I'm a Barista Who Can't Make Coffee

Yesterday I decided to bring out the coffee pot from down in the depths of the cupboards. Being a barista and all, I figured that I could make a better cup of coffee than I used to [they were nas-TEE]. I decided to only make two cups instead of the four I used to make because I would fill up the mug [two cups full] and the rest would just get tossed anyway because I wouldn't fully enjoy the first mug I made. So, two cups-worth of coffee grounds in the filter, two cups-worth of water in the "holding tank," one press of the start button, and we were off! I was excited for a fresh look at making my own coffee. I even decided to add a little bit of my Instant Mocha mix to make it have a little more of a taste [the container suggests to add 1-2 scoops per 6oz. of coffee or hot water]. The coffee brewed, I added a little cream and a couple scoops of the powder mix, stirred, and tasted.

Turns out, I figured wrong about being able to make a better cup of coffee; if anything, it was worse than I ever made before! I might be using the wrong kind of coffee [Folgers something; it was on sale whenever I bought it] or it was the fact that the machine hadn't been used in a while. None-the-less, I poured out the mug of bleh, washed it out, and decided to go the safe route and make a frozen mocha with the blender.

We are going to be remodeling the kitchen as soon as we can afford the time and money to spend on it. Until then, the counterspace in our current kitchen setup is lacking. We make do, but my point is that I had to wash out the coffee maker and put it back in the depths of the cupboards in order to make room for the blender, which is also found in the depths.

I rinse out the coffee pot and then open up the lid to the machine to take out the filter. Come to find out, the filter decided to do a little origami whilst brewing my cup-o-bleh and the sides folded inward and over the coffee grounds [might explain the lack of taste].

So after cleaning out the machine and putting it away, I brought out Mr. Blender and whipped out a delicious frozen "mocha." At least I can make those correctly.

Whilst drinking my concoction, I made a trip to http://www.1001freefonts.com/ and browsed the free fonts...

...for about an hour and a half.

But now if I'm making some kind of custom anything for a web page or an image or just about anything, it won't be the same font that everyone sees every day. It drives me nuts when people use Papyrus for political signs and Tempus Sans ITC for restaurant menus.

After downloading a million of them, I took a ride out to Oak Harbor [the third in less than 24 hours] to accompany Andrew in acquiring the second of his two new vehicle purchases. He got two VW Bugs [one that runs and drives and one that doesn't even roll] for $250. I don't know how he does it, but he'll make that and a whole heck of a ton more re-selling them. So now we have my car, Sam's car, and Andrew's Mustang, lifted Excursion, Kharmann Ghia, boat, tow truck, non-rolling bug, and running/driving bug in the front yard/driveways and Andrew's long trailer with another non-running bug on top, a broken Tercel, a VW Dune Buggy, another VW bug, a broke-down VW bus, a four-wheeler, and Andrew's brother's bug in the back yard, and a sand rail and an extremely lifted Prelude in the shop.

This is why we need some property out in Stanwood.

None-the-less, I smiled at our front lawn "ornaments" on my way out to my car to head to work this morning. As many cars as are listed above, it doesn't look super "white trashy" at all; it's just Andrew's hobby and it's admirable that he's found what he truly enjoys doing.

So me, my one car, and my snacks [an apple, a sliced cucumber, and some Ranch dressing] head to work. I usually don't work on Fridays, but I took someone's shift and got there a little before I was supposed to. I looked on the calendar and instead of it saying "10am-4pm: Miranda " it said "4pm-10pm." I was dyslexic and woke up super early for nothing. Well gosh dang! Made myself a blended chai and headed back home.

I'm pretty sure I blogged about this intersection before, but heading home from work, it's easiest to drive through a parking lot, drive around the Jack-in-the-Box, and take the light onto the main road. When you drive around this JitB, there is a stop sign intersection where three of the four sides stop. I'm coming from the East branch of the four-way, the North branch is the one that doesn't stop, and the South branch's Stop sign isn't there anymore, but the Stop line is. So normally, I'll stop and make sure that the person coming from the South branch either stops or goes flying on through without hitting me. My branch has a speed bump about five feet before the stop line. There was no one at either the South or the North branches, but there were three cars on the West branch, facing me. They were at a complete stop. I approached my speed bump and slowly went over it, coming to a complete stop at my line. The man in the car facing me on the West branch made some kind of arm gesture telling me that it was his turn to go, assuming that me driving over the speed bump meant that I was going to completely disregard my Stop sign and just drive on through.

Jack-ass.

So I'm behind this guy at a red light and I decide that I should take my stupid pill from my doctor. I called on Monday [three days after my appointment, when the doctor said it would only take two for the lab results to come in], left a message with the lab with my name and cell number asking them to call me as soon as the results came in. Why would I pay $43+ for ten pills when if the results came back negative, I would just stop taking them like nothing happened? So I wanted to be 100% sure before I forked out the money for the pills. I didn't get a call back that day.

At work the next day, toward the end of my shift, I missed a call from my mom. Her voice message said that the lab called her back with my results. I really don't care that my mom knows what's going on at the doctor's, but A.) the admitting nurse checked to see if my cell number was correct [which it wasn't and she wrote down the newer one], B.) the doctor who saw me double checked that the cell phone number written down was the fastest and easiest way to get ahold of me, and C.) I left a GOD-DAMN MESSAGE with the lab with MY cell number extremely articulated so that no mistakes would be made... and yet, they call my mom's phone.

Like I said, the medical profession is a crock.

So I forked out those well-earned $43+ tip money from the slowest days of work of my life to a pharmacist who spoke to me like a robot, not checking my I.D. or anything, but simply assuming that I was who I said I was.

Crock.