The Look of Love

Sometimes I look around and see couples canoodling and holding hands and sharing "moments" and it leaves me with a sad emptiness. There I am, juggling my wallet to get the right change for a single shot espresso at a table for one, and there they are in a love seat holding hands with a Smitten Mitten sharing a fondue for two.

But nothing has left me feeling as lonely as this portrait of true love. Love's ideal; the Gibran poem in the Hummel figurine world:

Taking the Cooperative out of the Co-Op

Having returned to Brooklyn from a gloriously sunny Thanksgiving in Guatemala, I felt thankful to be living in a country where I don't have to worry about driving at night, taking the bus, or being a single white female in an urban area. I also returned to an empty refrigerator, so I decided to head to the Park Slope Food Co-Op for healthy provisions. A steady diet of fried plantains and red wine not an un-puffy girl make.

The moment I crossed the threshold, I knew I was in trouble. The patina of my holiday started to fade the moment I heard the screech of a child followed by the dulcet tones of a mother trying to reason with a 3 year old. I just thought to myself "In Guatemala, I never once saw a child misbehaving...not even at the airport..." Granted, I also saw a lot of children doing a lot of manual labor, but still!

I went to the bulk goods section in search of oats and coffee. I laughed to myself thinking of how my cart sometimes looked like a hobo's shopping list as I approached the free trade coffee bins. In mid-dispense action, a cart clipped my ankle and I yelped in pain. The woman driving the cart looked at me and without a flicker of apology or embarrassment said "I need to get over there." I looked at her for a moment, took in her floor length poncho that probably cost a small fortune in a Woodstock boutique, and replied "So simply say, I beg your pardon, may I make my way past you. It's quite easy. Let me know I am in your way, and chances are very high I will accommodate your wish." She just grunted and whacked me again with her cart.

My mind raced through the whole week I was away and did not encounter one rude person. In fact, everyone I dealt with the entire time in Guatemala was incredibly friendly. At first I thought it was because they knew I was a foreigner, but it wasn't just in the service industry, it was everywhere. On the street, at the airport, at the local bar...Maybe I was deluding myself and maybe it was because I am not from the region. But the intense irony of buying Guatemalan coffee in a store where common courtesy is out the window struck me. In fact, I am sure that poncho could have been woven by the nimble hands of any one of the young women I saw in Antigua, Guatemala. They have very little, but they smiled. Why can't the privileged wearer of such do the same?

Italian Goth Candy

Whilst buying Smartwater before my brickoven yoga class, I stood in line at Walgreen's in the candy aisle waiting for the next surly cashier to ring me up. There, in this aisle of discount Hallowe'en candy, I set eyes on what I thought to be an illusion. It was a box of Dots candy with one of the signature gumdrops depicted as a mini lumpy vampire- with wings and and a menacing look in its eye. Excitedly, I picked up the box because I figured "FINALLY! A pure licorice box of Dots. Hurrah!!!" But on closer inspection I saw that they are in fact blood orange flavor. WHA?! HOW HOW HOW did the candy gods come up with this one? Does the Tootsie company have an office in southern Italy? (I make this association because the first time I set eyes on a blood orange I was skiing in the Italian Alps with a bunch of Germans. Don't judge. I was 18.) I was afraid of trying them. Not for fear of them being vile, but what if they are THAT GOOD? I took my chances and at first I was a bit put off by the bitterness of them, and deemed them "acrylic painty" in flavor, but then I let the box breathe, like a fine wine, and the second blood orange bat Dot was tasty. I am in awe. Not too sweet, just tart enough, with the perfect signature soft gumdrop Dot texture. A trick for the eye, and a treat on the tongue.

Washington Irving's Tea Bag Quote

Oh come ON!
I finally get a temp assignment and yes, everyone is nice, the commute is a breeze (I don't even have to go above ground- i wikkid heart Rock Center sometimes), the environment is lovely, breaky and lunch are provided, yet...no access to private email! As Squeezannah put it, “It's like the olden tymes!”

It’s not even 2:00 p.m. and I have caught up on all my news, even a bit in German. (Showy offy, you might say, but really, does reading about Amy Weinhaus really count?)

All in all it is kinda nice to have structure in my day. Ask me again in two weeks.

I like the warm glow in the elevator bank. As I wait for the lift down, I marvel at how there is something about cherry wood walls coupled with 60 watt bulbs behind faux deco glass that makes me feel like a professional. Then I make my way to the cafeteria and see not only a spread of fruit and yogurt, but coffee buffet complete with sachets of Swiss Miss cocoa. Gone is the patina of professionalism and all I can think is “Imma gonna make a poor man’s mocha! Woot Woooooot!”

I refrained from concocting this gluttonous bachelorette drink, and instead opted for cherry herbal tea. Once I sat down at my corner desk, I noted the quote: “Great minds have purposes, other have wishes.”

Dude, I wish I had made that low brow mocha.

Trashy Ideas

Nobody likes a hobo joke as much as I do, but this line of bedding makes me uncomfortable (IRONY!). I am saddened and irritated that the company who produces these linens is called Dutch by Design. Put down the hashpipe and pick up your checkbook to make a donation to your local homeless shelter. Though 30% of the cost goes to support a homeless organization in the U.K. it seems like a bit of of unnecessary exercise in tongue-in-cheek economics. What's next, a Smeg refrigerator made to look like a NYC garbage can?

Think, Bitches, THINK!

so, i have been waiting for a package from UPS all morning. i went out to do laundry, and the truck was out front, so i waited inside. waited. waited. then i went outside again CHOMPING AT THE BIT to do laundry, and see the truck about 1/2 block away. i find the driver and ask if he has a package for 555 president street. he asks my name. then i say, apt. number. he shows me the package and says "yeah, i didn't know what this was, so i couldn't deliver it". i just looked at him and said "so you what would have happened to this package had i not tracked you down?" it would have gone back to the center with a MORE INFO request.

this is how the address was written out on the package:

TO: A9

Jessica van Campen

555 President Street

Brooklyn

are you fucking kidding me? perhaps he recognized A9 as his IQ score. i can see where that could get confusing.

Summer of Love

Summer is winding down, my tan is fading and I have incorporated the scarf back into heavy rotation as part of my uniform. Not much happened in the way of news for me, but I had two crushes. Dear reader, I present you with both of them:

This is Roscoe. He has a mohawk and no yap.

This is an apple on a picnic blanket. Note the perfect little red blush on its brow. It looks great on tartan.

And that was my summer, folks!