How I love old men who flatter.

Older gentleman at the espresso bar:  "Has anyone mistaken you for a rose?"

Me:  (as I pretend I heard nothing, smile, and eventually laugh) "Huh?  Um...what are you talking about?"

O.G. @ E.B.:  (Smiles, coyly.)

Friend of O.G. @ E.B.:  "I think he's trying to say that you're pretty."

Me:  (to myself) "Well, no shit...ew."

Me:  (out loud, to them) "Awww, that's cute.  Well...thanks. (big smile!) Have a great day, guys!!"

Sure, this happens a lot when you work at a place like Starbucks.  I could write a whole fucking blog about the creeps and remotely attractive men who have tried lines such as these on me and my fellow, female co-baristas.  And to be quite honest, I don't understand why they bother.  If you are not an outlandishly good-looking dude, an innocent 70+-year-old man, or a celebrity, and you cannot shoot cannonballs of charm into my soul, then what exactly are you trying to accomplish?  All we can do is laugh, and you better be ready to receive the rejection.  At times, it's so unbearable that we must trail off to a deeply focused task and "accidentally" forget that you exist.  We may be "awful pretty," but we're getting paid to be.  That, and feed your addiction, but we know the former rakes in those tips.  Believe it. 

I guess, unless you are going to be buying me something very expensive, or there's something lurking beneath the surface that is better than Johnny Depp in boxer-briefs and red wine, combined, and touching my naked body...  Oh, there's not?  Well, just take your drink and for the love of God, save your dignity.  Because frankly, it's embarrassing me AND you.

Guys rarely have this problem, so I hear.  Completely unfair.  It is a fact that there are more beautiful women out there than there are beautiful men.  So naturally, the chance that a man will be told they are a cute by an unattractive woman are much slimmer than ours.  Please, correct me if I'm wrong.

Before I start hurting feelings, I will cut this one short.  And to be clear, this was written in a highly sarcastic fashion...in fact, never take half of the things I say seriously, for the most part.  That made no sense...that would be the wine.  I apologize.  Thank you.  Good night.

I write, you read.

Today, I've decided to just write about whatever comes to mind.  I haven't actually written a blog in a while, and I think my thoughts have started to bottleneck inside my head.  Think of this as a healthy purging of nuanced feelings and ideas, served up directly from that crazy friend of yours, Elisha.  Now that I think of it, I'm probably just feeling too lazy to organize this blog in a way that is structurally sound, and neatly finished at both ends.  It's always a challenge, and dare I say "fun," to write that way, but today I'm feeling a little looser than normal.  (If you choose to indulge in the accidental innuendo in that previous sentence, feel free...but prepare to suffer unspeakable consequences.  Yes, I literally cannot speak of them.)

Well, I'm happily buzzing on some seriously strong coffee that was made by none other than, yours truly.  Your neighborhood barista extraordinaire!  If only those superior skills I've acquired would translate into my real-life routine.  They, unfortunately, do not.  And thus, my in-home brewed coffee (and in this case, at-work brewed) slides back and forth between the two most undesirable extremes:  too light and too dark.  Regardless though, I am getting the caffeine necessary to push me through the day.  And that's all that really matters.  But I need a t-shirt that says:  "I work at Starbucks, but all I can do is make shitty coffee!"

Breaking News Flash:  I'm about to get some new underwear, and you wouldn't believe how stoked I am about this.  You know, there's that feeling of truly intimate satisfaction in wearing a pair of undies, so lovely and new that only you can truly appreciate them.  Not "you," as in you-who-is-reading.  More like "you," as in "me," where I am giving you the option of relating to the shared appreciation for new underwear.  As stated above, unspeakable consequences...  But seriously, I hope I am not the only one who feels this way; because frankly, if that is the case, I'm just a weirdo who likes new underwear way too much.

In more serious news, I'm starting some new research for internships located comfortably distanced from NC, preferably in New York City.  But I'm pretty open to anything that catches my eye.  I'm all too aware of the fact that I am a city girl.  I need a city to thrive in.  A great, big one.  And being the eternal student that I am (hopefully that will change one day soon), I must consider the academic opportunities that a bustling city can offer me, besides the obvious perks.  I've saved an application for an internship at the Guggenheim and the MoMA (Museum of Modern Art) from a previous attempt at research, so I'm revisiting these things.  But upon further research, I'm starting to change my mind about my interest in art museums.  And wondering if there isn't something better for me to look into.  I think there is.  I just don't know what yet.

I rode on the light rail again the other day.  It made me feel like I was in some other city.  And Brit and I bought tickets, being the ethical gals we are.  $1.50 roundtrip.  Sweet deal, except that nobody ever checked our tickets.  Tell me, what's the point in having a ticket machine and all that equipment to spit out tickets and eat up our money, if nobody is going to take my ticket?  Another miniscule amount of money, completely wasted!  That could have gone toward my weekly $40 gas bill!  Damn, I remember when I was 17, learning to drive and frightening people off the roads around my house...and gas was only a dollar-something per gallon.  And I probably only drove back and forth to school and to friends' houses, all living within a 10-mile radius of my own home.  Life sure is funny...but not as funny as me!  Muahahahaha!  (Caffeine effects are currently amplifying.)  Anywho, I hope that the light rail travels up to the University area before I move on outta this town.  It'd be awfully nice to take advantage of decent public transportation in my hometown.

My ass hurts from sitting so long.  Jesus Christ.  Oh, and I'm done rambling for the day.  Hope you likey!  (And that time, I meant "you," as in YOU-yes, you-who-is-reading.)

Tunnel Vision

When I used to travel up to Pennsylvania with my family to visit my grandparents, we would drive through these long tunnels that cut straight through the mountains.  This, I have to admit, was one of my favorite parts of the ride up, and probably one of the few appealing aspects of the trip itself.  Maybe it's a little silly, but something about going through them felt so dramatic, thrilling almost; all the little buzzing lights zipping by on either side, and a silence, minus the echoed humming of fellow travelers passing by and headed to where we originated.  And then when we would finally get to the end of it, we'd see the light on the other side and it was sort of like emerging into some fresh, new place, normally being West Virginia or just the other side of the mountain.  And especially for a little girl, like I was.  To be honest, even to this day I get a little excited as a tunnel comes into view ahead.

And now, I think about these tunnels in a slightly different way.  The idea of them and their purpose, and what they do for me is all of a sudden interesting.  There seems to be some sort of fuzzy link to those kinds of tunnels in my life at present.  I just think of the way these tunnels allow people to pass through, stay for a moment, appreciate the sometimes-"thrilling" experience they offer, and ultimately, move them steadily along to their final destination.  And then I think of people in friendships, relationships, etc. who also see this sort of activity every day.  We all offer this kind of tunnel experience to each other, I think; with acquaintances, friends, old and new, and so on.  Sometimes, it seems that our traffic becomes heavy, maintaining a steady flow of comers and goers; sometimes, more comers than goers, and unfortunately at times, more goers than comers.  Of course, not everyone is really all that affected or impressed by the tunnel and all its supposed glory.  For some, it's just a means to another side, and they leave feeling indifferent.  Others may leave with a subtle appreciation for it.  It's all a matter of who's riding in and/or driving the car, I guess.  

I suppose I'm going through a period where old friends who mean something to me, have actually found a destination to travel to, and many are emerging into the "other side."  And my tunnel won't necessarily be conveniently located on the way there anymore.  It makes me sad to think about it, but I've also been lucky enough to embrace new faces, new cars, whatever, and I see many more approaching.  Yet another bittersweet side effect of growing up and being young.  And there's always the possibility of encountering other mountainous tunnels along my own route.  Yes, I'm still figuring out my own destination, and I'm just a-travelin' too.  And yes, my friends, I have turned my life into a traveling metaphor, and I don't care how silly that makes me...for right now.