For Those Who Need a Break from My Sarcasm

Following in the lead of a friend of mine, I’ve decided to start a private blog. I really need a break from my public blog, which I will occasionally upkeep. It’s just hard to be my witty self when I can’t blog about my life and my work. So, I’m taking a break. Only people that request to read it will be allowed to read it, and I allow at my discretion. I have a lot I need to get off my chest about life, work, my health, etc. And with all the support I’ve gotten on the few blog posts I’ve written about my personal life, I think it’s high time for me to start a personal blog.

I’ll update you when it’s ready.

Edit: Alright, I’ve set up the new blog. In order to read my new blog, you have to be a wordpress member, with a wordpress ID. (Which is really easy to set up.) Also, you’ll have to ask me permission, so tell me your username on WordPress and I’ll let you in. I figure that basically, all the people that would want to read my personal blog have my screen name, so just IM me with your ID and I’ll add you! (If you don’t have my screen name, just leave it in a comment, but I can’t promise you I’ll let you read it.)

More Tales of Cafe Calamity

Today there was a special event in the cafe, and a woman, her keyboard, her guitar, and some random guy beating an African drum performed. In my humble opinion, they were too loud, and weren’t very special.

Then, one of my favorite people in the world stepped into the cafe. My old french teacher! (Whom I call Madame.) She stopped to chat, and in her perfect French accent asked me, “Do you like the woman singing?”
“Honestly?” I replied, “Not really.”
“Well you should tell her that!” Madame replied, “Because I think she stinks!”
“I can’t tell her that, Madame, but you should. Tell her in French. Insults sound better in French.”
She smiled and a customer came and she said goodbye and left.
I love Madame.

Today, a returning male customer came in. “I recognize you,” I said “You’ve been here before.” He acknowledged that he had and asked me if he remembered what he ordered. I confessed I had not and we started a conversation. And then I realized that I was hitting on him. As I was working with my boss behind the counter, I said, “Uh, I think I just accidentally hit on him.” She replied, “That’s totally okay, its being friendly with the customers.”

That’s right, I have full permission to shamelessly flirt with cute customers.

My Future Husband

And star of the AMAZING new movie, Amazing Grace, Ioan Gruffudd.

Did I mention he’s British? And he starred in the Horatio Hornblower series on A&E. And I must say, I’m a big fan of A&E series.

Ask me how many times I’ve watched the 6 hour Pride & Prejudice. Go ahead, ask me.
Alright I’ll tell you. Over 4 full days of my life have been spent watching Pride & Prejudice. Horatio Hornblower and Mr. Darcy are dreamboats.

Edit: I keep looking at this post because that picture makes me giddy with girlish delight. And I have to tell you, my mother gets pretty giddy with girlish delight at Ioan, too. So it’s not just me. Can we all just lay our cheeks on our hands and sigh lovingly? Because I sure am.

Double Edit: For your viewing pleasure…

I’ve decided to give you all, my dear dear readers, a daily dose of Ioan. Starting today. Every day. Ioan Ioan Ioan. I just want to look at him all day.

Starbucks Preachers

My mother treated me to some coffee at Starbucks this afternoon before we went to see a movie. As I was enjoying my chai latte, I noticed the little quotation that hangs out on the side of the cup. It was a quote by the vice president of something or other of the Orlando Magic, speaking about being a servant leader, a servant to the needs of others. I read it aloud to my mother, saying, “That seems kind of ridiculous.”

“It’s not!” a voice chimed in from across the outdoor tables. I looked up. “It’s true,” a small woman with cropped black hair and a Burberry jacket called to us. “I humbled myself to the Lord many times and he has always exalted me.” I nodded. “Everytime I praised myself the Lord only brought me down.” But she wouldn’t stop talking. She went on for at least 5 minutes, detailing experiences and examples of her humbleness. I couldn’t shake her. And seeing as I’m not one to say “Shut up, lady!”, I was in a pickle.

I looked at my mother to see her smirking. She adamantly refused to make eye contact with me. What is it about me that attracts all the crazies?

After she continued on her holy way and left us alone, I got to thinking. The first thought that came through my mind was I need to blog this. The second thought was the Lord exaltedher? Let’s take a look at what the word exalted means, courtsey of the Merriam-Webster dictionary.

Main Entry: ex·alt
Pronunciation: ig-’zolt
Function: verb
Etymology: Middle English, from Latin exaltare, from ex- + altus high — more at OLD
transitive verb
1 : to raise in rank, power, or character
2 : to elevate by praise or in estimation : GLORIFY
3 obsolete : ELATE
4 : to raise high : ELEVATE
5 : to enhance the activity of : INTENSIFY

So this got me to thinking even more. She honestly believe that God glorifies her? Doesn’t that go a bit against the mold? And by against the mold I mean COMPLETELY OPPOSITE? I confess that I’m not much of a religious person, but I pray in synagogue, and I exalt God with my prayers.

But I’d only expect God to exalt me if I, you know, brought Jesus back or caused world peace, stopped global warming, and stopped terrorism all at the same time. And c’mon, I may be determined but even I can’t deal with terrorism and world peace at the same time.

So by sitting in the back row instead of fighting for a front seat, the Starbucks Preacher Lady believes that God glorified her. Elevated her on high. Intesified her glory. Surrounded her with a halo of white light and a heavely chorus?

Someone has some serious delusional issues.

Edit: My mom says Al Gore can do three of the four exaltation worthy things, so I guess he’s to be exalted.

Three Cheers for Oral Hygiene!

Today I had the great honor of meeting a human animal crossbreed. Half human, half beaver.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, he walked into the cafe, completely unaware that upper teeth was protruding far past his lip. They also tilted to the right.

I should have known trouble was coming. My coworker had looked up, and then fled into the backroom. Instead of looking where she looked, I watched her flee. Then, I looked up. I choked back a shocked gasp of fear.

I tried, with every ounce and fiber of my being, every last molecule in my brain saying “Look in his eyes! Look in his eyes!” I tried so hard, I did. I can note that he did have bushy eyebrows. But my eyes kept moving back to his teeth. His gums were a rainbow of pinks and red, with a bit of brown circling the largest protruding tooth. They were heavy and swollen and wet looking. I shudder just thinking about them.

His eyes! Look at his eyes!

It was then I noticed a red spot on his largest tooth. My mind jumped to the obvious conclusion. Remnants from the poor mammal he killed with his bare hands and then devoured with the ivory meat hooks hanging from his mouth. See? Even beaver cross breeds can be vicious.

Rawwwrrr chomp chomp grawrrrrrwaaaaaaaaaaaah. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Pooping in Public

Please, for the love of God and everything that is holy, do not read this post if you like me, dislike poop, have any respect for me, have any respect for yourself, or have a bad gag reflex.

A little after I got to work at the cafe today around 3pm, I drank a latte. As I finished my latte, I noticed something. I had to poo. However, I’m really not comfortable pooping anywhere other than my house. Because only the people you love really understand your own poop. So, I ignored it and continued serving drinks with a smile. As the day wore on, the annoying throb in my butt started to tingle a little bit. Uh oh, a sign of a very very uncomfortable poop. But, I held firm and did not poop at the store.

I went out to dinner at a chinese restaurant with one of my coworkers during my break. This, in retrospect, was a bad idea for my poop. As we all know, or have just discovered, good ideas are not my strong point. After dinner, my co-worker, out of the blue, brought up the fact that she’s an incredibly fast pooper. A “smooth process” as she calls it. Her friend clocked the time it took for her to run up a flight of stairs, poop, wash her hands and run back down the stairs, and it took 92 seconds. Impressive, right? Turns out, she has the same pooping at work fear I do. Anyway, as she had confided in me, I confided my pooping problem to her. She sympathized, and understood my need to wait. It was wonderful to have a companion in poop understanding.

When I returned to work after dinner one thing became increasingly clear. I had to poop. I had to poop NOW. And it wasn’t going to be pleasant. I informed my fellow barista that I had, had, HAD to go to the bathroom, would she please excuse me.

I crossed my fingers as I ran to the back of the store, praying that the bathroom would be empty. I nearly hallelujah chorused when I found it so. Then I said a little prayer for quiet pooping and no other bathroom arrivals.

The second half of the prayer was answered.

What came out of my butt was nothing short of the 1812 Overture. Cannon blasts and all.

I was so sure I would walk out of the bathroom to a line of men saluting my hard work, a job well done.

I ran out of the bathroom, looking shiftily to both sides and back to the cafe.

Hoo boy, that was a good one.

Quoting my Mom

“I think it’s the curse of the Jewish mother. Associating food with love. And you keep feeding and feeding…”

I hate you.

I work at a small coffee shop. (See? I got a second job!) And while I make a point of not blogging about work, this needs to be heard.

There was finally a lull in the hectic crush of today, and a hipster girl in a large hello kitty necklace said, “Can I have a Caramel Frappucino?”

“Uh wah?” I said.

“A Frappucino.”

“This isn’t Starbucks?”

“No, not it isn’t. It’s _____.”

“Oh. I thought it was Starbucks.”

“Nope.”

“Well, we don’t have Frappucinos.”

My coworker then came out of the back and interjected “We don’t have Frappucinos. But you can have [our signature iced drink.]“

“Will it taste like a Frappucino?”

This is where angry ranting Sarah comes in. Make it known that I did not actually say this outloud.
“ARE YOU AN IDIOT OR SOMETHING? THIS ISN’T STARBUCKS! We don’t live to copy Starbucks, surprising as that may seem to you. In fact, we are our own people. We have our own souls. The drink will taste like the drink and nothing else. Got it?”

Thus ends rant.

And Hipster Hello Kitty Girl? Returned her drink and demanded we remake it.

um…ok?

I was driving home from the gas station today, and I was following a red SUV with the license plate “YANNI”. I kid you not. So let’s have a little chat about this. Of all the musicians you can have on your license plate, YANNI is not the one to get. Let’s think about some more rockin’ musicians to put on your license plate. Maybe U2, KISS, LED ZEP, DOORS. But YANNI? Is your 4 year old so into Yanni that you felt the need to put it on your license plate? Don’t you know that Yanni is flat out creepy? Seriously?