Posts Tagged With: Tea

A Week In Review:

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Having a mini composition book, and a phone that looks like a mini composition book is not as cute and adorable an idea as it may first seem.  I keep thinking the book is the phone and leaving home without essential things.  One of them has to go.  It won’t be the phone.

Cadbury Creme Eggs are out in force.  They are like a perfect, egg-shaped sugar coma, just waiting in the shiny foil for you to take a bite and enter heart-racing bliss.  I have already eaten more than are good for me, although so far I’ve kept it below one a day.  So far… I walked into the campus bookstore today and saw them at the counter.  Resistance might be futile.

I am going to a girls gathering this Saturday and it promises to be a great time.  All my favorite people will be there.  The only problem is that they are all Brian’s favorite people as well.  “If I buy a wig, can I go too?” he keeps asking.  Um – let me think about it… No.

There is a shop in downtown Claremont that carries blooming teas.  Those are the kind in the Marie Antoinette movie, where you put hot water on them and the bud blooms at the bottom of your dainty porcelain cup (because if you’re drinking blooming tea, it’s out of porcelain, preferably with gold somewhere).  I fell prey to the loose-leaf Lady Grey tea this time, but it’s probably only a matter of time before I can’t resist the other.  I’ll have to buy an appropriate cup.  Most of my mugs were purchased for volume and not class.

I misread the publishing date on a book I was dying to read.  It’s coming out May 6th, not March.  I am now upset that I have to wait, but I’ve been consoling myself with murder (in the form of Agatha Christie novels).

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Rainy Day

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It’s such a dreary and drizzly day here.  And Californians freak out in the rain.  They turn from reasoned (if aggressive) commuters into slippery slidey old folks, creeping along at tiny speeds and following too close.  I spent the morning driving in this travesty, only to learn from the radio that a big-rig had overturned ahead and was blocking all but one lane of traffic.  The heavy traffic turned into stopped gridlock as the sky poured buckets on my little white car.  It took us almost fifteen minutes to move a mile down the road.  I clocked in with just seconds to spare before I was penalized for being late.  Brian had to drop me off first, which meant he had to also spend his lunch hour picking me up so I could get to job 2 on time.   He’s such a good guy sometimes.  Okay, oftentimes.

I had been looking forward to this rain.  I wasn’t factoring in the commute thing.  I pulled my grandmother’s old raincoat out of my closet and wore it to work today.  I never realized that it was reversible when she wore it, but it is.  Violent green on one side and navy on the other, with pocket flaps on each side of the coat.  It was the first real chance I’ve had since my grandfather handed it to me the day he cleaned out the coat closet.  I felt like all I really needed was a wide hat and a pair of tap shoes with bows on the ankles, and then I could be Debbie Reynolds.  Unfortunately, I’m no Debbie Reynolds.  After this morning, I won’t be singing nor will I be dancing in the rain.  We still have to drive home after work, still raining, in the deepening dark.

I’m still looking forward to tomorrow, though.  I worked Sunday, so I get to have Friday off as a consolation prize.  I’ll be able to sit in my warm, four poster bed and listen to the rain fall outside the window.  I’ll have time to make myself a pot of Imperial Earl Gray.  I won’t have to deal with a bevy of commuters in the rain.  That should be much better, right?

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Weekends

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Brian is leaving me.

For the weekend to attend Anime Con in Los Angeles.  He’s running the D&D games, and a few of them he wrote himself.  He’s excited about it.  I will be lonely in my empty bed.  I will be forced to commute an hour and a half to Orange alone.

“I’m going to have to figure out what to do with you gone this weekend,” I said.

“Who is Yugon?” said Brian, very indignant.

“That’s terrible,” I said.

“Yes, I know,” he admitted.

But we both laughed anyway.

I have snuck a note into his shaving kit for him to find later.  It makes terrible puns about knocking ‘em dead and killing things in D&D, and it’s very loving.

I suppose what I’m really planning on doing is all the rewriting I’ve been avoiding for my grad school application.  I’m having one of those weeks where I am certain that I have no right at all to call myself a writer – just look at the drivel I’ve written –they will never accept me to grad school in a millennium.  I will be Denied.  There is no question.  It makes it hard to pitch in and slog through rewrites, even though I know it’s all in my mind.  I will go back to believing that I’m brilliant soon, I promise.  It’s just this week of weird weather and head colds that is getting me down.

But this weekend will be full of writing and mass quantities of Jasmine tea (overly sweet with sugar).  And then on Sunday, I will have a husband again.

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Happy New Year

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I had meant to write a blog post filled with optimism.  “It’s a new year with no mistakes in it yet,” I wrote for the first sentence.  I was asking for it, loud and clear.  So far, this year has been riddled with mistakes.

We celebrated the new year at a friend’s house, playing Cards Against Humanity while we ignored Ferris Beuler’s Day Off playing in the background, lounging and laughing.  “Happy New Year!” we all yelled as we watched the ball drop in Times Square on the television.  I leaned in toward Brian for the traditional kiss.  I took a step closer.  I squished his bare toes with my sharp pointy flats.

“Ouch,” he said.

“Sorry,” I replied.

At that point, the new year was 50% mistake.

Brian and I thought we would like an adventure on our last day off, so we bundled ourselves in the car and went to LACMA.  I specifically checked the website for holiday hours.  It said they would be closed on the 31st, but it didn’t say anything about New Year’s Day.  In my quest for holiday hours, I missed the gigantic banner at the top that said “closed Wednesdays.”  I found it in all its bright, pixilated glory when we returned home.  The empty parking structure should have tipped me off, but it wasn’t until the security guard at the entrance stopped us that I realized.

“Is the Tar Pits open?” I asked.  Plan B

“Maybe, I don’t know,” he said.  “You can check.”

So we checked.  It wasn’t.

The LA Farmer’s Market (oldest farmer’s market in the US, they proudly proclaim) is a few blocks away.  We walked there, and they were open.  We had blueberry pie at a diner that was the best I’ve ever had – buttery crust and berries that burst as I chewed amid the sweet, dark filling.  I bought a teapot and some loose-leaf Imperial Earl Gray at one of the shops.  Not the regular kind, the Imperial kind.  And then we walked back to the car, drove home, and fell into bed.

This morning I packed a lunch in a large Trader Joe’s bag, brown paper with convenient handles.  It was a tasty one.  Fusilli pasta in basil with fresh cherry tomatoes, popcorn, and a Honey Crisp apple.  Dried cocoanut strips as a snack.  I got to work and realized that it’s still on the floor of my living room.  Evidently, I’ll be buying lunch today.  I have little hope that cats won’t eat all the popcorn before I can get home tonight.  Sigh.

In short, this year has been nothing but mistakes so far.  I suppose that’s what I get for writing that fate-tempting sentence.  There is something so tantalizing about the promise of the new year, though.  The unflinching optimism that this year, surely, will be better than the one that just passed.  Maybe it will even be the best one yet.  The evidence might be for the contrary and still I persist in thinking I can make better the reality; when the reality is, who knows?

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Searching…

Applying for jobs feels a bit like a betrayal. Disney has been good to me, and I thank them for four years of putting up with my insane school schedule; especially the semester I had to work mostly weekends and couldn’t talk to anyone in real life because I was always gone. That was a real pain. I’m applying for jobs anyway, though.

So, here I am. I’ve updated my resume. I’ve penned several cover letters. I have visions in my head of working at the college in my home town, just a few miles down the road from my house. I could buy a teal bike, a beach cruiser, with a giant wicker basket on the front and a bell. I could ride it to work every morning. My skirt would drape artfully over the pedals without danger of getting caught in the spokes.

I could be home at 5:15 every night. I would take off my fancy dress, put on my jeans, and make dinner barefoot in the kitchen. Brian could come home every night to a clean house (okay, cleaner house). I could wake up at 6:00am and write the morning away, cup of earl gray by my elbow. It would be so peaceful.

Why is it that things never end up exactly as we picture them? I’ve applied for the job, I’m crossing my fingers they call me. Now is just the waiting and the dreaming.

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