You Have No Idea What I'm Saying...

The guy at the counter was rushed. Probably he was ready to go home. It seems reasonable that it was the end of his shift, seeing as it was right around 6P. I have no quarrel with you getting the fuck out of work the very moment your shift is done. Especially when your shitty job entails listening to customers specify exactly what variety, flavor, and temperature they want their stupid coffee. I would flee as soon as humanly possible, myself.

Now, it should be noted in bold, block letters that I DO NOT DRINK COFFEE. I seldom step foot into any of the 7000 chain coffee stores in a 2 mile radius of my house. When I do go in, I am always accompanied by a regular coffee drinker who knows how and what to order. Always until today. Today I went in to pick up a coffee as a favor to Wilbur who was running behind and needed the caffeine following a 3 martini and a Long Island Tea lunch and then coming home and sleeping it off for a few hours.

I stepped up to the counter and said, I want a large, plain coffee with room for cream. The guy said, "Tall." I just sort of shrugged. "What kind?" he asked. "Just coffee. It doesn't matter." You'd have thought I'd actually hit him in the face. When he recovered, he listed some stuff off and I said, "Pick one." "That's not how we do it here." He was starting to get red. I was bumping shoulders with rage, myself. He started to list them off again. I told him to stop. "Look, I just want some coffee. I don't care what kind. Just put some regular, non-decaf coffee in the biggest cup you have and give it to me." No doubt the manager smelled the blood in the water and intervened. "What's the problem, ma'am?" "No problem. I think we're just having a miscommunication. I just want a large, plain coffee with room for cream." "Ooooh," she said sort of nodding. "No problem, I'll get it for you." She then shrieked something entirely different over her shoulder. "We just use different lingo, that's probably what was confusing you." First of all, "lingo?" And second, I wasn't confused by the menu, just by the guy who didn't understand how to translate a large plain coffee into Starbuckese. I'm fairly sure it's just a dialect of English. It should be no problem. I just took Wilbur's coffee and left.


Fuck Me at the 7 Eleven

"Hey baby. Can you pickup? (pause) Hey. (pause) Nothing, just standing in line then going home. D'ya wanna come fuck me? (pause) C'mon, please? (pause) So come over when she leaves. (squeal) YAY! I'm getting wet just thinking about sucking your cock. (pause) 'Kay. Laters."

The Girl: aged 18-22, blonde, plumpish - carrying the freshman 14. Average looking. Wearing very small, baby blue shorts with her sorority letters on the ass, camel toe, beige Uggs, pink t-shirt, multi-colored scarf & big white cardigan. The Phone: Motorola Rockr - pink & sparkley.

I love LA. Seriously.



Not everyone has a gift for writing. Just like not everyone has a gift for cooking, or functioning as a productive member of society. It's okay if you don't know how to write. It's also okay to be earnest and try your hardest. But once you've done a couple of workshops and graduated college, your dearth of skill should be properly acknowledged and you should stop writing.
Now, I don't mean stop writing all together. I do mean stop blogging. If you have no gift - let it lie. And, at the very least, run a spell check over your post before you stick it up there for the whole world to see.