So I’ve been feeling a little svelter this week. I think the boot called Louisiana DID kick my ass or at least slap it around a little. So that means one thing: Time for my weekly foray into reality.
Time to try on the Small Jeans.
No, they’re not really size Small. They are actually the exact same size as my other two pair of Pre-Bulbous Ass jeans, but one of those (the ones I call the Medium Jeans) fit rather perfectly, perchance even a little loosely, and the other pair (the pair I was so excited to get into back in June) are now so loose that they slide right off my hips and I have begun offering them as transitional living space for homeless people.
Oh, not really.
While I haven’t exactly been AWOL from Operation Hottie, I have definitely not been the healthiest of eaters. My nightly crunch regime has gone from 75 Killer Crunches while watching TiVo to a nice bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
Shut up, it’s good.
A lot of it has to do with the fact that as I am writing this entry, it is 5 degrees outside. And that’s straight temperature. Not including wind chill, which brings it down into the range of Colder Than The Uterus of Donnatella Versace. So I can’t go walking. And also some of the power down has been due to my continued addiction to Sbux. But it’s not my fault! I got free drink coupons from a lovely Sbux barista reader who shall remain nameless, less the Sbux Mafia strikes. I don’t want to find out that she sleeps with the filters.
I can never get enough Mafia humor, you know that? Something inherently funny about implied violence. It’s probably the American in me. Guts and bloodshed’ that’s prime comedy.
So after working late, I came home and decided to take off my jeans and slip into my adorable fuzzy jammies, but in the process, I would also try on the Small Jeans. And on my way through the kitchen, I grabbed a truffle and stuck it in my mouth. And then I thought about the irony of the situation. Trying on a pair of pants to see if I’ve lost weight while in my mouth sits some luscious melty chocolate with a whipped ganache center, infused with Kirsch and wholesale liquid sin.
Hello Lard Butt party of one, your table is waiting. What’s that? An extra bread basket? But of course!
Oh’ jeans still don’t fit. Imagine that.
Speaking of Sbux, Baranskista (aka the Christine Baransky Barista) met Esteban the other day.
Now, one thing you should know about Esteban. He does not believe in politeness for politeness sake. One might say he was raised by truckers (which is a joke in our house. When someone does something bordering on rude or crass, we query ‘Were you raised by truckers?’ when in reality, Esteban was raised by factory workers and I was raised by a hippy waitress’ honestly, we would have probably had higher social standing being raised by truckers. Please, truckers, save your emails until I bitch about Wal-mart again. For every ten irate comments, Andrew gives me a punch on my Supergold card. When I fill up the card, I get a free car wash. With wax.)
So Esteban and I go through the drive thru at Sbux. I can tell from the way she answered that it was Baranskista, The Bitchy Barista. I ordered a Venti Cr’me De Menthe Non Fat No Whip Mocha. Esteban ordered a Venti Mocha.
One guess as to which of us is considered high maintenance.
So we get up to the window and Baranskista gives us two identical cups. ‘One mint mocha and one regular mocha.’ She grumbles.
‘Which is the mint one?’ Esteban asks.
‘Which one is the mint one?’ She yells back to the barrista manning the machine. No one answers. She turns back, looks at one of the cups and indicates ‘This one is mint.’ She then turned to fumble with the change.
I tasted mine. It wasn’t mint. I didn’t know if it was really supposed to be mine, however, since she has given me varying quality of mochas in the past. I think ‘Mint Mocha’ to Baranskista is like the term ‘Partly Cloudy&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9- it’s completely open to interpretation and barometric fluctuations. But then Esteban tasted his and sneered ‘Mint.’ Like it was a curse word or the name of a famous chef who lives on Food TV twenty hours of the day.
We switched cups. I then noticed that the mint was CLEARLY marked with pen. Baranskista came to the window with Esteban’s change and he couldn’t resist.
‘Do me a favor’next time, if you don’t know what’s in a drink, don’t just guess. Actually find out, ok?’ And then he drove away.
While he grumbled about how much he dislikes Sbux (he inherently distrusts any chain and specifically suspects any successful ones to have made pacts with the Devil, which is why he calls McDonald’s ‘The Great Satan of Hamburgers’), I tried to restrain my utter glee. Baranskista got bitched at! And I didn’t have to do it! But then I did mental math on damage control. I couldn’t go on being That Grouchy Customer. I didn’t know if I could maintain my excellent relationship with Unsurly Girl if she sided with Baranskista, who while she is spectacularly bad at her barista duties, might be actually a very nice person. And that is the only Sbux in town, if you don’t count the one in Barnes & Noble which opens at 9:00. So I’d either have to change my work schedule or give up my love of the bean.
But then I realized that we weren’t in the Monte, but rather Esteban’s truck. And Baranskista is stupid. So she might not have seen me. However, now I’m afraid to use my free drink coupons because they are exactly the kind that you would get if you complained about bad service and I don’t want her to remember that I was sitting in the passenger seat next to Grumpy Bearded Favor Guy. So this morning, I paid cash for my mocha, despite two lovely free gift certificates sitting in my jacket pocket.
And they mocked me. Oh yes. It was bitter like yesterday’s grounds and hard like a stale cinnamon scone.
Remember when coffee cost 25 cents and you didn’t need interpersonal relationships with the person who poured it? Remember that? I don’t’ mostly because I just started drinking coffee when that Starbucks opened, but I heard that it happened. And I dream of those days. I dream and look forward. And so we beat on, boats against the current, ever born ceaselessly into the past.
And speaking of vaginas,…new Quoted is here.
The message board wants to get Baranskista demoted to working the register
