wanderings and ramblings

Last night, we got the unpleasant, unwelcome news that absolutely nobody else was available to cover the Saturday night bar shift, so Ian was roped into working. Lately his weekly schedule consists of four nights in a row, so I really only see him on weekends. Needless to say, this was a big disappointment for both of us, but we had a nice morning together, and when Ian left for work, I decided to get a manicure, pedicure, and massage.

On my way to the spa, I had a sudden craving for an iced latte, so I stopped at the cafe across the street. It is, in my mind, the essence of what a coffee shop should be. Guns N' Roses was blasting on the stereo and the two baristas were singing along at full volume. They looked the part: One had several tattoos, including an extremely lifelike tattoo of a pineapple spanning from her elbow to her collar bone, and the other looked like she just stepped out of the '50s beat scene. I loved the eclectic assortment of hanging glass light fixtures with exposed bulbs -- the kind with the oversized, old-school filaments -- and the penny tiles, which are sure to make an appearance in our home once we give up on this pseudo-itinerant lifestyle and buy a place. Most importantly, the latte was uber-tasty (undoubtedly because I forgot to ask for no fat, no sugar). And bonus: The place didn't smell like Starbucks. What is that smell? It's rank. And they all have it. Blech.

If I'm not careful, this could be habit-forming. And I have to walk by the place every single day. Good thing I walk by my gym every single day too.