Weekend Coffee Share

Click the image to go to the linkup.

I’ve seen this thing floating around from Part-Time Monster. I can’t promise that I’ll do this every week, but I felt like doing it today.

If we were having coffee, I’d pour you a cup of my favorite Trader Joe’s coffee that I finally got off my butt and got this week.

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(Cole Saladino/thrillist.com)

I’ve been drinking this particular strain of coffee since I lived in Boston, so we’re going back nearly twenty years. If for any reason, I had to move out of the United States, Bay Blend is the one thing I would miss above all other things. In fact, I wouldn’t move anywhere within the U.S. that was landlocked or didn’t have Trader Joe’s.

Before I refilled supplies, I was drinking what I call “emergency coffee,” which is sub-standard coffee I keep around in case of… you guessed it… emergencies. Unlike most people, I don’t need a shower to wake up, but I absolutely, imperatively, must have coffee in the morning. Yet, Trader Joe’s is not the most convenient place to get to, so I keep a stash of barely drinkable beans around when I inevitably run out of Bay Blend and am too lazy to get more. But, this week, I have my lovely Bay Blend stores refilled, so no more crappy emergency coffee! Joy!

By the way, at thrillist where I stole that image, the person who reviewed it said it tasted of “fish sauce, burnt toast, lingering pipe tobacco, roasted ceder [sic].” Not only can he not spell, but he clearly has no sense of taste. Oh well, more for me.

I’m more than happy to give you a cup of my joe. The ultra dark roast will put hair on your chest. I’ll even give you some cream and sugar if you’re a sissy. Enjoy.

Anyway, now that we’ve both got coffee, I’d tell you that I’m feeling a little off this week. I have a generalized malaise (is that redundant?) and sense of disconnectedness with the world. Part of that could be the canceled plans to do our silly little role-playing game on Friday. Part of it could be my continued forgetfulness when it comes to taking my antidepressants. Part of it could be that I’ve never entirely felt connected in the first place. In any event, I just feel disconnected.

We’re coming up on the first anniversary of Male’s death and I still don’t know much more about what happened than I did then. I still do not have his writing that I asked for on day one. Someone somewhere has his hard drive, but nearly a year later, I still don’t have it and that fact kind of pisses me off. I’m still avoiding Facebook.

I’d tell you that I ran across this picture on my hard drive when looking for puppy pictures of my dog for this post.


And it made me sad. That’s one of my favorite picture of Male and I didn’t even know him then. He put his mohawk up with green spray paint and when he finally got rid of it, he cut it off in one piece, so for a long time, he had an intact green mohawk. I’m not sure what happened to it.

That picture was taken in Denny’s in Los Angeles around the same time as I was sitting in another Denny’s across the country with a mohawk of my own and had that Exploited skull painted on the back of my black leather jacket. We were so hardcore it hurt.

I’d tell you that’s the first picture I’ve ever posted here of Male and it feels a little strange, but it’s okay. He wouldn’t mind. He wasn’t nearly as protective of his image as I am since he didn’t have two monsters he’s hiding from. He was a towering 6’5″ man who intimidated everyone he met except for me. Neither of my monsters knew Male, so they can’t trace me through him. And now I’m probably going to be a little sad every time I see this image in my WP image library, but that’s okay, too.

I’d tell you that I’m on Instagram now and I don’t know what to do with it. I looked through the recommended people to follow this morning and it was mostly Kardashians and celebrities I couldn’t give two craps about. I know Instagram doesn’t know me since we just met, but I’m a little offended that it would ever recommend that I follow a Kardashian or Justin Bieber. Is that all it’s good for?

I’d tell you that someone, I’m not pointing fingers, sent me this in the mail and it made me laugh like crazy. I showed it to my sister and she sat down and read it. It became my inaugural post on Instagram.
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I’d tell you that I tried to embed that from Instagram into this post and it didn’t work. I don’t know why it didn’t work since Ra does that all the time. I’ve never been able to get the Twitter embed to work properly either. Perhaps it’s a Mac thing. Sometimes, I feel like a real tech-dunce, which is odd since a thousand years ago, I worked in IT. Back to my old standby: screenshots.

I’d tell you that every so often, I get obsessed with one song in my library. Even if I’ve heard it a thousand times before, hearing it at that exact moment just strikes a chord (pun not intentional, but it works). Yesterday, as I was driving to pick up wonton soup for my sick sister, this song came on my ipod and I became obsessed. It has to be one of the best songs ever composed for guitar. I don’t know how they can make so much sound with only two acoustic guitars. I must have watched this video at least five times yesterday. I’d make you watch this while I run to the bathroom (too much coffee).

Awesome, right? They make me wish I had any musical talent whatsoever. I guess I can’t be greedy since I can write and draw. Speaking of drawing, I’d tell you that I drew a dolphin this week and it felt good to draw something again. The last thing I drew was a golden retriever for my mom’s Christmas present, and before that, it was a dragon in July. I need to draw more.

I’d tell you that I badly need a haircut and it annoys me to have to spend money and talk to people to get one. I hate getting my hair cut, because hair stylists always want to talk to you through the whole thing. I wish there was a salon that specialized in introverts. “Have a seat.” Thirty minutes later… “OK, you’re done!” The inability to make small talk is exactly why I don’t mind going to the dentist.

I’d tell you that I’m glad you’re here. We should do this again sometime.