Things that annoy me.

My horoscope told me that I would find myself in quite a tangle today, and not to worry about stepping on any toes. And who am I to go against the stars. Not that they’ve stopped me in the past, but it’s always nice to be given permission. I’d like to take this opportunity to share with you some of my pet peeves, without worrying about whom I may upset. Because the stars told me it was okay. Obviously. And honestly, if you are one who’s feathers I may ruffle, you most likely have committed some or all of these crimes. And it should be brought to your attention.

Some can be completely and utterly justified, while most are incredibly dumb – yet drive me absolutely bonkers. Pet peeve numero one and two, people who are not British using the word bonkers. The same applies for people who incorporate the Spanish language into an otherwise entirely English conversation. However, having studied in Spain, while also having an unhealthy obsession with Bridget Jones, the British accent, and all things Colin Firth, I somehow find myself exempt from both. Sitting at a Starbucks on Wilshire, I am blatantly reminded of several others. People who say I want instead of I’ll have or I’d like. People who attempt to strangle me with their power cords. People who have inappropriate conversations about their weekends in public places. People who catch me listening in on their conversations about their inappropriate weekends and then start speaking in a foreign language – this leads me to believe you are now talking about me, and thus in turn makes me feel extremely self-conscious. People who complain about their drinks being too hot. People who wear sunglasses. At night. Inside. These people frustrate me to no end. Living in Los Angeles, I find myself perplexed by them. Are you someone famous? Someone I would recognize if it weren’t for your sunglasses? You have blonde hair, are you Reese Witherspoon? She does drink a lot of coffee. Is Reese obnoxious enough to wear her sunglasses, at night, inside? She seemed so sweet in Cruel Intentions. Then again, she did break up with Jake Gyllenhaal. Nevermind; you're someone who wants me to think you’re someone who should be wearing sunglasses at night so that no one would recognize, thus bringing unnecessary attention to yourself, aren't you? Yes, I believe this was definitely your intention. And now you’re latte is ready, you’re out the door and I’m left even more frustrated than I was moments ago when deciding between ordering my drink hot or iced.

I assure you, this was not the direction I intended on taking when sitting down to write. Though it is escaping me now, I did have a point. That maybe I'll revisit at sometime. 

But boy do I feel better now that that is off my chest. 

She does wear sunglasses at night. Maybe it was her, after all?

Thin Mints

 Shelley Long, in Troop Beverly Hills. So chic.

There is one thing you must know before this friendship can progress any further. And frankly, as this can be considered our third date, the fact that you haven’t asked isn’t scoring you any points. Mint Chip is my favorite ice cream flavor[i]. Mint Chocolate Cookie if we’re talking Ben & Jerry’s. And it must be slow churned if we’re talking Dryers, obviously. This mint chocolate obsession doesn’t end with ice cream. Currently, I’m sipping a Moroccan Mint latte, and I don’t think peppermint bark should be limited to the holidays. With that being said, it should come as no surprise to you that Thin Mints are my favorite Girl Scout cookies. It should also come as no surprise to you that I was a girl scout[ii], or that my wonderful mother was our troop leader. Shelley Long had nothing on my momma. Unable to fulfill my dream of purchasing Girl Scout cookies from the ever-fabulous Troop Beverly Hills, I took matters in to my own hands. If Emily from Cupcakes and Cashmere can make them, then so can I. Right? Kind of. I followed this recipe to a T, yet I was still disappointed. Perhaps I’m a snob when it comes to matters pertaining to delicious combinations of chocolate and mint. Perhaps I’ve been spoiled with tasty boxed treats for far too long. Perhaps I over reached my culinary expertise. Regardless, there wasn’t nearly enough mint for my liking, and I just about broke a bicuspid attempting to bite into these bad boys. Though that didn’t stop me from eating half of a dozen last night, and four more this morning for breakfast. I’d like to say I would give it another go, but I think these minty-chocolate devils are best left to the girl scouts. In semi-related news – these are the shoes I was wearing while baking[iii]. Could you die? Moving forward, I think this is the only way I will be cooking.

---

[i] One exception to this would be Thrifty’s ice cream. In that case, it’s Chocolate Malted Crunch. Is it still called Thrifty’s? Or is it Rite Aid? That’s neither here nor there.

[ii] Confession – I wasn’t actually a Girl Scout, per se. Starting as a Daisy, I burnt out by Brownies. But I did have the cool sash. And patches. Lots of patches.

[iii] 60% off at the seasonal LF sale.

Dear patrons of Coffee Bean, I'm watching you

How darling is this gingham coffee mug from Crate and Barrel? Available in blue, green, yellow and turquoise, I'll take two of each please. 

Writing this blog makes me feel a little bit like a hipster. Like I should be wearing something over priced, yet beat up and destroyed looking, from Urban Outfitters. I lounge in coffee shops all day with dirty hair and black, square framed glasses that I don’t actually need, but make me look cool. Okay, so I lied about the last part, but I do live at coffee houses. Fortunately enough, I have a Coffee Bean within walking distance from my loft. Though only one employee ever remembers my name, I think I’m pretty close to becoming a regular, a title more commonly reserved for the neighborhood coffee aficionados and caffeinated stay at home moms. And I, my friend, am neither. One thing I can say, I am a people-watcher. Some may say eavesdropper, and I wouldn’t necessarily disagree, but what better place to do so than a coffee shop? Nowhere. Unable to actually participate, or interject in conversations as people don’t typically enjoy that, I’d like to share a few frustrations with you.  Dear patrons of Coffee Bean, I am watching you.  

To the woman offering a shot of espresso to the actual barista making her drink – This is not a bar. It’s not like you buy a shot of tequila for the bartender to enjoy alongside you and your pals. Speaking of, does anybody actually do that? Other than in movies? I haven’t. Am I rude?

To the people obviously having an affair, trying to enjoy their coffee discretely – I know what you’re doing. For future reference, conversations about how your wife found out, the jealous girls at the gym who ratted you out, and how this is the first white girl you’ve dated, kiiiiiind of give you away, and should be off limits for the general public to over hear.

To my neighbor sitting behind me, clearly staring at my computer screen – Did your mother ever teach you it’s not polite to stare? Yes, I have been plugging my face into different celebrity hairstyles on instyle.com for nearly an hour, what’s it to you? I’m just trying to switch things up over here. Valuable lesson – Victoria Beckham’s oh so posh a-line cut only elongates an already long nose.

To the cracked out homeless man shouting “FBI! FBI!” and telling everybody on the streets to get down – I fear it’s too late for you, my friend. 

Now that we've been introduced

let’s get to know each other. As you’ve learned, my name is Samantha, but only if I’m in trouble or pretending to be professional. Sammy if you’re trying to annoy me. Samuel if you have a death wish. And Sam if we’re friends. Let’s go with Sam. I’ve never been one to keep a journal, with the exception of a burn book in the seventh grade, which I genuinely feel awful about. A terrible, yet fabulous combination of indecisive and impulsive, I’ve also never been one to withhold my opinion. 

I dabble in many things – veganism, baking, musical instruments, dance, fashion, art and stationary making to name a few. I’d like to say I’m a jack of all traits, but I think the term dabbler may be more fitting, as I tend to move along quite easily. Personally, I prefer free spirit, but with that comes that connotation that I may not shave my legs or wear deodorant, which surely is not the case, most of the time. I love good friends and a good sale. I could eat Mexican food for every meal. Or cupcakes. Or sushi. I dislike eggplant. And hotel comforters. I argue over politics and parking tickets. In my dreams I’m a food critic. Or a world traveler. Or a ballerina. I wish real life had spontaneous, choreographed dance sequences, and if I had my way, I’d practice yoga every morning and Kings of Leon would sing me to sleep every night.

Having read this introduction, I realize I should probably avoid speed dating [mental note]. 60 seconds really is too short to truly know someone, even too short to know if you’d like to know someone. I’m not terribly worried however, because if you’re reading this you probably already know me – and you’re most likely my mom. If this is the case and you do in fact know me, we’ve already gone through the awkward period where I pretend I’m an excellent chef who loves puppies and does charity work on the weekends, and you’re a skilled athlete who also graduated in the top of his class. But in the off chance you don't in fact know me, lets exchange numbers. I’d really like to try this again. 

Ding. Time’s up. 

Sushi Cupcakes. Get out. Thanks Debbie. 

Hi. I'm Samantha

and I am the proud owner of the Halston Heritage Carrie Dress. Yes, yes, the dress. While mine may not be white, but sapphire blue – and on clearance at American Rag, it is the dress, or should I say now, my dress. Too beautiful to wear, it currently serves as artwork in my closet. And let me tell you, when it comes to art, I prefer Versace to Van Gogh any day. With unruly blonde locks and an addiction to shoes no 12-step program could ever control, the Carrie Bradshaw comparisons are numerous. Finally embracing it - I mean, it’s only fitting as her dress is in my closet - I say keep them coming. So here I am, a la Carrie Bradshaw, at my neighborhood Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, spilling the tales of a poor twenty something living in Los Angeles, over a large Americano with a splash of soy. It’s so lovely to meet you. I think this could be a very wonderful friendship. 

photo via Harper's Bazaar UK