Author: grigiogirl

Yesterday I started the day with a non-coffee coffee. Today, I decided to take the day by storm. I put coffee and creamer in my cup and immediately got to work.

 

The coffee kicked in quick and I was on a roll.

 

After being at work for about four hours I realized something pretty important: my dress was on backwards. This realization came to me while in a meeting with others.

 

Although paying attention to the meeting, I felt something rubbing on my neck, looked down, and blurted out, “My dress is on backwards.”

 

My coworkers briefly glanced my way and then carried on with the meeting.

 

I was reminded, yet again, that it’s not what you wear or how you wear it that matters; it’s how you make your coffee that makes or breaks the day.

I don’t always start my mornings with a cup of coffee. Sometimes, I’ll have tea. Other times, a Bloody Mary.

 

At the office, however, I often start the day with a cup of joe. Like BioMom, I’m particular about my creamer. I’ve taken a few bottles into work but I’ll still ‘cream at home’ on occasion.

 

I prefer to put my creamer in the cup and then add coffee and, if I have my choice, I prefer the pot to the pod. Yesterday morning, I poured my creamer, placed my cup under the Keurig, and let the brewing begin. I was pretty excited for this cup because I had just purchased a vanilla flavored coffee and knew it was going to be one of my best cups yet.

 

As usual, I was pretty distracted during the brewing process. When it was done, I was bewildered.

 

“Why is my coffee white?” I asked aloud, to no one.

 

My coffee looked like milk. I wondered if the Keurig was malfunctioning but then wondered if I had actually purchased vanilla steamers instead of vanilla flavored coffee.

 

I tasted the warm white beverage and decided it was, in fact, a steamer.

 

I beckoned a non-coffee drinker into the break room and informed her she had to try it. She did, and she liked it, so we begin to brew her a cup. Her coffee mug was tall so we couldn’t see the brewing in action but when it was done she was quite disappointed.

 

“Mine is coffee. Mine is black and yours is white,” she told me.

 

Sensing a little judgment, I quoted a Michael Jackson song, “It don’t matter if you’re black or white.”

 

“My cup smells like coffee,” was her reply.

 

As I tried to wrap my head around what happened, another coworker joined us in the break room and wondered if, in fact, my coffee pod lacked quality control and only had the vanilla flavoring.

 

“Possibly,” I said.

 

“Or, I wonder if you never put your pod in the Keurig,” she suggested and added, “You may just be drinking hot water with creamer.”

 

I hated to admit it, but she was right. Sitting right next to my coffee cup was my unused pod.

 

So, I grabbed my warm beverage, headed toward the door and exclaimed, “When life hands you creamer, make a steamer!”

 

Then, I went to my office, grabbed my vicarious vacation viewer and, with snow falling outside, I flicked through photos of warm places while sipping my vanilla steamer.

 

It’s been a while since Dr. BJ and I have chatted or hung out.

 

Luckily, social media, like family reunions, affords us an avenue to stay in touch without really staying in touch.

 

That said, I do miss T-ster. Living with him was fun. Some of my fondest memories involved us drinking wine or coffee while the ‘hired help’ fixed the roof, raked the leaves, got electrocuted, etc.

 

With these memories in mind, when I was at work the other day and in need of a ladder, I reached out to him knowing that the chance of him actually owning a ladder would be slim.

 

“T-ster, how are you?” I asked.

 

“I’m good. How are you? It’s so nice to hear your voice,” he kindly replied.

 

“You too. So, I need a favor,” I told him – I didn’t’ dilly dally, I prefer to get straight to the point. “Do you have a step ladder I can borrow?”

 

His delayed response was a good indication that he did not know whether or not he might have the item.

 

“You know the kind. They’re short, they have rungs on them, and you can use them to paint or do basic projects around the house,” I advised.

 

“Oh, you mean the one that looks like an upside down v?” he asked.

 

“Yes, exactly,” I replied.

 

“No, I don’t have one of those,” he told me.

 

I was disappointed, but not surprised. Dr. BJ is much more of a homo-ner’d (I think that’s French) than a homeowner.

 

In 1991 a film was released that changed my life forever. I saw the movie in a theater and my only regret was that I purchased my own popcorn.

 

Several years after watching the movie I opted to have a slice of pizza at a membership warehouse store and, not being a member, knew I would just have to walk in like I had one. With MiniMe by my side, I informed her, “When they ask me for my membership card, just keep walking.” This created a bit of anxiety for MiniMe, however, it was quickly alleviated when she took her fist bite of pizza, sans membership.

 

Twenty years later, Bill Dancer’s magic is still alive and well. While heading to Southern California for a weekend trip I learned that both Live Longer and Sleepless had memberships to the Sky Club.

 

“I guess I’ll just have to Curly Sue my way in,” I informed them.

 

“What does that mean?” Sleepless asked.

 

I gave a brief description and then relied on my action to be the best teacher. We approached the counter, Live Longer showed her card and ticket to one agent, Sleepless showed her card ID and ticket to another agent, and I slyly stepped in between the two of them.

 

“I did it. I Curly Sue’d,” I toasted; then enjoyed my free beverages and boiled eggs.

 

 

The more time I live the more time I have to respect linguistic professionals.

 

The one strength I have in life is that I recognize the strengths in others. The one weakness I have is not realizing my own weaknesses. Thus, it is with great pride that I admit  a weakness: I struggle with the English language.

 

In the past, this was not something I would admit. Instead, I’d share a quasi-truth.

 

“Yes, I’m bilingual. I speak both English and the Queen’s English.”

 

Truth is (no lie), this was both a lie and a truth. I loved nothing more than to speak with a British accent, inviting others for a spot of tea with, of course, a spoonful of sugar.

 

Fact (and truth) is I was just a Dick Van Dyke. Minus the Van Dyke.  I would make them tea, but it would be instant; unlike my grammatical skills, which are quite delayed. In fact, to provide an analogy, my grammatical skills are like many women’s bodies in this state – not fully developed until ‘corrected’ by others.

 

As much as I appreciate the corrections, like implants, they come at at price. And, as time goes on – mostly time spent with my ESL instructor, Live Longer,  the more I realize I should just focus on English as a first language and leave seconds to buffets and husbands.

 

Capiche? According to Live Longer, that’s either Italian or Spanish. Either way, it sounds good at the end of a strong statement.

 

 

It’s been a while since I’ve worked at the furniture store, so I decided to pick up a couple of shifts. One evening, while cashiering, a man and a woman – presumably husband and wife – approached me with two young adults – presumably their children.

 

“We’d like to pay for this,” they said pointing to their invoice. “Is there anything free with purchase today?”

 

I took a quick look around the office and replied, “Not today.”

 

At about this time, somebody farted. They both turned and looked at the young man.

 

“What?!?!” he asked and then began his denial, “It wasn’t me. I swear.”

 

“Barking spiders,” I said.

 

“Seriously. It wasn’t me. It was that old lady,” the young man said pointing to a blue hair who was slowly making her way toward the electronics area.

 

“Regardless of the source, that was free with purchase,” I informed all of them.

 

“I can’t believe you’re blaming the old lady,” the man said.

“Me neither,” I piped in. “An innocent old lady, somebody’s grandma, and you accuse her of crop dusting. Well, at least she isn’t fertilizing.”

 

As they walked away I apologized for only having free barking spiders today and, because I’m always looking out for the best interest of the customers, I provided a parting suggestion to the young man, “You may want to check your shorts.”

 

“For barking spiders,” the man quipped.

 

My friends and I are classy – any class(y). First class, second class, third class, middle class, last in class, and not necessarily in that order.

 

When Beaner planned a gathering at a not-so-local restaurant where a wine pairing was being held, Live Longer pulled out her stick it up your ass class.

 

“I don’t really go that far south. Plus, I’m concerned the food won’t be good. Same with the wine – especially if it is a local vineyard,” she told me.

 

I recognized this as her occasional Delta upgrade and Amazon Prime voice talking, so I played upon both.

 

“How about if we carpool? In fact, I can get you to Beaner’s and she can get us to the restaurant. I’ll even let you sit in the front seat. How’s that for an upgrade?”

 

The free delivery and upgrade to ‘first’ were all it took.

 

As we drove to the restaurant she again shared her concern about the vineyard being local and informed us, “I’m not drinking.”

 

Once we arrived, however, she quickly changed her tune.

 

“Is everyone pairing with the wine tonight?” the waitress asked.

 

“Yes,” Live Longer answered for all of us.

 

“I thought you weren’t drinking,” I said, inquisitively.

 

“I changed my mind,” she replied and added, “They ship the grapes from other states that I trust.”

 

So posh. So picky. So any classy.

In one week’s time, a couple in Wasco, CA, who were just clowning around, caused a major social media uproar.

 

Donning clown attire and a couple of helium balloons, the couple headed into town, took a few random photos, and posted them on the World Wide Web.

 

For those of you who are new to the World Wide Web, be warned: IT (also known as information technology) is not a force to be reckoned with. You know you’re in trouble when someone ‘safely’ ends a sentence with a preposition – if they’re donning a clown suit, you’re screwed.

 

Once photos of wascoclown hit the web, the public went bananas. Anyone who knows clowns (and anyone who has read this blog before) knows creepy clowns and banana bread go hand in hand.

 

For clowns in Wasco, the only place their hands are going is into handcuffs. Apparently, in addition to the wascoclown couple, there are at least 20  ‘copycat’ clowns out and about and they, too, are making the town folk uncomfortable. As a result, the authorities are on alert and at the ready.

 

So far, they’ve made one clown arrest – Bozo Joe was charged with annoying a minor, goofy bastard. Sounds like just another day at the circus. With one clown down and 19 to go, one best be on their best behavior if in Wasco. Word to the wise: If the clown shoe fits, don’t wear it and if you do, don’t put it on the World Wide Web.