I’m bad. A day late. And probably a dollar short. Apologies.

Since this is late, we’re that much closer to Saturday morning. And Saturday morning is when we go to The Breakfast Spot.

I’ve never really been a regular at a restaurant before. I’ve been a regular at a coffee shop, deli, or food cart where I routinely buy something quickly to eat on my way to or from work. But I’ve never been a sit-down regular. I love Thai food, but by god I wouldn’t want to be stuck with only that. Same for Lebanese or sushi…

But we’ve found this PERFECT breakfast spot. The food is great. But what’s really perfect about it is that it’s a small, cozy place, and it’s never busy. It’s so nice to go somewhere sans restaurant din and hour wait. We play cribbage or read books. It’s all very leisurely and I love it.

When you arrive, there is a crooked and weathered old tree out front that I would like to put in my pocket and take home with me so I can water it and pat it and whisper reassuring things to it.

And when you get inside, it has things like bowls of tiny adorable onions for decoration

and do-it-yourself loose leaf tea with these weird tea holding sticks of which I am proud to say I’ve finally mastered the use.

Then there’s the kitchen. One of those lovely homey kitchens you kind of want to have in your own house with pots hanging haphazard and full view so you can see the cooks making your food.

(In the center you can see the white cake, which is a red velvet cake, and I eat it. And it’s good. And cake for breakfastdessert should become a cultural norm.)

And almost every Saturday, the other regulars are there. We can’t figure out if they own the place (literally) or are family of a guy who works there who always comes out of the kitchen to smooch the kid, or what. But they are a dad and a mom and a baby. Baby is adorable and quite well behaved. He has his same bowl of Mashed Stuff every time. And Mom always speaks in Spanish and wears insanely colorful platform shoes that look to be made out of Fimo. She says hi. We say hi. I love them too.

And our waitress is so sweet. And she knows our routine. And we make small talk and she relays stories of trekking allllll the way across the river to have outings in downtown even though downtown is literally 28 blocks from the restaurant.

But then there’s this guy who works in the kitchen. A portly and friendly kind of a guy. A guy who should be everyone’s neighbor. And he wears his little white apron and has rolled up sleeves and a potbelly and he cooks yummy foods.

And see, there’s this comic, and he does this one bit (see 2:45) where he talks about how you could work it even while working at McDonalds that we just ADORE (and if you like that, watch this). Because everyone knows what it’s like to take some song you really like, some song that really pumps you up, and stick it on some headphones while you do something mundane. Like walk down the street, or pay the bills. And you just feel like a million bucks… And so we thought it would be fun to take the song and make our own music video of people we know doing their version of the fry shake.

And there is no one higher on our list to star in this video than this guy who cooks at the breakfast place.

Because every Saturday morning, when we walk into our little joint, wouldn’t you know he’s just HUSTLIN.

Neurotic Moment 1

You know when you’re concentrating realllllly hard on doing something correctly and the act of being so very serious about what you’re doing and so very committed to doing it right zeros you in to the point where the slightest distraction can scare you out of your skin?

I was going to get a cup of tea before I settled down to write something earlier, and the mug was NEARLY full of hot, tea-ed, creamed and sugared yumminess, but I thought I’d put just a touch of cold water in to get it to a drinkable temperature a smidge faster. So I place it under the cold water tap of the water cooler, and get it as close as possible to the spigot so the water doesn’t have far to fall. You know, to minimize splashing. And I push ever-so-slightly on the water trigger, and a little bit trickles out and it’s just the perfect amount and then:

GWWWWW OW BOBBLE!

The noise of a giant air bubble in the water bottle frightens me so from my intense concentration that I slam the mug against the back splash of the cooler and spill it everywhere.

Nice. Just really superbly done.

Neurotic Moment 2

This evening we went to watch some friends play in a band. I happen to carry ear plugs in my purse at all times (perhaps that in and of itself is neurotic moment #2 and I should now move on to #3). This is because:

1. I was born 87 years old. We know this. It has already been discussed.
2. I am already deaf. I do not feel a need for new depths of deafness.

So, I have these in my purse because I never remember to bring them to a concert, and impromptu outings to concerts are a fact of life.

So the band’s about to start, and I pull out of my purse a tightly packed baggie with a bit of white stuff in a corner. It’s folded neatly over itself a number of times, and bound with a rubber band. Cute little crack baggie.

Except that white stuff? It’s my earplugs.

So, I am aware of this and sometimes I wonder whether someone will try to boot me out of the club for suspicious activity because they look over at the wrong time – when I’m carefully unwrapping my baggie. But that’s fine. I don’t ACTUALLY carry crack on me, so this wouldn’t be a problem.

Except tonight we’re at the boy’s place of employment, and I’m thinking…what if one of his coworkers looks over at the wrong time? Not that they’d necessarily care if I had a bag of weed, but to flaunt it so indiscreetly – it’s rude and puts their establishment in danger. But what if they felt obligated to let me get away with it because I’m dating a coworker? And then they’d just stew and hold a grudge against him for no reason?

Yes, the answer to your question is that I do, in fact, think this needlessly hard about nearly everything. The answer to your second question is yes, it is, in fact, exhausting.

And so here I am, nervously pulling my package out of my pocket, eyes darting back and forth to check for possible surveillance, and my earplugs have BECOME a narcotic for the moment as I try to jam my hand in the bag before anyone notices…

Conclusion

And that is why I am considering joining a cult. Or at the very least a zealot-ous sect of some major religion.

Yesterday, one of my coworkers noticed flowers on my desk.

Ooooo…who sent you those?

My boyfriend, of course.

For what?

Because he’s nice.

She narrows her eyes.

No. But, for what occasion.

None.

Suspicious glaring.

But what did you DO?

Nothing.

No, seriously.

Ummm. I was stressed out and I had a headache on Monday night.

A headache?

Well, I get migraines, you know. So…a BAD headache. But yeah. ::shrug:: He’s a good one.

Jaw drops open. Nose wrinkles.

Achhh! Well, yeeaaah he is!

Let me start off by saying that I am oh-so-highly motivated to finish this post because my reward for doing so is…

wait for it…

cake-for-dinner.

::rapture::

So let’s just get on with it, shall we?

I was so excited yesterday because I went to go get lunch at the food carts and there was this guy standing on the corner with his work shirt tucked in and his too-white sneakers peeking out from under the Shar Pei folds of too-long, slightly-sagged khaki pants. And he was holding a big cardboard sign that said, “Ready to Work” with his resume taped above it. And oh boy did I just think it was so clever. And I hadn’t brought my camera down and I was realllllllly hoping I could run back up and grab it from the office and then ask if I could photograph him and then have this totally KICK ASS picture for you guys. But I’m already in line for the uber awesome burrito cart, and a bunch of people have just come behind me and so I figure I’ll just get my food first. And I’m ants-ily fidgeting in line and anxiously peering over to make sure he’s still there. And this goes on for a bit. And I finally get up the front of the line and he’s still there. And so I order my burrito, exchange pleasantries, and then turn to leave and… Of course. Didn’t you see that coming? He’s gone.

(Of course, when I relayed this story to our office manager she said some lady was already on the news for doing it, which makes him a biter, which makes me feel a little bit better for missing it, but nonetheless I have no totally awesome picture for you.)

And I also really wish I could tell you a number of incredibly action-packed and infuriating stories that I have swirling around my mind right now, but they all have to do with work. And we all know about the no-no of mixing work and blog. Bad bad. Tsk tsk.

So we shall have to move on to slightly less exciting tales.

How’s that for an opener? Anyway.

Yesterday after class the lecturer and I got to talking about people and how it’s great when they use their brains but so often they don’t. I’m so good at talking about this kind of thing. But that’s not my point. My point is that we were talking about all the things we are presented with every day, often from seemingly authoritative sources, that are skewed, or just plain wrong. And how it’s such a shame that so few people take the time or brainpower to question those things and come up with independent plans of action.

It’s like this article I was reading about porn “usage” in the United States and how it plays across political parties, which apparently has made the rounds in the news. And believe you me, nobody would more love for this to be The Truth because a) I love this magazine and b) how could a hippie kid like me not love to laugh and point at all the Family Values gay-marriage haters caught with their pants down – literally. And this has nothing to do with my opinion on whether porn is good or bad (or neither) – that’s a totally separate topic. It’s just because hypocrisy is fun and laughing and pointing at people for it is even better. [Especially because then I get to laugh and point at myself for judging a group of people for judging a group of people (see here for more fun with hypocrisy).]

But. BUT. You have to ask all kinds of questions. Like, how did he control for differences in broadband internet accessibility in different areas? Like, as the boy pointed out, what about people who live in areas where strip clubs aren’t allowed and the internet is their only source? Like, a million different things that could knock the wind out of the liberal sails on this one.

And it’s always like that. Everything you read in the news or see on TV or hear from a friend or whatever – you have to dig a little deeper. Busy busy busy (I’m reading Cat’s Cradle right now, remember?) It’s a lot of work. How are you supposed to decide what to believe without expending some brain power? Moreover, how are you supposed to make decisions for yourself or know what to do in any given situation if you don’t use your head?

So speaking of porn…

The thing about being a lawyer is that you have all these moral codes to follow and you get to be disciplined by the Bar if you don’t measure up. And if you are disciplined, they write a little article about it in the lawyerly newspaper like an obituary for your career. It’s like having rumors go around about why you got called into the principal’s office – except they’re all true.

Often enough it’s really dry reading, but If you haven’t already guessed, it can lead to juicy story time. Like how this attorney one of my coworkers knows just got written up for moral turpitude. Which is…umm…not what you want to be nailed for if you could pick. And the reason, which is nicely summarized in his obituary, is that he was watching porn on his work computer and then decided to DRIVE AROUND A PARKING LOT while masturbating.

I mean, come on, that’s funny.

Because, (see above) you have to break these things down. Because if you break it down for a second it’s easy to see that anyone who decided to turn OFF their brain usage device before engaging in an activity like that deserves to be laughed at. Had said device been booted up and ready for action, he could have had the forethought to be somewhere other than behind a wheel of a car in a parking lot…or at the very least stuffed it in his shorts before anyone got close enough to figure it out.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why it pays to keep your brain on at all times.

Getting to this Humpday’s post a bit late in the game, sorry.

I have a good excuse. Yesterday I went to a show. I figured, being that the class I’m taking is about sound engineering, that it would be good to take advantage of opportunities to watch sound-y thing even more often than usual. And would you know that last night I could name at least three of the mics onstage? And would you know that I was nerdtastically excited to note that there was less wind standing three inches from a PA as tall as I am than standing 15 feet from the CD-sized hole in the kick? Man, they push a lot of air.

Everyone we know showed up. And my iphone survived it’s first concert event (though it was a Tuesday night and I had already been at work for eight hours and in lecture for three, so I was not what one might call hyphy):

Because I’m a crabby old lady, things don’t usually seem quite worth it the next day when I’m exhausted and my work day is reduced to making rubber-page-turner finger puppets lip sync to music, but I’m glad I went out last night. It was a great show.

We saw 31 Knots. Check them out if you haven’t heard. They are three: guitar/vocal/headliner, bass player, drummer. The bass player is … blah … because, well, he’s a bass player. How much can you do with a bass (don’t get all in a tizzy – I know you can, but most people don’t)? And the lead guy plays well, writes lyrics that say something he is passionate about, and has a whole act – we’re talking costumes and the works. And his act is sincere; he’s intense and he means every sweaty ounce of the performance he puts on. I studied theater, and I can certainly appreciate a good show, especially when there is passion to back up the message.

But my favorite part of seeing these guys play is the drummer. The bass player can run around and try to get in on the act a bit, but drummer man – he’s just at his kit. And he doesn’t play it cool, and he doesn’t try to charm anyone. He just gets up there, takes a deep breath, and humbly earns it throughout the whole set. He must know these songs so well, his muscles must be so used to the stamina required to complete the set, and yet each time you’re just not sure he’s going to make it. How many people work that hard at their job? It’s spellbinding. I once had an acting teacher who said, “Why do hundreds of people show up for theater and thousands for sporting events? Because athletes don’t hold back – they give one hundred percent.” That’s this dude. The Hundred Percent Drummer.

And if that didn’t make my night, this did:

Friend 1 came up to us and said:
Oh man, some girl just walked into that window because she thought it was a door. It was crazy.

We chat for a second and then make our way to the stage and run into Friend 2 on the way:
Hey! How are you?
I’m good! Except I just walked into the window and I totally am going to have a bump on my head!

We look at each other, and Friend 1 walks up:
That’s the girl!

I know it’s horrible, but how could that not put a smile on your face?