Tenth Musee

There’s a barista at the Starbucks I go to that is one of those people that you feel like you know from somewhere, but can’t put your finger on it and they always look at you knowingly, expectantly, like any minute you’ll remember who they are.  But I never do.

She’s… unusual, I guess, is the best way to say it. Very friendly, but definitely an odd duck.  She seems somewhat goofy when I talk to her, like I make her nervous. She seems to try really hard to be funny or clever and she often is a bit ‘familiar’ with me, which is why I always wonder if maybe I know her from somewhere.

For example, the first time I ordered from her went a little something like this…

Her: May I help you?

Me: Yes, I need a quad Venti extra hot soy cinnamon dolce latte, light whip, no foam, please.

Her: Do you need it or do you want it?

Me: *blink blink* I’m sorry, what? Oh… (insert courtesy laugh here) Sorry, I would like…

I laughed it off and dismissed it as an employee building rapport with their customer. Fine, fine. But then she did it two more times when I came in.  I finally started skipping the pretense altogether and just saying the drink order so I don’t have to do that dance again.

She makes me a little nervous, to be honest, because of these weird exchanges, so I just smile and laugh and try to be friendly.  She asked me point blank once, “Why are you laughing?”, while laughing herself then her eyes would look all around like a googly-eyed bobble head with a big grin.  Now she’s taken to calling me “Giggles”. Giggles. And the other baristas have started writing it on my cup.

It’s gotten to the point now that I groan a bit inside when walk in and see her at the register. It makes me feel bad because I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice girl and she’s just trying to be friendly, but it makes me… uncomfortable, I guess.  It doesn’t feel flirtatious, it feels insecure, like maybe she’s shy and overcompensating. You know in movies where the nerd talks to the cool kid and says completely dorky things that sound cool in their head, but come out like they ate paint chips as a kid?  That’s usually me. I was always the nerd (at least in my own head), but this time, it’s like I’m the cheerleader or the football jock or whatever and she’s about to ask me to homecoming.

I hope she doesn’t read this blog, though it’s entirely possible.  I ran into a girl I’d only seen on Flickr at Bath & Body Works once.  And a girl at the grocery store asked me if I was Tenth Muse a few years back. So, its totally possible and I really wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

It’s so odd. I’d be flattered if it didn’t make me feel like she might boil my bunny.

I have gone on many, many times about my quest for the perfect coffeemaker. I’ve gone through several since I started blogging.  Each time I griped about this coffeemaker or that, someone would tell me to get a French press and  I would politely decline.

A French press? How can I possibly achieve that hot, delicious fresh-brewed cup of joe without a coffeemaker? Pour water in, press it down, voila! Great coffee?  Nooo… surely they must be mistaken. In case you hadn’t noticed, I can be quite stubborn.

So how, you might ask, did I end up not only purchasing, but loving my new French press?   A desire for better aesthetics in my kitchen.   Hey, all things can’t be noble. Sometimes you just want things to look pretty.

GFI and I have identical kitchens since she lives directly above me.  We have them set up similarly, too, because we’re dorks like that and we took cues about what worked and what didn’t in each other’s space. For example, we both have our microwaves on top of the refrigerator to save space and we both have tiny lamps scattered around the kitchen for more ambient lighting because we hate the overhead fluorescents. My issue was that GFI’s kitchen always seemed so much cleaner and brighter to me. Same amount of lamps  (two small IKEA colored numbers), pretty much the same amount of stuff on the counter… what gives?

The difference?  GFI no longer had her coffeemaker on the counter. I, on the other hand, still had my big black Mr. Coffee (which doesn’t make very good coffee anyway and chirps annoyingly).  She sang the praises of the coffee press, insisting it produced the most delicious coffee and insisted I go buy one with the Starbucks giftcard she got me for Christmas.

So, for once, I actually did what I was told. I caved in and bought a French press gift set the very next morning on holiday clearance and it was the best thing I ever did.  Coffee-wise, anyway.

It’s easy, it takes no time (4 minutes!), little energy, it’s quiet (which ideal first thing in the morning), I get just the right amount of coffee and the flavor is beyond compare. It’s almost creamy the way it foams and creates this rich froth on the top.  I also have to heavily endorse my new favorite Starbucks blend, Sumatra Extra Bold (press grind).  It makes the most delicious cup, in my opinion, though I have an arsenal of coffee in my cabinet to try. You can use an all-purpose grind, though so far I’ve found the press grind to make the very best brew.

So to everyone who has ever recommended I get a French press, I owe you an apology.  You spoke the gospel and I, too brainwashed by Mr. Coffee, turned the other cheek.  I don’t know why we allegedly don’t like the French, but for the coffee press alone I’d have to declare vive la France!

I’ve found the source of the mystery squeak.  It is, like I suspected, the coffeemaker.  While making my morning Gold Coast Blend, I was filling up the pot and after dumping the water in to the coffeemaker, I heard the stainless steel carafe start to squeal… this time, like a pig.  An actual squeal.  I put the pot right up to my ear and sure enough!  Gosh, I can’t imagine why my $24 coffeemaker doesn’t have a high quality seal. 

I think since I started this blog in 2003, I’ve been through about five or six coffeemakers, constantly searching for the perfect one that doesn’t cost half a year’s salary.  I’ve had three different models of the average Mr. Coffee, the first of which lasted me five years and I loved it profusely. It shut off after 4 hours instead of two and it was just the most perfect coffeemaker ever.  When it died, I replaced it with the newer model of the same brand and it busted within a couple months and rarely made good coffee.

After that I had another Mr. Coffee, then got a Cuisinart Grind n’ Brew, which I really, really liked, but I rarely used the grind part. It was a big production, required lots of cleaning and was loud, etc. etc.  I just use my little corded power-grinder for that. It’s loud, but I can muffle it with dishtowel if it’s too early.  The Cuisinart was one of my faves because it made really delicious coffee and again, it had a 4-hour shut off, but it died in about a year.  That’s it!  A year. 

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Strange things occur in my apartment from time to time.  It’s a 53-year-old building, so it’s pretty much strange-ready.  I’ve lived here a little over year now and in addition to the toilet paper roll that occasionally unrolls itself, there’s been this mystery squeak.

I’ve been trying to find the source of this squeak for months.  I ask other people and they either don’t hear it or just write it off as something else, but when I’m alone… that’s when I hear it.  Of course, that just makes me sound crazy, but I’m telling you, people, there is some kind of squeaky chirping sound coming from my kitchen!  I may be a little zany, but I don’t hallucinate… much.

This also not the same chirping I heard a few months ago.  Our upstairs neighbor, Slick (of Project X fame), had said he thought he had a rat once, though that seemed to have been taken care of and was an isolated incident. Though, in my opinion, rats aren’t an isolated incident, but no one else has ever reported anything.  For all I know Nicodemus and his posse are holding town council meetings under the building… but I doubt it.

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In the ongoing saga of my coffeemaker, I’m discovering that every morning is a round of Beat the Clock.  The latest coffeemaker I bought has 2-hour auto shut-off.  I used to have one with this feature and I enjoyed it, as I sometimes can’t remember to do it. But, that one allowed me to extend it another 2 hours by pushing the ON button before the 2 hours were up.  This is not the case with this coffeemaker.  So, every morning, I get about 1 cup … maybe another half-cup before it shuts off. It doesn’t ding or alert me in any way that it’s going to shut off, so inevitably, I get involved in a project, realize my coffee is cold, run out to refill and the damn thing is shut off. Grrrr.

I can’t guzzle my coffee in the morning, you know? Firstly, it’s hot.  Secondly, I’ve got shit to do.  I’m reading and answering emails, tending to the administrative side of Moxie, handling questions, etc.  It shocks me that I can go 2 hours without refilling my coffee, but dammit, I do.  So, it looks like I have choices: get better about going back to check, set a timer on the microwave as soon as I pour my first cup, move the coffeemaker into my office or just get a new one.

See, if I were independently wealthy, I could just get Jeeves to brew it one cup at a time.  *runs to buy Lotto ticket*

I bought a new coffeemaker yesterday.  This time I meant business, so I went with the old, trusty Mr. Coffee.  And, for Mr. Coffee, this is a stylish lil’ number.  He’s black and I’ve dubbed him Seamus.

I’m trying to coax mike out of bed. It’s not going very well. He’s having none of it.  I even turned on the lights. Hmph.

Oh!  New Christmas gift idea!  Bath & Body Works has started carrying a line called Tutti Dolci.  Remember last year when I was all a-twitter about Jacqua Girl’s Marshmallow Body Whip?  I still love that stuff, but this stuff is this year’s that stuff.  It comes in the following scents: Creme Brulee, Angel Food Cake, Chocolate Fondue, Lemon Meringue, Sugar Wafer and Cinnamon Frosting. There may be one more, but I can’t remember. Anyway, this stuff is the diggety. I love it.  I bought the Cinnamon Frosting body souffle which really makes your skin soft (and is economical as you get a big ol’ tub of it for $19, compared to the $16 for the wee jar of last year’s favorite) and I layered it with Chocolate Fondue eau du toilette.  Oh yeah, baby.

Coffee beckons. I’ll be back later with my story about the throw-down in Albertson’s.

I was forced to scout out a Starbucks this morning due to my coffeemaker’s demise.  I’d heard that the Pumpkin Spice Lattes were back for the season and I love pumpkin anything.  I do not love this.  It tastes like gym socks.  At best, it tastes like gym socks soaked in pumpkin-flavored milk.  I had trouble detecting actual coffee.  How many damn squirts of syrup do they put in those cups before they make a latte?  Damn!  I might as well have been drinking straight from the syrup bottle like a hamster.

Not that hamsters drink from syrup bottles.  I have no idea what I’m talking about.

In other news, thank you thank you goes out to Whitters for the awesome dishtowels she sent as a housewarming gift and to Joooolie, who totally outdid herself with a set of gorgeous stemware that she etched herself with little stars.  She knows stars are my favorite shape, but in some cosmic twist of fate, I actually broke 4 of my wine glasses in the move; how did you know?  Beautiful!  Thank you both so much!

I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen to poor myself a cup of ambition, to yawn and stretch and try to come to life. Is that too much to ask?  But, my 4-month-old Cafe Noir decided to go all to cock.

Leaking! Out the bottom!  Water!  Pouring out the bottom of my shitty $20 coffeemaker!  At 6am!  When all a bitch wants is a cup of hot coffee and something to pry open her eyes!  Oh, the humanity!

I took mike’s car to 7-11 to gas it up, got some mediocre coffee and some diet coke and discovered that gas prices are just… they’re just… Gah!  They’re obscene.  $2.35 a gallon?  What the bloody hell?  All $14.12 got was 6 gallons of gas.  I used to be able to fill up my entire car for $14.  For this, I give a hearty bird to Señor Bush.  In fact, he gets a double.

But, it’s still a good day. I’m sore as all hell from that class on Monday.  Trying to sit down to pee is amusing. I get about halfway down to a squat and then I just have to kind of… fall the rest of the way.  Not the most graceful, but it’s better that hearing my quads scream in agony.  Damn lunges.  Of course, I’m going back today.  Glutton for punishment, I guess.

Happy Hump Day!

Around 6:30, he gently nudged me and asked if I wanted to wake up.  We have the loudest, most obnoxious alarm clock anyone could have, but I still didn’t hear it. I was immersed in a really weird dream I can’t remember.  I know I spent most of the dream upset and right before he woke me up, there was one of those run-down pick-ups with plywood used to form sides in the back and a bunch of weird circus toys piled up and spilling out of the top, like a cartoon or something.  I don’t know what it was there for, but it’s the only thing I remember.

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I kind of like working on Sunday.  I wake up early, turn on the Chill Out station from Launchcast, put on comfy clothes and crank out some work.  It’s the one quasi-peaceful day in this apartment complex.  I do, however, keep my blinds closed.  Not only does it keep it cooler in my apartment, but then I don’t have to look outside and see what a glorious day it is and think about how I could be out in it, cavorting in a merry fashion.

Yesterday, I bought a new coffeemaker. Yes!  Me!  A new coffeemaker!  It’s so beautiful. I love it. I talk to it.  I named it Apple.  No, I didn’t.  But I am going to name it.  I just don’t know what yet.  It’s a Black & Decker Cafe Noir 10-cup programmable and it makes me wiggle, I love it so.  I was passing through Bed, Bath and Beyond yesterday, looking for a tub-stopper when there it was, on sale… only $19.99.  It does everything I want: programmable, auto shut-off and brew-interrupt, for when I’m really impatient.  The best part of wakin’ up was my first cup this morning:  freshly ground beans (Seattle’s Best Organic Breakfast Blend), filtered water, brewed in a totally pristine coffeemaker ready for me when I woke up.

Ahhh. It’s the little things.