I let the steaming hot java pour into my Beatles thermos, poured a little hazelnut creamer in to the black liquid, and capped it off with the thermos’ matching black top.
“You sure do drink a lot of coffee,” my sister said to me while watching me prepare my beverage in the kitchen from the living room.
I looked at her, “I maybe have a cup or two a day. No big deal.”
“I don’t think that’s a good thing,” my sister looked almost disgusted at my actions. “Everyone is so addicted to that stuff to where they have to have it everyday. You know it’s bad for you if you’re having headaches and getting cranky if you don’t have that daily dose of coffee.”
“Well, I’m not addicted to coffee. I can stop at any time.”
She felt the sharp sting of the hot handcrafted espresso beverage as it hit the tip of her tongue. The steamed soymilk foam did nothing to stop the boiling heat that had seeped like lava from the small to-go cup. She was sitting in the Barnes & Noble Starbucks café surrounded by dozens of magazine readers and students studying for tests, and she could do nothing but swallow the scalding drink as it engulfed her throat in flames while it traveled below, and continue typing on her brightly colored purple laptop.
Somewhere in between the stacks of popular dystopian settings of young adult novels lies the writer addicted to blogging for no one in particular. Occasionally, she looks for the thousand different words that are hidden within the pixels of Internet jpegs, and writes them down in posts to publish online. Continue reading “Coffee Shop Blogging”→
The first time I found myself stranded on the side of the road was when Betsy, my first vehicle who happened to be a mini van, had broken down in a very dramatic billowing of smoke. I was on the right side of Interstate 5 going north and all I could see were barren mountains and speeding cars for miles around.
I called my mom, AAA, and then waited inside of the car for help. I slid over to the passenger side and tried to quiet the rising panic in my chest. However, about a minute after I got off the phone with AAA my door quickly opened in a way that made me nearly fall out. Continue reading “A Car Named Susan”→
The road in front of our vehicle had grown coarse as the pavement turned into dirt and gravel. The car shook from the thousands of small bumps that were rolled over with my friend’s tires, and my attention had left the map navigation on my cellphone for the towering mountains that emerged into view.
White lights were draped over the railings of our fourth-story balcony. We sat gathered together with music in the darkness that was partially illuminated by candlelight. We poured good wine, ate holiday treats, and chatted.
“So what are everyone’s New Year’s resolutions?” One of the girls asked.
The people sitting in various chairs on the balcony began muttering things about meeting new people and bettering themselves.
“So what is you’re New Year’s resolution, Jasmine?”
I thought about it for a moment. I remembered a year ago waking up on New Year’s Day from the same party, held a year before, with the same people. My New Year’s resolution then was to end up at a different party with new people, and as I looked around the outdoor patio table this New Year’s Eve at the people laughing and joking around, I couldn’t help but notice that there were some new faces in this new space. Continue reading “New Year’s Resolutions: 2015”→
“They’re calling it ‘Stormageddon,’” she said while scrolling through her Twitter feed. “Oh dear, now people are thinking the drought is over.”
I laughed as she scrolled. I heard the rain over the phone where she was at in the Central Valley just as the rain began to fall over Southern California. It had just started raining in California, and there were already photos of cars crashed in ditches on the side of the road.
“Yeah, they’re calling it the storm of the decade in the Bay area,” I said. “They’re closing schools and everything.”
I could hear the rain picking up a bit outside my window. Cool water pooled in small puddles for the local kids to jump and run through. I watched as upset parents yelled from doorsteps at the children to get inside. Continue reading “Stormageddon and Rainy Days”→
I try to keep up with friends in between working and classes. However, I’ve noticed, as we have grown older, that we have been moving farther and farther apart, a few of these friends even leaving the country indefinitely.
“Oh, Fullerton?” A friend from Los Angeles would say. “That’s far.”
“Alright, I’ll come to you then.” And even when I used to live in LA County, the invisibly faint zone lines determined how often I would see someone.
Dating was another story. There have been times in the past that I would type an address in my Google Maps app and change my mind about a potential partner candidate. The zones determined area codes, friends, and lovers. Continue reading ““Z” is for Zones”→
The students sat down in their usual half circle in the classroom, leaving room for their professor to sit at the table in the front. There were only six of them, which certainly made the students feel as though they were closer to each other personally, than those they have met in other classes during their undergrad years. Some how the same seating arrangement that they had experienced in preschool came back around as a trend when they become graduate students.
One of the students, who wore her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, looked up from the papers laid out on the desk in front of her as I walked into the room. “Hey, so how was your Thanksgiving?” Continue reading ““Y” is for Yams”→
The day before we left France was another cool and slightly gloomy day. It had poured and sprinkled off and on every day in Paris except for the first extremely hot day that we arrived. It didn’t really rain as we headed for the metro and onto a train to Versailles, however, it rained for a moment while we took shelter inside of a Parisian McDonalds.
After eating our beignets and macaroons from the French-ified restaurant, we walked down several blocks to visit Château de Versailles. It was slightly strange walking off the path of the suburban surroundings and onto the property, which once housed monarchs.
There the Palace of Versailles stood as a symbol of the system of absolute monarchy of the “Ancien Régime” in the middle of a country village, and it continued to sit beautifully dripping gold in the wealthy modern suburbs of Paris. Continue reading ““V” is for Versailles”→