- I often “forget” to get something from the store after I leave it. I usually do this on purpose, to save money.
- Yeah, I’ve eaten the coffee grounds that occasionally fall from the percolator into my coffee cup. And there are times I’ll re-use the cup without rinsing it. Hell yeah.
- Selective hearing continues to be a major survival technique.
- I am 100% more interested in anyone who has a dog with them at that moment. It might be personal.
- I only sometimes like Schitt’s Creek, unless I love it.
- Doom scrolling until 3:00AM? I’m there.
- Love eating at restaurants, hate ordering at them. Tip your servers, everyone.
- The person who leaves the empty toilet paper roll in the bathroom isn’t just me, it’s always me.
- I think is better to be sociable rather than agreeable and asleep rather than sociable.
- I wish I had more to confess. But not that much more. Only a bit. That would be more than enough.
Tag Archives: Coffee
- A system of pneumatic tubes.
- Better snacks (healthy or otherwise).
- More dogs.
- A little less blame and a lot more slack.
- Keep it to 90 minutes or less.
- Make it optional…informed, but optional.
- Fire him already.
- Polish it.
- Yes to no.
- Unlimited dipping sauce.
- No time limits despite expiration dates.
- Your face.
- Still more dogs.
- SMOOTH LINES.
- Better coffee.
- Let it play out first.
- Just ignore it sometimes.
- Portable numbing agents.
- A cat or two. Or three.
- To the left, to the left.
- Now goes to 11!
- Prioritize those odd numbers.
How do you ask more of nice? Right? It’s tricky.
Stephen likes to greet me with a cup ‘o joe when I get up in the morning.
You know: java, café, brew, mud.
Even though, for me, “the morning” is defined as those first few hours I get up during the day, whenever that is (there are days when I wake up to the sounds of children coming home from school, to their parents, with their Filipino nannies, and days when I simply cannot tell just by looking at it whether the sun is setting or rising), my cuppa is always there. Regardless. So, too, is the milk that I like to put in my coffee.
No spoon. No stirring implement of any kind! Not even the left side of a pair of chopsticks.
What to do? Going to the kitchen for a stir stick after so nicely being presented with effortless beverage seems ungrateful – a critique, a rebuff, a mean undermining of a kind and unasked for gesture – and using what’s available on my work desk strikes as slightly toxic. There is no casually bringing up the issue – this hitch – outside of the situation (“Want to go see Ghost Rider Spirit of Vengeance?”/”I NEED A SPOOOOOON!”), which is exactly what is preventing me from doing so in the first place.
There is no doing without the milk.
My stomach can habour the sweet, sweet burn of up to four raw habaneros (it can!), but it rebels at a single drop of unadulterated black coffee.
So I add the milk, wait for it to settle a bit and just kind of…swish it around, much like a wine connoisseur does to impress himself at parities. There’s no getting an even blend this way, so I sip and swish and sip and swish and sip and swish and try not to get anything on the keyboard.
I mostly succeed.
Stephen doesn’t know about the shadow routine attached to our shared ritual.
But he does read my blog.