I Am Coffee Slut

I Was Just Thinkin'...

2009-05-25T07:25:00.000-07:00

As I sit here at the front desk and type....

I've been thinking at work, WAY TOO MUCH, and I've come to a conclusion about many things here at the work place. Many of these things simply defines people in general, but are sometimes more obvious at work. Now, I work at a small Pilates studio in Chicago, as a front desk receptionist/computer mechanic/pay roll adviser/care taker/greeter/teacher. My roll is spread out here at my work place and I don't get paid as much as I should to do all of these things. Yet, I work very hard and I spread myself too thin here. No problem, because one day I too would like to be a full time Pilates instructor. One day, I too would like to not sit behind a desk and answer a phone and maybe get paid to do what I went to college for. Have to climb the ladder where ever you are.

My coffee is now cold and I sip it anyway. A teacher, that can't stand me, just walked out of her class (as I sit here and pretend to be working). Last night she complained that I was not doing my job and now she smiles and tries to have a conversation with me. I keep typing.
I do my job! I do my job very well! In fact, if she knew how well I did my job, she just might hate me more. I just gave her a weak smile, to keep the peace around this place.

Another sip of my cold coffee.

I should probably talk to her and tell her what a bitch she is. No, that would be causing bad energy in this place. That's the last thing that I want. I could sit down at her feet and kiss them. Then, ask her if she'd like me to Swiffer around her feet while she's teaching so she can have a clean floor to stand on. No, can't do that... it's just not in me. What to say? "Um, I hear you've been having a rough time? What can I do to help?"

I don't know. Maybe I'll just keep sipping my cold coffee and ignore her.

Another Twenty Something Sits Down To Blog About Getting Older...

2009-04-10T13:53:00.000-07:00

You know you're getting older when you freak out over not being able to pay your student loan monthly payment of $224.46.

You know you're getting older when you begin having recurring dreams of birthing babies, dropping babies, and having more babies.

You know you're getting older when you question every move and risks become a thing from childhood.

You know you're getting older when you go to target and spend $200 just on items for home decor.

You know you're getting older when every financial decision made, is detrimental to survival.

You know you're getting older when working at a coffee shop, no longer pays the bills.

You know you're getting older when you begin worrying more about if your cat is eating, than if you are.

You know you're getting older when you look at your boyfriend and wonder when he will pop the marriage question.

You know you're getting older when roller coasters begin to look deadly.

You know you're getting older when you climb into bed at 9:30 PM.

You know you're getting older when all you want to do is stay home, drink coffee, read a good book, and talk to your mother.

You know you're getting older when you should be having the time of your life at age 24, but instead you're writing a blog about getting older.

Where Is The Bus?!

2009-01-25T15:10:00.000-08:00

I have to say that every year, I forget how horrible the winters are here in Chicago! I long for the day when I no longer have to trudge over mountains of frozen hills full of dirty ice and snow. When I can walk on my own two feet and trust that I will not fall on my face from slipping on a thin sheet of ice. It seems that no pair of shoes can have enough traction to keep my feet on solid ground.

With that said, why does cold weather make buses run slower? My only means of transportation in this city is by bus and train. When it is impossible to get from one side of the city to the other by warm train, I am forced to wait for 30 minutes at two different bus stops to get me across town. As I wait, my hands and feet become numb and I am placed in a world of mental and bodily malfunction.

As I wait, I am forced to sing happy songs, and pretend that I am on a tropical island far away from this arctic city. I peer down the street, past the oncoming traffic hopping to see a bus approach. Nothing. As I continue to wait, anger grows inside me towards those who pass by in their warm cars. Music pounds from their closed windows and exhaust pours from the rear of their salty vehicles. I catch myself glaring into their frosted windows to see if there is any mercy. "Help me!" I want to scream. "Where are you going? Want to give me a ride?" Of course I know I cannot do this, because my safety is concerned. Does it even matter? I sometimes wonder if I'd rather die in the cold or in a warm car. I check again, nothing.

I crush ice with my boots that have now become bricks of ice themselves. Again, I look... wait, I see something. It looks like orange lights blinking up ahead. I squint my teary eyes and anticipate bus #152 going west bound. Waiting. Waiting. Nope. It was a mirage.

After 30 minutes, the bus arrives. By this point I am so frozen I have lost all energy to punch the bus driver with my icy hand. All premeditated thoughts have dissipated about what I would scream at the driver. I was going to explain to them about how slow they drive and about how they needed to surpass all other stops and just get me there! Yet, I think: IF I do all of that, if I actually say what's on my mind at this very moment, I will not get to my destination anyway.

So I step into the warm bus and take my seat among all of the other freezing citizens of Chicago.

Are Social Networks More Efficient Than The News?

2009-01-18T20:09:00.000-08:00

Notice: WHAT ARE THEY SMILING AT? Why are they so happy all of the time? What is so funny? These are the questions I ask when I watch the news, not about what is going on in the world. These people are distracting. I think this distraction might be a tactic to keep us from being "scared." Well, I got some news: It ain't working!
HERE'S SOME GOOD NEWS: What began as a horrific accident in the Hudson turned into something beautiful for the citizens of The United States...

This picture was taken by some dude who was a nobody, until a US Airways plane crashed into the Hudson. Yes, some guy took this photo you see to your left and proceeded to post it immediately onto twitter. Wow! You are my hero! I mean he could have helped save a life, but he was capturing the moment! He took a classic pic and arrived before any News Channel 5 could! In fact, the news crews had a hell of a time getting to the scene. Now this guy is probably making millions and will fly into the journalism business. Sheesh...

Does this mean that social networks may be the "new" source of our news? Well, perhaps. We the people now possess the technology and have the ability, through the Internet, to do our own broadcasting to the world. This guy's picture traveled around the globe in less than 2 hours! He used no cheesy, or over exaggerated paragraphs to explain the situation. All he did was post this picture using his iPhone.

So basically, if we keep on posting the actions of life before us, then we may actually rid ourselves of this fake news that has been plaguing our society for decades.

I actually think it would be great to rid our televisions of these cheese puffs. We already know what to expect anyway: killings here, war there, disease and cancer, etc... If I want to hear the news, I just tune in to NPR and listen to All Things Considered. I don't need some chick with glue and plaster on her face to tell me what's going on in the world. Their jokes aren't even funny. If I was watching the news for comedy hour, I would just tune in to The Daily Show, where the news is ACTUALLY funny!

One last bit of info: Don't you think the birds would have seen a large jet coming their way and gotten the hell out of the way? I don't know, just an observation.

Read what the BBC has to say about it.

A Whiff of Creativity

2009-01-03T14:17:00.000-08:00

With only 3 days into this new year, I am already feeling a whiff of creativity in my bones. Yes, most of it could be the chilly air sending a chill up my spine, but the atmosphere is definitely creative. All of the traveling is done for the holidays (thank god) and my mind is fresh. Why is it that a new calendar year can feel so fresh and new?

Tonight my film buddy, Andrew, is coming over to talk about a project that has been brewin' in this head of mine. Over the holidays, I was able to sit back and ponder life and nature. The past year of 2008 brought travel, new experiences, friendships, and hard work. I'm not sure if I can put into words my experiences from New York, but it has sparked a new found creativity that I need to tap into this year. This evening all of those ideas will be thrown onto the table with a pen in hand and lots of wine drinking. I haven't fully recovered from the New Years party I attended, but what the heck, bring on more wine please!

Chicago brings cold weather and lots and lots of nasty snow. However, this only symbolizes the rough terrane I know must be crossed in order to produce a wonderful performance approaching in the spring. Funding is the scariest task for me, but with a gallery space already set for the show, I feel that is the least of my worries.

I am jumping around, but I have not written down my thoughts in quite a while. I just cannot imagine a life without creativity. There is never enough support in this city for small projects, especially in dance. However, I feel that this could change rather quickly. Maybe I am just doing this for my own sanity, but I firmly believe that this city needs more collaborative projects and I am set on doing that THIS year.

Let's see what this year brings...

An Itch I Can't Scratch

2008-10-23T10:26:00.000-07:00

Last night I laid in bed, feeling the weight of the day pressing into my skull. My boyfriend leaned over and kissed me. I did not feel his lips on my skin. He then said, "I love you." I did not hear the words from his mouth. My mind knew he was speaking to me, but I could not process any of it. He leaned in to kiss me again and I my lips began to move without conscious effort. Sharp words flowed from my mouth and his reaction was one of hurt. What did I say and why did I say something hateful? What is wrong with me?

Lately, I have been discovering little pieces of myself that have either always been there and are now surfacing, or they are new emotional tangents. My latest discovery is that of control. We as human beings on this earth do not have control of our lives. However, I am trying so hard to control mine. After I returned from New York, I thought I had to prove myself to everyone. "Look what I learned there. Look what I can do. I went there for a reason!" These thoughts were constantly jumping around in my head as I tried to go through my day. I have moved on a bit from those thoughts, but I still feel that something else is brewing and untapped inside of me.
What could this be?
I feel satisfied for the most part in my life currently. I have a wonderful boyfriend, I am dancing, teaching, living, breathing, and I'm happy. Not full, but satisfied. I could always have more and I want more. There are goals I am striving for, but I feel so impatient. Constantly, I am reminding myself of why I am working where I do and getting paid so little. Money always seems to be my issue. My long term goals keep me here. Yet, I still have feelings of unsatisfaction.
Maybe it is because my simple needs are not met for myself right now.

It is these small moments that concern me. I should be able to go into my home and feel at peace and relaxed. Yet I take my day and my small frustrations out on the boyfriend. I am afraid that subconsciously these small things have spawned from my parents. Their arguments always spawned from small arguments over unimportant issues, like "Who is going to take the garbage out and why is it still sitting there?"
We vowed we would not argue over these things, but a small voice inside me becomes so flushed and angry when the small things have not been taken care of. Domestic arguments are not the root of the problem.

There is an itch somewhere that needs to be scratched. I just don't know where.

Wrigleyville Dushbags

2008-10-12T15:13:00.000-07:00

So, I've been living in Wrigleyville now for let's see... 3 weeks now. I knew it would be a great place to watch annoying Cubs fans and make fun of them. However, my hilarious imitations of them has now just turned to frustration. Let me give you an example:

Today the weather was gorgeous and a nice east wind was blowing in from Lake Michigan. Coffee in hand, I decided to open the large windows in the apartment to breathe some fresh air. Suddenly, I hear "Uh, uh, I wanna dance on ya, dance on ya... yeah!" I looked out my large window and over onto the deck across the way from me. Two dushbags were standing with two other dushbags singing to a song about gettin' up on someone. They stood drinking their Miller Lites and smoking cigarettes. My first reaction was to yell out the window and chuck anything I could find at them. However, I refrained and turned my NPR up even louder. Now, NPR may seem a little boring to some folks, but to me it's being informed on what's going on in the world. Of course, the most boring of all topics that no one (especially myself) does not want to hear, "...if you own a credit card you must pay off all of your debt because the credit card companies are not happy." The radio echoed out into the deck area and blended with "Uh, uh, yeah!" They didn't seem to notice.
I couldn't take it anymore so I went outside. "Hey! No one wants to hear that crap!" I yelled over their disgusting songs. I got quite a mixed reaction. One dude put out his smoke and went inside. Another just stared and smiled. The last remaining duschbags hung around and said sorry.

Wow, the termoil I must endure to get some peace around these parts. I guess I am now 90 year old lady next door who blares info about credit card debt. Oh well, what can I say I'm an old soul I guess.

My New Bicycle

2008-10-08T12:33:00.000-07:00

I got a bike. Actually, Dan got me a bike. To us it is the only way to get around the city without waiting on the train for two hours at a time. For the past week, I've been riding to work and rehearsals. The cold air hitting my face, and riding along the Lake Shore path has been so refreshing.
Feels good to be back in Chicago. Even though I lived here for almost 5 years before I left for New York, it feels like a different place. Neighborhoods have changed, people have changed, and my routine will never be the same as before. Change is good. In fact, change is amazing. However, for the past 2 weeks since I've been here I feel like I'm in the twilight zone. The change of pace and environment are so much different from New York. It is slower here and more friendly. These things do not bother me though. It is more or less starting over again. I was just beginning to get my feet on the ground in New York. More stable I am now, but as a career move, I feel like I'm starting from ground zero. My boyfriend tells me this is all mental. Yet, how can I feel stable when I move around all the time?
Certainly, I have not stepped back at all by moving here. Yet somehow I feel as if that might happen somehow. I am very happy beginning a new life with Dan and embarking on a Pilates career. However, I feel a shift in my personality. Recently I have had no desire to socialize with anyone around me, at work or with family. My personality even seems different. Something really has to be funny to make me laugh and right now, only Dan tends to do that for me.

Maybe it is the change that has been getting to me. I'm not sure.

I love this city! The winter is approaching fast and I am afraid it will be even harder to leave the apartment.

Dunkin vs. Starbucks- A Quest for Health

2008-09-07T09:36:00.000-07:00

Water or Oil?

I am guilty as charged in wanting to rid the world of corporate businesses and support the smaller ones. However, in my lifetime, I don't think that will occur.

In the meantime, these businesses are continuing to pop up in neighborhoods across America. I am simply informing you that if you

choose to venture into them, be aware of what you put into your body. I

venture to Starbucks, because it is convenient (when I'm not working

there.) That is why these companies are so successful. The more they place themselves around, the more we go to them.

My time at Starbucks is coming to an end. With one more week remaining at the Corporate conglomerate, I decided to take a look at and inform you of this massive coffee company. Other coffee corporations such as Dunkin Doughnuts

competing for equal recognition, healthier choice options are available. Here is a look at what to order and what

to steer clear of.

They now have oatmeal

Yes, now instead of buying your own box of yummy oats, you can have it on the go. This tasty breakfast includes your choice of nuts, fruit, and brown sugar. Its tasty, except you will think as you eat this, "I could have made this at home."

Protein Latte

Yuck! These lattes are gross! First of all, why would you want more protein in your latte? Its a coffee drink and you're ruining it! The workout maniacs are forever changing the way we drink simple coffee. Let me inform you of how we make these muscle maniac lattes. A protein powder is used and dumped into the milk pitcher with one's choice of milk. Next the milk an

d powder are steamed together. Espresso is added and voila you have yourself a chalky muscle building, wake me up latte. If you don't believe me, you can try one but be warned... I can't see this sticking around too long.

Dunkin' Doughnuts

First of all, their coffee tastes like water. If you are a serious coffee drinker this co

ffee will taste like water... did I already mention that? This could be attributed to the fact that Starbucks literally turns into oil after it has been fermenting in your cup for 20 minutes.

What to steer clear of at Dunkin:

-The coffee- Be sure you inform them exactly how much milk and sugar (if any) you want inside your coffee. Otherwise, they dump the entire sugar bag and gallon of milk into the drink.

-Doughnuts- They won't even let you purchase one doughnut hole, one! You have to buy 6 in order to make a purchase. ( I know, because I tried to buy a few.. I mean one.)

-If the Dunkin' is connected to a Baskin' Robbins, just don't even look over there.

What is actually pretty healthy and tasty:

- The egg white panini. They have a veggie one, that is my fav and a sausage one. It is made entirely of egg white and you get a coffee along with it. In my opinion it can be a little blan, but that cuts down on the calories.

* Make sure they toast it all the way. Last time I had one, it was still frozen in the middle.

So why are these two companies suddenly trying to be healthy? It is actually a health requirement to list all calories on food. When a person sees 480 calories on one doughnut, there are not that many sold anymore. I think they've finally realized they are a large factor in obesity in this country. I don't think we can blame these companies for what we choose to eat. We make the choice to throw that apple fritter into our mouths and wash it down with a coffee. Now, we have healthier options. Just keep in mind, however, that you CAN just as easily make the oatmeal at home.

My Last Days in New York City

2008-09-05T07:56:00.000-07:00

I can't believe my journey here is coming to an end. I gotta say that I am both relived and nostalgic. Everything is telling me to go and yet still telling me to stay. "I"ll be back." I say, but will I? Honestly, I think that it's me doubting. Once again I am living in transition. It seems that my life has been nothing but a series of transitions. I am constantly dealing with change and adapting to new surroundings constantly. Yes, I move around every year. Yes, life changes constantly and we must learn to adapt. Hey, I love change. However, I think i am reaching that point in my life where I'm saying, "Hello, um can I be still for once and maybe make a home for myself?" I still want to travel and embrace change with open arms, yet I would like to live in the same apartment for longer than a year. That so wrong?

Since being in New York, I have decided that living here is like being in a messed up relationship. The ups the downs, the love, the hate, the fighting, and the love making. The thoughts of denial that they are not right for you, yet you want them so badly. I don't know if its just that there are so many of us living on one tiny island all cramped on top of one another that bothers me. To me, it is about the frustrations of success ad what defines that here. People say that "If you can make it in NY you can make it anywhere." Well, did those people realize that they are saying, "If you can work your ass off and pay your rent and count your pennies, you will be wealthy anywhere else." Seriously though, I do believe that to a certain degree that if you achieve goals here, you have reached "the top". However, it is not like reaching enlightenment, if you will. New York is not the only city in the universe offering opportunity. Too many people are here competing for the same roles, jobs, lifestyle, etc...

Ok, I am finished with my ranting. I will miss New York, however, and there is no doubt in my mind that I will be back to visit her. To all of my friends, I will miss you the most!!

I think that is one thing New York has given the most of, friendship.

THANK GOD FOR FACEBOOK! Sheesh, yeah! There are a few other things about New York that I will miss:

-Upper East Side bitching

-Expensive EVERYTHING

- The street performers (esp the singing saw lady... i need to write about her)

- The hot dog vendors (even though I don't go near them)

- Central Park

- Amazing friends

- All of the shows of course!

- Crazy people in New York

- The subway

Yeah, just ranting, love ya NY.

What can I say NY?

2008-08-25T15:38:00.000-07:00

New York,

What can I say, I'm gunna miss you. Your intimidating height, cramped spaces, expensive taste, congested intersections, and your class will be missed by, me. You have such a history and you inspire so many people. You've even made dreams come true. I think the one thing I will miss the most is your friendship. You embraced me with open arms and were very good to me. Even though I struggled at times to pay my rent, take dance classes, or go to the grocery store, you looked at me and assured me it would be okay somehow. Don't worry now, I'm not leaving you because I do not love you. I just found someone else at the moment. Now there is just no comparison to you, nor will there ever be. I must say, however, that my new love/old love is well.. cleaner, easier to live with, and a little nicer. I am not cutting you down by any means. You are unique and have so much to offer. I'm sure someone just as wonderful as me will come along and you will forget all about me. Don't worry though, I'll come back and visit. Who knows, if things don't work out I know where to find you. We still have 4 weeks left. Let's just make the most of our time together . Wanna go shopping?

All my love,

me.

Things are a changin'

2008-08-19T16:05:00.000-07:00

I think there comes a point in one's life where you wake up and realize that everything you've work so hard for all of your life, is no longer as important as you thought it was. Decisions and goals change. Life brings moments and people into your life that you'd rather spend your energy on. This does not mean that you cannot still persue goals and dreams. It's just that they change.

Personally, I am such an advocate for change. Growing up I would rearrange my room because I needed a change. I would move my bed across the room to face a different direction and sometimes I would repaint the walls. If I was feeling really belligerent, I would persuade my sister that she wanted my room and we would switch rooms. One time I even convinced my parents to switch rooms with me, yes it worked! So, I need change in my life and I embrace it with open arms. I even need to change my hair every 3, 4 months. (It's time now, yes.) I know that a change is needed when I look at my hair and say, "This needs to go!"

Today I had an opportunity to go to an audition. This company is huge in modern dance and I know the company well. I taught Pilates for their summer intensive, learned choreography, and graveled at their feet (well sort of). My predicament arose, however, with the "what if" factor. What if I made the audition and was asked to dance in the company? Of course I would do it! Yes, yes, yes! However, I have been making plans to move, signed an apartment lease, and got into another dance company in Chicago. What if I made it? Then all of those plans would fly out the window and I'd travel the world (not so bad I know). However, my other "What if" was, I am in love with a man in Chicago. If I got the audition, that would mean another year without him. I could not do that. I made the choice to move in with my boyfriend in Chicago, begin a life, and explore it together. Together! What is wrong with that? My third wave feminist mind says, "Don't move for a guy. Don't commit right now. Be strong and suck it up! Go after your dreams here and hop around until you make that audition!" However, my heart, MY heart says, "You love him. Just embrace love and go after it. Everything else will fall into place.

I guess I am a sucker for love. Call me a hippie, a wimp, a woman who is weak, I don't care. I am following my heart and there is no doubt in my mind that it will all fall into place. Everything aligns in the end. However, in this case I do not see an end. There is no end to the events of life until we die. I am not dead yet and I am still young.

Embrace change, embrace life, embrace love. Words of wisdom from me. Thanks for listening.

Do you know the Muffin Man?

2008-08-18T15:39:00.001-07:00

A fellow barista and friend of mine at Starbucks, encountered the Muffin Man yesterday. When I say Muffin Man, I don't mean a nice jolly old man who sells muffins or a large muffin walking the streets just giving them away. This Muffin Man is unnerving and lives in New York City. I cannot legitimize the actions of my fellow barista, I can only tell the story...

Let me set the scene: The day was moving fairly slow inside the cafe and not many customers were wanting caffeine at 5 Pm. Outside the cafe, however, it was bustling with cars and people were walking home from work on busy Broadway.

One barista says to another, "I guess these muffins should go into the pastry case?"

Another barista glances at the box of fresh oat bran muffins and replies, "I have a better idea."

Barista one is curious.

Barista two says, "I dare you to throw a muffin outside."

Barista one is still curious. He does not question, does not glance around, only opens the box of muffins to retrieve one, and walks towards the door.

Barista two smiles mischieviously and watches barista one walk out to the street.

With hat and apron still displaying 'Starbucks', he chucks the bran muffin into the air.

*Now, if this were a movie it would be flying through the air in slow motion

Finally, the muffin surrenders to gravity and falls towards the crowd of people below. The muffin chooses its destination onto.... a toe. The muffin exploded below on the Muffin Man's right toe. This Muffin Man stood about 5'11, with receding hair the color of, well oat bran! Silver wire frames held the glasses on his crooked nose, and his raspy voice could be compared to the male version of Joan Rivers.

In his Joan Rivers voice, he howled, "I WAS JUST HIT WITH A MUFFIN!"

Meanwhile, my friend barista ran like a 12 year old child to the back of the store to hide from the screaming Muffin Man.

No one knew what to think. This man was obviously distressed about a bran muffin coming in contact with his precious toe. (This is also a great time to mention that his toe was covered by a shoe of some sort.)

Anyway, Muffin Man was not happy. Suddenly, in the midst of his screaming fit, he eyed the box of bran muffins and noticed the vacant spot where the fourth muffin once lived.

"I KNOW IT WAS A BRAN MUFFIN!" He shouted. The store manager came over to the man and tried to console him, by offering free drinks, coupons, coffee mugs, bags of coffee, baristas, etc...

The next day, the store was busy and there were lines of people out the door. Then, the Muffin Man walked through the cafe doors and demanded to see the manager again. I only heard bits of valuable information and went in search of my barista friend. He was steaming milk at the espresso bar. I warned him that the Muffin Man was inside the cafe and to not look over at him. He ducked behind the bar, his eyes wide with fear.

My manager asked the Muffin Man if he could further get him anything and again apologized for the "inconvenience".

The Muffin Man rubbed his bald head and looked around the cafe in search of barista. His raspy voice dripped from his mouth as he said, "Well, I would love to string that guy up and beat him with muffins!"

The store manager bit his tongue, to contain laughter and just stared at the Muffin Man.

"Obviously I have no muffins to do this, so I would just like a coupon." Then he left the store with a free coffee in hand.

The moral of this story: Next time you decide to throw a muffin, take off your hat and apron and throw it away from the Muffin Man.

Can one really be this invisible?

2008-07-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

Today I have been so irritated at everything. I have been feeling that everyone is taking over what little space I feel that I actually have. My bubble, it is very precious to me. Especially living in a large city where you only get about 12 feet of it anyway and that is called "home".

However, I don't want to complain anymore today. I have done enough of that already. I gotta say though, that it makes me feel better if I can just throw up all my thoughts about how much I dislike people. I would go as far as saying that I hate them. Yeh, but I won't because that is just down right negative. Today I have felt invisible in this world. Besides my mother calling me everyone else has been busy. Its not about craving attention so much as it is me wondering if people have seen me at all today!

Like I mentioned earlier, I only have so much space in this world. When someone does not acknowledge my presence it is quite obvious. Let me explain...

I am babysitting this morning and the baby spits up all over my entire left thigh. "Ok," I think "No big deal. I wore the crappy pants today."

So I begin desperately to wipe off all spit from the baby. Then the mom waltzed into the room. "Oh what happened, Hannah?" She says to the baby's 3 year old sister, without even looking at me. Quickly she reaches for a paper towel and dabbs up the spit from the couch. She then realizes it is on her daughter and baby. Meanwhile, I am scrambling to clean it off of his shirt and my pant leg. Never mind that my ENTIRE leg is drenched. She walks off, turns around, and then says, "Oh, yeah would you like a cloth to clean yourself?"

Later in the day I am crossing the street downtown and the little white man lights up across the street. Pedestrian right away! So I walk across, and a truck suddenly stops 2 inches away from my frozen body. I was stunned and all I could think to do was stare at the idiot behind the wheel. He then began honking and I briskly made it to the sidewalk. I thought about it later and decided I should have shot him a bird, but it was too late.

After that wonderful incident, I decided to treat myself to a nice lunch since I just got paid. So I went over to the Barking Dog on 3rd and 94th st. I sat at a nice table outside on the porch next to the sidewalk. I took a deep breath in to relax. I ordered a grilled cheese, butternut squash soup and a beer. During my delicious meal two men came out with brooms, paper towels, and window cleaner. They begin shuffling tables around and one stood on top of a chair. He sprayed the window and began to clean. As he sprayed, the cleaner it blows directly at me and onto my amazing butternut squash soup! They inch closer and asked me,

"can we use the seat at your table to wipe the windows?" I stare in utter amazement as my food becomes covered in windex. Luckily, the manager came out and put a stop to the madness and apologized. I sat and just stared. I did not say anything to those men because I was just so excited at how this day was turning out. I got the check, reluctantly paid, and left.

So I arrive at my final destination of the day and I decide to have a smoke before work. I sit on a little bench beside the 92nd Street Y. Two young men are watering the flowers outside of the building and drag the hoes pipe behind them. Water pours out the pipe and one guy is holding it as he walks over to the flowers about 12 feet away from where I am sitting. As he is holding the hose, he lets the water flow graciously onto the sidewalk. Somehow he does not see me sitting directly in his path. Water begins to pour all over my feet and already damp pants. "Hey watch it!" I yell. He simply looks at me and begins to water the flowers. Later, he comes back around and begins to adjust his belt by taking off his pants as if I am not sitting there. This day is just the best.

Soaking wet, I walked over to the Pilates Studio. I arrive inside and immediately my boss is asking me to clean things. She never asks me to clean, (during the week anyway). Ok, so I scrub away at the walls, the machines, and the damn bathroom. Can this day get any worse? My poor pants have had it and all I want to do is shower!

So here I am typing away. Nothing has happened since but I still have the train ride home...

Maybe someone will sit on me. Can't wait.

Soaking it in on the train

2008-07-24T14:55:00.000-07:00

These last two months in New York are really getting to me. It feels like I'm waiting in a long line at an amusement park right now. The anticipation of getting back to Chicago and beginning a new chapter in my life is constantly on my mind. Currently my situation is that I must save as much money as possible so that I can move. However, it has become increasingly difficult living in this expensive city and also trying to spend my time wisely while still here. Two more months, two more, I keep telling myself. Why am I rushing? I need to be doing more "soaking".

So, last night on my way home after I heard the news about PA, I decided to do just that. I began to soak in as much around me as possible. Luckily it was raining so my clothes were soaking, as well as my hair and it definitely helped the situation. I sat on the 2,3 going towards Harelm, staring at the orange colored seats that remind me of the 70's. An elderly man sat across from me. On the opposite side of the train was a young man with saggy pants, sunglasses over his eyes, and music blaring for us all to hear through his headphones. The elderly man began to whistle a song I couldn't quite make out. As he sat whistling he glanced around the train amused. He seemed so content. My thoughts flashed back to my grandfather (PA) and how whistling seems to have become a thing only from the past. Whereas, the young guy in the corner was nodding his head to songs of booty shakin' and lickin'. I tuned out the profanity and heard only the whistling along with the noise from the train. I stared again at the orange seats and thought of a time that has come and gone. I thought about the generation gap between the young guy, the old man, and myself. I don't know their beliefs, value systems, or who their parents were. With all of that aside, the whistling generation is dying off and almost obliterated from this earth. The generation where things seemed much more simple (even though I'm sure it wasn't). To me whistling is a manifestation of contentment and maybe the passing of time. As much as I would have liked to live in a time where men were gentlemen, women wore fancy hats, and everyone could trust their neighbor, I live right now. I live in a time where booty shakin' is very important to this culture. Too bad I can't shake it like a polaroid picture.

My PA

2008-07-23T21:56:00.000-07:00

I just crawled into bed to write about some news I just heard tonight from my mother.

My grandfather is in the hospital. The words "grandfather" and "hospital" tend to go hand in hand. However, I know him as PA just 'P' and 'A' and you get PA. Apparently he had fallen without realizing it and found himself in the mirror staring at the blood trickling down his forehead. My mother said he took a big spill while outside cutting the shrubs. Luckily something more serious did not occur. PA called for help on his cell phone and was rushed to the hospital. Cat scans and tests were done to see what might have happened. Could be strokes we suspect, he's had those before. You see PA will be 90 years old February 3rd. His real name is Charles Hugh Smith. Roomer has it, back in his younger years everyone called him "Hooty" (not sure why exactly.)

He was born in 1919, same year as Merce Cunningham and Nat King Cole were born. That same year the Boston Molasses Disaster occurred (just thought that was interesting, look it up!) Also, the United States Congress approved the 19th Amendment to the United States Constitution, which would guarantee suffrage to women! It is amazing all the decades he has lived through and the man STILL thinks he's in his 20's or 30's. He is young at the age of 89. Still he plays golf, cuts the grass, trims the bushes, drives the car, runs the errands, goes shopping, cooks, and finds the humor in life. He survived the Great Depression, WWII, the 60's and 70's, the death of his son, then his wife, and everything in between. PA is truly a wonderful man.

It is very difficult to see PA struggle. I am sure it is strange to see one's body begin to decay and no longer work as it used to. One day you wake up and your legs are not as strong. The heart and lungs you wore out in your younger years no longer kick into auto pilot. Everyday tasks become a marathon, and suddenly your children are watching out for you as you did for them. The roles reverse and you are now asking them for help. PA refuses help sometimes and tells my mom, "I am not a child."

Life has been good to him. He has stayed strong and somehow managed to stay jovial. PA is sure of himself, what he believe, and who he loves. What more can you ask for? PA is truly loved.

Just got to thinking

2008-07-17T14:09:00.000-07:00

Upper East Side. Love ya but....

I can't wait for the day when I am not surrounded by the rich women who have no concept of reality. Reality being that money does not grow on trees on a REAL planet, that it does not flow from the water faucet, and that sometimes it comes in spurts. However, that is just my reality and many others in the world. For some it is not having any money at all. For these women on the UES it is a constant flow of a "hand me down" or money from their "important" jobs. I have become such a bitter person, please excuse my language in this post. I am not envious, but it is difficult to not look at these people and wonder what they would be like if they were in a position of a low income. Some of these women get manicures, shop, and go to the Hamptons all the time. That is their reality.

I went out with a client here at the studio that has become one of my friends. She is one of the most interesting people that I know and is one of the craziest. I guess that's why I like her. Anyway, she has loads of money just pouring out of her ears and decided to take me out to dinner last night. We go out, discuss the men in her life over two glasses of Chianti and calamari. In her language she uses words most Upper East Siders have incorporated into their vocabulary: ...house in the Hamptons, shopping, tan, dress, hair, manicure, dinners, rich men, sex, shoes, meeting, Pilates, investment....

Ok, I'm about to vomit, I must stop myself.

As I was sipping on my delicious Chianti I sat thinking that all I have in my bank account is a negative balance and a heart attack.

I love this friend, however I can only take her in spurts. She definitely worked hard for her money and that is beautiful. In spite of it all, she also gave me some sound advice that I will never forget. She said that because she has worked so hard and has never asked anything from her parents, she made a decision at 14 years old, when she moved out, to never settle. She doesn't want to just settle for a mundane job, guy, or any decision not benefitting to her. I took that advice and compared it to my life and noticed that I have done that in some ways. I also do not want to settle for just ANYTHING in my life. I want to be a successful woman in every area in my life: career, marriage, etc...

That was some sound advice from a woman who at 35 is living on the Upper East Side in NYC and still has not had a successful relationship, but has more money than she knows what to do with.

I will miss New York.

Gelato or a Gallon of Gas?

2008-07-15T13:58:00.000-07:00

Once again I am at work, doing my boring desk job. At least I get to write!

Anyway, I went out on my break and passed a Ciao Bella gelato store. Oh I ran over there and ordered a small cone with vanilla! mmmm it was the most amazing scoop of gelato for $4.75! Yeah, thats how much it cost me. I could have gotten a healthy salad and a small coffee at the deli downstairs. After I freaked out (inside my head) while signing the receipt, I walked over to grab a few napkins for my dripping delight and there was a sign. It read something like: "Because of increasing gas prices, we have had to increase our prices on our gelato and frozen yogurts. The cost of fruit has also gone up with the rise of gas. We will do everything to keep the cost down as much as possible."

It is a good thing I do not drive a vehicle. I mean I would use one gallon of gas and that would have to be it for the week. Here in New York I believe it is $4.75 a gallon, as much as my gelato cone! What? Incredible. I am sure that in my lifetime, gas prices will get so high that filling up your tank will be equivalent to buying a house.

I'm not sure if you can actually compare gelato to gas but in my world it is possible. It seems like this country is in big trouble. I haven't watched or read any news recently, but it doesn't take an educated economics major to see that the future looks bleak for the gelato companies.

STUDY SHOWS REPUBLICANS ARE KETCHUP FREAKS

2008-07-14T20:02:00.000-07:00

Topic is from Weekly World News. I chose a headline and decided to write my own article:

STUDY SHOWS REPUBLICANS ARE KETCHUP FREAKS

"Red, thats right, the color of our nation." A Republican said standing outside a McDonald's. "I love Ketchup because it reminds me of the blood we have shed for this nation, it's in our flag, and it was my favorite color growing up."

Studies show that Republicans eat more Ketchup than Democrats. "This is truly something to be proud of in a nation that is supposedly going green." Another Republican quoted.

There has been much debate in the White House whether Ketchup is healthy for the human body. Many Democrats have been saying that Ketchup causes heart disease because of the high sodium content. However, Republicans claim that has nothing to do with it, Democrats are just trying to take away their right to eat the stuff.

George W. Bush commented on the subject, "I believe Americans have the right to eat as much Ketchup as they'd like. I grew up with the stuff. We had the option of the ranch to eat fresh tomatoes or Ketchup. Of course I chose Ketchup. What American wouldn't? That is what truly makes up an American... well that and hamburgers. Anyway, I think because it is my favorite staple with every meal, all of the troops should have their very own bottle while overseas. In fact, I think we need to make sure the Afganis don't get their hands on this top commodity. It is too precious for them to start taking it from us... they have taken too much already. I refuse to let them have my Ketchup!"

Many Ketchup supporters are claiming the stuff heals them of cancer. "I was diagnosed with skin cancer and I was so upset that I bought a bag of french fries and a big bottle of Ketchup to drown my sorrows. I actually ate the whole bottle and even spread the Ketchup all over my body, thinking that it might be my very last one. The next day I went to the doctor and the cancer was gone!"

"See, this is just a prime example of what Ketchup can do for this country." A Republican doctor quoted.

Back in 2004 when John Kerry was the Democratic nominee for the Presidency, some very strong words were said about his wife Teresa. Teresa Heinz Kerry is an exception to the notion that it is only Republicans that are Ketchup freaks. She owns the entire Heinz Ketchup corporation. What was she thinking marrying a Democrat? Many Republicans have asked her this same question. Teresa claims that you don't have to be a Republican to like Ketchup. "I believe I am making a statement by being with John. One CAN be a Democrat and still love Ketchup. Maybe one day Ketchup will bring this country together again and there will no longer be Democrats or Republicans.

We shall see how far Ketchup takes us into the future. Too bad Obama is allergic to tomatoes.

Oops, I got ink on my dress!

2008-07-13T16:32:00.000-07:00

Clothes you can ink on?

Now this is the best invention for mankind, specifically women in general. Ok, heres how is works: You wear a white dress, pick any color marker you desire, like 15 or so and you place them in the little pocket holders. Then you let the markers bleed onto the white dress.

The best part is, you put the dress in water and it all disappears and you can start all over again!

Seriously though who can wear a white outfit and never get anything on it? I always end up getting something on a white shirt that I never would have on any other piece of clothing. If wear white someone just happens to be walking by with a permanent marker, drawing a line right across the shirt. Better yet, I somehow manage to spill coffee on either the right or left breast. Either way, this dress is perfect for my kind of lifestyle: Messy!

Click on the link below to learn more:

flexibility - renewable clothing by fernando brízio

A can of tuna and a bag of potato chips

2008-07-10T14:08:00.000-07:00

The title of this was my dinner tonight.

As I sit here at my desk I am pondering the human race. Where are we headed? All of the magazines are screaming "JAMIE LYNN HAS BABY!" Do I really care? Secretly, yes. I was wondering when she was going to POP that thing out. That poor family... caught up in pleasing society and battling with the media, all the while in the midst of all these babies! I thought my life was getting complicated! At least I'm not one of the Spears children, having children. We as a society MUST know what is going on in the lives of celebrities over our own.

ENOUGH OF THAT.

Another thought on the human race these days is that we are a bunch of needy little children. That seems to be the theme here, children. I was at the laudrymat taking care of business when this woman calls out, "Help! Help! I'm scared!" The man working the shift at the mat that day ran over to see what was the matter. As he approached the woman sorting through her clothes, he asks her what the problem is. "I.. I.. I'm not sure if I should add my colors in with the whites!" Are you serious?! You can't figure this out on your own? Why I just throw them all in together, but if you want to get technical, just wash the whites separately! The man gave her a little advice and walked away shaking his head, and walked back over to that which was more important. I would understand if a child was confused or needed help and was a little frightened that he might mess up his clothes, but a grown woman?

I don't want to get into the topic of living child-like, because I believe that one should have a child-like spirit and live life to its fullest and with curiosity. However, what happened to common sense? Is our society so lazy that we are lacking in the most basic fundamentals of life?

More dumb human moments would be...

*When ordering a latte: I called your drink and noted to you that I placed only 1 packet of sugar in the drink for you, but you wanted 2. Just go put it in there yourself if this happens.

*If you are unsure about something, its ok to ask questions. However, if I give you an answer you don't want to hear, please don't throw a fit!

*So I go to the store and I'm looking at cough medicine in the sick isle and you walk up and decide you need some too. Don't stand directly in front of me so that you are blocking my view.PAY ATTENTION TO PEOPLE AROUND YOU! The only reason that you are standing there is because you know that I need some! Then, you proceed to cough on me. Thanks.

*You are new to the city and you are lost. OK. Don't just stand there in the MIDDLE of the sidewalk and look around! Pull over and then get your BIG ANNOYING map out. (this goes for the city dwellers as well. If you see someone coming toward you, pick which side to walk on!)

*Airports. Lovely places, and I HATE to wait in them. I don't really mind so much if I am left alone and I have a nice coffee and a good book. Then I can just people watch and be in my own bubble. As I sit there I realize that no one knows how to act in an airport! Everyone is confused or lost. It can't be more simple, Gate: C2 Flight: New York Time: 12:45pm. What more could you ask for? Your day and where you need to be is spelled out for you and the gates are generally close together. Everyone walks in to one another and looks like zombies. Most of the time there are those Hawiian shirts involved: They button up in the front with the palm trees and come in various bright colors.

One more... (I could go on forever though)

*If you don't want foam on your latte, please specify! I am not a mind reader, how am I supposed to know what you like and don't like unless you tell me?

I Am The Right Brained Thinker

2008-07-08T13:58:00.000-07:00

*I have been up for months, drinking coffee and trying to make a decision...

I was born with a curse. The curse of the overactive right brained thinker. Sometimes I don't use logic and I just make a decision for no reason other than spontaneity and run with it. On the other hand, once I've made a decision, I then begin to question it and feel nostalgic for the other choice I could have made. Could 'a Would 'a... So thus begins this cycle of always

wanting to be where the "action" is. If I make a choice, I wonder what I'll then be missing out on if I had made another choice. ahhhh crazy huh?!

Let me tell you my situation. Please, feel free to comment below. All inquires are welcome, for I am not afraid to just get all of this on the table. Maybe others will relate in some other ways.

I moved from Chicago to New York 10 months ago in hopes of gaining more experience in the dance world. I have always had dreams of dancing with the BIG companies here and traveling the world with them. Let me back up and say that I had lived in Chicago for 5 years and had moved from my hometown Nashville, that in itself was a strong decision that I had made. Chicago was my home and where I gained my BA in dance at Columbia College. While I was there, I met the love of my life and was in a fabulous dance company. Now that I have been in New York I have worked at Starbucks, explored the dance scene, been to auditions, danced in a show, became certified in Pilates, became poor off my ass, had to quit going to dance classes because I can't afford it, and now I just work as a receptionist at a Pilates Studio on the Upper East Side. Currently, I am sitting at my desk typing this all out. I am trying to "breathe" as my boyfriend is constantly suggesting that I do. Where does one draw the line or throw up their hands and say, "I'm done with this. I must move on!"

Everyone here says to just give it another year. The first year here is always hell. Yeah, you're tellin' me!! I feel that I have accomplished quite a bit in my full 24 years of life and I don't think I'm one to back out now. Just because I move does NOT mean I am giving up on my ambitions. No, nope. I need to eat and survive and I guess I am not willing to give those things up.

I too also feel that society looks down on those who fall in love. So what if I want to move back and live with my boyfriend! Yes, I miss him and half the reason why I want to move back is because I want to go through this crazy life with someone who I care about and who cares about me. That is my rant and I'm stickin' to it.

Ladies and Gentleman... I AM MOVING BACK TO CHICAGO. The city that still has a hold on my heart. The right brained thinker is on the move once again. This time, I must not look back until this wonderful city of New York calls my name again. Hopefully by then I will have more change in my pocket.

I have learned so much here and made so many friends. All of whom I will never forget or lose contact with. (Don't lose contact with me!!)

*Taking another sip of the now chilled cup of coffee.

Some Coffee Talk

2008-06-15T17:28:00.000-07:00

Just thoughts on a soy latte and the South Beach diet. If you want to combine to two go right ahead. Pull up a chair and enjoy your coffee.

The Rinse Cycle

2008-05-18T08:03:00.000-07:00

Today, I did my laundry. Yes, I threw my large bag o' clothes over my shoulder and walked a block to the laundromat. What a strange place, the laundromat. I would like to think of it as an invasion of privacy. You stuff all of your dirty clothes into a bag, that have been touching you oh so intimately, and bring them to a public place. Once you're there you stuff them into a machine that washes them where everyone else's dirty intimate clothing has been. Plus, you get to see what everyone else has brought in that day! How exciting, its like show and tell! The laundromat is sometimes crowded, with people all up in your space with huge bags that they must have collected from every person in Harlem, or the city of New York for that matter. When they have finally dried all of this laundry, they find it necessary to fold it all on every available table in the place. Somehow I always manage to loose my clothing when making the transfer from washer to dryer, leaving a trail of underwear and socks behind me. Little Hispanic men follow the trail and meet me at the dryer with arms extended, graciously handing over my intimate belongings. As I stuff the clothes into the dryer I feel the need to throw them in as fast as I can, for fear of someone else viewing my forever stained underwear.

The television by the washer blasts an Indiana Jones movie, while the one by the dryer is blasting a Spanish soap opera. I decided to go and sit by the washers. At least here I can stare at Harrison Ford, and zone off into the rinse cycle. When the time came to add another quarter to the machine, I decided to be productive and read my book. I noticed a man with dreads and leathery skin leaning against a folding table staring in my direction. "Oh crap, he's coming over here." He rolled his cart of clothes over in my direction and parked it next to my chair, where I was sitting so peacefully. "Hello there. What are you reading? How many pages is that? Wow, that must have taken you a long time to read! I could never do that!"

This is the other moment I must comment on about a laundromat. Can I not do laundry in peace? I do not want to be social with strangers while I'm washing my underwear and I do not want to be hit on while I'm sitting next to yours! I just sat there pretending to read and nodded my head, so as to not look completely rude, but still rude enough so he would get the point.

He finally left, but when he saw me he kept referring to me as "Hey, reader..."

I can understand being social at the grocery store, a coffee shop, restaurant, any place that you might have a conversation about the atmosphere or the food you are consuming, but the laundromat? No, do not talk to me. I came here to do this alone and without judgement. I do not want to be judged when I'm folding my granny panties that I only wear when everything else is dirty, ok. I do not want to be judged when I decide to use 5 caps of laundry detergent instead of one, just to make sure my clothes are EXTRA clean. I do not want to be judged when I throw in 20 dryer sheets. I do not want to be judged if I decide I want to play the race car game sitting vacant and calling my name.

When my clothes are finished drying, you better believe that I throw those clothes into my bag and run out the door, leaving a trail behind me.

Young and FREE

2008-05-08T13:35:00.001-07:00

Yeah, I'm free...

It seems that when you are young, there is a sign on your forehead that screams "USE ME FOR FREE!" When I say young I guess I mean ages 21-30. This term free seems to apply when one is in college or just out of college. One is required to work and have a career and make money to survive. Yet, those who want to hire you, only offer and expect you to work for free? I am confused. I thought that work meant money. Apparently the terms intern, apprentice, and exchange are words used for the recent college graduate. I graduated 2 years ago and I am still living with those words. Maybe if I was older and "wiser" I wouldn't agree to choose jobs with those words attached to them, but then that other word pops into the equation: Experience. If one does not take these apprentice jobs, then one cannot gain experience and if one does not have experience then one will never get jobs that do pay money, MONEY! Something else that confuses me is the idea that "club dancer" is looked down on, because that is apparently the only way one could make money by doing free work all day. Once can most certainly be a slave (a.k.a waiter) at least that is still considered a respectable job. How else does one survive in order to gain this experience you ask? Listed below are a few things that I and others have found helpful:

1. Take a boring desk job so that you can have free internet and a phone to do YOUR business

2. Scrounge up loose change that has been hiding for the past 4 years from college (when you didn't care) Examples would be: bottom of purses, in pants, laundry basket, refrigerator, cabinets, mattress, behind bed, closet, other people's pants, etc.. you get the idea.

3. Make a card board sign that says "Hungry, poor, and out of college. Please help feed me, maybe buy me a drink?"

4. Date rich people

5. Eat ramen

6. Steal someone's identity (don't really recommend this).

7. Ride a bike

8. Thrift stores for your clothing, or have a clothe swapping party with your friends. Highly recommend making sure you are all the same size. You don't want to have to wear Rhonda's fat pants.

9. COSCO: Go in with your friends and claim yourself as a family to get a discount

10. Bribe your family for money.

Sub Talk

2008-05-05T19:20:00.000-07:00

I have found that living in the city has made me more of a people watcher. From birth I was always a people watcher and growing up continually imitated those around me. I guess you could say its in my family. Growing up after dinner, my family and I would sit around the living room and play a game called imitations, or impressions. Imitations involved impersonating someone you knew and everyone had to guess who it was. Now these were not to mock or be mean, but simply to have a good laugh. We would imitate each other and most of the time someone would get upset. It was mostly my sister who would sit and pout after me or my brother would imitate her mad pouty face, just to see her do it, and it always worked. Everyone has to admit that watching people is some of the greatest entertainment there is. I mean this is why SNL is so popular and stand up comedy, because they are making fun of people! In my opinion what makes situations laughable is the fact that most people are oblivious to the fact that they are ridiculous....

The Subway is set up to where you have to face each other while taking your commute to wherever it is you must go. So you get on the train and sit down where you can. Once you're there you must acquaint yourself to those around you. I don't mean introduce yourself or say hi or make eye contact, but I do mean that once you've been sitting there for a while you get bored and when someone new enters the train... well you MUST see who they are. Even if you don't care (I don't) it is still human nature, I believe, to be curious about your surroundings. With that said, once you're sitting there eventually you and the person across from you make eye contact for a second. It can be awkward if you let it...

1. Sometimes the person will look away quickly as to pretend they did not see you looking at them.

2. Sometimes the person will just keep staring as if you do not see them staring AT you.

3. Sometimes the person will lean over and read what you are reading.

4. Sometimes the person will stare at your shoes as if you have the most interesting shoes on (even if they are nasty tennis shoes you've had for 10 years.

5. Sometimes the person will close their eyes as to not make any sort of contact what so ever.

6. Sometimes the person will sit on top of you (in most cases because they are too fat for the seat).

7. Sometimes the person will take up the entire row of seats with their belongings (or fat butt) so that you cannot sit there.

8. Sometimes the person will move far away to another seat as if you smell.

9. Sometimes the person will have their ipod on so loud that you can hear every beat and lyrics to a rap song about someone else's ass.

10. Sometimes the person will look around at every possible thing and person on the train and make you feel so uncomfortable that you begin to follow their eyes to see what is so damn interesting.

Coffee and Apples?

2008-05-03T15:31:00.000-07:00

So here is the new scoop on Mr. Monroe...

Poor guy just wants to do some apple pickin'. My manager told me he came into the cafe the other day and they began chatting. She explained to him that she is leaving the store to do some not for profit work and introduced him to the new manager. "Well, he has some tall shoes to fill!" He managed to shout. This was all agreed upon and then he said, "Does he like apples?" I guess that is the criteria that must be met in order for Monroe to order a cup of coffee: ONE MUST LIKE APPLES TO SERVE ME COFFEE.

Oh Monroe, how I love your apples.

Goldie Moldie

2008-04-22T19:08:00.000-07:00

"You look just like Goldie hawn!" A woman at the cafe exclaimed to me. "Yeah, I get that all the time. Kate Hudson too, but I think its more Goldie at age 23." The woman nodded in agreement and left with her latte.

It certainly is a compliment when someone says I look like a celebrity. I think Goldie Hawn is gorgeous, even in her later years. Yet, I wonder if she had had some surgery done. Anyway, my point with all of this is that, this is how people give compliments now it seems. It is not, "Oh, I like your eyes or your hair is just beautiful." People express these compliments by comparing you to a celebrity. I have received this compliment so many times that I ended up buying her autobiography, A Lotus Grows In The Mud. It is very good! She includes her journey as an actress in Hollywood and her road to stardom. Pictures from her childhood up to current Hollywood photos are also included. After reading this book, I took the initiative to write to her. Yes, I wrote a fan letter. However, what I included in this fan letter was not just the typical "Oh, I love your work!" No, I included that, "Goldie, I look like you!" Needless to say, I never heard back.

Why do we compare ourselves to these icons? Does it make us feel important in some way? Sometimes I do get the feeling that when someone says, "Goldie" that I will float off to Hollywood and be in a film. What? I feel connected in some way to this woman simply by this comment. The reality is that we know everything about these people, yet we will never meet them. They do not know we exist, and they could care less if we look like them or not. I was shocked and appalled when I heard that Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise are supposedly separating. They probably are. Why do I care? Is it society that makes me care? Magazines, tv, newspapers, and internet throw it in our faces everyday. If you somehow avoid these mediums, then you will run into it in conversation, "Did you hear..." Well, here is a suggestion: What if we choose to just walk away if it comes up in conversation, or if you see a magazine with celebrities on it just close your eyes and start singing. Better yet, if you see someone reading one of those trashy magazines, such as US weekly or Celebrity News, (I made that up) just take the magazine from them and STOMP on it. Yea, just stomp on it and then rip it up into tiny shreds and say, "This is what your brain looks like while reading this garbage!"

Ok, I feel better. Oh by the way, my mom is the older version of Goldie Hawn.

Spring time in New York

2008-04-17T13:38:00.000-07:00

It is Spring in New York! The weather is sending us signs of summer and New Yorkers are venturing out of hibernation (this actually means they are a bit nicer). I took a walk on my break today along 5th avenue on the UES to soak in some sun. My walk began on 86th and Madison Ave. As I strolled over to Central Park I passed the pent houses and town homes owned by people with more money than they know what to do with. Some of the windows of their homes were open to bring in the spring air and street noises of cabs honking by. Out of curiosity, I peered in through many of these town homes to view the life of the wealthy. High ceilings, expensive statues, and colossal chandeliers occupied the rooms of these palaces. The park was bustling with runners, mothers and strollers, old women with loads of makeup slapped on their faces, and tourists grasping onto their maps, pointing their cameras in various directions. One couple snapped a picture of two pigeons waddling on the sidewalk. My ipod was on shuffle and every song was the theme for each moment before me. As a garbage truck reversed its direction, an urgent beeping cleared everyone out of the way. I think it was Laurn Hill singing in my hear when this occurred and the beeping became a nice melodic rhythm for the song. I smiled at this beautiful moment and kept walking. For some reason, warm weather heightens smells in the air. Whiffs of cigarette smoke, women's perfume, old garbage, roasted nuts, fresh flowers, and greasy hotdogs filled my nostrils. I was brought back to an eclectic mix of memories. I was brought to a world where theme parks meet porch swing at my grandparents house.

A beautiful day in New York City, encompasses all of the reasons why one moves to this city. There is no need to go to the theater when free entertainment is all around you.

Apples for $10 a day

2008-03-20T06:52:00.001-07:00

I don't think any amount of coffee can wake me up today.

The time, 9:55 am on a Thursday. I am sitting at my desk at the pilates studio listening to the sounds of breathing and grunting that many of the older clients tend to exude without hesitation. I nod my head to the melodic rhythm of the 100 exercise, "Inhale 2, 3, 4,5 and exhale 2, 3, 4, 5." This week the studio is slow due to everyone out for spring break. I dont mind getting paid to sit here and write for $10 and hour. Gee, $10 an hour. I get paid this and I live in New York City. At the coffee shop I get paid less. As I sit and write these amounts out, thoughts run through my sleepy mind. It is ironic that the majority of people who go to college try and come out of the thing with more intelligence, a career in site, and debt free. Unfortunately, this does not happen. I am a college graduate beginning from square one, working minimum wage, and in debt beyond comprehension. I struggle to eat a simple sandwich during my day and scramble my money together to take the train to and from work. I am not saying all of this for sympathy or for a pitty party. Just saying.....

All of my friends have goals and things they want to do because they have been dreaming about them all of their lives. I have wanted to dance professionally for years. My passion truly is dancing and making art with dance. So I moved to New York City, the land of dreams and art, right? Now I am dancing less than I was before. I spend $18 on a dance class and then feel guilty going home to make dinner with the remaining $10 from my weekly budget. This week, I have actually said "Fuck this, I am going to just go to class." Once this occurred, I took my classes, had my routine coffee on the way, and went home to eat dinner. All week this was my schedule. Then, I receive an email from my bank. LOW BALANCE THRESHOLD. ahhhhhhh those words are terrorizing to me. I take a breath and tell myself that tomorrow is another day, just don't go to class this week, only work. Then, the phone rings. No, its the 800 number from the collection agency calling about my credit card. I am behind on my payments this month. I can't catch up. I feel so far behind. If I try to catch up, I will be behind on the rent. The credit card debt is from my travels to London for a week. If it were not for the credit card, I would not have been able to go, and let me tell you it was the best experience of my life! I would have stayed over there if it were possible financially. Once again, I must put off my dreams to work for $10 and hour.

Breathe. "Inhale 2, 3, 4, 5 and Exhale 2, 3, 4, 5". With each breath I just question everything. I am walking in the midst of a city where no one knows your name. Do I want to be a nobody in a world full of somebodies? Certainly I feel this way.

I step back and take a look...

I worked at the coffee shop yesterday for the first time in 3 weeks. I had taken off for the pilates studio and have missed the regular faces in the morning. One in particular, Mr. Monroe. He came in yesterday and saw me standing behind the counter waiting to say hello. "Oh, my! Well hello there darlin'!" He exclaimed as he opened up his bag. "Where on earth have you been? I have missed you're face."

I told him that I am now at the studio full time and training to be a Pilates instructor. He pulled out a shinny red apple and sat it onto the counter in front of me. "Wash it off now, ok?" I smiled at him and hugged the apple close to my chest as if it were my lover. "Yes Monroe, I will." Monroe lingered for a while at the counter with his half smile printed on his face and gathered his belongings from the floor. I proceeded to ask him questions to find out a bit more about this older,lonely gentleman. I asked him the usual "Where do you live, what do you do all day, where are you from?" He only answered one out of the 5 I ended up asking him. He lives around 55th and 10th Ave. Monroe would not answer my questions about why he visits the bank everyday, where his wife is (because I know he has one), where is he from, what did he do when he was younger? He did ask me a few though. I told him I was leaving for Chicago to see my man and he asked, "Well is he good to you? Treat you well and with respect? You need that." I smiled and nodded that he does treat me well. Once he was satisfied with that answer he waved goodbye and left the coffee shop.

Maybe this was a complaining session, but I'm blogging right? Anyway, I have finished my cup of coffee and have pondered the facts of a college graduate on $10 an hour. Now I am going to have an apple.

The sound of the "Clonk"

2008-03-07T12:31:00.000-08:00

On my way, I got a coffee and observed...

The sound that I hate the most is not nails scratching against a chalkboard, or ultra high pitched sounds, or even many Kenny G. songs. The sound that most annoys me is the sound of clunking high heels. Yes, high heels clunking against the pavement "clonk, clonk, clonk". Now of course there is a reason for this hatred, but I didn't always dislike this sound. When I was a little girl, my mother would dress my sister and I up in Sunday's best and then zip us off to church. My favorite outfit was always the floral patterned dress with frilled white laced socks and of course my black dress shoes that buckled on the side. One Sunday morning I was the only one dressed and ready to go, so I waited in the kitchen for the rest of the fam. As I waited, I placed my black, round-toed shoes onto my feet and squinted my eyes to find just the right hole to secure the buckle of each shoe. I stood up and walked around the kitchen. The tiles on the floor made 1" diamonds inside groups of larger squares. Delicately I placed my small feet on each diamond and began to do this throughout the kitchen. Oh, the crisp sound of dress shoes clunking against the floor. I stared down at my feet and began to stomp on the floor, because the heel of the shoe made a much louder sound. Of course my enjoyment was interrupted when my mother came in to control my stomping session. I had always heard my mother and other women stomp around in them, why shouldn't I? Regardless, this is the sound I hate the most...

Power, control, and dominance are only a few of the traits portrayed by high heels and the women who wear them. Yes, I am a woman and occasionally I will submit to wearing the high heel, but I try not to. It isn't because I don't think they are cute or because I am a feminist and I think its demeaning towards women. All of that aside, something happens to women when they put those damn shoes on and strut around town. Some of them do not even pick their feet off the ground, they just let them scoooot across. That is another subject all together. Anyway, let me explain...

I got stuck behind a pair on my way to one of my various jobs. I stepped off the 4 train at Brooklyn Bridge and began my journey to Battery Park City. The sun was shining and the air was still a bit chilly. I strolled through the park across from City Hall and found my way to Starbucks to grab a coffee. Time remaining: 10 minutes. Runners jogged by and people shuffled throughout the sidewalk to begin their busy work day. I reached the overpass that crosses over to West End Avenue. On my journey, I am surrounded by suits, briefcases, and HIGH HEELS! I looked down at my tennis shoes and thought of my ornate clothing attire: sweat pants, tennis shoes, and a pullover. I was a bag lady amongst a cloud of corporate workers. Then, I noticed that in front of me was a woman, 3 inches taller than me. I looked down at her 3 inch heels and how they clunked swiftly in front of her. Her perfectly straightened, long black hair swayed to the left and to the right with each stomp. My eyes followed her clonkers and I could feel my eyes widening and my neck protruding off of my spine to get a better look at this woman. Quickly I shook my head and told myself, "get a grip!" However, I could not contain the frustration within me. So I decided to maneuver around her and head to the right. As I tried to free myself from the "clonk" she veered to the right and I was still behind the long black hair. Ok, then I tried to head to the left. Again, she goes to the left. "What?" I wondered. "Does she have eyes in the back of her clonkers?" Finally, I see some stairs approaching. FREEDOM! Swiftly, I manage to get to the left side of the clonk lady and head up the steep stairs. A silver railing separated two sides of the stairway. She took the right, I the left. Then, I noticed that she was directly beside me on the opposite side of the rail, climbing at warp speed, taking on a whopping 2 stair step at a time! "NO, this clonker is not going to up step me!" Suddenly, I found myself competing with this woman of the high heeled club. I sprinted up the stairs, trying to keep up with her. The heat was on and my heart was racing. Soon, we reached the top and I approached the last step, winning by two seconds!

I am proud to say that all of this was done with my coffee in hand.

A race against job status? Perhaps.. or it could be a race against the extinction of the tennis shoe.

Mr. Monroe and his apples

2008-03-02T20:08:00.000-08:00

His name is Monroe.

Everyday he comes into the cafe with his metal mug and meanders over to the counter. Holding his mug he looks for me through squinted eyes. He only wants me to pour his coffee. I saw him through the corner of my eye. My fellow barista shouts, "Hey, your boyfriend is here!" I rolled my eyes and walked over to the counter. "Refill today?" I know it isnt really a refill because this is his first venture here today. Water from his eyes streamed down his wrinkled face. His hands were shaking as he managed to twist off the lid. "Hey darlin' how are you today?" He reached into his bag and pulls out a shinny red apple. "I brought you an apple today." He managed to sputter out as if I didn't know what it was. I gratefully took the apple and sat it on the counter. He recommended that I wash it off because they (whoever "they" may be) do not wash the dirt off. He brings me an apple everyday. I guess you can say that I've started an apple collection. When he leaves, the apples go off into a corner by the espresso bar. I never eat the apples. It isn't that I don't like apples or that I don't think it is considerate that he brings me one, but where are they from? I asked him where he gets his apples. "Well from the farm of course!" The farm? In manhattan? I did not ask which farm or if he grows them himself. I think it flatters him that I even take the apple.

For some reason I feel sorry for Monroe. I've seen him at the Bank of America down the street when I go to make my deposits after work. He heads over there after he leaves the coffee shop and hangs out there all day. One afternoon at the bank he was wondering around checking out the magazines they have available to read on the shelves. After I deposited my loads of money, I noticed he had made his way over to the teller. "Now Mr. Monroe, am I going to have to call your wife? Yes, I have a boyfriend." The woman had a look on her face as if she was trying nicely to make him leave her alone. So I wasn't the only one he was giving apples to! My mind wandered and I began to place him into a time where men wore pen stripped suits and woman wore fancy hats and mink scarves. Everything was black and white and everyone said "Darlin' and sweetie" like in the old movies. I pictured him as a young Clark Gable and smoking a cigarette hitting on the ladies. Now he is wondering the streets of Manhattan hitting on young woman and giving them apples.

Who is Monroe and what does he do at the bank? Where does he get his apples? I will ask him tomorrow.

Decaffeinated

2008-03-02T08:33:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning half an hour later than I intended to. Somehow that snooze button was being pushed! I scrambled to my feet and threw on whatever was lying on the floor in front of my bed, zipped out the door and headed to the train. As I arrived at the pilates studio door I whined with frustration, "Why do people work out on Sunday mornings? What happened to the day of rest? I want to go back to bed." I pulled open the door and threw my bag onto the floor next to my desk. The phone immediately rang. Somehow my voice was not coming out of my mouth. I placed my hand over my lips to see if they were moving. Nothing. The lips were not moving, but I was saying the routine words in my head. Finally, I managed to spit out a "hello" into the phone. That conversation ended finally and I plopped into the chair and stared into the computer. My mind had shut off from the world around me and all I could think about was how much I needed some coffee. If anything I needed it for something to do. My mouth was aching for its morning delight. The phone kept ringing and ringing with no chance to go downstairs, right next door, and into the deli for just a drop of coffee! I sat in the chair with rolling wheels, and spun around in circles. My eyes were slowly closing and I could feel a headache approaching. I must look like a drug addict. Maybe I am a drug addict. I am certainly reliant on it every day. Gosh, I would rather be in bed right now curled up in my pajamas with my cat, reading a good book. Maybe even sipping on my own coffee from the french press. Shaking away those thoughts I tried to do my measly little job and schedule clients into their appointments. "A moment of silence? Should i go and get the coffee now?" I wondered to myself. Half way off the seat but still holding on as if I was playing musical chairs I contemplated "Yes, go just go." I stood up and threw my coat on and flew down the stairs. Then my heart pounded, I was so close, I tripped and fell flat on my face. I laid there on the concrete with busy New Yorkers stepping over my splayed decaffeinated body. Yea, I never got the coffee. I never actually woke up that day. I was stopped by gravity and my own clumsiness. This should be a lesson to all who need their morning coffee and cannot function daily without it.

The first sip and beyond...

2008-03-01T13:54:00.000-08:00

My first experience with coffee occurred in a McDonald's drive thru in the suburbs of Nashville, Tennessee with my mother. Yes, I said McDonald's.

"Hi, yes I'd like a small coffee to go please. Two packs of sugar and a stirring sick, thank you." The blonde sweet voiced woman said projecting into the golden arched speaker. As we approached the window, a heavy set Hispanic woman handed my mother a Styrofoam cup, which read "CAUTION" around the edges. we drove away from the McDonald's drive thru, and my mother placed her coffee onto the dashboard of her Dodge mini van. I watched as the rising heat send a small ring of steam onto the windshield. She used exactly two sugar packets, no cream, and stirred until the sugar was completely dissolved.

"Can I try a sip?" I asked preparing my taste buds for pure delight. The sweet aroma of this profound liquid filled the mini van and I couldn't wait any longer. I snatched the coffee and took a colossal gulp.

"AHHHHHH" I screamed with unexpected terror and handed the coffee back to my mother.

"Yeah its hot." She exclaimed offering to buy me a coke instead.

What I really wanted was coffee, but this watered down brown liquid, calling itself coffee did not appeal to me. As I grew older and could drive out into the world on my own, I would discover my true addictive love for coffee. After school I would drive over to my favorite coffee shop, The Frothy Monkey . This was the downtown Nashville hangout of artists, musicians, and students. Artwork from local artists hung on the mint colored walls and conversation loomed in the air. I sipped on lattes, cappuccinos, and mochas. However, my all time favorite and cheapest beverage was simply a black, dark roast drip coffee. I preferred to sip on roasts from Latin America and South Africa. The nutty and sometimes fruity flavors would draw me into a world I had nut discovered until I tasted these magic beans. The lively flavors would fill my mouth and trickle onto the sides of my tongue, informing me that this is a bold coffee. Most people dump cream and sugar into their coffee to try and cover up what makes these roasts unique. This is a sinful act against the holy coffee gods! Sometimes I think that I could be a coffee god. My mother certainly is and after all, she did introduce me to drug. Thank the coffee gods for that!

Slurpy Slurp

2008-02-29T15:50:00.000-08:00

My day began once again with steamed milk and demanding coffee adicts.

"What size?

How many shots?

With or without whipped cream?

Bold or mild blend?

Sugar free or regular syrup?

Foam or no foam?"

People are very particular about their coffee and how they like it prepared. I believe that how one takes their coffee represents a personality type or certain traits. For instance, let me set the scene for you.

In walks Barbie with her Gucci sunglasses, wearing her Burberry scarf tied neatly around her neck. Her stiletto heels pounding into the hardwood floor as she stomps over to the counter to order her drink. She orders a sugar-free vanilla, 2 splenda, nonfat latte, extra hot with no foam. OH, and steamed to 180 degrees. In other words she is high maintenance, self absorbed, too thin, and thinks she is extra extra hot.

Another one would be.. lets say Jason. Jason walks in and orders a large, nonfat latte with whipped cream. Jason is a heavy set man who looks to be in his mid to late 30's. He knows that he should be aware of his weight but compromises by adding the whipped cream. He does this in every area of his life. One day he might be wise with his money and save a certain amount, but the next day he will splurge and buy a big screen tv that he cant afford.

Now I'm not saying that this applies to everyone. However, everyday when I walk into the cafe and stand behind the espresso bar, it seems to be pretty accurate to me. I cant help but laugh when I see the similarities. Today actually a very statuesque African American man walked into the cafe. He never looked up at me from the counter and ordered a "Large black and bold". Those were his exact words. Couldnt help but chuckle when I poured the hot steamy black coffee from the urn. When I handed him his coffee his deep voice bellowed "Can I have a receipt?"

My question to you is this: How do you take your coffee?