I just spent an hour reading my blog

 

 

I was sending requests for quotes to have our chimney cleaned (we have a chimney!) and in every email, I would remove the link to my blog (I remove this link, individually, all.of.the.time. You would think I would just change the footer. Not my style. Productively inefficient). And then I accidentally clicked the link.

And then I read my blog for an hour.

Part of me expected to be grossed out. Whenever I had a diary as a kid (which was usually only when I was pissed at my parents and wanted them to read that I was pissed and would very much think it reasonable that we have a dog) I always wrote for this audience such that when I look back years later my voice seemed too self conscious.  I expected the blog to be even more gross in that way.

But the truth is, having an audience causes you to rise above in a way that I frequently don’t demand of myself.  A blog is a curration of all of the notable things in your life, and looking back on it just makes me realize how much I have to love and appreciate. It’s great. I feel unbelievably happy right now. We sawed a couch in half! Actually we sawed in in half many many times. And then we stuffed it in our car and went and ate sushi! How freaking awesome is that?

Really freaking awesome.

 

Arabica – Capitol Hill

This blog is usually happy. In general, when people review things, they skew positive. No one likes to think about the time and money they just wasted on a terrible experience. Much better to remember every experience as the best one of your life.

I would almost say that I strive to have the best day and the worst day of my life…every day. Makes it exciting.

But I also want to uphold the credibility of this little blog. So I am going to give it to you straight. We did not really like Arabica. We actually didn’t like it all. So there! But they do serve their cream in a thermos. Very impractical for pouring. Looks awesome. And the photographing there was awesome.

How awesome is that? Test tube lights among lovely paper kites. Sigh.

But the staff there is weird. The first time we went, the guy in front of us basically got in a passive aggressive argument with the barista about whose weekend was cooler (Ya that sounds awesome, kind of like my weekend that was actually way sweeter). This then transitioned to loft living in Brooklyn (Can you make an abandoned warehouse cool enough to live in?). And ended with name dropping indy bands (I don’t know any indy bands, so no examples here).

And then I vomited.

The problem is, when you are so busy being cool- it is easy to forget that YOU ARE RUNNING A FUCKING COFFEE SHOP. Things to keep in mind:

-  customer’s do not like to feel like they are doing you a favor by ordering.
– customers do not like to repeat their order 5 times
– when ordering the “breakfast sandwich”, customers are confused by the question “how should we make the sandwich?”. Seems like you should have that one covered.

I’m certainly no expert though.

They serve Stumptown coffee. And it they are on my way to work.  So that’s working for them. But I really do feel like I am not cool enough to go there. Which is true, I am probably not. I did, after-all, wear bike shorts under my skirt to work today. And by under, I mean, I yanked my skirt up around my waist, rode to work, and then pulled it down upon arrival.

Hot.

Wanted: Soft, light, white sheets

I need advice. In a big way. Sheet advice. As in bed sheets.

I know this sounds incredibly lame (I had been talking about sheets for about 5 minutes with Schwarz and I could see this growing look of concern on his face, like, are we really having a serious discussion about sheets?). We are.

I need to know what sheets people love. I want something super soft (not that tshirt fabric through) and light. In the past I went high thread count, but I think this makes the sheets heavy, which is not great for summer. So, yes, soft and light. And white. I want to feel like I woke up in a Downy commercial. Without that snuggle bear molesting me.

So spill. Tell me exactly what I should buy. And I’ll do it. You can even have all of the credit.

Thanks,

Sarah

I freaking love this kid

My brother recently became an adult. He grocery shops now. And pays rent. And goes to work. It’s wild. This is the same kid who would stash Taco Bell hot sauce packets in the sofa because he foresaw a time when, lying on the sofa, he would need some hot sauce.

Although, as I write that, I can almost see him doing that now. Bad example.

For the “goes to work part” Nick is working at Google. He’s building cars that can drive themselves. It’s actually pretty rad. I hate driving. If he figures this stuff out, I will be happy. And probably hug him.

But I don’t think it’s fully baked yet. So they hired Nick to help.

I think it has been a rough start. It’s hard leaving college. It’s hard going from an environment where you are graded on your ability to speak up and lead and do everything with zeal and gusto, to an environment, well, where PhDs with 30 years of experience may not fully appreciate your gusto (best Nick work quote yet: “NO MORE SUGGESTIONS”. Schwarz is now using it liberally with me).

But the kid is a champion. He is getting in there and trying to figure it out. I’m impressed. In a major way.

It kind of makes up for all the years I feel asleep on the couch and woke up with hot sauce packets stuck to my face.

Grand Coffee – San Francisco

Sweet sassy mollasey. Another post about coffee. Especially since I rarely post any information about the actual coffee- you must be terribly sick of these posts.

Too bad. It’s all we do. If it were not for coffee, Schwarz and I would live empty, empty lives. And it’s the only thing I can figure out how to photograph, It doesn’t move or blink- which is perfect.

We went to Grand Coffee on our little San Francisco excursion a few weeks ago. It’s in the heart of the mission (not the bougie mission dolores part- the cheap fruit and knock off sports jersey part) and is about the size of my thumb. What can I say, I have man hands.

The other kind of rad thing- baristas: not white. All baristas at these small roaster places are hipster college drop outs. Our hipsters with art PhDs who just cant stand the arrogance of it all. Terrible generalization. Also 90% of the time true. So the fact that this place was doing the fancy coffee thing without the “fuck you- what do you want to drink thing?” was pretty great.

 

They serve four barrel- which, I’m going to say, I think is my least favorite of the San Francisco roasters- when served hot. Cold- delicious. I think the coffee is more acidic than I like (look at that, using words like acidic. What now blog). And acid is delicious cold, but not as good hot.

   

We took our coffee’s to go (since the  three of us could barely stand the space to order) but we were happy we came. It’s one of the best places in San Francisco for no frills, delicious coffee. I would even go as far as to say they were friendly.

This Weekend

This weekend Schwarz and I went on our first long bike ride since moving to Seattle. It was fun. Well, it was long. Probably too long. But definitely fun for the first 35 miles. Less fun for the last 15. Three miles from our house we biked by a lemonade stand run by two young girls and I thought Schwarz was going to permanently scar their childhood memory the way he attacked the table. He was practically throwing money at them. Give. Me. Lemonade. It was cute. And then their mom asked us to leave. I’m kidding. But not really.

We rewarded our hard effort with fancy dinner and good coffee. Oh and pie! (Lemon shaker pie, it turns out, is the most delicious thing. Ever.) It was delightful. And probably frightening for everyone who was watching me inhale my food.

It was a great  weekend. I have more pictures that I will share – given that neither of these relate remotely to this little tale I told. But I did think they were pretty, and, in their own way, captured just how I felt the past few days.

Tartine- San Francisco

There are a few things that I strongly dislike (actually, there is probably a monstrous list, lets be honest)- waiting in lines is definitely one of them. I was not built for theme parks, Star Wars opening night, Justin Bieber appearances, etc etc. If there is a line, I am usually more apt to spend all the time I would have spent waiting, looking for a new place. (Schwarz has noted that waiting requires no effort and, in the end, the time is the same. Whatever).

Tartine is a line place. It is on a million lists for “best in america” “best in the world” “things you should consider giving your first born away for”. It’s hip to be co be cool.

   

But it is also the most delicious bakery every. Like you probably should consider handing over your first born. If I got some “you never have to wait in line here” pass, I would hand my baby over at the door. I haven’t run this by Schwarz, but I doubt it would be an issh- kid’s a carb baby at heart.

Everything here is good. The bread. I die. And by die I mean I have literally ripped hunks of 200 degree bread off with my teeth  while walking out the door. I have never made it home with an intact loaf. Which is awkward when you give the bread as a gift "(“sorry, I was attacked by a  chipmunk).  The tarts, cookies, scones (oh my god!!) are equally good. If you want someone to fall in love with you, just feed them Tartine. This is what I did with Schwarz. It is fool proof.

So when we were in San Francisco, we waited for 20 minutes, in line, for bread. Ladies and gentlemen, from one line hater to another, this is how freaking good this place is. You can not visit San Francisco and not go here.

We also had an amazing Tartine, which was enjoyed outside with olives and Kombucha on a 80 degree, sunny, San Francisco day.

It felt like a true vacation moment.

Things I am pretty sure of (right now)…

• Mosquitoes and I are not friends. I do not see the changing anytime soon.
• I want to eat at least 100 pounds of fruit before the end of the summer. I am also sure that, were I to see a picture that visually quantified 100 pounds, I would immediately change my mind.
• I am really happy that my brother lives closer to me now. And that he is in that phase of life where he is interested in Ikea. I never plan on outgrowing this phase. Schwarz, it seems, has long outgrown it. His loss.
• I really want to be a morning person. I also really like sleeping. This is an ongoing dilemma. So I guess I’m more sure of the dilemma.
• I would like to find a pair of nude flats. And by find, I literally mean, I would like someone to leave a new pair on the side of the road for my discovery. Thank you.
• This is incredibly hilarious. Schwarz bought it for me in San Francisco and I have been violently forcing it on people asking every page if they think it is funny.
• I am happy that it is summer. I used to like winter better. I no longer do. Winter makes your life feel like you live at work.
• I love cold brewed coffee. The only way I will stop hating mosquitoes is if they find a way to serve me iced coffee. And then our relationship will only move to phase of mild distrust.
• I am using this post to delay finishing work. This is a well honed tactic.

The Summit – San Francisco

When I was living in San Francisco, I would frequently find myself in conversations with people who had lived there years ago. Their stories almost always involve one of three things: drugs, drugs, or experiences with people who were doing drugs. The story then ended with some conclusion like “crazy times”.    

When I was in San Francisco I was thinking about  how I would relay my experience with this city 30 years from now. It would be something like “Wow. How about that public transit system eh?” (I also planning on becoming Canadian when I am 50 it looks like) or “Are you kids still drinking that cold brewed coffee"?”….”Crazy times.”

What can I say, I’m a wild child.

I mostly blame the city. I’m sure if everyone around me was burning their bra I would have jumped right in (lie. a good bra is hard to find!! But I would have found something else to burn. Like trash. Or a match). We are, after all, a product of our environment.

But coming back to the Mission, only a year later- I believe there is hope for "my future “crazy times” stories. At the rate it is gentrifying, the Mission I lived in will more closely resemble a crack den compared to the kid’s 30 years from now.

The Summit, for example, was not on Valencia when I left. I don’t even know what was. I think a garage. But now it is uber hip coffee/cafe/hang-out-for-people-who-only-use-mac-products. It is advised that you be wearing headphones if you go in. Big ones. Preferably ones from Bose that look like they are from the 70s. The guy in front of us literally ordered by pointing because, it turns out that placing an order with noise-canceling ear muffs is a challenge.

In fairness, the place is beautiful. It has 20 ft ceilings and feels wonderfully open. The coffee- a bit weird. They cold brew their coffee with cardamom and cloves so it actually tastes like chai. Because I’m a complete loser, I actually returned mine, reporting it as chai. I was then informed that, yes I was a loser and it was actually coffee and I should drink it. And like it.

Crazy times.

My brother just moved to the Mission, so it will be fun to visit him and see how this little neighborhood changes. I’m sure every time a new boutique goes in or a burrito place is replaced by some fancy chalk board restaurant, I will bore him with my stories about how it use to be a convenience store (wild!) or a produce stand (crazy!).

And then I will probably just give up and start making up stories about all the crazy drugs I did while I lived there. I foresee that being wildly more interesting then the tale of the time I had cloves and cardamom in my coffee.

Consumed Leisure

We spent the last 4 days in the Bay Area. It’s the first time we have been back since we moved to Seattle.  We saw friends, gave my recently transplanted brother ikea advice (that makes it sound like he just got a new organ. I was going for one word that describes having just moved to the bay area. transplanted + 25 word explanation = linguistic fail), drank a millions cups of coffee, ate only carbohydrates and soaked up beautiful, beautiful sun.

It was great.

For the  most part, it was the perfect kind of Sarah vacation. It was 4 days that looks a lot like my regular life- sans email + 10 loaves of bread. It turns out bread is all you really need to keep me happy.

We had lots of people ask us, having lived in Seattle for a year- which we preferred, San Francisco or the Pacific Northwest. We never gave a great answer. It was always something a long the lines of. “Oh, rain sun trade-off. you know?” Or “really great. you, know? both. happy. like. us”.  Everyone then just looked at us and smiled. “Well great.”

But I thought about it and have a slightly more articulate reply.

I love San Francisco. I think it taught me a lot about the life I want to have. It is romantic and weird and generally easy to live in. You could do a lot worse.

But I like Seattle better. There. Definitive. I’m not even sure it has anything to do with the city. I think it is the place where I finally started to shed those post college growing pains where you are constantly wondering 1) is it acceptable to eat cereal 3 meals a day and 2) what the hell am I doing with my life.

I still question number one all the time. The cereal just now features in a better sense of what I want to be and do.  Cereal, it turns out, is key to that.

But I do really miss the people. I wish I could just bag them up and bring them with me. We spent almost our whole trip catching up with old friends- bumbling the which city do you prefer question, complaining about the weather, making endless pleas that everyone move. It was nice to see everyone. And nice to know that, when we retuned to our little Seattle life, they would still be.

there.