Yes, we’re back! Or at least I am. Rachel is out in real life somewhere sleeping/drinking tea/applying to grad school/Autostraddling. Those are the things I imagine Rachel doing when she is not being a barista.
All right then. Onto business.
Today is my day off! (Kind of!) As I’ve been selling things or ringing up things every day for the past two weeks, having a day off feels like Christmas. More than Christmas will feel like Christmas, I expect, since I’ll probs have to work on the Eve and the day after. I have an article due tomorrow morning for my newspaper gig and I’ve spent the morning doing research, so technically my day isn’t work-free –– I have to call sources and write it up later, not to mention NaNo –– but the Sister Figure should be showing up any time now to go to a movie and/or shoe browse with me. I AM READY.
The ladies at [clothing store] gave me a nickname! In my brief career I have held… eleven jobs? And not once have I been given a nickname by a coworker. Even at [other retail giant], where my supervisor gives everyone a nickname –– Grandpa, Paris, et cetera –– I don’t have one. They don’t seem to stick to me. But my friends at [clothing store] have dubbed me “Barbara Bush” because, fashionwise, “You should be married to a president.” I was going for a hot librarian kind of look, but I’ll take it.
Johnny Weir is a judge on Skating with the Stars. This means that despite the presence of “star” Bethenny Frankel, I now feel obligated to watch the show.
Market Basket. You guys, I went to one of these the other day and it is SO MUCH CHEAPER than where I usually buy groceries! It costs three dollars to buy tahini! Three. Dollars. The only reason I had never tried to make hummus, before this week, was because tahini cost eight at my usual grocery store. Now I have made hummus. It is glorious. I will shop at Market Basket forever, or at least until I move out of my parents’.
Similarly, I love my food processor. It is tiny and cute and gets the job done. Part of me wants to pat it on the lid after I cook and say, in a terrible impersonation of James Cromwell, “That’ll do, processor. That’ll do.”