Archive for July, 2009
Troubling reports have surfaced in the last several days claiming that the Barista has not been spotted drinking or out past 8 pm in four (4) days. Some bartendersanalysts suspect that the travel to Raleigh may explain her absence in the RVA, while others speculate that the Barista has more likely been kidnapped.
“I always spy her out at least once between Monday and Wednesday, without fail. I think this Raleigh story is a total cover-up. I bet some Mormon is staging an intervention with her right now”, was what a really awesome bartender at City Limit did not say.
“I heard that she turned down a free beer on Tuesday night, claiming she was at a work dinner and needed a clear head. That’s all the proof I needed that something has gone terribly wrong” says a close friend, who affirms she will choose to remain the Barista’s close friend even if she did pass on a free beer. “I bet she is really, really sick. Or she sang a Celine Dion song at karaoke again and is in hiding for a few weeks. Either way, I hope she’s okay”, added the good friend.
TLW confirmed to Cafe Darkness exclusively that she has spoken to the Barista, but that she shares in the concerns of the general public. “I’m trying to make her skip a class tonight to meet me for drinks and she’s being shady!” she exclaimed. “She said she’ll meet me after she finishes. I can always get her to blow off her classes without asking twice. She always caves, but she sounded pretty serious about meeting me around nine (9) tonight”.
TLW advises “If you see the Barista, approach her slowly with a woo woo and a lit cig in hand. Make eye contact and speak in soothing tones. She will not be able to resist. Then hit me up on Twitter. I’ll come get her and maybe take your picture with Billy Mays (new iPhone) as a reward”.
I’m sure y’all are wondering what T Saur’s been up to this week. Besides hounding Barista to explain the fairly simple concept of regional markets, he’s been having love problems. He’s straight lovelorn!
On Monday he was so excited to go out with his night manager girlfriend, i.e. Shorty. They were going to go the movies! Maybe that Bow Tie Cinemas! Then they were going to kick it back to his place where he was going to bring his “A game”. (I’ll pause here while the nausea passes). I asked him if he was sure she would show up since she fancies making plans and then cancelling those plans. He got indignant and said of course she would show! She had finally “come around” and was she was totally his girlfriend. I asked him if she knew she was his girlfriend and he said they had yet to officially discuss the topic, but he was fairly certain she was aware that she was his girlfriend. I advised him that this is a clear cut issue and you more than likely would not want to have any gray areas. Perhaps he should have “The Talk” with her tonight, that is if she shows up? I further explained that it’s kind of like being prego-either you are or aren’t-and you should know what your modus operandi is, if you know what I’m sayin’? I think one of his neurons emitted a very weak signal to another neuron because he appeared to marginally understand what I laying down.
Unfortunately all of my advice was for naught! He didn’t have the opportunity to clarify his relationship status with Shorty cause she didn’t show up. On Tuesday morning I asked him how it went and that’s when he had to break it down and admit that I was right, she’s totally not his gf. I thought he was going to cry but I was too busy being right to care notice.
Now before you to start to feel sorry for T Saur and wonder why he’s so unlucky in love please note he’s already got a date lined up for tonight! It’s his Shorty from Virginia Beach. She has two kids from two different baby daddies, is unemployed, and currently has a boyfriend-I guess they already had “The Talk”-and has a tongue piercing! I didn’t think these were legal past 1999 but what do I know! T’s always keeping it classy. This is going to be a hot mess and I can’t wait until Shorty 2.0’s boyfriend finds out that his gf is screwing T and he hops in his Mustang to beat the crap out of him. I’ve got my money on that guy!
Me: Can I have a medium latte please?
Her: Yes, ma’am. Would you like that hot or iced?
Me: Hot ple-
Her: Hold the f* up. (She turns to what appears to be the manager) Why you playing? Why you always got to come over here and tell me when we out of change? How bout you figure out how to take yourself and make some pennies and nickles and some bills come up here. Why do I have to do it again? I already told you mother-effer* that I just got my hair done and I will not wear my hat today or go outside and get change. No, I will not go outside. It’s about to rain. I only go outside if I say so when I’m on break cause that’s my time. Back the f* off. I’m not playing with you anymore. Git out my face NOW. (Turns to me) Ma’am, can I get you any thing else today? Okay, thank you, you have a wonderful day.
*All curse words in this post have been mitigated as I feel like being a classy lady today. In actuality, the cashier used these naughty words in their proper form. It was awesome.
I’ve come to the conclusion that T Saur is the Missing Link to Evolution. If scientists looked inside the primordial ooze that is his brain they would be able to see the brain of Cro-Magnon Man. They could observe how he figured out how to use tools, make fire and start to use reason and logic to problem solve.
There are few things as epic as going out for some drinks and coming home with the most awesome snow globe ever. I knew the moment I laid eyes on it would endlessly entertain me while stoned while I sat at home being a responsible adult.
Why does my car always smell like crayons? Seriously. A buddy of mine also has a Volkswagen and his car always smells like crayons, too. Is this some type of evil genius in German engineering of which I’m not aware?
“Birthday Sex” may be the best song ever. The first time I heard it I was “WTF is this guy talking about?”. Now I know. He’s talking about how it’s his ladies’s birthday and he doesn’t need candles or cake to treat her right. All they need is sexy times-on the kitchen stove or the table-to make her day a Special Day.
Currently there are a record of three (3) employee-made signs in the break room of my office telling people to be courteous to their coworkers and to make more coffee when it’s low (!), reminding people that the sink does not have a disposal and to put your garbage in the trashcan (!) and finally to mark your food before you put it in the fridge-this includes water bottles (!) I’m wondering what my breaking point is until I put up my own sign that reads, “Go fuck yourself” (!).
I literally saw the blind leading the blind the other day. Blind Woman said to Blind Man, “I lost my cell phone and can’t find it”. Seems like an awkward position to be in.
Americans are stupid and henceforth have exceedingly small memories-unless it comes to 9/11, terrorism, “freedom” or Muslims and then they remember that shit like wow. Actually scratch that. We can’t even remember that the right way. Repeat after me: there were no weapons of mass destruction found in Iraq. But I digress. What I want to talk about is Michael Vick!
For those of you don’t remember or have been doing crystal meth for the past couple of years, Michael Vick was sent to da Big House. Over the course of seven years he participated in illegal dog fighting in his intelligently named “Bad Newz” dog kennel. Cool! Sounds like fun to me! Furthermore, for those with uber short attention spans, the dogs that failed to perform were killed by various methods such as hanging, drowning and slamming their head’s into the ground. What fun!
Now before y’all go forgetting, Mr. Vick himself participated in the killings of at least eight of these dogs. What a role model this guy is! What talent! I’m sure you’ve heard that this future Mensa member has been conditionally released to play again for the NFL, although no team has yet to officially pick him up yet. However, according to his manager the phone has been “ringing off the hook with interest”. And why not? He’s totally paid his debt to society and is completely sorry he got caught “remorseful” for his actions.
Here’s my solemn vow to you, Michael Vick and to whatever NFL team may sign him for another gazillion dollar contract:
1) Actually learn the rules of football and be able to actually tell what’s going before you are (potentially) allowed to play in October. I will need to research this extensively on the internets because right now football to me is like Chinese Opera. I guess I can kind of get it, but really it’s just a whole bunch of screaming and nonsense.
2) Learn everything about the team for which Vick plays and then use those facts to hurdle insults to anyone who claims to be a fan of said team. Hopefully this will be the Steelers because I already kind of hate them and this will just be easier.
3) Get belligerently drunk each Sunday said team plays and go to various sports bars throughout the city to verbally assault these fans. BW3s, Mulligan’s, Home Team-you’re all on notice. If you see a short blond girl getting all rowdy while ordering her third jager bomb that’s me!
4) I’m going to make jerseys with Michael Vick’s team and number on them but instead of just a normal jersey I’m going to put pictures of the dogs he almost killed on them! Nothing says “Let’s play some football” like some mangled and permanently disfigured pooches! Again, you’re welcome!
So who’s with me on this? I’m thinking this could be like 2009’s answer to kickball or Ultimate Frisbee and could be the hottest thing since Apple Bottom Jeans and boots with the fur. More details to come!
Whoa…LOTS has happened in the world over the last few weeks, the Barista is just now learning. Spoiler alert – most of what I’m about to tell you is months old news. Stop reading now if you aren’t quite through with May 2009. Yours truly has been so busy drinking at engagement parties, bridal showers, Special TLW Divorce Day/Michael Jackson’s wake, stock the bar(or empty one) parties, bachelorette soirees, wedding receptions, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, Saturdays, birthday bashes…well, you get the idea. If you, dear reader, are between the ages of 24-67, you have probably had a similar summer thus far.
Anywho, I’m trapped in a hotel in Raleigh having zero fun today. Honestly, Raleigh, get it together. Stop building cookie-cutter shopping centers. Doesn’t your city have any codes that regulate the number of Best Buy stores per square mile? Best Buy faces Best Buy with a Best Buy on the corner. Best Buy rocks, yeah says Raleigh! But I digress. So I’m in this lame hotel with nothing, I repeat, nothing to do. So I watch television. Eventually I fire up the laptop. And I’m about to blow your mind with what I’ve learned.
Dating in the Dark = my new favorite show that I’ll probably never see again. This could be season 5 for all I know. It’s super awesome. People date in a pitch black room and then after they hook up and roll around on the floor in olive oil together, they get to see each other. Then the girl goes outside and waits to see if the guy joins her, which he will do if he thinks she’s pretty. You have three guess to tell me what happens next, and your first two guesses don’t count. All of these people are morons but I heart them.
People are still talking about Michael Jackson’s death. Like, on the news. Can someone please explain this to me? Just kidding, I don’t care.
There’s a show coming out called America’s Got Talent. I think it’s similar to Britain’s Got Talent, but I can’t be sure. Is this like the time a bunch of pilgrims left England, set up America and then did everything the British did but better? Hello, sweet iced tea! Who needs it bitter and hot anymore? Blimey, we love one-upping the Brits.
Sadness! Frank McCourt died almost two weeks ago. I learned of this on iTunes when I saw the ’Remembering Frank McCourt’ banner. The world loses a phenomenal talent, a modern literary master, and I learn of it on iTunes. Tis a shame on me.
I suppose I’m almost caught up on my pop-culture, unless someone is going to tell me Angelina and Madonna married each other and adopted 19 more babies in the last few months. On second thought, spare me if this happened. I won’t care about that either.
PS – I’m a Richmonder, Get Me Out of Raleigh! Wouldn’t that make a great new reality series??? I’m so original, just like my Mom always says.
First of all let me just say that I am a professional bridesmaid. I have been in so many weddings that I can do this standing on my head. My services are for hire and I will be in your wedding for the nominal fee of $100.00 plus a bottle (or three) of wine. Hit me up at firstname.lastname@example.org if you need to employ my services. I promise to show up semi to majorly hungover and a hot mess. You’re welcome!
One would assume that since I have been in so many weddings prior that shenanigans would be a thing of a past. The first wedding I was in was my old college roommate’s. We all got so incredibly drunk at her rehearsal dinner it was impressive. I mean people were literally putting lamp shades on their heads while fist pumping and taking shots. Nice. The thought of “Hold on, maybe this isn’t such a great idea” never once crossed our minds. The next morning Bestie is puking in the shower while I attempted to throw my hair up in an “up do” that more closely resembled a rat’s nest than a fancy hair style.
Another friend’s wedding resulted in me not realizing that the top of my bridesmaid’s dress completely gaped open and you could see all my bits. (Tip: Try the dress on before the day of the wedding). I gave everyone from my place to the church a free show. Luckily someone thought to stick that bad boy to me with some double sided tape and I was good to go. That is, until Bestie decided to Tourettes out and randomly be like, “Oh is that taped? Weird. Let me pull that right quick” and then expose the ladies once again.
But that was then and then is now. Surely I’ve learned my lesson. I know better, right? Well, apparently not. I was in another wedding this past weekend and here’s a tip for y’all: staying up until 4:30 AM the night before a wedding is a bad idea. End of discussion. Also a bad idea? Red Bull. I didn’t realize that drinking four (4) Red Bulls in the span of just a couple of hours will make you feel like you’ve being doing lines of blow off a stripper’s ass the next day.
Baby Jesus decided to bless me on Saturday and allow me (somehow) to function. I’m not sure how I managed to make this happen but I did. The wedding and reception went off without a hitch until the after party. I looked back and saw who else but Bestie crying (Are y’all seeing a pattern here?!?). “Oh my God these are hottest peanuts I’ve ever had in my entire life!” she says, her eyes welling. I’m all like, “Yeah right-you’re lying” and decide to try some myself. Within 30 seconds my mouth was on fire. Miller Light wasn’t doing the trick and neither was Miller Light. I didn’t know what to do. At some point I must have brushed my hand across my left eye because several minutes later my eye was tearing up and burning like a mother effer.
Let me tell you something, nothing will sober you up faster than your eye swelling up like you just got punched in the face. The searing pain doesn’t hurt either. I took this as a sign that the Universe deemed it time for TLW to go home. This is a good thing. I guarantee that if I hadn’t eaten those peanuts and I hadn’t touched my eye I would have made many poor decisions. Instead I woke up anxiety free on Sunday morning and well rested to boot! So here’s to Bestie and her ability to always make weddings way more interesting. Cheers!
Lady Gaga + little kids = warm and fuzzies at Cafe Darkness
I’ll keep this brief. I’m not talking about The Limit as in City Limit (Lameville, USA. Population: that bar),I’m talking about when I see girls at the gym who clearly have eating disorders going bananas on the treadmill next to me. I wonder how they have the energy to run so fast and for long and then I realize I’m staring at them and that’s just rude-my momma taught me better than that. Anywhoo ditty, I want to go up to them and gently place my hand on their bird like arm (not too hard as it may snap in two) and say, “Okay, enough. We’re done here for the day. You’ve clearly burned more calories today than I do all week so how about we go to Sizzler and and get us a T-Bone steak?”