Tag Archives: coffee

A Park Play

12 Oct


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 —”


“…But honey you said–”


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


“…What? What? I don’t understand…??”


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


…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.


Pizza-Coffee, With Barry & Ben & Jerry

14 Jan


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.


…I know. Cuz I’ve watched.

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


How You Really Found Me

12 Jul


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.


…But seriously.  “Just checking CAT email?”

You lost me.


300 (& 6 Shots)

7 May


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.


…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?


A Reboot To Gooder Times

4 Jan


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!


It’s been said.


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!


The Teamster Dump-&-Run

4 Dec


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.


First Dress

4 Nov


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.


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