Meeting The Parent

This morning I woke up in a tangle of sweaty sheets.  Alone and flustered.  Today is the day I meet the Boyfriend’s mom in person for the first time.  I’m not all that nervous since we’ve talked a number of times before.  But it’s definitely something I didn’t want to sleep through of go unshowered to.

After tossing around for about ten minutes and turning my alarm clock around so that I could pretend I didn’t have to get up, the desire to run seized me.  That was weird.  Me? Having a desire to run? What is the world coming to?

Before I could change my mind and stumble into the kitchen and put the kettle on, I bolted into the closet and pulled on a sportsbra and tank top.  Luckily my running shoes were on the top of the pile, giving me no alternative but to put them on.

And then, before I knew it, I was hopping down the stairs and letting myself into the apartment building’s gym.  I ran longer than I ever have before (longer than yesterday that is).   And now I’m dressed, caffeinated, and sore.  Ready for some tea and scones with Boyfriend’s mom.

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Binge Drinking Tea

A rockin’ tea party has been scheduled for this evening.  All I have to do is convince myself to get in the shower first.  After a thirty minute session on the treadmill (my first since the only time I tried it in high school) and pounding an Odwalla I’m beginning to regain my energy.  Running felt slightly less like death than the last time I did it (three years ago).  Maybe because I’ve been working up to it for a week on the stationary bike.  Now before you get on my case for doing cardio in a gym (such a heathen) I have a very good reason: cable television.

Since I can’t watch tv on my laptop (busted soundcard) and it’s impossible to get reception downtown without cable (and impossible to afford cable without a “real” job or roomates) having access to all the tv I could want at the price of doing cardio is awesome.  My tv time and my workout time have been joined which keeps my tv time down and my excercise up.

I’m feeling really lethargic after my dinner (same old stir fry with quinoa, but so good).  And I’m not really a health nut or particularly informed for that matter, so I have little else to say.  Except that I find it absolutely hilarious that the tv shows that keep me running hardest are home makeover programs.  That I watch.  While working out. In the basement of my apartment building.

Goodnight!

Feelin’ Good

Last night, after getting home from my errands and going to the gym, I cooked myself a nice healthy stir fry and popped in a T.V. show I got from the library.  Now before I tell you that it was Grey’s Anatomy what it was, I want to make sure to reiterate that I am perpetually behind the times.   You should know this by now.  So, it was the first season of Grey’s Anatomy.  And I watched the ENTIRE season in one night.  Last night.

This may not sound like as much of a bad idea to you as it actually was (or maybe you’re already rolling your eyes and closing my blog) but I had to wake up at six a.m. after this pathetic marathon.  And let me tell you, it is not easy to get restful sleep when you’re having dreams about nothing but tumors and heart attacks.  I could seriously never be a doctor, but I knew that before I watched this show.

Now I can barely wait to get my hands on the second season (ordering it from the library right now).  I used to have a really hard time watching medical dramas.  After the first two seasons of House, I gave up on them completely.  But I’ve been on a bit of a health kick lately – going to the gym, cooking at home with lots of vegetables, drinking wheatgrass and lots of green tea – which makes watching these shows a little easier.  Part of me can’t handle how unfair life is.  People who do everything right to their bodies can die in a moment.  That’s the worst part.

But there’s more to it than the overwhelming sense of unfairness and dread.  As I continued to watch, I saw how easily people who were hard on their bodies died.  How hard it was to operate on them or keep them going mentally.  And though I know it isn’t real medicine and different things happen in the real world hospitals all the time.  It’s inspiring nonetheless.

So, even though I only got five hours of sleep last night, I got my butt to the gym again this afternoon, cooked up my remaining stir fry, and made a nice big cup of green tea.  And I’ve never felt better in my life.

Packing Light

My trip to Seattle was beautiful.  More beautiful than I remembered or hoped.  However weird it makes me, I truly enjoy the whole process of traveling.  From the peaceful morning ride on the lightrail, to the long wait at security, I loved it.  From the Ethiopian cab driver, to the hours of Washington landscape rushing past, I devoured it.

I am a notorious over-packer when it comes to packing my suitcase.  I always add three extra books, a few extra pairs of shoes, and way too many accessories to my overstuffed bags.  This time I only let myself take my messenger bag for the trip.  Granted, it was an overnight, but this was a big step for me.  I ONLY packed four books (two were graphic novels, so lets not even count those actually . . .)

I never realized how freeing it is to travel with very little.  There’s less to worry about when you aren’t tied to the location of your suitcase.  As I walked from car to car on the train, I thought to myself I could do this.  I could travel every day and see any part of the world and be truly magnificently happy.  I love seeing new places and feeling new things.

Wouldn’t that be the life?  Not just being in new and different places, but getting there.  Going through airport security to watch the people fueling airplanes.  Eating trail mix and drinking burnt coffee to watch the ocean roll by.  Waiting in the rain and holding on for balance in the bus to cross the river and see the rest of the city.  Instead of reading about it in my books, I hope I live it.  Someday.  And maybe I can’t live the past that I read about, but I can see the places where it happened.  And maybe I can’t live in the fantasy worlds of my favorite authors, but I can see the places that inspired them.  Someday, I hope.

‘Allo SeaTac

After a roller coaster ride of a morning and a very long day of being interviewed, I am now sipping a cup of tension taming tea with my lovely Seattle writer friend and her boyfriend. Since I don’t have a computer tonight, and don’t feel like typing out the undoubtedly fascinating post that would take form had I ready access to a keyboard. So I’m off to enjoy my day of freedom. Lookin forward to my beautiful train ride tomorrow!

Right On, Portland People

I saw these protesters today.  They were protesting circumcision, which is definitely something worth protesting but not something you expect to see protested on a main thoroughfare.  Well . . . maybe in Portland you do.  Their other sign read “Bring the whole baby home”.  That cracked me up.

I’m not a doctor or an expert on the male reproductive organs and their pleasure receptors, but I do know that circumcision can cut down on stimulation.  Aside from that, nobody wants a botched circumcision, so why not just leave it be?  I’ll let you all make up your minds and not add another ill informed voice to the internet.  This protest just tickled me, so I shared.

Tea Overload

Ever since senior year of high school, I’ve consumed an almost daily dose of tea.  I like all kinds of tea.  I have a closet for my tea, actually.  I’m not a tea snob by any means; I can appreciate delicious loose leaf and a pot of tea brewed to perfection, but most of my tea comes from bags and is served in a mug these days.

This week, I’ve been obsessed with green tea.  Maybe it’s that lovely sick feeling it gave me, or maybe it’s the way it tastes a bit like burnt grass, but I’m in love.  The more I drink, the more difficult it is to stop.  Right now I’m drinking a decaf green tea (in between cups of delicious herbal infusions).

All this imbibing has got me thinking about green tea.  What is this magical stuff?

I  read somewhere that green tea lost popularity in England because it was replicated with copper dyes because taxes were so high and people wanted a cheap way of tricking those silly Brits.  The dyes used for fake black tea were usually sheep’s dung, which is hella gross but far less dangerous for you than copper.  Imagine sitting down for your teatime and taking a delicate sip of sheep shit instead of darjeeling.  Ick.  Better than death from copper I guess.

I also knew that all teas come from the Camillia plant and that the difference between black and green teas was the time at which the leaves were picked.

Next, I wanted to know if I could find a green tea version of Early Grey tea.  Because Earl Grey is the shit.  You TOTALLY CAN.  That’s just one version of the many that I found (you can pretty much call anything Early Grey as long as you throw enough bergamot in it) but that website looks bad ass.  In fact, the more I look at it, the more I think I should marry it.

Then, I thought I’d ask the internet what it thought the best tea ever was.  I attempted to accomplish this by googling “best tea ever” but I came up with a bunch of ways to brew the best tea ever.  No, Internet, I want to know what tea is the best ever, not how to steep it.  Oh well, Internet.  I know the answer anyhow (Earl Grey).

At this point I’m really starting to crave another cup.  Staring longingly at the Tea Closet, I think of how many more questions I can ask the Internet about tea.  The desire overwhelms me.  Tea is calling my name.  Must . . . have . . . one . . . more . . .

Soup & Salad Returns

Posting from the Coffee Shop tonight. Sir Soup and Salad has returned and is having similar difficulties with our menu. I hid before any orders could be placed over the top of the espresso machine.

I’m beginning to get very excited for my trip to Seattle. I’m also incredibly nervous about the interview that goes along with that package. Before, I was just excited. Now I’m invested in getting that job.

I’m trying to focus on how beautiful the train ride will be along the Puget Sound. I get to ride the Coast Starlight from Amtrak home and I plan on spending the entire ride in the observation car. Reading my book. Drinking tea.

I cleaned my house for four hours in an attempt to relieve some stress. It worked. Kinda. Now I’m just out of easy projects to distract myself. Maybe knitting?

They’re All Cups

Oh yes, another Sunday afternoon at the Ye Olde Coffee Shoppe.   A typically clumsy afternoon, for me (I’m such a klutz).  My hips seemed to be bumping into just about every available surface.  When I mentioned this to my coworker, she said: “It’s the Latin music.”

Speaking of the Latin music, one of our regulars had an issue with it today.  As she waited for me to fetch her daily small coffee, she turned to my coworker and said: “Is that music?”

Coworker looked perplexed (wouldn’t you?)

After a moment, she recovered herself and replied: “That’s what we’re calling it.”  I love her.

I’ve mentioned before how annoying Sundays are for the food service industry.  I won’t bore you with it again.

. . .

Wait, you thought I wasn’t going to rant about at least one person today?  Oh, poor, naive soul.

I would like to begin by saying that whether you want your drink “to stay” or “to go”, you will be receiving said beverage in a cup. I will not steam milk and pour into a paper bag, milk carton, or shoe.  Nor will I serve your coffee in a necktie, lightbulb, or flower pot.  All receptacles for your drink are lovingly referred to as “cups”.

So, when someone approaches the register and adamantly insists that their ‘medium, nonfat, decaf, sugar-free coconut, extra hot, white mocha with an extra shot and whipped cream’ be served in a cup, I have no bloody clue how they thought I was going to serve it to them.  When I give them a quizical stare and ask for clarification, one of two things happens.  Half of the time, the customer flounces over to the paper cups and gesticulates wildly that “this is in fact a cup, you dumba**”.  The other possibility is that the customer shakes their finger at our ceramic cups to indicate that “this, clearly, is the cup that I mean”.

There might be a problem here beyond how complicated that drink sounds.  Maybe?

Sadly, the most frustrating piece of all this is how long it takes me to explain that they’re all cups.  Once the order has been placed, customers generally lose interest in whatever is issuing from the barista’s face (unless it’s projectile vomit).  Oh well, I guess it’s just the eternal burden of the baristas.

 

My Superpower

Apparently my superpower is the ability to nap wherever, whenever, and in any possible position.  I just slept through an entire episode of a show I really want to watch. At my friend’s house.  With a cat on my feet.

Maybe it was because of the cat on my feet, but I’m feeling incredibly rested.  Not rested enough to write a decent blog post, apparently.  I’m still quite groggy.

I have a lot on my mind.  Maybe that’s the real reason I took a nap.  I’m thinking of moving in with a friend of mine, making it through the second interview for a new job, and saving money to move to an island.  These things are beginning to have potential solutions. Happy me.  Also tired, groggy, me.

I feel bad for writing a filler blog post today, especially after my strange blog post last night.  But I just don’t have the mental capacity right now.  I mostly just have the desire for another nap. Maybe some snacks.