Iced Tea Trickery

Today I went into a little coffee shop for some iced tea.  I've been there countless times, and their iced tea is always delicious.  Today was a disappointing exception.

I ordered my iced tea AND a cookie (which, once I ate it hours later, was terrible).  After waiting for quite some time for them to pour my iced tea, the new owner (who is quite surly) informed me that he didn't have a to-go cup for the tea, so he was going to refund me in a just a few minutes.  I was dying of thirst, so I told him I'd happily drink the tea in a regular glass.  I wasn't in a big rush.  Then, he decided to put the tea in a to-go coffee cup.

After pouring, he slapped the cup on the counter and told me that there was enough room for cream.  Who puts cream in their iced tea?  I walked over to get a lid, then took a sip and was horrified to discover that he gave me some sort of Thai iced tea.  Blech!  It was powdered tea with sweetened condensed milk.  That is no thirst-quencher, my friends.  That is just plain nasty (unless you ordered it with pad thai, in which case, it's appropriate).

I wanted regular tea with a hint of passion fruit.  There is no reason for them NOT to serve that when they boast a couple dozen kinds of tea.

Gross.

I'm may never go back there...especially since their fancy grilled cheese sandwich was sub-par the last time I ordered it.  Hmph!

Their only saving grace was that they were playing my favorite Stone Roses song while I waited.  But that's not enough!  My thirst was not quenched.

And yes, I could have asked for different tea, but the owner/barista was such a jerk, I didn't want to bother....and I had somewhere to be after all.

I've Got Some Letters To Write!

Dear Knee,

I feel that since we've known each other for so long, I can be frank.  What the hell is your problem?  We've gotten along so well, and then, out of nowhere, you decide to act up?  Seriously!  If you were one of my ankles, I'd understand.  They never do what I tell them (especially when dancing wildly, walking down stairs, or getting out of cars), but you...you...I counted on you!  Was it something I said?  To the best of my knowledge, I've been nothing but sugar to you (even if I eat a little too much of it myself).  If I did say something, then all I can say is, I'm sorry...I was drunk.

Now, you need to stop this whining and get back into the game.  We begin triathlon training this week, and I need you to be front and center.  I have a record to beat, and I plan to be just as fast as the 77-year-old, rather than 45 minutes behind him.

Cool?

Non-Athletic Triathlete

 

Dear Bacardi Frozen Margarita Mix,

I have a few questions for you.  First, is your expiration date something I should adhere to, or is it merely a suggestion?  I'm hoping it's a suggestion since I chose to use you in my margaritas even though you expired 2 years ago.  Should I not wake up in the morning, we'll all know why.  My second question is regarding your instructions.  According to the "can", I should add Rum to the mixture.  Now I could be mistaken (since I'm not a professional mixologist), but aren't margaritas made with tequila?  Last I checked the agave elixir cornered the market on margaritas, while rum had a hold on dacquiris, mojitos, and a variety of other frosty beverages.  While I'm asking questions, I wonder if you can tell me if tequila expires as well--specifically if really, really cheap tequila expires.  I know this isn't your realm (especially since you advised against the use of tequila and favored Bacardi Rum), but I thought you might have an opinion.

Well, that's all.  I just thought I'd check in with you.  The margaritas are on the wrong side of delicious, so I probably won't put my health at risk for too much longer.

Sincerely,

Lone Drinker

 

Dear Blender,

Tonight I finally used you for the first time since I purchased you as a gift to myself for my 27th birthday.  At the time of purchase, I truly believed that I would entertain people in my home (which is why I also purchased a variety of glasses that are currently on display in my cabinet).  Sadly, that never really happened for a multitude of reasons, starting with the fact that I'm secretly slovenly.  At any rate, I wanted to let you know that you did a great job on those margaritas.  Don't be sad that I just threw all of it out.  It had nothing to do with you.  The ingredients were some kind of awful, so I didn't want to subject myself to the torture any longer.  Who knows when I'll use you again, since I've never cozied up with the idea of drinking smoothies, so I hope you enjoy your time in the cabinet next to the chopper I also purchased for my 27th birthday (and have used one time).

Your pal,

Drinker of lukewarm beverages

 

Dear Local Taqueria,

What exactly are you putting in your mediocre food that has such a strong grip on me?  Seriously.  It's not that good.  My favorite place requires a short drive (or a long walk), so I really think convenience leads me to your door--that and, your food is really cheap.  I might be a little more on board with your taste sensations if your guacamole were less liquidy and more avacado-y.  I suppose if that is my only gripe you can't be that bad, but you really are.  Please don't allow me to come back into your establishment.  I no longer want to subject my gullet to sub-standard food...even if I secretly love it.  In fact, I'm writing a letter to my paunch regarding this very issue, so you really shouldn't count on getting anymore of my dollars.  Pepperidge Farms will be hearing from me as well, because, as of tomorrow, their goldfish crackers are dead to me.

Keep up the good work!

Mexican Food Aficionado

 

Dear Jeans Designers,

Who, exactly, are your fit models, and are their waists really that close to their pelvic bones?  I endured yet another frustrating day attempting to find a decent pair of jeans, and I'm really getting tired of this process.  I'm not asking you to flood the market with "mom" jeans, but, at least, recognize that not everyone wants their ass hanging out for all the world to see.  Hell, I'm not so keen on having my flesh pooch out (or see anyone else's fleshy hips bubble over their pants for that matter), but I do understand that you have your reasons.  I just feel like you could add, I don't know, one inch of fabric, so I don't have to walk around with a coin slot (cuz nobody wants what that vending machine is serving). 

Now, some of you have figured out that when making jeans for people that may need to "whittle their middle", you shouldn't pretend that their hips are actually their waist.  Because, when you do that (and you better be listening DKNY), you create an enormous, flabby doughnut between two waists.  There is absolutely nothing attractive about that.  So, to those of you that keep the top of the jeans straight when they are meant to hang at your hips (which is typically the largest part of the female form), I say thank you.  Also, to those of you that realize that some people actually have a little junk in the trunk, thank you for allowing some room for that.  I'm not a fan of my back fat, and I certainly don't want to subject the world to it (especially when my jeans are making a mountain out of a mole hill).  I realize that I could stand to lose a pound or ten, but until I do, I need a pair of jeans to wear that actually look flattering.  And by flattering, I don't mean that after trying on 20 pairs of ill-fitting jeans, I'm suddenly smitten with the ugly old pair I already own.  I just want to look good, okay?  Do you think you can help me out with that?

Warmest Regards,

Bootcut jeans enthusiast

 

Dear Blubber,

Consider this your final warning.  I know I told you that my campaign to rid my body of you began two weeks ago (Friday's delicious meal of polish food was totally unexpected), but I mean business now.  I didn't invite you to be a hanger-on, yet here you are.  I suppose you could argue that I left the door slightly ajar when I ate all that pizza, but I certainly didn't intend for you to be such an eager beaver.  Go away.  I've already informed the taqueria and a few snack foods that our relationship is over, so you may as well wander over to someone else because you are not wanted here anymore.

It's been far too easy for you stick around and invite all your fat friends to the party, but I'm pulling the plug on this operation.  It's true, my self-control has been phoning it in for quite some time, but it's on notice as well.  Things are changing around here, so pack your bags and leave.  I will not let you bust anymore zippers.

With Venom,

Salad Eater

The Universe is on my Side After All!

My oh my, what a morning I had!  This morning I had a "breakfast" meeting (which, much to my dismay, did not include breakfast), so I had to leave the house by *shudder* 8:30 in the MORNING.  After chatting on the phone with my coworker for a little too long, I rushed out of the house to catch the train.  Unfortunately, I realized that I only had a $5 bill, a $1 bill, and a dime.  This simply wouldn't do since the fare is $1.50 (and I'm just not willing to give them $5 for the ride).  Since the train was a couple blocks away, and I was going to be late if I didn't catch this one, I figured I'd just wing it.  The train rolled up (or slid, or skated, or did whatever it does on those rails), and I dutifully got into line.  Just before the doors opened, I noticed a quarter on the ground.  Lucky day, right?  I thought so...until a little old woman picked it up...and then she picked up a dime.  Apparently it was her lucky day.  The train doors opened, and I took a deep breath, knowing that this trip could go horribly wrong.  I was about to step on the train, when a woman got off the train and shoved her transfer in my hand, saying "Here, use this."

I didn't know what to say, so I just said, "Oh, okay."  Then, after I realized my good fortune, I attempted to say thank you, but she was gone (and I was in a crush of people boarding the train...and by "crush" I mean there were 3 of us).  How serendipitous that I needed forty cents for the train ride and that woman chose to grace me with a random act of kindness.

Thank you transfer lady!  I owe ya one!

PS.  Did I mention, that I was given a promotion at work today as well?

No Good At Networking

So I went to this "networking" event tonight, or as some people might call it, an "alumni" event.  On my way there, I coached myself on the virtues of talking to strangers, and yet, once I arrived, I was incapacitated as usual. I'm a terrible networker.

If it weren't for one person, I would have stood there by myself drinking my drink, entertaining myself with my ice, you know...the usual.  Luckily, as I was glancing around trying to figure out who to talk to and HOW to actually talk to them, I passed someone that I recognized.  Luckily she recognized me, and we started to chat.  No, we didn't know each other in college, but we also didn't know anybody there.  So, we became fast friends and discovered that we're neighbors.

Long story short, I may have a new friend.  Yay!

Uh, oh... I Think I'm One of THOSE Girls...

I didn't see it coming.  Really.  I never thought it would get to this point, but it has.  Today, while I was sweating away on the elliptical trainer at the gym (okay, so I wasn't working THAT hard, but still...you gotta start somewhere), I noticed a fellow at the other end of the gym, and I proceeded to entertain myself throughout my workout (33 minutes total for those that were wondering) by gazing at him.  Now that's not so bad...but at one point, I caught myself looking for a wedding ring (of which there wasn't one), and I was quite delighted that I could glance over at various spots in the gym (thanks to the miracle of mirrors) and see him from different angles.  Then, all of a sudden, I started planning our future together.  He'd notice me while I was mouthing the words to a Quicksand song (because I AM that girl--not the crazy lady that actually sings and shouts at the gym, but an animated lip-syncher), and, finding that endearing, would ask me out, and then we'd hit the town.  It was going to be fantastic! 

As I suspected, he started his workout around the same I did mine, so when I noticed him getting off the treadmill, I started planning my "move".  What move would that be?  Well, I finished up my final 30 seconds of sweatin' to the oldies (or to whatever was playing on my iPod, which I think was Starsailor actually), quickly got some water and wandered over to the "stretching" corner of the gym.  I strategically stretched next to him (well, actually, I let him have his space, but I was next to his belongings), and then as I was bent over showing off my superior flexibility...he left.  I think this love affair may last forever, cuz I've totally got game.

When did it come to this?  At what point did I decide it was okay to stalk someone with my eyes at the gym (while pretending I was merely watching the snowboarding video on the monitor above him--which, in my defense, I was watching occasionally)?  And how did I think that was going to turn out?  I mean really...I, for one, don't look my best at the gym, and I may be THE WORST flirter in the world, since I attempt to flirt by situating myself near the mark with nary a word or glance.  But I digress...

Oh well, it passed the time, and maybe will motivate me to keep going to the gym; however, should anyone talk me up at the gym while I'm all sweaty and gross, I probably won't be receptive (based on one instance where a guy started chatting me up at 6am...come on!!).  Word to the wise, if you see me emerge from my mole hole and hit the gym (and you want to talk to me) wait until I emerge all sparkly and clean from the locker room.  I am much more amiable when I smell nice.

When is it MY Turn?

So, on Friday, I was wandering around the mall because they had electricity there (and I didn't have any in my apartment), and I started wondering (as I often do) when it will be my turn. (Okay, just so everyone has a clear picture, I was wandering around Bloomingdale’s in my AWESOME new raincoat that gives the false impression that I would actually buy ridiculously expensive hairbands. So now that the scene is set, I'll continue.) As I was saying I started thinking about how I'm always waiting for the day when I can be frivolous (okay, more than I actually am in the first place), but it never seems to come. Then, as I was passing by the handbags, I realized that I may be to blame. Perhaps my insistence on just waiting for the lush life to find me is actually the problem. So, I decided that from this point forward, I'm going to make it happen. That's right. I'm finally going to follow my late grandmother's advice that she bestowed upon me when I graduated from college. I am going to find me a rich man with one foot in the grave and one foot on a banana peel.

Or maybe I'll just keep chugging along with my life as is... I'd hate to waste all that book learnin' on anything other than my elbow modeling career. And I am endlessly attractive to the terminally unemployed, so why push my luck? When you've got it, you've got it.

Shopping List Mystery

I just noticed that my mom was making a list...presumably for some Christmas-related treat, and it goes like this:

Soft Butter
Cinnamon
Clorox Bleach

I'm not sure what she's making, but I think I might stay away from the baked goods for awhile.