Sassy Wifey: Crazy weather and the post in which Phil gets the nickname "Martian."
This weather is killin' me. I get all geared for warm weather and dressing for work in cooler clothes, just to arrive at work (which has somehow been transformed into a virtual wind tunnel) and be blasted by chilly air. Or I think that I'm on my game because just two days ago I went to work and it was very cold, so today I'll dress more warmly. Suddenly the wind tunnel at work shuts down and I arrive to a smelly, sweltering armpit of a warehouse. Nice. And I'm bundled up, which would be fine if I had my nose bundled too. I just can't win with this weather. Dressing for work is like going on daytrips now; dress in layers.
My $400 espresso machine has taken a crap. A big crap. A big coffee-smelling crap. This is aggravating for a couple reasons: my need for coffee-induced speed in the morning and also because it is only like the bazillionth thing to break in this household as of late. But the most absolutely aggravating part has to do with the reasoning behind the purchase of it:
One day back in April I asked Phil to go into Starbucks and get me a tall, iced mocha with whip. This wasn't an unusual request, something we did nearly everyday lest I spend the whole morning, afternoon and evening complaining about having to drink weenie, sucky, pissy wee-wee, home-brewed coffee. On this trip Phil was taking forever...and ever...and ever. I figured our caffeine-craving planet happened to align with everyone else's caffeine-craving planets and we all collectively arrived at the same exact Starbucks, thus the baristas were frazzled and understaffed for this event and poor Phil was standing in a line so long that it eventually became concentric circles. Boy...I felt bad for him.
Then something odd happened. He came out of Starbucks with my tall, iced mocha with whip and walked to the trunk of our car. Huh? He opened the trunk. Now, I'm not only confused but a little angry. I couldn't figure out if he was playing games with me, like "You want your coffee? Haha, come get your coffee!" or if he was just plain mental from standing in that imagined horrendous line. But then a chipper-looking barista bounced out the door with a big box in her hands and brought it to our trunk. And honestly, everything faded to silence in my head...there were no traffic sounds, no people talking outside, no birds chirping---the only sound reverberating through my head was one loud, thunderous thought, "OH HELL NO."
I think the desired reaction he wanted from me was uninhibited joy and gleefulness but all I could think is, "I sent him into Starbucks to buy ONE FREAKIN' CUP OF COFFEE and he buys a FREAKIN' COFFEE MACHINE?! IS THIS A MARS/VENUS THING?!"
As soon as he got into the car he was all about telling me how this was a cost efficiency thing because after all, we'd be saving at least $3 a day plus gas (which now, come September and $3.00/gallon gas prices, is definitely a selling point). Alright...so I say, "That's all well and good my Martian husband but how much was our initial investment?" And you know...it's always so bad when the Martian can't tell you the actual price of something and instead hands you the receipt. This is never, ever a good thing and it is because the Martian knows that when I hear whatever the amount is, my eyes will bulge out and shoot redhot flames at whatever (or as the case maybe WHOMEVER) I'm looking at and he'd rather I incinerate a receipt instead of his head. So yeah, it was $400, more accurately it was in the "late $300s." And before you get all, "Well Smudge he was trying to do something special for you. I wish my Martian would buy me something like that," please know that my Martian only did it because he was sick of going the coffee shop daily and spending all of those visits actually fetching the coffee for me himself. That's all. It was no "Hey baby it's your special day because I got you a special espresso brewing machine because you're my super hot lover" type of gift.
It was more like a "I am sick of doing this. If I have to see the Starbucks green sign and their sickly coffee-colored decor for another day I may fold myself into a kite and fly away. I don't like going to Starbucks daily. I don't like YOU going to Starbucks daily. And I really hate standing in line at Starbucks on a near daily basis. So I'm spending $400 so I can sit on my ass and you can make your own damned mocha." Sweet, huh?
But here is the deal: I don't know HOW TO MAKE A MOCHA AT HOME. I END UP ASKING MARTIAN TO MAKE THE HOMEMADE MOCHA BECAUSE HE DOES IT BETTER. I get how to brew espresso, it's the part where you make the espresso into a mocha that confuses me. Hmmm....guess you could say that plan backfired on him.
And now it has taken a crap. Just about the time that it would start "saving" us money (and please don't get me started on the cost of espresso grounds, extra milk and cocoa mix I needed to purchase) it died. All I wanted (and still want) is a good espresso-laden cup of mocha...with whip.
My $400 espresso machine has taken a crap. A big crap. A big coffee-smelling crap. This is aggravating for a couple reasons: my need for coffee-induced speed in the morning and also because it is only like the bazillionth thing to break in this household as of late. But the most absolutely aggravating part has to do with the reasoning behind the purchase of it:
One day back in April I asked Phil to go into Starbucks and get me a tall, iced mocha with whip. This wasn't an unusual request, something we did nearly everyday lest I spend the whole morning, afternoon and evening complaining about having to drink weenie, sucky, pissy wee-wee, home-brewed coffee. On this trip Phil was taking forever...and ever...and ever. I figured our caffeine-craving planet happened to align with everyone else's caffeine-craving planets and we all collectively arrived at the same exact Starbucks, thus the baristas were frazzled and understaffed for this event and poor Phil was standing in a line so long that it eventually became concentric circles. Boy...I felt bad for him.
Then something odd happened. He came out of Starbucks with my tall, iced mocha with whip and walked to the trunk of our car. Huh? He opened the trunk. Now, I'm not only confused but a little angry. I couldn't figure out if he was playing games with me, like "You want your coffee? Haha, come get your coffee!" or if he was just plain mental from standing in that imagined horrendous line. But then a chipper-looking barista bounced out the door with a big box in her hands and brought it to our trunk. And honestly, everything faded to silence in my head...there were no traffic sounds, no people talking outside, no birds chirping---the only sound reverberating through my head was one loud, thunderous thought, "OH HELL NO."
I think the desired reaction he wanted from me was uninhibited joy and gleefulness but all I could think is, "I sent him into Starbucks to buy ONE FREAKIN' CUP OF COFFEE and he buys a FREAKIN' COFFEE MACHINE?! IS THIS A MARS/VENUS THING?!"
As soon as he got into the car he was all about telling me how this was a cost efficiency thing because after all, we'd be saving at least $3 a day plus gas (which now, come September and $3.00/gallon gas prices, is definitely a selling point). Alright...so I say, "That's all well and good my Martian husband but how much was our initial investment?" And you know...it's always so bad when the Martian can't tell you the actual price of something and instead hands you the receipt. This is never, ever a good thing and it is because the Martian knows that when I hear whatever the amount is, my eyes will bulge out and shoot redhot flames at whatever (or as the case maybe WHOMEVER) I'm looking at and he'd rather I incinerate a receipt instead of his head. So yeah, it was $400, more accurately it was in the "late $300s." And before you get all, "Well Smudge he was trying to do something special for you. I wish my Martian would buy me something like that," please know that my Martian only did it because he was sick of going the coffee shop daily and spending all of those visits actually fetching the coffee for me himself. That's all. It was no "Hey baby it's your special day because I got you a special espresso brewing machine because you're my super hot lover" type of gift.
It was more like a "I am sick of doing this. If I have to see the Starbucks green sign and their sickly coffee-colored decor for another day I may fold myself into a kite and fly away. I don't like going to Starbucks daily. I don't like YOU going to Starbucks daily. And I really hate standing in line at Starbucks on a near daily basis. So I'm spending $400 so I can sit on my ass and you can make your own damned mocha." Sweet, huh?
But here is the deal: I don't know HOW TO MAKE A MOCHA AT HOME. I END UP ASKING MARTIAN TO MAKE THE HOMEMADE MOCHA BECAUSE HE DOES IT BETTER. I get how to brew espresso, it's the part where you make the espresso into a mocha that confuses me. Hmmm....guess you could say that plan backfired on him.
And now it has taken a crap. Just about the time that it would start "saving" us money (and please don't get me started on the cost of espresso grounds, extra milk and cocoa mix I needed to purchase) it died. All I wanted (and still want) is a good espresso-laden cup of mocha...with whip.
Labels: sassy wifey
posted by Jen Spedowfski-Martin at
1:15 AM
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