Stranger in the Earth

thoughts on the way to zion

Archive for the category “Coffee”

Step Yer Game Up!!

I’m partly writing this on behalf of the experiences of a friend of mine, but also on behalf of many girls I seem to run into in my sphere who get imposed upon in similar manner.  No where else in the world have I seen this scenario play out with such frequency and minimal variation than here, so it may as well be addressed.

It begins with the age-old set up: boy sees attractive  girl and develops fondness for her. Boy begins to become acquainted with girl’s schedule and hopes that he will run into her, but doesn’t actually know anything about who she is and makes no attempt to speak to her. Boy fixates on girl for anywhere from 3 months to an immeasurable amount of  years. Boy begins to know everything about girl’s schedule and thinks she is the queen of the universe, but again, refuses to initiate conversation. Boy either continues to hide his feelings for this beautiful stranger or tells all his friends about this fascinating creature to all of his trusted friends. Boy still never talks to girl, just watches from afar until someone tells him to get cracking and make a move.

(Bear in mind, by this point, boy has imagined this girl to be his future wife and has managed to picture everything about his destiny with her by his side, but you guessed it… has never uttered more than 20 words to her in his life).

Then… the rough part: boy makes his move. Does he ask her to coffee? No. He asks for her hand in marriage!! Well, not literally, but close enough. Boy actually confesses his undying love for her and tells her he’s had his eye on her for years and knows that with time she will come to see that he has in fact “heard from the Lord”.

Now, I can’t decide between what is more horrifying about this situation. And Posse, maybe you can help me out with this, but between the fact that he took so long to tell her he had a crush on her, the fact that he is practically trying to shape her future by considering her his future bride, and the fact that he is actually overwhelmed with surprise and dispair when she bolts in the opposite direction all equal a torrent of that which I can only consider horrifying.  But unfortunately, this very situation, with slight exceptions to details here and there, has come up again and again in the lives of single women I know.

So I say this- Gentlemen, please, when you like a girl, just ask her out. There’s nothing wrong with saying something as simple as, “Hey, would you want to grab coffee with me sometime soon?” Believe it or not, you don’t have to say ANYTHING beyond that! If she says no, then leave her be and move on. If she says “yes” and looks interested, she has filled in enough of the blanks to know that you like her. See, girls are smart, and they know that a boy asking her out means he likes her. They don’t need you to put your heart on your sleeve and tell her how many times a day you get lost in dreaming about how intoxicating her eyes are, or if you want to sound more spiritual, how she is the most godly woman you have ever seen,  or the most detrimental- how you knew the moment you saw her that she would one day be your wife. That stuff might be true, but those are lines you use when a ring you bought for her is safely perched on her finger- not before!! All she needs to know right now is that you’re interested. If it goes well, you have the rest of the relationship to unravel your feelings about her, bit by precious bit.

It’s like a cinnamon roll. Some people shove the whole thing in their mouth as quickly as possible, but to me that is barbaric. The true and only way to eat a cinnamon roll, in my VERY experienced opinion on pastries, is to unravel it. You begin on the outside with anticipation and excitement. Then you work your way to the center, and the closer you get, the better the experience becomes. You never rush. Love is patient, right? If you suck that pastry down too fast, you don’t feel satisfied because they were meant to be enjoyed. The smell, the gooey cinnamon swirling about with the profoundly unhealthy amount of icing is all a part of the experience you miss when you inhale such a wonderful treat.

So it is with getting to know someone. You begin almost timidly, but filled with delight. Like the roll, you gently begin your journey to the center with care, never wanting to miss a moment, because, as with the cinnamon roll, if you do, you miss the best part- the reward of having taken your time to come to the prize.  Go slow, boys. The fastest way to lose a girl is to throw away the process.

Now a word to the girls: there’s nothing wrong with going out with a boy. If you don’t like him, don’t say yes. If you do, it’s okay- if he does his job, you’re not saying yes to a marriage proposal, you’re just getting free coffee and a chat that could lead somewhere awesome if you don’t freak out and run away.

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The Mystery of Redolence

Just curious, but why is it that every time you hang out in a coffee shop (though I am not actually drinking coffee… I’m drinking tea… yeah, I’m disappointed about it too), that you walk away with a stonger scent on your person than the actual coffee shop contains? It winds up in your hair, laced throughout the fibers of your garments, and penetrates into your very skin, to the point where nothing but a shower can rescue you from the aroma you now possess. And generally it winds up smelling more like bleach water, burnt espresso and Swedish meatballs than anything else. I was just wondering.

In A Nut Shell

Well, I think I owe all of you about 2 weeks worth of updates and thoughts. There’s much to talk about, but SO little time. I’m about to move from one apartment to another about 100 yards away, the interns I work with are graduating after 6 months of having their lives ruled for them, and then there’s Zack:)

So couple of weeks ago Zack and I just about got shot walking back to my apartment due to a stray bullet from a gag fight in the parking lot next to where I live. It’s not like it’s a terrible part of town, but hooligans love it here.

A few nights later we were in a park a couple miles down the road and nearly got attacked by two really angry loose dogs that had murder on their minds. Zack and I won the staring contest, but it almost gave us a heart attack. Also exciting.

Two or three nights after that we were in the same park and managed to spot a bobcat, one of the more furiocious cats in this part of the world. That was more weird than exciting.

But the most exciting part of it all is that I’m not drinking coffee. Yes, after 16 days I am caffeine-free! Did I mention it’s miserable? The remarkable thing is that I didn’t hit any withdrawal symptoms, but I am on the verge of violence today. The person who lives above me has really creaky floor boards (clearly not her fault), and napping was interrupted because of it today. I forgot how enraged I get when woken up out of a dead sleep by annoying sounds. All it would take is a nice cold-pressed brew and life would be beautiful, but I refuse. I’m going to make it- probably not forever, but for a while.

Then there was the failure of my power cord, wich rendered me technologically handicapped until yesterday when I electrically taped the snot out of it. It’s working okay now, probably more out of fear than a good taping job.   

However, the Lord is kind and giving me the ability to remember gratitude, which keeps me from burning things down when I get in that mood. All this to say, I have reasons for my lack of blogging. The throne room part 2 is on it’s way after this week’s graduation events and moving, so hang tight!

Do I have a problem or am I a connoisseur?

The problem with the over-produced machine called the coffee industry is the lack of attention to detail. Now, I’m not normally a picky person, but the Macchiato has to be one of the best ideas since the first person who picked the first coffee bean said, “Hey, I might have a sweet idea.” To my dismay, there is a vast amount of those who think the Macchiato is a tiny bit of lukewarm espresso, cups and cups of caramel syrup, and a minimum of a poud of whipped cream.  Who are you people?!

The other day I go to one of my favorite places in Kansas City to get away from the normal crowd, and find myself looked up and down by a Barista.

Definition:   a person who works at the counter of a coffee shop; a coffee bar server

I order the beloved beverage, which is intended to be a couple shots of espresso with a smiggen of rich foam on the top. The correct temperature is very important.

The poor sweet girl has likely had far too many people cross her path who order the Macchiato with gusto, assuming they will receive for their monies a gooey treat that would be better described as ice cream, rather than coffee, and then turning into a vicious  foe as they receive a small cup of what is rightfully understood as the Macchiato.

I was once a barista. I understand the false assumption… but I was still mildly insulted.

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