It's nice to have a friend

This morning, I woke up on a black futon in a basement. My arm was asleep and my phone was beeping and everything was groggy, so, fuddled, I pressed "dismiss" on the alarm and woke up forty-five minutes later at ten twenty-eight.

We ended up pulling out of the driveway and it was still before noon.

We drove to Edgartown because Katie had an urge to go there so I grabbed my wallet and I was excited to buy a muffin and a latte, because even though it wouldn't be a Che's latte it would still be tasty right about then.

McPhails: Thanks for a great season! See you in April! Okay, fine.

Among the Flowers: Being renovated? Whatever.

So we hopped back in the car and settled for Espresso Love because it's the only place open year round all week in Edgartown. Just one of many reasons down town Edgartown is probably the lamest town on the island. We drove for three minutes and parked on Winter street because the roads in Edgartown are all one way and there would be a lot of driving if we parked anywhere else. So we walked by the bus station and through that little back alley way that leads the the parking lot by the movie theatre and E Love. I screamed when every parking space in the whole lot was empty. I JUST WANTED A GOD DAMN MUFFIN! HOW F*#^$@&* MUCH IS THAT TO ASK? Is what I shouted.

By the time we'd walked back to the car it was one o'clock and the people at the bus station had heard me having a tantrum but I didn't care because my stomach was growling and I was so shocked that there was no where in Edgartown to get a cup of joe and something to eat. I still can't believe it.

On the way home, Katie and I sat silently in her '87 Oldsmobile. I thought of how uncomfortable it could be not to talk and how glad I am that we don't need to. It reminded me times when silence was worse than anything and how it was almost just as awkward to talk. You both know how the other person will respond to anything you say and you may as well not even be talking because everything brought up is not just stupid small talk, but the lamest of small talk. You know, when your palms are sweating and you feel more embarrassed with each tenth of a mile you drive and suddenly one of you says something like,

"I can't believe how nice out it is today. It's so sunny," if it's nice out, or,

"I hate this crappy weather," if it's raining. Even if you like rain you'll say you hate it and the other person will always say

"Yeah, I know. It sucks,"

And that's it. Maybe you nod for a couple seconds and do that weird flat thing that people do with their mouth that's meant to solidify something that was just said and the driver switches hands on the wheel but then it's back to silence. Then you play with your phone and sometimes if it's really dire, you play one of your phones' ringtones and you look at the screen like you're annoyed and you say,

"It's my brother. I bet he's wondering if I got his message last night. Sorry...'Hi, yeah. Pause. No I told you I was staying over. Pause. Well--ye--yea--YES I did. Pause. Okay I'll talk to you later. Pause. Okay I'll make sure. Pause. Bye,"

I'm glad I don't have to do that.

I want coffee

Coffee's just a great thing that's warm and when you swallow it you feel it blanket every tube and intestine until the temperature of your body and the temperature of the coffee balance each other out, the way two lovers might, to create the most content feeling you've had all day.

I've had coffee all over the place but my favorite coffee remains to be a latte from Che's. It's so nice because someone bought that whole milk at the Stop & Shop checkout a quarter mile down the street and they put the change in their shirt pocket and they carried the milk back to the building and they had to wipe the condensation off of their left hand when they put it in the little fridge. They hand-packed coffee grounds and let them drain into tiny little glasses while they steamed that milk from the Stop & Shop a quarter mile down the street at for the perfect amount of time. And the same hands that put the excess one dollar and nine cents into the front pocket of a shirt gives you a mug full of heartfelt latte and and it's warm on your palms and there's foam on the top.

What I don't particularly enjoy is coffee from places like Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks. I still, to this day, never remember that my "barista" expects me to let them know that I want cream and no sugar in my regular small coffee. Behind the counter is a coffee maker (coffee dispenser, rather) that spits out some shit that's made as soon as a button is pushed and on the same machine, a few tablespoons of low grade milk that arrived in a case of twenty trickles into your scalding cup of mud. No brewing or waiting or love or any of those things that makes drinking coffee so enjoyable.

Another hassle about off-island coffee business is that it's so industrial. I was once at a coffee kiosk at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. I picked out a styrofoam cup from one of three cup dispensers and the cup was white with some leaves that were meant to suggest these cups are green, and there were words on the cup that read MADE FROM 25% RECYCLED MATERIAL. I moved on down to the coffee dispensers and two signs let me choose decaf or regular. WE PROUDLY BREW STARBUCKS® COFFEE. Proudly? I inspected the dispenser for a hastened bit because there was a man with white hair in a suit waiting behind me, but the thing looked like it was from outer space. It was silver and it had a lever that was black plastic and I couldn't find the damn spout so I crouched a little and peered up at God knows what. I just saw a bunch of dark, dripping plastic, so I guessed that the dripping was from coffee poured previously and I stood up and put my cup back where the spout appeared to be and I pulled the little lever and the next thing I know my cup is on the counter and I'm shrieking and my hand is red. I was shocked and angry that the spout was not where I thought it would be. All I could do was huff because my instinct was not to cry in public and I was teetering on the edge of bursting out and sobbing. I've never been so close to tears without actually crying, but tears finally did emerge when I sat down with my new cup of coffee and my other cup which was full of ice. I put my thumb, the majority of the scalded area, in the ice and grimaced.

I guess I'm just used to this little place.

I went shopping

Today at about twelve in the afternoon I ventured out to the thrift shop. With sixty dollars in my back pocket, I went in ready to spend.

I found fake Bean Boots that would not forgive my high instep, some old fashioned post cards which I put back, some posters, a book, and a brooch. A couple days ago, I bought some socks and an ashtray. I always get socks because they're fifty cents and I know I won't grow out of them.

I didn't have any real luck in the clothing department. I've been checking out the books and kitchenware more than anything lately because Wuthering Heights won't give me muffin top and a used Shakespeare coffee mug won't go out of fashion.

When I paid for the posters and the book, the older woman behind the counter looked at me through her 90's specs and asked,

"Would you like a bag for these?"

And I said that I didn't and she looked appalled. She said,

"Well, okay," seeming worried for my new-used stuff, like putting my posters and my book in a little paper shopping bag would weatherproof my things or keep them safe or something. I imagined that she was probably thinking, she's so careless.

I saw the brooch laying there through the scratchy glass countertop while Katie paid for her findings and I told the woman that I wanted to buy that brooch, too. She asked if I wanted a bag for the thing, and I most certainly did not want a bag because I only paid three dollars for it, but I told her I did so that she wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

When I left the thrift store, I still had fifty-two dollars and I was surprised about that. I felt burnt out about it, too. Kind of like I was squeezing out every last will to buy. Maybe if I go shopping once a week, something amazing will occur. This is an underlying thought of mine. The only amazing thing is how fast five and five and five add up to fifteen and how my twisted desire for the number of hideous, oversized sweaters I bring home cannot be leashed. It's like buying lunch when you're not hungry. It doesn't do anything for you except for empty your pockets and make your pants smaller.

Thursday

Some people are just not people you can trust. For instance, the friend who snips pictures from your last month's Vogue magazine.

Excuse me, may I snip snip you?

So every day from that moment on, you look at this dimwit with cynical eyes, and spending your time with them becomes a burden because you now must keep a close eye on all of your magazines, or, similarly to any occasion when you know spittling infants are among you: hide the damn magazines.

The same person who robs you of your right to look at pictures while you read the latest celeb news will also always think that they are your dearest friend. They will most definitely call you up and ask for rides to places you would never otherwise trek, and they will borrow your money (in this case, the word "borrow" means "to take and keep"), and your clothes.

I've decided that I'm just not interested in such folk. Not no more.

Oh, and NO ONE is allergic to water. Please inform me if you are. Alright guys you win!