Back to Coffee Shops

I am back in the land of *PROPER COFFEE SHOPS*, and I am in love.

I am also curled up in a corner, on a tweed love-seat, sipping cold brew.

It’s not even the little things, so much. It’s more of a…hallmark of a certain lifestyle.

I think I may have officially come to the conclusion that NEVER AGAIN will I choose to live in a town with no coffee shops.

No megusta.

Bournemouth

Some day, I’m going to have my shit figured out enough to actually have a *working phone* when I fucking *land* in a country and I have half-baked fucking plans for someone to pick me up.

 

That didn’t happen this time around.

 

What did happen was getting picked up by my beautiful fucking Writing Buddy.

She and her husband got up at fucking *four in the morning* to drive to London to come get me.

 

They even got a loaf of tiger bread for me to eat in the car.

 

I’ve been trying to get back for five fucking years.

 

People talk about those moments when reality doesn’t quite feel like something that’s actually happening. (Or maybe they don’t. I don’t probably have any idea what people actually talk about.)

 

I’d been up for what felt like four days straight, and it seemed like the first time in a month that what I was doing wasn’t carving the rest of my life in stone.

It wasn’t decision, it wasn’t huge things, it wasn’t hoping I was doing the right thing.

It was my Writing Buddy pointing out landmarks she’d used in her work, and getting a little bit lost on the way out of London.

I got to her house, and she’d fucking bought me a mug with the union flag on it, because neither she nor her husband drink tea, but she’s listened to me be a tea snob for long enough that she decided I needed my own fucking mug.

 

 

Accents at the Bar

The other night at the bar I work at  a British guy was there –and he totally thought I was British.

(The way I sound is *so* weird at this point, kids. I’ve picked up so much bizarre phraseology from all over. I sound like some kind of weird mutt. It’s *fabulous*. Like. No one is ever really sure *where* I’m from. They’re just all sure that it’s ‘not from around here’.

I LOVE IT SO MUCH.)

Anyway.

 

It was great, because he was like ‘At first I thought you were from the North…’ and all I could think was

 

and then,  I said something, and for a while he thought I was Irish. Which. Like.

THAT IS ALSO ACCEPTABLE.

I WILL BE FROM IRELAND, FOR YOU FRIEND.

YES.

 

But like, I think the best part of all of this, is that he actually said I had “BROGUE”.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard an accent being called a ‘brogue’ outside of the amazing, fantastic, spectacular romance novels I’ve read?

HE ACTUALLY SAID ‘YOU SOUNDED LIKE YOU HAD A BROGUE THERE.’

 

I feel completely and utterly victorious about every life decision I have ever made right now.

Sweet Tea Vs. *TEA*

I…am a tea snob.

I’m honestly pretty proud of it. (Though honestly, I was indoctrinated into the church of Yorkshire Gold, and see no reason to turn my back to Glory.)

But.

Folk here in Texas *really* like sweet tea.

Now, if you’ve never had sweet tea, just imagine this: Take “tea”. Not *good* tea. Don’t bother using something that you actually want to be able to taste. Get the most shit, cheapest tea available.

Like, dollar-store tea.

Then, imagine this tea has been oversteeped to hell and back.

Why had this tea been oversteeped to hell and back?

Because, while it’s hot, they dump in a metric *fuckton* of sugar.

Like, maybe one cup of sugar to every cup of water in your tea.

For starters.

Some people add more to taste.

 

Anyway.

 

The point is:  I work at a place where tea and coffee are sold.

The other day, I had just gotten off work, and decided to have a nice cup of tea.

Only, I wasn’t paying attention, and I accidentally wound up with *sweet tea*.

 

*shudder*.

 

HOW CAN SOMETHING WITH THAT MUCH SUGAR IN IT STILL BE BITTER AS FUCK.

I was practically *shaking* from the sugar content.

and it was so bitter.

 

I DON’T GET IT.

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND SWEET TEA.

I’M SORRY.

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

Thunder

There has been thunder almost every day for the past fortnight.

It’s amazing.

I turn off all of the lights in the Vivarium and sit in the living room. I pull back the blinds on the door to the balcony and just watch the lightning.

There are morning when I wake up, because I can feel the vibration of the thunder through the floor.

Sometimes, I make a pot of tea and sit on the balcony, and just watch the storms go by.

The sky turns purple against the green trees of hill country, and lightening take up the entire horizon.

 

The world is so beautiful.

Status: Regular

I have officially reached the point where the coffee shop baristas start my order when they see me walk in the door. They give me a wave as they head out after their shift is over.

 

This….took a worryingly short amount of time to happen…

COFFEE SHOP: FOUND

YESSS!

It’s close to my house, has amazing loose-leaf tea, and a shockingly good internet connection.

Including a house Chai blend. LOOSE LEAF CHAI IS THE ONLY CHAI. Syrups are sadness and lies dissolved into sugar.

…Also they serve really good veggie quiche.

That Final Piece

I have found Mugs.

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And thus, the Vivarium has everything needed to keep this lizard happy and warm.

 

Especially because I am the *epitome* of classy beings, and don’t have a kettle. So, when I make a pot of tea, it’s me, boiling water in my soup pot, and making tea.

Best pot of tea *ever*.

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