I'm Moving to Hawaii...

...And I don't care if I have to sell drugs, or strip, or "work" on Aurora to do it, either.  (What about working at Bank of America, you ask?  Come on, what kind of person do you think I am?  Have some integrity, people.)

It is officially winter.  How do you know?  Here are some signs:

Go to a coffee shop at 2pm, in the dark, because you need some caffeine to convince yourself that life is still worth living.  However, that experience is so depressing that you have to bitch about it in your blog later.

The man on the radio says that at 24 degrees, Seattle is currently colder than the North Pole.

Come home and wash your hands after being on the bus.  However, you stand dumbly in front of the sink for 3 to 5 minutes while the water warms up, because you CANNOT put your hands in cold water right now.

Stay late at work, even though you have nothing to do, because the wind howling up Pine Street is just too damn cold.  It might be work, but at least it's warm inside!

Drink so many "Raspberry" Emergen-C's (like Airborne to the uninitiated) that your pee starts to turn a weird color.  Whatever, because it's better than getting sick right now, and dude on the bus like aimed for you when he sneezed today.

Even your dog subtly moves away when you try to warm your feet on her one too many times.

People, Keep you Political Correctness Together on the Bus

Yes, that title is very similar to "Men, Keep Your Knees Together on the Bus."  And yes, this post is going to be me complaining while making fun of my ride to downtown on the numero Cinco bus.

Enter DD mustachioed guy with a lanyard in the seat across from me, entertaining himself and everyone else with non-sensical sing-song sounds as he gently slides off his seat at every stop.  At least he was smiling! (Unlike some Capitol Hill baristas I could mention...)

Enter fancy-pants wooden flute playing guy, who starts playing "soothing" tones, I'm assuming to lull DD guy into silence, which didn't work AT ALL.  Whatever, because even DD guys with mustaches and lanyards have the right to express their frustration at sliding out of their seats at every stop.

Enter neighbor who says to flute-player, "Are you Navajo?"  Here are the potential reasons why he would ask this:

1) He thinks only Native American people can play fancy pants wooden flutes.
2) He thinks that Navajo is the only tribe of Native Americans.
3) He looks at the flautist's Pendleton wool coat and assumes that everyone who wears a vaguely "indigenous" print must be Native American/Navajo.

Now, this is where we all started to slide out of our metaphorical seats, because instead of schooling his neighbor in ignorance, the flautist just says, "I don't know who my real father is."  Wow.  Now he even has DD guy's attention.

Again, not a bad ride, because there were no bodily fluids spilled, which is really the only criteria for a not-terrible bus ride.

Coffee, Revisted

That's it.  I have decided to embrace "faceless", corporate coffee chains.  Why?  Because I would rather get mediocre-to-good coffee from nice people than good-to-excellent coffee from insecure yet intimidating and pretentious baristas at many of Seattle's local coffee shops, who are not-so-subtly judging me for wanting hazelnut syrup in my 12oz non-fat latte.  Yes, this is horrible and most likely heralds the end of the world, but I have a hard time ordering coffee from someone I'm a little frightened of.

Now, if you are a local Seattle coffee shop who hires civil and sometimes friendly baristas, then never mind and go ahead to my post, "Men, keep your knees together on the bus", which is funny AND informative.

However, all you coffee shops and baristas who are basically the espresso equivalent of the school yard bully, just trying to make others feel bad about themselves, when really you are the insecure freak, listen up.  Because I'm not going to be intimidated by you anymore!  Just because I'm not wearing "ironic" thick-framed, maybe or maybe not medically-necessary glasses doesn't mean I don't deserve to be looked at when I'm ordering my 16 ounce triple shot mocha latte no whip extra foam for here cappuccino (I know that's not a real thing, hello!).  And I know that while you want me to think that "vintage" flannel shirt you're wearing came from Value Village, in reality, I saw the same shirt at Urban Outfitters last weekend!  Ha!  Ha ha ha ha!

Yes, organic fair trade shade grown frog safe cannot be argued with.  All I'm asking for is a little respect.  A smile, perhaps?  An acknowledgement that non-hipsters are human too?  Appreciation of happy, good-natured customers?  I'm not convinced that in order to gain the respect of a barista I need to be a tortured "artist" who makes fun of teddy bears and puppies and rainbows.  And of course, a little more enthusiasm for someone in Old Navy gear ordering her daily 12 ounce non-fat hazelnut latte wouldn't hurt either.

*This post dedicated to the baristas at Stumptown coffee in Capitol Hill, who were really mean to international students trying to learn English today.  You know who you are.  (Oh, and your 12 oz non-fat single shot mocha was beyond dish d'lish, by the way. Exquisite!)*