbole and metaphors slandering women in much ado about nothing”
“mae west fish”
“wine, pamprin and Breakfast @ Tiffany’s”
“downton fucking abbey”
“nice lesbian couple”
“circus porn”
“cooking torture”
“will and grace drinking game”
“welcome to the den of iniquities”
“Accidental asshole”
“rat pack boys and pin up girls theme party”
“the musicality of sentence structure”
“de-motivational posters boob”
“weightlifting girl postcards”
“gamer rage”
“the butt bio”
“my work in brothel”
“exercising demons”
“just checking cat email”
“marvel comic wedding toppers”
“people dressed as rag dolls”
“quality stalking”
“hell traffic”
“ode to my bed”
“mini hypochondriac”

…Of course, no matter how much I wanna point fingers and make fun of you, I know exactly which post(s) you were ultimately taken to, nine times outta ten, simply by your word combo.  So who is the joke really on?

…I vote: still you.  Because I gained readership in the end.

WIN!

…But seriously.  “Just checking CAT email?”

You lost me.

~D

300 (& 6 Shots)

7 May

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Today is SWAL’s 300th post since its inception, last June, with a little over 2 months remaining in the blog-a-day commitment.

I don’t have nearly an exciting enough life to have undertaken the challenge to begin with, but what the hell…I’ve almost made it anyhow, well over 10,000 readers have viewed it, tagged it, reposted it, shared it on FB, and now-and-then have left comments.

…And none of  that could have taken place if I didn’t make the commitment and go out of my way (frequently), to upkeep it.

So there, is that.

In Other News:  Insomnia hit hard last night.  Hours of wide-awake, with severe tossing and turning.  Seems to be the case with a lot of people across the last few nights, apparently.  Vicious-tired this morning.  The WHS Pimp, was also low on sleepage, and did a bikini-coffee run (he wasn’t wearing one, the baristas were) for some sugared-up insanity.  He brought me back a venti latte with six shots.

…It’s amazing how much “get up and go” a shit-ton of caffeine will give you.

The post-sugar crash is still on the horizon.  Prob’ly hitting sometime tomorrow.  I dunno.

Hungry.

…Need to carb up, then go for my walk, shower, and off to rehearsal, where the dueling engagement tea-party will commence. By far, my favorite scene.  It’s ridiculous.  And hilarious.  A love-hate-love relationship to last the ages.

…Off now to my last report of the day.

Freedom: you are just on the other side.  I can see you from here.  Wait for me, kay?

~D

A Reboot To Gooder Times

4 Jan

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So, I’ve decided to start the New Year all over again. 

…We’ll call the last one a “Dress Rehearsal.” 

In keeping with tradition, it really blew. But that’s okay, cuz it means that Opening Night will be super awesome.

That’s the damn rules.

After a literally sleepless night, trying to get a hold of customer service online for hours, (t’ween going out and looking in the rain for m’damn phone), I finally was able to suspend service on the account by 5 a.m…hoping it was before whoever might have found it could order everything in the world through my Amazon app, and have it shipped to them while draining my bank account, and calling people in China for four-hour conversations.

…By 6:30 (when the rest of the world started waking up), friend peeps began responding to my IM’d pleas of help…and said “dumbass phone” was eventually found: now in custody at the Theatre.

…So that was my night.

…And so now, here at work with anti-sleep nausea, I sit weaving before the computer trying to choke down a fifth cup of coffee.

My fifth.

…Which isn’t working so well on an empty tummy, come to find out.

…So that’s why Ma showed up with food, at my work, making me eat it and suck on some Sprite for twenty minutes until the “wanting to die” part began to pass.

In other words: Not a great time, you guys. And I’m not okay with the build up stacking effect I’ve got going of one crap-deal on top of the other. So I’m cutting it off here…right now…and insisting that fate and everything else waiting in the wings to screw me over somehow, knock it the fuck off!

THERE WILL BE NO UNDERSTUDIES!

It’s been said.

Now…

I’m gonna finish this paperwork junk, and get my car to the shop by six tonight, so I can have them re-fix what I already spent $550 on, which evidently didn’t work, as I failed my smog test, so couldn’t get my new tabs, which is why I got pulled over ON NEW YEARS DAY EVE, on way home from rehearsal, (the only sober person on the planet at the time…so its good they decided that I was the one they should pick on)…and given a ticket for more crap that I can’t afford to pay.

Enough is enough, friends.

Now, someone say something to make me laugh, dammit!

~D

The Teamster Dump-&-Run

4 Dec

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For the record: it will always be too early in the morning to deal with Bio-hazard waste, but even more so before you have had your coffee.

This morning started much as most did, with paperwork printing and report updates. I was head-down-nose-to-the-grindstone for twenty minutes before calling out to the lobby at (who I thought was) the WHS Pimp.

…It was an easy mistake, as whoever was out there, was making coffee.

…And Boss not only doesn’t know how, but was busy at the moment…arguing over Christmas purchases for the kids on the phone with his ex-wife in his office.

Getting no response to my call, I popped up from the desk with papers in-hand and marched to the lobby in hopes of gaining info on a product drop-date. But, there standing over the coffee maker…scoop in-hand…was NOT the WHS Pimp. It was a tiny man in a beanie hat who looked as if he hadn’t showered or shaved in about a week and a half.

“Must be a Teamster,” I thought to myself as I smiled at him with a blink, then turned on-heel towards the Warehouse. Following the sounds of the forklift, the WHS Pimp was found, my stocking question answered, as I pointed to the truck.

Me: That one of our usual guys? I don’t remember seeing him before.

WHS Pimp: The driver? No. He’s new.

Me: I thought he was you, in the lobby.

WHS Pimp: Thanks?

Me: No…I mean: he was making coffee.

WHS Pimp: Making coffee?

Me: Yeah.

WHS Pimp: Okay.

Me: I was just wondering…does he do this often?

WHS Pimp: I dunno. Not here, anyway.

Me: Okay. So…not to be mean or anything but…

WHS Pimp: Yeah?

Me: Maybe don’t drink the coffee?

WHS Pimp: (Pshaw.) No. It’s fine.

Me: Okay. Well…you drink it first.

WHS Pimp: Lemme finish the truck and I’m on it.

…To which I nodded my head and headed back into the office, where — I kid you not –the second I opened the door I was hit with a warm wall of rotting death.

…Which meant that, clearly, said Teamster had just completed one of the Union’s favorite past-times of taking a giant dump in your office facilities.

I get it:

It’s warm.

It’s clean.

It isn’t a truck-stop, or a Denny’s with another dude sitting in the next stall.

…But for whatever reason that I am NOT sure of, the ways of the road seem to creep into the habits of these dudes…”cleanliness next to Godliness,” being the least favored theme on which to build their hygiene habits, and maybe also: their noses are all broken. Because it seems to me, that they are never conscious of the smell which follows their deed…what’s more, might even be rather proud of it…marching around the lobby afterward, with the bathroom door left wide-open and zero attempts at aerosoling the atmosphere, or washing their hands or (in a lot of cases) even flushing.

…So Mr. Teamster Beanie, was found. In his hand: a fresh (?) pot of water, being taken with him from said stench-way, directly to the coffee pot, where he loaded it, and pressed the brewing button.

Eyes tearing from poisoned gas, I tried to be civil, as I rounded the corner to my office, and waited for Mr. Teamster Beanie to exit…which he did…to join the fellas out in the Warehouse.

…Which is immediately when I shot into action, beating it for the bathroom door…where remains of a new potty-training individual would be the ONLY excuse for what I found. Which I will not describe. But sufficient to say: it took two flushes, three Clorox wipes, and a shit-ton of Lysol spray to repair.

After detoxing myself with harsh chemicals and five or ten handwashings, I eventually emerged back into the lobby, where the bubble and fart-burp of newly brewing coffee greeted me. Along with, soon-after, Boss.

Boss: Hey. I’m gonna run to 7-11, want anything?

Me: Coffee.

(Boss looks at coffee maker, and points.)

Me: After what I had to just clean up in there, I would lick the Warehouse ground, before I would touch whatever is cooking over there.

Boss: A bad one, huh?

Me: Could you not SMELL it?!

(Boss shrugs. My face, holding a total look of disgust.)

Me: God, I hope whatever is in “that,” gets somehow killed by the heat. We may even need a new coffee maker…

Boss: You are just way too germ-a-phobe-ee.

Me: Poop on the seat! ON. THE. SEAT!

Boss: So a large coffee.

Me: YES!

Boss: Got it.

(And he exits, as enters WHS Pimp. I all but throw my body as a buffer, directly at him.)

Me: Don’t. Drink. The coffee.

…And he could tell by my face that this time: I really meant it.

~D

First Dress

4 Nov

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Hello civilians, and welcome to first dress rehearsal. 

…Our call is late, due to blocking of the the theatre’s follow-up Holiday show taking place on the same stage, directly before our call.  In short: the December show is running about on our stage right now, (as we once did to “Sherlock”)…and will continue until 4:30…at which time we begin arriving in shifts in various states of makeup and hair, to tag-team, sort out some adjustment fittings, and ship things directly out into the makeshift on-site alteration and stitching department currently holding state in the lobby. 

…As of yesterday’s costume parade, I had nothing to wear but my corset, shoes, and stockings. They are still piecing my blacks together, built in copy pattern to a gray dress I tried on a little over a week ago, whose color was veto’d but style and fitting was approved.  Will be doing my hair and makeup at home, to avoid time-crunch and also have a slew of my own outlets for various curlers and irons, as I invent the styles to begin with. Plenty of elbow room, music, and pictorial inspiration on the internet, ready on my computer, at click-command.

…Also, right now: a stew is cooking in the crockpot.

Got up this morning to make a cup of coffee, and feed meat and veg into the slow-cooker, before surveying the damage of last night’s spur-of-the-moment mini party. 

A couple of casties, (post eats, post cue-to-cue), didn’t want to give up the ghost quite yet…so I rushed home to prep their arrival, and make sure we had enough mixers.  Many talks on many subjects, with “Anonymous” on in the background, a shared stogie on the back patio, a trip planning thrown out there, and YouTube vomits of the most ridiculous videos we know of, that we feel compelled to force other people to watch and thus be forever equally scarred from, for life.

…Marty, I think, wins for that South African husband and wife freak-team.  And you can wonder at all it’s wrongs here, should you choose. (Their “Ninja” one is as least as horrifying.)

I need more coffee, but the last bag of beans has been killed, and I mourned it, even before this one cup was done perking. Thus, I am forced into tea…which is lovely when you want tea, but when you want “coffee” there is no solace to that desire unless you feed it what it demands.

Coffee is very S&M that way.

4 hours and 24 minutes left on the stew clock, and a sink-and-a-half of dirty dishes to see to.

…But first: heat some water, pop in some “Shakespeare In Love” or “Stage Beauty” or “Henry V” or “Richard III”…or any of the eleven-hundred others keeping to the current theme…take a walk, take a shower, and set my hair to begin the regime.

This is one of those days where you spend almost all of it, just prepping for the end-game…as first dresses always have, and always will be.

~D

When The Smarts Get Stupid

11 Oct

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You know like when you wanna do things that aren’t a good idea…and there’s that little voice in your head that sorta sounds like a Munchkin saying, “Noooo, don’t dooooo iiiiiit!”

…But then it “accidentally” happens, anyway?

Yeah.

I’m like the Captain of that team right now.

…And what’s so funny about this (not really, but lets just pretend for a moment, shall we?) is that I actually DO so few legitimate “bad idea” things, that when I finally make a choice leaning that way, it is so BLARINGLY obvious just how bad the idea is, and that I am CLEARLY too smart to get caught up in shenanigans of that kind. And you have to admit it, cuz if not, then you’ve just been “duped” and that’s even worse than the other thing.

I am a smart person.

…Just, by and large…”in general.” (And extremely humble, P.S.) There IS no excuse for the predicament I find myself in, other than I totally knew what was going to happen…in my guts…but decided just to ignore it. Cuz sometimes, doing the “right thing” all the time, gets really fucking old.

True story.

…But then when you’re done “being an idiot” about reality and things, you are sitting here…like I am, for instance…feeling like a total asshole, but not in the way you would necessarily think. Hurt feelings aren’t involved. I’m not any poorer than I was before. I still have all my limbs and no stitches, or police record…and I didn’t gain any enemies. I guess if you stack all that up, my payback isn’t nearly as bad as it has every right to be.

My deal right now, is that I just feel like a giant idiot. And I can’t stand “idiots.” I make fun of them every fucking day in this blog. And now I have to take a break from doing that for a while, if only because of the butt-wad of hypocrisy involved, if I, say, call others out for things that blow my mind-balls with the scale of stupidity it represents, when I know what went down in my own little world, so recently.

Essentially, what I’m saying is: I’ve screwed up several perfectly good bitching blogs because I can’t double-standard in front of you all, about the things that piss me off that other people do, when they know they just fucking shouldn’t.

That’s all.

…Which leaves what exactly then, for me to write about?

Pumpkin lattes and this book I’m sorta trying to read, seem safe. I’ll just stick with those.

…Fuck.

~D

Death Of Keurig

10 Oct

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My Keurig exploded this morning.

…Well, actually it was more like it pooped chunks.  I knew it was all gonna go south when it took me two minute to clamp the cup in so the water lid would pop up.  The clamp wouldn’t stick.  Kept swirling the cup canister dealy-boop that lets you put whatever fresh grounds you want in it…but the lip musta been off or something on the top, because clamping was just not happening.

…And reasoning didn’t help at all.  Threats either.

Finally I managed to shove it all together, popped the “go” button, and shuffled back to bed to sit out the perk time, while staring into oblivion and contemplating the effort of keeping my eyes both open simultaneously. After the final colicy burps and hisses announced completion in the other room, I shuffled back to the kitchen to find coffee ground diarrhea leaking all down the sides of the Keurig and cup and onto the counter top.  Only about half of the liquid-ground mixture actually made it into the mug, which I blinked at with a sigh. 

…This is where tea strainers come in handy.

…Grabbing another mug, I glopped the mixture through a strainer into it, losing more along the counter and floor for my efforts, and then just left it all sitting there as I brought my two inches of coffee left to the cause, with me to the shower.

In the best of cases, mornings and I aren’t friends. This one seemed to pre-doom itself from the beginning, but then calmed down to something more manageable later in the day. It’s only fair really, when you start out that pathetically.

…And now, the first time I’ve been able to take a break for the day, I’m only one hour out from calling it here at the office, and going home. A clammy walk in misty fog will be my next challenge for the day, followed then by four hours of Act One review at rehearsal. Somewhere in there: more line runnings, the manufacturing and eating of “dinner,” and fixing of the Keurig…so we can relive it all again tomorrow.

I’m game.

…It’s totally gonna be fine as soon as I start moving again and pretend like my ass isn’t just permanently affixed to this swivel chair with a phone glued to my ear.

…Fifty more minutes, friends. Only just fifty more.

Even I can do that.

~D

Conflicting Schedules & Farty-Chairs

30 Sep

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I have conflicting schedules today.  I think.  I’m not totally sure, because the latest updated rehearsal call email went MIA and I haven’t heard back from the SM as yet…which is perfectly understandable, as I just figured this out at around 1:30 A.M. when I sent her an email request for updates.  The woman was prob’ly sleeping, (and possibly still is) which, however logical, doesn’t help the fact that I may or may not have a call in 20 minutes, or according to the first schedule at 3:30…or according to “M,” (who was the only human conscious when I started freaking out), possibly 6 P.M.

…What I’m saying is: this is really important, cuz I also booked a movie premiere and theatre tickets for today.

…I kinda have to know, you guys.

Wait! A phone ping!

**later, after reading text, and sending others to the four corners of the globe**

…Alrighty then.  Collisions averted.

(It is at 6…in case you were wondering.)

…Geeze.  Now I need to go make another thing of coffee and defreak a bit.

…And maybe put my eyes in. 

Head’s already wrapped up and sealed in hot curlers so can’t do glasses, and I hate contacts first thing in the morning. Have elected to just go semi blind until now.  Hate how itchy my eyes get…even with the uber fancy Alka Selzer-like cleaning fluid that costs $15 per bottle and special drops to keep them extra hydrated.  It’s like my eyes don’t even WANT some foreign plastic disc hugging the breath out of them for 12 to 18 hours a day, non-stop.  As if they don’t even CARE when they cloud up, like your car windows on a cold morning, (which no amount of swiping, blinking or squeezing can undo), and I can’t see a goddamn thing.  My eyes are selfish assholes, really…when you get down to it.  Everything is all about them.  They’re tired, they’re itchy, they’re dry then strangely teary… 

…Meanwhile…have you ever tried putting all that under stage lights and baking it for two hours?  It doesn’t help the situation.  And neither does the occasional required crying. 

…Cuz when you’re in the middle of being strangled, with tears, sweat and snot running down your face (and 200 people watching), the last thing you wanna be thinking is: “Fuck.  My left contact just washed out.  HOLD EVERYTHING YOU GUYS! I gotta find it real quick…”

In Other News: I am writing this from my farty-chair, which is an amazing feat because I just now realized it…which means it finally “made it” as an official edition to my house. Until now, it’s been “that new foreign thing,” I had to work around and get used to.

…We all know how I hate change. That is by no means limited to major life events…it’s also inclusive with furnishings, habits, and routines in general. I first purchased the farty-chair about two weeks before Puff came up to visit, on the inclination that should we (for instance) both want to watch something on TV at the same time, there would be too many butts and not enough places to comfortably put them to achieve this. So, I bought this chair. I spent THREE HOURS re-arranging my living room, back and forth and back again, to find out where in the hell it would fit best…which was nowhere…because it was “new” and “different” and I never know what to DO with those kind of things…so finally just picked a place and PUT it there. Then I stared at it for a couple of days, like an alien had landed in my house and I didn’t know what to do with it. Well, I DID know, I just didn’t like the answer.

…I was gonna have to “bond” with it.

…So, I girded my loins and began the long and painful process of changing my daily routines and habits JUST to fit in the fucker. Every time my butt hit the mini-sofa, it would pop up again and have to go settle instead in the farty-chair. Every time I settled in with a book, or opened the laptop, I’d have to stop, get up, and relocate to the farty-chair. Everything became ABOUT the farty-chair. And the FACT it WAS a “farty-chair” didn’t help the situation. Every time you’d settle or move in the thing, it would omit a variety of groan-squees…which, because I was still trying to break it in and get comfortable in it, made every evening in front of the TV for two weeks sound like the after effects of a baked-beans eating contest. Just HIGHLY uncomfortable, and not right.

…But by the time Puff came, it had become a thing I could tolerate. I could be in the same room with it and not give it dirty looks and cuss at it’s every flatulence rip. I figured out how to replicate its sounds so that if a small movement happened to manufacture a mock-grossness, I could immediately echo it with movement, thus proving to the public at large that it was the chair that had gas problems, not me. And by the time Puff left that week, I actually had to remind myself a couple times that it was OK to default back to my sweet home base on the mini-couch once again. And did.

…And so, the farty-chair has remained now…mostly dormant. That is, until (for some reason) today. Today, I didn’t think about it. Today, I had multiple schedules in my head and a cup of coffee and laptop in hand. I settled in for a flush of manic emailing, and opened my blog, tucked in with a blanket and got to work.

…And then my coffee ran out. And I looked at the cup forlornly, there: on the side perch footstool-table, beside the…farty-chair? I’m in the farty-chair?!

…”Groan-squeeeeee, ” it replies with my sudden shift in seat of surprise.

“Huh.” I pat it on the armrest. It wags it’s tail.

“Welcome to the family, bub. Looks like you finally made it.”

It passes a gassy sigh of relief.

And I go back to my blog.

~D

Ode To My Bed

29 Sep

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Is there anything better than a good night’s sleep going into a Saturday morning?  S’pecially when the fan is blowing just enough, that you gotta snuggle deeper into your blankets…burrow for a bit, just your face poking out, like a papoose.

…Pillows hugging your head…the rested “you” smell, mixed with fabric-softened bed linens. You lay on your side and look at the sunlight struggling to get in through the drawn blinds.

What will you do today? 

…So few Saturday mornings now, when a rehearsal won’t immediately push you outta bed and into the shower.

…Morning nibbles? Maybe you’ll bake some scones.  With that strawberry/champagne jam, from World Market.  Melted butter.  Coffee.  Not the heavy Italian roast. Something more mellow, and easy…a breakfast roast or Oooo…some of the Kona, your friend brought back from the Big Island. Now, is to enjoy the taste of the roast…not chew it. It doesn’t need to smack you in the face today, just tickle you awake…softly.

…And a walk.  It’s prob’ly amazing out in the world right now…all sunny with that fall-snap breeze to it.

You roll over and look at the clock.

10:30.

…Such good sleeps…no one in the world had gooder sleeps that you last night.  The deep kind, where dreams don’t even register. Like you died, over night, and were resuscitated with the morning…which could prob’ly be seen as kinda creepy, but it isn’t…not in the way that you are thinking of it.  Souls resting peacefully, with plant friends, and a layer of fall leaves to keep them cozy and in good company.

And a streeeeeetch!

You yawn.

Yes.  Coffee.  Coffee, prob’ly while snuggled back here in bed.  Prop up the mountain of pillows, pop on the laptop, and sip and read…catching up on all the blog-friend posts you’ve missed this week.  Then, a little breakfast.  After that: a walk.

…The house is already cleaned.  The Fish are bathed.  You did well with lines yesterday and are on pace with where you wanted to be, and know what is needed of today.

But not yet.

…Just a minute or two more of this.

Of bed. And sheets. And quilted blankets. 

…Of pillows in great mounds and starfishing stretches.

Saturday mornings…

Mmmm…

~D

Conversations In A Day

11 Sep

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The Cuz has arrived, and thus begins Vacation Part Two:

(First crack of morning.)

Puff: (On the phone.) Where you at?
Me: (In bed.) Huh?
Puff: I’m here!
Me: Wuh?
Puff: I’ve landed.
Me: (Bolting upright.) OH HOLY SHIT-FUCK!  It was 9:45 A.M.?!?!
Puff: Uh. Yeah.
Me: I AM THE WORST!  I thought it was 9:45 P.M..
Puff: Nope.
Me: I will TOTALLY be there in 20 minutes…I SWEAR!

***

Me: (With a toothbrush in mouth while making bed) Oh God! I screwed it all up!
Ma: (On phone, possibly still sleeping.) Hello?
Me: He’s HERE! He’s here already!
Ma: Who is this…?
Me: —I’m twelve hours behind, and I haven’t even gotten up yet hardly.
Ma: What’s happening?
Me: –I even asked him like yesterday to confirm. 9:45 he said. 9:45. Cuz like an idiot I kept thinking it was night and all.
Ma: Is this a wrong number?
Me: MOM! IT’S ME! PUFF IS HERE! I NEED YOU TO FOCUS FOR A SECOND!
(A gaging, choking sound.)
Me: I almost died just then. Fucking toothbrush…
Ma: Puff is HERE, did you say?
Me: YES! YES!
Ma: Well, GO GET HIM! What are you talking to me for?!
Me: I just freaked out, is all. I’m going! I have to–I’m going…!

***

(In car.)

Me: (via text.) OMG, I am the worst ever!! Let the ridiculous “me” stories begin. I am totally on the road right now, yelling at this old lady driving a boat, going negative ten miles an hour in front of me. My road rage is unparalleled with moroseness for not only making a 12 hour difference fuck up, but also being mean to a woman who already lived through eight wars and is prob’ly using a booster seat just to see over the steering wheel…
Puff: …No stress, I’m having some breakfast.
Me: …So you have stories to share already. Awesome. This will never be boring, Puff.
(Picture of breakfast arrives with a ding.)
Me: Hella. P.S. I need coffee like woa. And I look like I just rolled outta bed. Cuz I totally did. If you wanna pretend you don’t know me, I can hire a hot dude to meet you at the terminal and bring you to me. It won’t hurt my feelings.
Puff: … I’m at the Alaska arrivals area. Sitting on a bench.
Me: Grabbing parking now.
Puff: Where do I need to be?
Me: Wait. What airline?
Puff: A-las-ka. I’m right outside on the lower level…

***

(Still in car, calling on the phone.)

Me: So…I’m in the garage now.
Puff: Do I need to be in the garage?
Me: No, I’ll come to you. Only I’m…I’m looping here…
Puff: Huh?
Me: Looping. I’m looping to get out. Then I need to circle around.
Puff: What are you driving?
Me: A PT Cruiser.
(I take the totally wrong lane and end up in “departures.”)
Me: (Totally lying.) Um. I’m in a holding pattern. Almost there.
Puff: Heheh. “Pattern is full, Ghost Rider…”

***

(After another go-round on the terminal attack, and seeing him on the curb.)

Me: Dude. I’m an asshole, and I’m totally sorry.
Puff: It’s all good, cuz.
Me: Also, you know all those things that you wait to do until the day people come, when you are on vacation and just let shit go?
Puff: (silence.)
Me: …Like cleaning your car, doing dishes, dying your hair, sweeping the house, spraying toxic chemicals all over the bathroom and giving your fish a bath? Yeah. None of that was done. So I guess it’s good you’re family.
Puff: Yeah.
Me: I mean, I still need to get my nails “did” for shits sake.
Puff: I’ll go too! I need a pedi anyway.
Me: See. This is why I love you.

***

(On a short walk to coffee shop.)

Me:…And this is our park. And this is our gas station. And that is where The BFF lives. And this is our homeless man. And that is our Yuppie market…
Puff: –When do I get to meet her?
Me: Who?
Puff: The BFF.
Me: She gets off at five-ish, so maybe Tuesday? I dunno. But it’s happening for sure. You’ll love her. She’s like me. Only not at all. And way more fierce.
Puff: I know. I read your blogs.

***

(In Tacoma Boys.)

Puff: Psst…
Me: (In another world smelling a grape.)
Puff: Psssst. Pssst.
Me: (Wondering which onion is the “good” one.)
Puff: Hey!
Me: Huh?
Puff: (Whispering.) The “ginger.” Two o’clock.
(I look. I wrinkle my nose and shake my head.)
Puff: Not for YOU, for ME. (Idiot.)
Me: Ohhh. Really?
Puff: And he’s here with his gramma. Bonus points.
Me: “The good grandson.”
Puff: ‘Xactly.
Me: A “ginger.”
Puff: Definitely.
Me: Huh.

***

(Gigantic crash at base of stairs.)

Me: Sunofabiscutcruncher!!!!
Puff: (From the kitchen.) Are you dead?
Me: The damn paper bag broke. I just shattered an entire bottle of red.
Puff: (Now from landing.) Where?
(I move aside and show the kinda blood spill that only makes it on C.S.I.)
Puff: Oops. Want help?
Me: No. I’ll just lick it up. Its fine.
(Beat.)
Puff: You’re kidding. Right?
(Beat.)
Me: Sure. Okay. I’ll go get some paper towels. Be right back.

***

Puff: (From sink.) Um…
Me: Are you washing the bananas?
Puff: Wine spill. And you might wanna watch for glass splinters. I got one.
(He shows his finger, which is leaking the identical color of red as the wine bottle did.)
Me: That is exactly the same color as the wine.
Puff: Yeah.
Me: …Maybe we should toss the bananas.

***

The BFF: (On phone.) You called?
Me: Yeah. Come meet Puff and help cook Fajitas.
The BFF: I’m…(I accidentally blank out and have no idea what she says right here. I think I was putting junk away in the crisper.) …and then I will, at around 9:30. Okay?
Me: That’s P.M., right?
The BFF: Yes.
Me: …Just making sure.
The BFF: I’ll buzz you.

***

(While watching “Snow White and the Huntsman,” both basically ignoring it as we are on our computers separately…he to FB, me to blog.)

Puff: She. Never. Closes. Her. Mouth.
Me: My god. It’s all I’ve been thinking

~D

The Episode The BFF Wrote

25 Aug

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The BFF decided to commandeer m’blog yesterday while visiting me at work. Because she brought me coffee, I let her. Then, because it sounded glamourous, I contracted her to be my Foreign Correspondent Guest Blogger when she to moves to L.A. next month. Because L.A. is foreign to everywhere that isn’t L.A. And because I can. Following is her first installment. I took the liberty of including Editor notes for her. She took the liberty of completely ignoring them. I claim Executive privileges by including them anyway:

Listen up bitches, It is I. The BFF, and I will be your author this morning for a very special installment of MY BFF’s* blog. (*Editor’s note: The double BFFing might get confusing. Maybe you should just call me The Diva. The BFF note: Maybe you should shut up and let me write this blog.)

We sit, bathed in dirty white fluorescent light.* (*Editor’s note: Nice detail. Very Noir. The BFF note: Yes. I know. That was the point.)

She, pouring over insanely large paychecks she will later be forced to hand over to assholes who will later return to complain that they were not quite insanely large enough. Or they will send their bitch wives to do it.* (*Editor’s note: I love you. The BFF: It’s mutual. Now stop interrupting me.)

Welcome to Friday morning! $17,557.00 today and counting.

I, having taken improper advantage of a car accident I was in yesterday to beg out of work today, sit across from her, hijacking her blog and making faces at her when she’s not looking.* (*Editor’s note: Bitch. The BFF note: I’m making another face at you right now. And a gesture to go with it. Guess which finger I’m using.)

Side note: The Diva’s* first urination of the day occurred at 11:01. (*Editor’s note: See, I told you it would work better. The BFF note: I will leave right now and take the coffee with me.) She has asked me to keep track of this. We have a special bond.

Also, she has asked that when I quote her directly, I do it so that she will seem about 20 pounds lighter and about 2 inches taller.* (*Editor’s note: Thank you. The BFF: Alright then.) Use your imaginations people.

To continue, It should be known that she and I know how to have fun.* (*Editor’s note: This is scientific fact. We did about forty studies to make sure. The BFF note: At least.) I mean, we do it right. Case in point-

She: “I’m gonna have one of those bread pizza things, and it’s gonna be awesome.”* (*Editor’s note: Most people won’t understand how this is relevant to the above statement about “having fun.” Explain in more detail maybe? The BFF note: If I have to explain how food is “awesome” to these people, they are reading the wrong fucking blog.)

We go on adventures, we play hooky, and we travel. We picnic, we movie watch, we antique.* (Editor’s note: Thank you. The BFF note: Yeah. Whatever.) We are young, and poor, and tied to jobs that require sitting at a desk all day, and we absolutely refuse to let any of those things get us down. Hence days like today. Should I be at work? Yes. Is lying wrong? Yes.

Me: (When reviewing my life choices) “I am a liar.”

She: “But only a little bit, and it’s not like you’re going all Bernie Maddoff.”

Me: “Yeah, but you can’t embezzle from a non-profit that helps the homeless…”

She: “Well you can….”

Us: “That’s the line!” –We say together in unison.* (*Editor’s note: It’s good to have one. The BFF: Yes. Editor’s note: Also, you really were in a car accident, and I’m not sure taking time off is the same as embezzling. The BFF: We’ll go with your logic. This time.)

She and I, we understand each other. I respect that all the bean cans in her cabinet must be organized with labels facing out,* (*Editor’s note: I appreciate that. The BFF: I’m here for you.) and she puts up with my loud voice, relentless quests for change, and incessant Louis Armstrong impressions.* (*Editor’s note: Do the Louis Armstrong turkey one! Do it! Do it! Ha! The BFF note: You’re welcome.) So it works.

“I’m gonna be super extravagant and go pee again,” she says. We live such privileged lives.* (* Editor’s note: Rock Stars only wish they were us right now. The BFF: Yep.)

And on a day like today, when work is too pointless,* (*Editor’s note: Right?! The BFF note: Pffftttt) and the sun is too bright and sunshiny,* (*Editor’s note: Still can’t find my fucking sunglasses. The BFF: I keep telling you – buy new ones!!) and the clock is ticking towards a time when the two of us will be much farther apart than a text message and a drunken stumble home, it is important to share meaningful friend time.* (*Editor’s note: I miss you already, like I would my big toe. The BFF: Thanks? Editor’s note: You know, like — not having you around throws me all outta balance and stuff. The BFF note: Oh. Can I maybe be a different anatomy piece? Cuz you hate your toes, and — Editor’s note: — It was a metaphor! The BFF note: Actually it was a “simile” but, anyway…)

“Don’t you wish your last name was Tamara Frisbee?” she says between sips of coffee.

“Yes, yes I do.” *

———————————–

(*Editor’s note: You forgot to note that this was the part where I was working on the Open Order report, calling out funny customer names. People are gonna read that and be all, “where the hell did that come from?” The BFF note: Really? Cuz that would be so different from all the rest of your blogs, how? Editor’s note: Wow. When are you moving again? Can I buy you a one way ticket “now,” or do we have to wait…? The BFF note: You’ll miss me when I’m not around to fight with anymore. Editor’s note: I know. So shut up about it.)

(* Editor’s note: Wait. Was that the end? The end of the whole blog? The BFF note: I like to leave things in suspense. So my answer to that would be —)

~D

Wrong Breakfasting

8 Jul

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I’ve just succeeded in ruining breakfast again. 

…Woke up late, due to chronic Mrs. Johnson shenanigans in my guttal region all night, forcing me to grab what few hours I could whenever they came to me.  This ended at 11 a.m., with a sum-total of about five hours if you squish all the separate minutes together into one chunk…resembling a “sleeping” version of canned Spam.

…Anyway, I was lazy, and I’m outta milk. 

Instead to trying to choke down dry cereal pebbles (an action not unknown to me), I decided to take all the pre cut and grated salad fixings, and throw ’em into a bowl.  Then, grabbing my fist-full of drugs, I loped to the living room, sat at the coffee table and tried to convince my appetite that raw onions are delicious and everyone wishes they had kidney beans and garlic chicken staring them in the face first thing in the morning!

I took a few sketchy bites, and decided that “not thinking about it” was going to be the best plan in choking it all down.

…Because I love me some spinach salad, friends! You get some avocado and onions, tomatoes, two kinds of cheese…spiced chicken, couple kinds of beans and throw some cilantro on that shit, and I’m about as mouth-happy as you can get! But I am also here to tell you that as delicious as it is, there are just some foods you shouldn’t face before your morning coffee (whatever time and however late in the day that might be.) And this here, is one of ’em.

…And because we are friends, and I care about you…because I love food far too much to see it wasted in moments outside of its “magic hour” expiration dates,  I thought I would put my suffering to use and share with you several foods with special rules that will help you not repeat the morning travesty I just got finished partaking in.  Please feel free to add to the list as you see fit.  They are, in no particular order:

Exception Foods” Not To Be Eaten Before Morning Coffee

* Leftover chimichangas.
* Any kind of soup.
* Anything containing fish items (which should technically never be eaten anyway…they swim in their own poop.)
* Spaghetti.
* Meat not belonging to a pig. (Unless you’re Irish.  Then corned beef hash is not only allowed, but encouraged.)
* Pizza. (After you graduate College, trade this tradition in for your diploma. Adult-you will thank me for it)
* Raw onions or garlic.
* Anything you ate for dinner last night.  Even if it was “breakfast.” (Your body is still using the first version, and you’ll only confuse it.)
* Savory breads with things like chunks of veggies in it.
* Anything involved in “pickling.”
* Anything which falls under the blanket term of “Fair food.”
* “Hair of the dog.” (Unless you aperitief it with a giant slug of Pepto first.)
* Soda (your guts will explode. I saw it happen once.)
* Spinach salad (with all the fixin’s.)

…Note that I have said nothing of things like Pop-Tart-sprinkled-Captain-Crunch, or Venti Oreo Cookie Fraps with Chocolate Whip.  This is not to assume I think of these as good ideas for breakfast food meal plans.  It just means I’ve taken into account that though you may contract severe diabetes by consuming them, your tastebuds won’t recognize the wrongness as much, merely because sugar is involved. And sugar, (as we know) masks a multitute of sins.

Right. Now that my conscience is clear, and my duty is done…I am off to brew me a fat-ass pot of Kona, and scrub my tongue, pretending this entire episode never took place.

~D

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