Oy Vey

Sleep, sleep, sleep has been a grand struggle for moi (me). Rather, than having beautiful dreams about being tackled by the Magic Mike cast, winning the lottery, and having dinner with Jane Austen, they typically take an unexpected detour.

Algebra class, a maze full of cucumbers (I cannot stand cucumbers), and being stuck in an elevator, filled with my most hated nemesis are nightly nightmares. Call it a side effect of Prozac. I call it a sleep disorder.

Waking up isn’t the easiest, even on glorious Spring weekends. This quirky night owl only has one lustful thought on his gay brain (yours truly). Coffee, I want coffee. When life give you nightmares, give it the middle finger by enjoying life’s simple pleasures, especially coffee shops.

Living dangerously close to one of New York’s finest coffee shop, serves as a daily motivation for leaving my apartment on weekends. It’s the lovable space with hip baristas, who know my order and delicious bagels, which cure morning hunger.

Coffee, coffee, coffee, I rushed over to the coffee shop for the am caffeine fix. Opening the old wooden door, my heart sunk faster than quick sand. My beloved coffee shop, where I spend quality time with books, lots of books, had been invaded.

It was a suburban/zombie invasion. Kids on scooters, mombies yelling at their little shits, a strange form of pig Latin being spoken between four year olds, and of course, the oblivious dadbies complaining about their dad bods, while noshing on large croissants. It was my worst nightmare.

Like a brave warrior trapped in Satan’s arm pit, I didn’t let the invasion keep me from a hot cup of Stumptown Coffee. Visibly irritated, the yelling and Pig Latin speak killed a well earned caffeine buzz. Taking out a book, my soul and imagination wandered off from the zone of typical comfort.

Orange juice spilled. Screaming only intensified. The dadbies and mombies became even more oblivious to the nightmarish situation. “I’d rather be in algebra class, right now.”

When one of the mombies suggested the kids go back to their apartment for a play date, misery retreated. A parade of strollers and  miniature scooters parted ways with the coffee house confines. Tranquility hovered over my head, like a stormless cloud. They were gone. I could enjoy my book, bagel, coffee, without wanting to jam pencils into the ears.

Alas, it wasn’t a nightmare, but reality. A second invasion of mombies, dadbies and their spawn arrived. Staying brave, their presence did not detour me from my coffee shop. Thanks to the magics of an iPOD, I finally drifted into 90’s alternative rock, rather than irritating speak and sound effects.

Gay guys can’t get pregnant. Thank God! Certain people are equipped with patience. If someone wants a family, it’s their choice. I’ll just pass out birth control, in the meantime (not to be a party pooper or anything). I like my coffee without screaming kids. That’s why I live in New York City, it never gets noisy or obnoxious here, never (insert, sarcasm).

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