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how to make your local coffee mistress implode — landlord version

~ To start, and to get off on just the right foot, be sure to have baby button eyes. Never cover them with sunglasses to keep freakage at a minimum.

~ Before your Local Coffee Mistress (LCM) moves in, call an electrician to add the 220 line she needs in her space. Work that she did agree to pay for.

~ But don’t give her a chance to find her own contractor.

~ Don’t give her an estimate.

~ Just have the work done without her knowledge.

~ When the job is done, present her with a random “bill” that you typed up on your computer informing her it cost $1500.

~ Refuse to provide a copy of the actual invoice from the actual — and, of course, legitimate — contractor you employed.

~ Hang c*otch “art” in a common room.

~ Don’t listen when business people and moms attending a “Mother’s Day event,” and little old ladies from The Salvation Army are flabbergasted and complain.

~ Insist that gaye pryde posters be hung on doorways in your LCM’s space, posters that your LCM’s gaye customers complained about.

~ Hang gaye beefcake posters in a common public hallway.

~ Say “but a portion of the proceeds goes to help a charity for gaye men with AIDS.”

(An aside from me. Okay. So let’s hang huge posters to tempt their lust. Then maybe they’ll go and get themselves sick. But at least as they’re sick and dying, we can feel good that they’ll need all this money we raised from selling these supersexy posters. Hey! How ’bout after this, we host a kegger here at the beer and wine lounge for Mother’s Against Drunk Driving! I just think it’s insulting — to gay people.)

~ Enter your LCM’s shop at any time during her business day — especially if customers are around — to discuss what you call important business issues and she calls harassment.

~ Show up with bills for completely made-up things.

~ Pester her for a photocopy of her driver’s license even after she’s
told you she had an identity theft FROM HER DRIVER’S LICENSE.

~ When asked the reason why it’s needed, tell 3 different stories on 3 separate occasions.

~ About a week later, enter her business space in illegal possession of a Notary Public’s Journal.

~ Hand the journal to your LCM, opened, and demand she write personal information in it — driver’s license, Social Security number. Stuff she said she wasn’t going to give you without verification of why it’s needed.

~ Leave it there for her to fill out.

~ Bitch at her when you find she hasn’t cooperated … again. Damn her!

(Note to Baby Button Eyes: You cannot walk around with those journals. You are not a notary. It is illegal. Oh, and even if you are a notary, you can’t notarize your own transaction. Or whatever the heck that even was.)

~ Tell her, in this same conversation, “This isn’t working for meeee. Maybe you need to look for another space.”

~ Back down seconds later when your LCM stares you down and says, “Okay. When do you want us out?”

(More to come on HTMYLCMI — Landlord Version …. oh, yessss …. and stay tuned for HTMYLCMI — Customer Version.)

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buster and simba

Some days at B*heme ain’t all bad. Today, two giant dogs fell in love with me. And I with them. In honor of our love, I kept clicking away, taking crappy cell phone photos. It’s a gift. Still …. Meet Buster and Simba, 2-year-old, 150-pound Great Danes:

Simba in the front. Buster next to him. Staring at the traffic. To be fair, the traffic mesmerized them just as much as I did.
buster-simba2.jpg

Even enormous canines like Diedrich coffee:
buster.jpg

“Oh, Tracey, min elskede ….. here, let me please to kiss you …. pay no attention to deh spittle on deh nose …. may I please to sit in your lap?”
buster2.jpg

Which he really did try to do. I just couldn’t get a picture of it. I was too busy being crushed under the weight of a giant, lovesick, caffeinated dog.

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random me-me

From Sheila.

1. Is your second toe longer than your first?
No. But kudos for cutting to the heart of the matter here.

2. Do you have a favorite type of pen?
I go through pen fetishes. I don’t like muddy, gloppy-feeling kind of pens. Pens that behave like birds pooing on my page actually enrage me. Medium point pens have this problem a lot. For me, anyway.

3. Look at your planner for March 14, what are you doing?
Planner?? Hahahahahahahaha!

4. What color are your toenails usually?
My toenails are usually toenail color. I need to do something about that because my feet are extremely cute and painting the toes would, I’m sure, bring more light and joy into a dark dark world full of medium-point bird-poo pens. I’m just saying, is all.

5. What was the last thing you highlighted?
I don’t know. My plannner?

6. What color are your bedroom curtains?
They are off-white linen. I guess.

7. What color are the seats in your car?
They are grey.

8. Have you ever had a black and white cat?
No. What’s with all the color questions, Memey? I feel like a first grader. Like you’re testing my color identification prowess.

9. What is the last thing you put a stamp on?
A bill? A love letter to myself? I don’t know.

10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wyoming?
No. But I know someone from Wyoming who wants to move back to Wyoming.

11. Why did you withdraw cash from the ATM the last time?
For my p*rn addiction. How retarded. Obviously, to give to the thug standing behind me with a gun in the small of my back. Duh. Why else?

12. Whose is the last baby that you held?
Held? Hm. Well, today at Boheme, an 11-month-old baby from Espana named Manuel flirted recklessly with me. But I didn’t hold him. No, he just would have fallen too deeply in love and then refused to go home with his weird, Hammer Time pants- wearin’ Euro pappy.

13. Unlucky #?
I dislike all uneven numbers. And I was born on one. Hence, the birth of my generalized mania.

14. Do you like Cinnamon toothpaste?
No. But at first, I thought that said CinnaBON toothpaste. Which would be something else altogether.

15. What kind of car were you driving 2 years ago?
Since you like colors so much, Memey, I will say “a black one.” Ooooh.

16. Pick one: Miami Hurricanes or Florida Gators?
What’s that now?

17. Last time you went to Six Flags?
I never have. Hence, the birth of my generalized mania.

18. Do you have any wallpaper in your house?
No.

19. Closest thing to you that is yellow?
A cup. OHMYGAWWWD!!! Aren’t you glad you asked that??

20. Last person to give you a business card?
Some wiener who wanted to get me all excited about his uber-fab magazine. It did not work.

21. Who is the last person you wrote a check to?
Diedrich Coffee. Not a person, but whatevs.

22. Closest framed picture to you?
Picture of my nieces and nephews.

23. Last time you had someone cook for you?
My mother-in-law, actually. About a month ago.

24. Have you ever applied for welfare?
No. Haha! Not yet, anyway.

25. How many emails do you have?
Tons. Tonnytontons. What??

26. Last time you received flowers?
A few months ago from a customer. Okay. It was that Spanish baby, Manuel. As I said, he loves me.

27. Do you play air guitar?
No. I do play the air pan flute, though. Watch out, Zamfir!

28. Has anyone ever proposed to you?
Uh, 3 times. My answers were as follows: Yes. Yes, then no. And YES.

29. Do you take anything in your coffee?
Yes.

30. Do you have any Willow Tree figurines?
You mean, one of these?
willowtree.jpg
Uhm, no.

But I had Precious Moments army once. And each year, another droopy-eyed Precious soldier would be added to the ranks during that annual pageant of passive-aggressive giftgiving called Christmas. I’d smile real big, faking delight and faking it badly, and then dutifully display them in my bedroom, lining them up in perfect Precious military rows. They were gross. Later, my Preciouses met with horrible, unexpected deaths when I threw them one by one into the trash and — they broke.

31. What is/was your high school’s rival mascot?
It was the Monarchs. Also those menacing Foothillers.

32. Last person you spoke to from high school?
I haven’t kept in touch. It was not a great time for me.

33. Last time you used hand sanitizer?
Today. At Boheme.

34. Would you like to learn to play the drums?
No. When I think of playing drums, I always think of that one-armed drummer from Def Leppard wildly slinging his spare arm all over the place. And then that empty dangling sleeve on the other side of his body. And then I shiver and sob. So, no, thankee.

35. What color are the blinds in your living room?
No more color questions. They are seriously bugging me.

37. Last thing you read in the newspaper?
I read some article about the loss of privacy. Later that same day, I answered a bunch of nosy-ass questions online.

38. What was the last pageant you attended?
Pageant? Well, every day is a pageant at Boheme. Ask my customers. They’ll tell you. “I am the Queen of this” and “I am the Queen of that” and “I am the Queen of queens.” I have to shut down before a spontaneous swimsuit competition erupts.

39. What is the last place you bought pizza from?
Lefty’s. YUM.

40. Have you ever worn a crown?
I’m sure I have. Not based on anything I’ve actually done to warrant it, however.

41. What is the last thing you stapled?
WHO CAAAAAAARES???

42. Did you ever drink clear Pepsi?
No, I don’t like soda. Unless it’s Fresca.

43. Are you ticklish?
Yes.

44. Last time you saw fireworks?
This summer.

45. Last time you had a Krispy Kreme doughnut?
Uhm, I hate to sound sacrilegious or something, but I don’t like Krispy Kreme doughnuts. They seem flat to me. Aren’t they flat? They’re kinda flat.

46. Who is the last person that left you a message & you actually returned it?
My friend V.

47. Last time you parked under a carport?
Oh, let me check my plannnnnner to see if I made a note of THAT. Shut up.

48. Do you have a black dog?
No. color. questions.

49 . Have you had your mid life crisis yet?
I started when I was 6, so yes.

50. Are you an aunt or uncle?
Si. Yo soy una tia. Tia buena y muy bonita!

51. Who has the prettiest eyes that you know of?
MB. They are the bluest blue and he has the longest eyelashes.

52. What kind of soap or body wash do you use?
I’m always changing that. Something that smells good. And citrus-y. I love citrus scents. Because of my acidic nature, you see.

53. Do you remember Ugly Kid Joe?
Eh??

54. Do you have a little black dress?
Uhm, no, actually.

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the long boo-bye, part 1

I don’t know how this will all turn out. Not B*heme. B*heme will be over soon. No. I mean this. These posts about it. I’m literally writing off the top of my head here. And that’s how I’ll do it. I don’t want to overthink it because I’m exhausted about it in general. I don’t need to become more exhausted trying to eke out posts about it. So these will be more like journal entries, I suppose. Likely full of ranting and rambling and hyperbole and fingerpointing. (If you think that doesn’t sound like a journal entry, you’ve never read my journals. And, you know, thanks for that, seriously.)

So. Pointless, incoherent ramblings? Bitter rage and recriminations? You need to jump on this merry-go-round of fun NOWWW!!

Okay. First, here’s a truth: We’ve discovered, MB and I — over probably the longest seven months of our lives — that we really WANT to have a coffeehouse. We really DO. Oh, yes, indeedy. More than anything, we want to lounge behind a large window every morning, sensuously sipping our espressos, tempting all the passersby, you know, like those hardworking hookers in Amsterdam.

BUT.

When people come and knock on our window and want to be serviced, we want — more than ANYTHING, I tell ya — for people to drop money at our lazy feet while we laugh and laugh and laugh and LAUGH.

Hey, I said it was a truth. I didn’t say it was nice. Basically, we want to make lots of money at a coffeehouse that nobody comes to but us. And if I could flop in my jammies, do crosswords, and read, so much the better. I mean, this is just what we’ve learned after lo! these many aggravating months. Really — okay, let’s be honest — we want, as sober, healthy, childless, white US citizens to be richly rewarded for doin’ nuthin’ but hanging out and drinking coffee.

So if any of you know of such an opportunity, you can email me, mmkay?

But do it now, before I implode.

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then suddenly you’re 18 and in love with a stranger

Uhm, so I happened to catch Oprah today. And it was all about the new movie based on Beatles’ songs, Across the Universe. Which, by the way, looks astonishing. Really truly. So at one point during the show, the basically unknown (except for Evan Rachel Wood) cast members came out, one by one, and sang a medley of Beatles’ tunes. Including a dark-haired, dark-eyed kinda scruffy fellow who sang “All My Lovin’.”

Then it happened, you see. Something weird with my heart. There was just something about that scruff and something about the tilt of his head and something about the secret gleam in his eyes — and I was gone. My heart went all clutchy because, well:

sturgess.jpg
(He doesn’t have that fetching scruffiness he had today. Hm. My love has dimmed the teensiest bit looking at this.)

But still before you all freak out, rest assured that I have just discussed this with MB and he understands all about this new heart-throbby boyfriend to my 18-year-old self. Well, I’m not sure it’s that he “understands” as much as “doesn’t care” because he is “secure” in my “love.”

It went just like this:

ME: See that dude? I am in love with him.
HE (reading a magazine): Uhhmm-huhhhhhmmm.
ME: You understand, don’t you?
HE: (see above): Uhhmm-huhhhhhmmm.

Okay. Whatever, Peaches. But may I remind you:

sturgess.jpg
(I think I love you, Jim Sturgess. Or your momentary scruffiness. No. No, wait. I’m sure it’s you.)

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the face that haunts my days

AKA, Reason #1 for the End of Bo-Em:

bbe.jpg

He is not surprised. He is not scared. He is not standing agape at Britney’s performance at the VMAs. Nope. He is Baby Button Eyes and he looks this way all the time. He is The Overlord. And you just never know if he’s lurking around the next corner, plotting how to make your life impossible at Bo-Em.

And no — no, not Bo-heem, dude. Bo-EM. (Gah. I HATE THAT! That right there is, like, Reason #Something!)

But you must look at this face. I know it’s hard. But you must. I want you to get to know him. Size him up. Try. It’s hard because of the inscrutable button eyes, but just climb into the mania — or whatever it is — that’s there. Because we’ll be talking about ole Baby Button Eyes. Soon.

Oh, yes, we will.