(no subject)

Ever since Angel left the company, I have found a new calling as the do-gooder worker bee. This involves actually making it to work on time (that's a whole new gig for me) several days in a row.

On my way to work, I typically will stop at WaWa and buy sweet sweet nectar of life at last I've found you a large chai latte to drink at my desk while wishing I was still in bed. It's cheap, it's hot, it's full of lovely caffiene.

This morning, like every other morning this week, I stopped at the store and staggered over to the latte machine. As the chai was merrily spouting from the errr...spout, I noticed that it was a significantly lighter colour then it has been the thousand other times I've purchased it. No matter. I reckon that there can always be small changes in the drink, day by day. A lid is slapped on the cup (not all the way because I apparently have Down's Syndrome and this caused me to almost be wearing the chai) and I'm out the door.

I don't drink it in the car. I'm driving, for one thing, and smoking a cigarette. Adding the idea of drinking a very hot beverage to this precarious affair would be a very dangerous thing. The other drivers on the road are goddamn lucky that I'm able to mostly keep my vision on the road, instead of eyeballing every shiny thing I pass.

Get into work, take off jacket, assemble payroll papers because this is Hell week for me (payroll, every other week), sit down and take my first sip.

...the fuck?

This isn't chai.
It's...hot spicy milk. No chai to be fucking seen! No chai to be fucking tasted! What the hell is wrong with this world?

That WaWa has grown to be the bane of my existence. For the longest time, their fountain soda machine wasn't functioning properly and I couldn't get any diet Coke out of it. Now, they rob me of my chai?!

Heartless bastards.

I'll show them.
I'll show them all.

(no subject)

Is ten-thirty at night too late to embark on the making of a pumpkin cake?

I spent this evening alone in a bookstore, browsing books with my head half in the clouds. Picked up Spook, by Mary Roach, and a handful of others to quell my habit. You know how junkies are with heroin? That's me and books. I blow through them in short order, then spend months jonesing for another fix. I read, re-read, and re-read again. hoom.

My favourite shoes (black patent bump toe platform Mary Janes) came in the mail today while I was at work. I immediately tore apart the box, put them on and danced around the kitchen with a disgruntled cat in my arms.

For my next trick, I will tear this hangnail from my finger with my bare hands.