All posts tagged: coffee shop

disney darth vader

I’m Kind of Embarrassed to Admit This

So like I said on Wednesday, it gets worse.  Except this part is more embarrassing than anything else, and I’m the one who’s embarrassed. Little-Miss-Junior-Frappucino’s mother is all excited about the new Star Wars movies.  She’s never seen Star Wars, and she knows nothing about Star Wars, but she’d like to take Junior Frappucino and her brother to see them, provided that the films are age appropriate. (I’m not sure when age appropriateness became such a huge concern of hers, seeing as Junior Frap is waddling around in Disney Princess stripper shoes, but far be it from me…) She begins polling various coffee shop patrons about their thoughts.  She polls the baristas too and my friend Rich the dog walker. “Are they good?” she asks. Of course they’re good, I find myself thinking.  Why do you think Disney just bought the rights to the last three? “They’re great,” Rich the dog walker replies.  “Except for the prequels.  But Lucas has given up ownership on the last three so there’s a chance they’ll actually be decent. …

kid on toilet

If You’re Too Young to Flush the Toilet…

I’ve been trying to be more understanding about children in coffee shops lately.  Really, I have.  I know it’s unhealthy to sit around thinking so many homicidal thoughts, and for all I know, they’re living with a grandmother afflicted by Alzheimer’s as well.  Maybe they have work to do: coloring books to fill, patrons to terrorize, germs to spread, etc.  Maybe the coffee shop is their refuge, you know: for those times when story hour at the library gets too stressful.  Technically speaking, they’re paying customers— they have every right to be here—but today’s adventure truly takes the cake. I’m sitting at my laptop minding my own business when I hear the mother say to her adult companion, “Hang on a sec, I hear her trying to open the door.” She’s referring, of course, to her daughter—the very same child who I first encountered a few weeks ago when she was twirling around the railing on the steps into the coffee shop with nary a chaperone in sight.  She later threw a fit when her …

public displays of affection

Get a Room!

The Wedding Date and I are currently in Bermuda– sans internet— but don’t worry.  I wrote the following last week so you’d have a little something to tide you over until we get back. I’m at my favorite coffee shop, and even though I love the drinks, love the ambiance and love the music, I hate the clientele.  My ideal coffee shop, actually, would be a private coffee shop (I believe most people call these “offices”) but until I land a book deal, publish a best seller and make enough money to purchase my dream home in Queen Village (I have it already picked out, in case you were wondering), I’m stuck here. Fortunately, I love people watching.  In fact, if people watching was an Olympic Sport, I could give Phelps a run for his money.  But it’s not, so I’m left to hone my craft on days such as these. Today’s floor show began with a little brat in ringlets and a striped romper.  First she wanted a donut, then she wanted a bagel, …

Chucky Cheese Might Be a Nice Alternative

My brother and I had a rather phenomenal tree house when we were growing up.  It had three levels complete with a sandbox underneath, a bright yellow slide, three ladders and a professional-grade trapeze set.  (At least I’m pretty sure it was professional grade; we performed some pretty amazing acrobatic routines.) My dad built it himself and we used to drag the garden hose up to the first level for our birthdays to make an official “water slide” in the backyard.  Of course, with a three-level tree house, the likelihood of unsuspecting toddlers plummeting to their deaths is greatly increased so my parents had a rule: if you couldn’t get into the tree house by yourself, then you were too young to play in it. There were three ways in: a wooden ladder next to the slide for beginners, a rope latter on the other side for intermediate climbers and finally a super-scary medieval torture device that led straight to the third-floor penthouse.  (It consisted of a single strand of rope with little rope loops …

Of Hurricanes and Hipsters

I should be in a hot tub overlooking the Chesapeake right now.  But like President Obama, I too have cut my vacation short in order to prepare for the onslaught of Hurricane Irene.  So far, I’ve closed a few windows and had a chai latte.  I also spent five hours “evacuating” from the Eastern Shore yesterday and helped a neighbor navigate his sail boat from one slip in the marina to another, from which it will be hoisted out of the river for safe keeping. I was supposed to spend an entire week relaxing before the start of the school year (which happens to coincide with the debut of Too Darn Hot, the all-women, all-tap revue I’m co-producing for the Philly Fringe) but after three and a half days in the middle of nowhere, I discovered that I’m not all that good at relaxing. Even with a hot tub and my parent’s liquor cabinet at my disposal. So I’m back in Philadelphia, for better or worse, and since I’m up early, I figured I’d beat …