saint-louise's Diaryland Diary

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Starbuck Rogers. And Mister Pants.

This is just so fucking beautiful. I mean it:

“I took an airplane to Connecticut. I don't have any funny airplane stories except that the judge from one of those TV judge shows was on my plane. Not Judy. Some other judge. That sort of celebrity sighting is so not interesting or funny or anything; I probably shouldn't even have told you. Okay, and the other thing is this: the Charlotte, North Carolina airport has lots of rocking chairs in it. And those chairs are so popular that you can sit forever (in a normal, non-rocking chair) waiting to rock in one and you'll never get a chance. Seems like people show up early in the morning to rock in the airport rocking chairs. And, well, god bless people who love to rock. That's all.

Oh, also in the Starbucks there, I saw someone order a Grande Soy Chai Latte and the girl behind the counter repeated the order back. And hearing "Grande soy chai latte" said with a Southern accent is just so cool that I wish I could bottle the experience and sell it. And I'd sell you one. And you'd like it and you'd use it up and probably want to buy another. But now they're all sold out. I'm sorry. If you fill this out and leave your phone number, we'll call you when we get more in.

Or maybe I'd create some sort of virtual reality simulation. How about that? Everyone thinks VR is going to be porn and movies and ultraviolence--and probably that's true, but what about just a VR snapshot of a really beautiful moment like when the girl at the Starbucks in Charlotte, NC says, "Grande Soy Chai Latte" with her Southern accent while behind her hundreds of people in rocking chairs rock mindlessly and behind them through the giant windows, planes are taking off and landing?”

From pantsmail 020. Dig it.

So how is everyone? Good, good.

Me? I’m feeling nauseated and unhappy. Except for the excellent coffee I just had. Which, come to think of it, might be the reason that I’m feeling nauseated. Although I refuse to think that a substance I adore so trulymadlydeeply could ever purposely hurt me. It must be an accident. It didn’t mean to hurt me. It loves me. Really. Maybe if I looked better or acted sweeter, it wouldn’t have to cause me pain.

Oh, dear. I have an abusive relationship with coffee. Is there a support group for this?

Maybe I’m just nauseated because I made a reference to “Starbucks” in my diary, even if it was second hand.

Forgive me.

3:49 p.m. - 2002-05-30

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