I hope no one is eating right now as they read this.

Wednesday was my 25th birthday and a few of us decided to go for a nicer-than-usual dinner. Of course, I chose the restaurant. I'd been wanting to try this newish French Vietnamese place nearby. At first, this seemed to be a good choice. It was beautiful inside, smelled pretty great, and the menu looked interesting. We ordered up appetizers and they were fantastic, so I got brave and ordered the red snapper in a tamarind sauce for my entree.

And then...the fateful moment. I've never eaten snapper before, but I'm pretty sure that it is not usually served with its head still attached. This fish still had eyes in its sockets, a gaping mouth, a tail, fins, everything.

Srsly, it looked like a live fish, only with some vegetables arranged around it.

I was really grossed out, but I was thinking to myself, "ok, Melinda, you can deal with this." After all, I eat fish pretty frequently; it just always looks like food by the time it reaches the table or the seafood section of the grocery store, as opposed to this little guy who looked like he just jumped out of a stream and into Pasteur's deep fryer. I tried to stick my fork into him to open him up and his skin was super crispy on the outside.

Worst. dinner. ever. Then, to our surprise, his market price was $35 on our bill.

Lest you think the night ended on a sour note...I was still really hungry and sort of dissappointed when we left the restaurant, so we went to Baker's Square and brought home an entire French Silk pie which we chased down with a bottle of champagne.

The moral of the story is watch out for the red snapper and, when in doubt, get three yummy pies for the same price instead.

It's a love poem, I think.

To The Homme Francais who Frequents my Coffee Shop:

I see you three or four times a week. As a result, I know that you now like to drink a single shot of espresso, pulled long and then topped with an inch of steamed 1/2 & 1/2 and a few inches of foam. This is a very respectable drink order; it is in fact a close approximation of espresso machiatto. However, as long as you insist on telling me over and over again that "thees eez called cafe crème in France," I will continue to pretend that I do not remember you or your order. Also, stop complaining that the heat is not turned high enough, while refusing to sit in any other location than right next to the streetside door.

To The Man Who Thought Our Prices Were Outrageous:

I do not like the Bush administration any more than you, but I feel compelled to point out that the President is probably not responsible for the fact that your tall latte costs $3. If you are so inclined, however, perhaps you should address your complaints to the White House rather than lurking by the cream and sugar island and making it difficult for me to hear the people behind you in line, none of whom felt that $3 was outrageous for a tall latte.

Or go to a gas station where your "latte" will be poured pre-fab out of a machine.

Thanks,

Melinda.

Despite the fact that everyone else seems to have such great things to say about it, I still don't like California much after spending almost three weeks there. Los Angeles is stinky with worse traffic even than ours and Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo were super-duper expensive. And, of course, all three were way to sunny for a girl like me who likes overcast weather. I did see these guys though, I think, for the first time ever in real life.


Of course, it was also great seeing Evan. ( Here ) is his rather abstract impression of an elephant at the zoo.

Being there at Christmas time was funny too; plastic snowmen hanging out in 60 degree weather on peoples' balconies.

It's good to be on break, after the semester that chomped up the past four months. In case it wasn't bad enough that my course work was out of control, I had an independent study to complete for department review and my computer's logic board decided to stop working properly back in October. Plus, I'm sure the apartment fiasco in August got me off to a bad start. You don't realize how important having your own space to live & work in is until you find that you have to sleep in someone's guest room for a month. I guess I don't really regret that either though. It's hard for me to really be comfortable with people until I've spent a lot of time around them, and I'm glad I got to know Martin.

Counting this afternoon, I have exactly four days to make the most of before the new semester begins on Monday. Truth be told, I'm kind of looking forward to it though. I've only fourteen credits this time, because I needed to take it easy, even if it takes me three more semesters instead of two.

Wow...I haven't updated my lj in almost three months.

Thus far, this has been probably the worst 48 hours of my life.

( Cut for length... )

To the lady w/ the blue Texas sweatshirt who I helped today:
Do you know what I hated? No, it's wasn't your bouffant hairdo; nor was it the fact that you forgot to say "iced" when you asked for your large coconut mocha. That, of course, could happen to anyone. But, WHY, oh why, did you actively watch me make the entire drink complete with whipped cream and sprinkles before mentioning that you meant to say iced? That was kind of an unneccesary waste of time and product.

I'm home from work a few hours now, though I'm trying to spend as little time possible here these days. The closing on this place is August 15th, which means there are lots of sweaty men, mostly Jimmy's friends, fixing up the bathroom and kitchen for the new buyer. Big loud saws and drills and half an inch of dust on everything. I just started a tic-tac-toe game on the toilet tank, so we'll see if anyone takes the bait.

Most likely, we are moving into our new apartment on Wednesday next. It is a bit north of where we are living now, in roger's Park on a street called "Hood" - so much for aesthetics, no? It doesn't really roll of the tongue very pleasantly, but at least I can now claim in true Aqua Teen style to be #1 in the Hood, G. And I cannot even describe how excited I am at the prospect of having a backyard with a garden and a front porch.

I found a big six-legged creature behind the counter at the coffee shop tonight...taking its sweet time, walking around in plain daylight. I suspect, because it was moving so slowly, that it had already been poisoned. I trapped it under a paper cup and left it there for a good half an hour deciding what to do with it; someone once told me that if you squish them, their eggs are very tiny and can be left in cracks in the tiles. Finally, I ended up squeezing a magazine between the cup and the floor. I peeked underneath a few times to see whether he was going to try to make a run for it. (He wasn't.) Then, I picked up the cup, threw a dishrag on top of him and stomped him as hard as I could. It was probably the grossest thing ever.

EDIT: ( Ten Things I Hate Meme )
(Stolen From uworld003)

This past weekend was Karen's wedding in Michigan. Luckily for Jimmy, I know how hellacious staying in a house with your significant other's entire extended family can be. I haven't forgotten the veritable emotional rollercoaster that was my September trip to Ireland...so we rented a cabin nearby. That arrangement turned out to be good. Against all odds, I didn't freak out about the ants on the floor (!) or the fact that the hot water smelled like rotten eggs.

The wedding was on Saturday and I stuck around the reception later than I normally would have. At any gathering that involves my mom and her five sisters, I can rest assured that I will be sharing a table with the wildest bunch. They had their arms around each others shoulders singing loudly and that was BEFORE they finished off a couple bottles of champagne from the bridal table (but, I suppose, AFTER the jello shots and brandy sours). When we returned to the cabin, I reached into my bag for the keys, and discovered that someone had stuffed about a thousand party favor chocolates into my bag at some point during the evening too.

It was an entertaining evening to be sure. They nearly outdid the evening a few years back when they all went to see REO Speedwagon at the Michigan State Fair and returned in the wee hours with matching dragonfly tattoos. All this, and she's a refined schoolteacher by day...I've got to hand it to her.

Unfortunately, I came back and found an email from UIC that says two of my fall classes are in danger of cancellation, which means that before August 22nd, I will probably have to do some serious rescheduling in order to fill in the blanks with relevant other courses, which means that I will probably have to take classes five days a week again. Such is life.

( A customer wrote Olga and I a poem today. )

I'm very sad that I can't go see Kid Koala's DJ set tonight at the Abbey Pub, which I'm sure will be as phenomenal as the last two times I saw him perform there. Unfortunately, it slipped my mind last month when I RSVP'd to attend a cousin's wedding in Upper Peninsula Michigan tomorrow. Am I a horrible person to have seriously considered a last minute change of plans?

This morning, someone crashed their suv into the front of the coffee shop. It was the most bizarre thing. I was standing near the counter rearranging pastries and Patricia was loading dishes into the machine; all was normal. We heard this crunching noise and looked up to see a fast-moving vehicle coming straight for the double doors. Everybody gasped. Luckily, there is a huge stone pillar in front, which it ended up wrapped around. Nobody was hurt, but the guy was pretty shook up. Apparently, someone hit him and caused him to somehow lose control.

I got a haircut today. I was considering signing up to be a hair model, so that I could get a free haircut somewhere nice. Ultimately, I decided it couldn't wait and I went as a walk-in to one of the Vietnamese bargain beauty shops on Argyle Street, where the middle-aged woman took one look at the pictures I'd brought along and told me that the a-cut I wanted was "very popular in the 80s." Nonetheless, she did a pretty sharp job, I think, which once again proves that you're a fool to spend $60 at a salon.

Oh, and I want this thing really badly, but I think it's too late in the summer.

Me and Evan relaxing this afternoon on the balcony


( But that didn't last long... )

We still haven't really found an apartment, though the closing for the condo is August 15th. I'd forgotten how emotional the search can be. Twice, we've seen places we adored, only to be disappointed that they were already rented. Granted, we're being extremely picky. We've decided not to compromise on (1) garage space, (2) proximity to the train, and (3) some sort of decent outdoor area, whether it be a porch or a yard. This morning we saw a place that we both agreed was perfect...cute, cute, cute with a really great garden and backyard. Then, the garage door hung a few inches too low for the van. Luckily, the old lady seemed to really like us. If it can be adjusted by one of Jimmy's work contacts for a deal, she will deduct it from the first month's rent. So, until Monday or Tuesday, we are still in limbo as far as apartments go.

Dear Customers,

Please do not hand me your sticky travel mug after letting the remnants of last week's caramel mocha with extra whip dry up in the bottom and then ask me to "rinse" it. I will not appreciate your eco-friendliness. If you cannot take the time to bring your mug into your home/office and give it a "rinse" on your own, then I strongly suggest you switch to paper.

Though the urge might be great, please also refrain from asking me to make your drink "Quickly! Because I am running late!" Once again, the old adage that "your lack of planning is not my emergency" comes to mind. When you realized you were late because you couldn't get your ass out of bed, you had the choice of either skipping your iced latte for the sake of punctuality or of risking lateness for the morning caffeine fix. Obviously, you are here, so do not expect my sympathy.

Also, if you are learning English, I understand that it might be difficult for you to order. However, please do not rap loudly on the glass to let me know which bottle of juice you want. There are industrial lights above the merchandise which, from my side, make it extremely difficult to see where you are pointing. Do not get angry when I ask you what kind of juice it is or what color it is. I am trying to save myself the trouble of coming all the way around the display case to find out while a line forms behind you.

That is all. Thank you.

Melinda.

(x-posted to indie_baristas)

It doesn't take much to make me happy. I just got books in the mail; Everything Bad is Good for You by Steven Johnson and The Hummingbird's Daughter by Luis Alberto Urrea. I bought the former because I was interested in it's premise and the latter because the author is teaching my Native American lit class this fall at UIC. I still, however, have yet to finish Reading Lolita in Tehran, which I am liking so far.

I also bought this book:

I'm pretty sure it's parody, but it ought to be interesting seeing how many of the suggestions I can actually complete.

I'm enjoying sitting around the house and doing nothing today. Tomorrow, I'll start another marathon six days in a row of coffee shop madness. Olga's friend Olga (yes, you read that correctly) is coming to the U.S. on Friday and I'm working extra shifts so that Olga premiere can help Olga deuxieme acclimate. I can't wait to find out if Olga the sequel is also a sexy Russian babe.

In what was probably the hottest day in Chicago in a few years, all the remaining furniture at my old apartment was moved here. I haven't sweated that much since the afternoon five or six years ago on the Blue Line train when I rode fifty minutes to O'Hare Airport in, unknowingly, the only car in the train without air conditioning. It's funny how that moment so clearly stands out as the hottest I have ever been. I remember everything looking wavy outside the windows, having sweat dripping down my face, thinking that people were looking at me strangely. My coldest memory, coincidentally, also involves the train. I was waiting alone at the Red Line Belmont station after having dinner with Tracy and Brooke, wearing this little black & white geometric headscarve that I apparently thought was sufficient winter headwear before going out.

So, we are now in every sense officially shacked up and I feel better about it than I did a few weeks ago. Without rehashing it all here (because it's pretty draining), we've since had some really intense discussions about a lot of things. It's still a tremendous leap of faith, but it's one I feel is worth taking. I don't think I'd come to regret it even if it didn't work out, and I think he's well worth chancing.

We went to an Oasis concert a few days ago at the UIC Pavilion with two free tickets from one of Jimmy's acquaintances. I'm not an Oasis fan; in fact, I've not purchased any of their albums since Morning Glory. I thought I could appreciate them from a reminiscent point-of-view, but the concert only served to remind me that I can't feign any interest in that sort of music anymore. It was a really good time though, particularly going for drinks afterward. On the downside, this was the third significant hangover in two months (after only two voka & tonic, nonetheless) and I'm now convinced that the "Francesca's Incident" has temporarily weakened my liver. To all of you that drink, is this possible? Does my liver need time to regenerate something?

Hey everyone. Look at how good my salad looks tonight.

Greens, avocado, tomato, hearts of palm, almonds.
I'm on a palm hearts kick these days, after having first tried them a few weeks ago...I think they taste like the lovechild of artichokes and mozzarella.

(x-posted to saladsaladsalad)

I hate it when I have nothing to read, besides the newspapers and the cereal box, that is. Last week, I ordered a used copy of this book, sent to the coffee shop since I'm not home much these days, and I hope it arrives soon. Yesterday, I saw the UPS guy coming in with a small box, but it was a missing piece of one of the coffee urns and not a book at all. I sent him away with a praline cheesecake latte and told him to please please bring my book tomorrow.

If you don't like listening to whining, you may want to skip the rest of this entry, unless you wish your boy/girlfriend had better communication skills, in which case you may be able to relate. With Jimmy, it always happens when I least expect it. This time, we had a few great days, actually great-beyond-the-normal-greatness. On Wednesday night, the electricity was out in our building and we had a really good time just sitting around with flashlights talking and goofing off while all the food in the fridge spoiled; to the extent that he suggested we make every other Wednesday "No Electricity Day" (but without the spoilt food). Last night was a bit more routine as far as our evenings go, except that I had a no book to read and no sewing to do, so I was forced to join him in watching baseball instead.

But when we laid down at night, he began rehashing his nervousness over moving in together (symbolically, really, since we've been living together since late December). I'm nervous too, especially since I am the one who is finally giving up my apartment. And I think it's normal, particularly when you've lived with someone and had it go wrong before, as he has. However, what bothers me is that he sometimes brings up his feelings only to go silent, leaving me thinking about it and later having bad dreams. We were spooning and I couldn't see his face, so after a while I asked, "are you still awake?" He was, so I tried to draw him out a little, asking whether he was worried about living together in general, or about something happening between us, etc. He said he didn't know. I told him that I don't think you can ever know for sure, but that I think we are good at dealing with conflicts as they come up; giving each other space and apologizing when necessary. I also told him that I think we love each other enough to want to do everything to make it work. He didn't respond, not even an affirmation, and then he fell straight asleep, leaving me wondering what is going through his mind; did I reassure him and help him to relax, is he thinking such horrible things that he doesn't want to say them out loud, or does he just not want to talk yet?

I'm having way too much fun with this thing.
Damn these people who keep dragging all the letters to the corner though...

I'm going kind of domestic today. I just made a yummy crabmeat and asparagus salad, did dishes, vacuumed, and did laundry. Because I didn't check the lint trap, the tie from my coffee shop apron got stuck in dryer and I had to cut it mostly off with my sewing scissors. The russian guy who was on maintenance duty was really grumpy about it. I believe his exact words were, "how did this even happen?" haha.

Today was the last day of work before I head to Wisconsin. No mishaps. Nothing interesting at all happened, actually, with the exception of the theft of yet ANOTHER tip jar. This guy didn't even bother trying to be subtle about it; he just grabbed it and ran. Much like this time, there was no more than $3 or $4 in it. Must be broker than me, dude. A bunch of customers saw it and one (I have to remember to be extra nice to this guy) took off after him, unfortunately to no avail. Then, this five or six year old girl who was having ice cream with her dad came up and gave me the most adorable play-by-play of the whole thing; "and then...then he dropped the cup of water and then he was running fast..."

I can't bear to use dial-up at my parents' house, so I'll catch up with everyone in a week or so when I'm back in Chicago.