Because i deserve it!

Roll with the changes

I just wanted to remind people that it is late fall and we are moving at the same rate of speed into winter that we always do. As a result, it has begun to get colder. If you think back to last year, you'll note that it isn't really getting any colder any faster. And now remind yourself that it is not remarkable that it feels like winter in mid-November. In addition, be sure to remind yourself that it is bound to get colder yet, and note that that isn't going to be remarkable either. Then: hunker down and make a solemn promise that you will not marvel about the temperature unless the it rises more than 35 degrees above normal. And if you do that, I will make a solemn promise not to complain about people who complain about the weather.


Following a link from my referrer logs, I came across a result, where I saw a statement of my own, embedded in another blog. Remember the "[insert name] needs" meme? Another Christy, in CANADA, of all places, participated in the same meme, some time after I did, and her 10th result? "Christy needs to blog [something other than dumbass memes]". She prefaced this statement with "And last, but eerily not least:"

Put your arms down

Oh, the places I go.

Recently, a new coffee shop opened on my route to work: Artes Bela, which is located on Russell at Gravois in the old Marty's Baking location. I believe they opened on Monday, and I've already established myself as a regular morning customer. If I were the BGE, I'd be able to tell you who owns it, how much they spent, who did the decorating, and when the owner immigrated to the United States (I have managed to suss out that she's Brazilian). I know none of this stuff, except that she's very pretty and makes these awesome cheese rolls called Pćo de Queijo (pronounced something like powduh-kayshow). I'm addicted to these little warm puffs of cheese.

They serve lunch, too. I haven't made it for lunch yet, but can't wait to try the baked apple with apricot jam and brie sandwich. I also understand that they will be serving hors d'oeuvres in the evening (and I bet that includes Brazilian cheese balls).

Anyway, the barista (whose name I do not know, because I'm not the BGE) knows MY name, and, indeed, what I want, as soon as I walk in. I like this in a place. Today. Today found me, once again at the counter ordering an iced latte and 3 Pćo de Queijo, when, suddenly, my keys dropped out of my hand and into the crevice between the drinks cooler and the counter edge. Andrew, whose relationship with the shop was unclear, though he had one that obviously went beyond that of customer, and who didn't look Brazilian, but rather Asian, or Pacificer, or Philippino, tried vainly to find some tool with which to extricate my keys from the crevice. (I should mention that I have a great fear of dropping something important into a crevice, rendering whatever it is irretrievable). Finally, the barista decided that if Andrew could tip back the cooler, she could wedge into the gap far enough to grab my keys.

So there we were, a lovely tableau: Barista girl half-in, half-out of the slowly-waxing crevice, Andrew hugging and straining under the girth of the cooler, and me, standing there, cheeks flushed with embarassment, hands covering my eyes, for an interminable minute. "Voila!" she cried, righting herself, and dropping the keys in my hand. "See how much we love you?"

"Yeah," I said, gratefully. "Starbucks would have made me walk to work."