Happy Go Lucky 'Tards

I don’t really take stock in all the horoscope mumbo gumbo jumbo, but sometimes I wonder….  Horoscope readings for Gemini say that we are like butterflies that flit from flower to flower, person to person, place and thing..  We are easily distracted chameleons who can adapt to any situation.    We wear Happy Go Lucky Leotards. 

When you do a back flip on the balance beam of life, you are flying blind until the last second.  You struggle to find purchase on the precious 4 inches of beam you’re given.  And it IS precious!  Sometimes you stick the landing and sometimes you land sort of wonky with your ‘TARD halfway up your ass exposing your sensitive cheeks.  And that is the secret!   As happy and plucky and adaptive as Gemini appear to be, we are sensitive to the nth degree.  It surprises people when it happens and mortifies us to no end because we don’t like to show that side, and we’re pissed because the judges are not going to give us a perfect 10!

So you fall off.  You consider naked gymnastics, but that would just be creepy and belongs down in that weird part of Tijuana.  You get back up, wiggle your arse’ a little, tug those HGL’s back into place and carry on.  Maybe you paste on some anti sensitivity sugar water/ salve/gluey ointment to make sure that part of you stays snug ,secure and hidden from the world..  The only other option is wearing a sensitive ass hat.  And that would just make you a Pisces.  *Cracking up laughing!  I ‘keed,  I ‘keed….

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU FREAKY, DEAKY GEMINI GYMNASTS!  (And mad love to all you fish out there!)

Say Ow.

Sorry, you guys….  I usually like to keep things on the light side and write fun stuff.  But yesterday I had an encounter with someone who brought out the worst in me, and I just have to write about it.  This is my blog. That’s how I roll…  Eject now if you don’t want to ride today.

I love to sin on Sunday and eat a flaky, crusty, oh, so bad for me cranberry scone at Twiggs along with a big ol’ non fat latte.  It makes my soul glad.  Heck, Twiggs makes my soul glad.  It is so funky cool with mish mash furniture, art, books and unusual people.  Most of them are pretty mellow and perfect Sunday Sinners.

So yesterday, they were pretty busy – even for Twiggs.  And I waited patiently for my cup of heaven.  I had my scone already, but I wanted to savor it with steaming hot latte.

I see the Barista slide the cup with my name on the counter and announce, “Non Fat Latte.”  I sleepily sauntered up to get it when some woman started to reach for it at the same time.  As I am pretty laid back, I figured I would let her have it and wait for the next drink.  She grabbed it,  realized it was not the no soy joy, I am a piece of crappy humanity, with no sanity, cup of angry at the world java she SURELY orders up for her psyche every day.

She stamped her little foot like a 3 year old being denied a toy.  Or maybe she stamped her Birkenstock like a 59 year old who has been denied joy and bitchily exclaimed, “WHERE is MY drink?  I was BEFORE her.”

She haughtily glared at me as if I had magically dictated the order in which the barista chose to make the drinks.  The Barista hurriedly explained that the 10,000 ingredient drink she ordered was a little more complicated to make and tried to soothe her.  He swiftly slung the drink up on the counter as fast as he could.

She was having none of it.  Even after getting her drink, she was huffing and puffing.  And she followed me over to the table with all the coffee accessories like cream and sugar and cinnamon.  Everyone was staring.  I was embarrassed for her.  That she would act that way at all was amazing to me.  I couldn’t help that the little bit of sassy that resides deep in me came out.  I pointedly held up a packet as she stood breathing down my neck, conjuring up the Okie accent I have lost and quietly drawled, 

“Did you need something in a sweetener?  Sugar, Equal, attitude adjustment?”

She blinked, stepped back away from me and mentally collected herself.  She said nothing, and I turned back to take my own advice and dump extra sweetener in my latte to remind MYSELF that I am generally peaceful, loving and kind.  But yunno, I went there and am not proud of it.  But sometimes people need to be called on their shit.

And then it made me remember when I was a Barista.  It is a freaking tough job.  Grouchy, impatient people not understanding that a good espresso drink takes time.  It is an art.  There were a few of the regular customers who made me want to hurl the hot espresso down their skivvies and watch them squirm.  They were abusive, unkind and miserable.

And then there was Junior.  He came once a week.  For physical therapy.  And he was sweet, unfailingly polite, kind and patient.  People would climb all over him when he appeared.  He played football.  But I liked him because he always smiled, never complained about the wait and always said “Thank you so much” as I handed him his mocha. There was not a “big time, look at me” bone in his body. He had grace and style.  You could feel the genuine goodness he had in his soul.  You could feel it.   When he smiled, his eyes smiled. 

And Junior, we wish you would’ve said, “Ow.”  Whatever you were going through, we wish you could have sought help and healing.   And that goes for us all:  Football player, bitchy woman at Twiggs, everyone and anyone.  Say “Ow!” when you are hurting. It is hard to say and do, but so important!  Let someone help you sort stuff out.  It is what you need to do to be whole.  Be brave and say it!  Even saying it out loud helps.  Give in and then get on with life!

And bitchy woman at Twiggs?  Thank you.  Thank you for reminding me that humanity is important.  And being sweet and kind is not weakness, but the best way to live life.  And take some sweetener and say “Ow.”  I promise you will feel better!