Monday, 8 August 2011

Frankly (because it's hot and I'm really cranky).

In lieu of current, former and future drama let's cut right to the chase.

Lattes and Cappuccinos? They're the same thing. Don't tell me different, you twenty-year-old coffee uh...'aficionados'. It's all bullshit anyway and the only reason you drink it is to appear grown-up, just like I did when I started college and all the boys had jobs and I walked around the University campus trying to make friendships with my bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. That was in the day before we had Starbucks in Canada and there was no Tim Hortons for miles. We got our coffee out of a vending machine. It was $1.80 which was a virtual fortune so I only did it a couple of times a week.

Oh, look, I just made one of those walked-to-school-uphill-both-ways-in-the-snow stories, didn't I? That's fine, nobody cares, I am tired and back to afternoon coffee so I don't fall asleep in the fridge while cooking dinner.

Also but unrelated, I still miss McDonald's pizza. And pizza on a stick from the Red River Ex, oddly enough. And pizza corner pizza in Halifax. Now feel lucky you know me, for I truly am one of a kind. Ghetto coffee and lowbrow pizza. You really can take the girl out of the midway, but you can't take the midway out of her diet, apparently. (Seriously. Ask Lochlan precisely why I'm so short and he will tell you my growth was stunted with a diet of candy necklaces and lake water. The occasional cream soda and those disgusting carnival hotdogs. If I never see another hot dog as long as I live it will be too soon.)

Back to my nap. Standing up. Mid-conversation possibly.

(For those asking, yesterday's post stands. I'm not confirming if it was last Saturday night or years ago. The time frame has little bearing on anything when it comes to Satan, and I'm not taking it down just because they said it would be better if I did.)