Tuesday Night Mixed Bag

My view this evening: blanketz on blanketz

My view this evening: blanketz on blanketz

Just what everyone wanted: a 20-year-old girl blogging about complicated feelings. Let’s start with Trader Joe’s.

Many of you who know me personally have probably heard me vocalize my dislike for the annoyingly hipster “grocery store.” Why the quotation marks? I do not believe in Trader Joe’s as a “grocery store” – it is, at best, a specialty store. It’s tiny and you should go there to buy random “treat yo self” things, like nice cheese or peanut butter-filled pretzels, not your entire grocery list. In addition, I have long sensed an aura of pretentiousness among the aisles of cleverly-named foods (the only one I’ve ever actually laughed at is the package of “Disraeli & Gladstone English muffins,” but that was only because I felt smart for knowing of 19th century British politicians). I have many other arguments against Trader Joe’s, but I believe the most pertinent to mankind is the sad quality of their toaster waffles. And, believing this sufficient to prove my point, I will leave the attack at that.

Much to my chagrin, a craving for pesto pasta sent me through the automatic doors of my local Trader Joe’s the other night. I would have gone to QFC, but alas – too far away. I was feeling the ideal amount of hatred for awhile, it was easy considering the packed-ness of a Pacific Northwest organic grocery store (“”) the Saturday before finals. I was doing okay. Until I saw a giant wedge of brie for $3.11. And then a little bag of peanut butter cups for 99 cents. And then the checkout girl was genuinely pleasant and told me she liked my choice of nail color. I walked home under a foggy sky, with a foggy mind. What does this mean for my future as an opponent to Trader Joe’s…? God knows I’ll be going there again when I want some brie. Which is like… every day.

Similar to this, I have been extremely surprised in the last few days by how much I enjoy She & Him’s new album, Classics. I was kind of over Zooey “the reason bangs were invented” Deschanel’s voice and quirky persona for awhile, but it turns out old things become new again. Who’d have known. Love ya, Zooey – even if your character in (500) Days of Summer forever cursed the way I see myself in relationships. (it’s 10:25pm and I just downed a giant glass of milk, things are getting real here on Mishaps & Musings)

One thing I am not confused about in the least is this, which has been circulating recently:


Usually I succeed in keeping my mouth shut, but GUYS! No! I’ll admit I have chuckled (hate that word) through the odd episode of Duck Dynasty, and I do not judge those who do so on a more regular basis. But there are SO many things about this that annoy me. Mainly, jack, D-list reality stars being modern embodiments of the disciples is not a fact. Like at all. Aside from the words and the crazy argument they make up, I do not like the pixelated photos, I do not like the unnecessary exclamation marks, and I do not like the font used at the bottom. In summary: ugh.

On a happier note: I have one final left and a hearty breakfast to look forward to tomorrow. I’m gonna go listen to She & Him, read I Am Malala, and brush my teeth. May you all have a splendid Wednesday!


The coffee conformist

photo (29)

Despite being a) an inhabitant of the Pacific Northwest, b) a college student / generally sleep-deprived person, and c) the daughter of a triple tall americano addict, I never really got into the whole coffee thing. Up until I graduated high school, I would order lemonade at Starbucks, and for another two years after I never strayed from iced, unsweetened green tea. I had not consumed a drink with coffee in it until roughly six months ago. Tall, iced, non-fat mocha. I was annoyed with the sheer number of words I had to rattle off in order to get said drink, but I remember enjoying the unfamiliar rush of caffeine, describing it as “fun” to anyone who would listen to my chatter.

The next day, I repeated the process. This time, however, I felt like I was experiencing the physical symptoms of a panic attack, having so much energy coursing through my body with practically no outlet (sitting in lecture doesn’t require much exertion). I decided, at this point, that I was not going to pay five dollars a day for something that made me feel like my brain was out-growing my head. And then a week later multiple passersby witnessed me exiting Starbucks with a tall, iced, non-fat, decaf mocha in hand.

Due to the suburban lack of cozy, indie coffeehouses and my own laziness in the area of drink-making, the coffee thing did not present much of a problem while I was living at home over the summer. Upon my return to the city, though, it became quite the opposite – a coffee shop about a block away from campus lured me in with the free wifi and enormous peanut butter cookies, and who was I to ignore my forgotten flame, the mocha? In an effort to seem more chill and less high-maintenance, I dropped the “iced” and “decaf,” even though I have never been a hot drink person and I know quite well by now what caffeine does to my… wellness. The power of conformity, guys, I’m telling you.

And – I say this quite mournfully – now the non-fat mocha has pretty much become a part of my daily life. It seems as if each one I get has less chocolate and more coffee (particularly the one I’m drinking right now, which I accidentally ordered as a double-shot… when the barista asks, just say yes to avoid any potential awkwardness), and by this time next week I very well may be drinking my coffee black. The funny thing is that I feel like this has just happened to me. Like it has been out of my control. It’s, like, 8:30 in the morning, and I’m in this coffee shop full of books, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice reverberating off the walls, and I don’t want to be that pansy who orders an iced tea. You know? Chunky cardigan, hipster glasses, laptop open to WordPress, steaming mug of coffee; it just makes sense.

I didn’t want this to happen. But I suppose I just have to live with it now. Sorry, body. Sorry, wallet. Sorry, baristas who have to deal with me on a daily basis. Actually though.

On a separate note, my recommended songs of the week: