Coffee Date

If you were to come over for a coffee date, I'd probably hug you for an unnaturally long time before you ever stepped foot in the door, because I've returned to the less-than-pleasant time in my life where I only get hugs a few times a month. I'd tell you that I was tempted to go out and get a kitten yesterday to compensate for my lack of interaction with a living creature of any sorts after 4:30PM, but I have commitment issues when it comes to all things (apart from Zach, calm down), and I couldn't justify fourteen years with a cat in exchange for three months of not coming home to an empty apartment.



My cat back home. And I say "my cat" in the way that means "I begged for a pet when I was in elementary school & took exceptional care of her for the first six months of her life. Then she kinda became my mom's cat. Oops."

ps. This picture is from last spring. Fat Kitty has shed some weight since then. Mom says she's on a wedding diet. Meow.


I'd probably apologize for the awkward extended hug and invite you into my place. As I started heading to the kitchen to begin whipping up your espresso drink of choice (look at you being friends with a former barista!), we'd pass the living room, in which case you'd more than likely notice my giant L-shaped couch. I'd beam with pride and inform you that said furniture was my first super grown-up purchase. Because fewer things say "super grown-up" than an L-shaped couch.



I actually bought this the day after I moved into my apartment almost three months ago. But if someone purchases a couch and neglects to upload a photo to any type of social media outlet whatsoever, did they really get a new couch? Exactly.


The excitement surrounding grown-up purchase #1 would remind me about how stoked I am regarding grown-up purchase #2: a washer & dryer. My new appliances may not be L-shaped, but the world of economics dictates that they are an infinitely more "super grown-up" purchase than any couch. And by "super grown-up," I mean "expensive." Who knew?





At this point, I really would begin making coffee drinks... except you'd probably observe that the curtains have been replaced by strange drapings of paper chains made from an old English literature textbook. I'd tell you that a lot of household decor items (ie, curtains) found their way onto the wedding registry, and in the meantime, I have a wedding countdown chain draped around the window. I'm rather fond of it, actually.


True fact: 103 days until I'm marrying my best friend. I'd definitely mention that if you came over for a coffee date.


By now, I'd postpone all coffee-making until the conclusion of a tour of my first ever place. It wouldn't take long -- I promise -- as it would mostly consist of "This is where the (TV/desk/entertainment center/etc.) is going to go... once I get one." (Or once I find a way to get it here. Speaking of which, anyone with a truck planning to casually drive from Winston to Raleigh/Cary in the next three months?) The tour would also include "This is where my (insert like, 12 half-finished art canvases. I have a problem) are going to hang." Other tour highlights would feature: "This is my new bedding that I absolutely adore."


Yes, I did actually clear this with Zach before I bought it. He's incredibly easy-going... and lest you feel sorry for him, we're going to have a 20"x30" Boondock Saints canvas in our living room. Definitely didn't think that one through before I made it for his room in the barracks last year.


Once all the excitement of new apartments and super grown-up purchases began to wane, I really would make the coffee, and we'd go sit on the balcony. I'd undoubtedly take my camera, because after scrolling through the last few months of photos on my memory card, I've discovered that all I do is take pictures of the sky at night from my balcony. Eh, not sorry. It's pretty.


August 8 | July 6 | July 22

Then you would tell me all about your life, because if it were up to me, I would tell you that I watched 46 episodes of Friends last week. I would tell you that I also managed to overflow the dishwasher, melt candlewax all over the kitchen counter, and dive roll off the same kitchen counter... into the living room wall with my shoulder. And while we were at it, I would probably tell you that I bumped the thermostat down to a breezy 75 degrees before you came over, because I'm perhaps the most cold-natured human being ever and I typically keep it set on 80. True story. Fortunately, you would be telling me all about your life and I wouldn't say any of that, so you can keep on thinking that I'm way cooler than I really am.

And before you left, I would tell you that I am going to shoot a gun for the first time ever this weekend, so we should really do coffee next week when I'll have something more exciting to talk about.