Getting Coffee at the Bar

 We went to the Turn tonight to see the band, something we sometimes do on the weekend, cause we get bored and we like loud music and it’s right across the street. If you know Allendale, then you know that there are several bars in the area, two of which are in walking distance (I wrote a post about the Boat), and this bar used to be called the First Turn, then it changed hands and became the Turn, a name I like; John doesn’t (he says it’s unoriginal. If you’re going to buy a bar at least come up with a new name. I think it’s a nice homage). However, it’s a good music venue and the food is pretty good, and it’s outside…so we can smoke (I had to say it).

We usually get cokes (I always wonder if John ever gets the hankering for a hard beverage, but he seems content with soda; but we used to get Long Island iced teas over there). Anyways, I am a coffee freak, and I’ve never ordered one there because I assumed they didn’t have it, and thought it would be a bother, and thought it would look so uncool. But they have it, cause I saw a coffee mug left on a table one night (I knew it!). Well, I had to indulge, because sometimes soda makes me so bloated and it’s got all those calories, and coffee is much more French when you’re smoking (and stimulating and doubly addictive). The waitress didn’t seem to mind (I still cannot read minds), and I got a coffee and a smile (and a refill).

At home I drink it black, even though I’ve got a bottle of caramel macchiato creamer wasting away in the fridge. It’s way too sweet. But when I’m out, like at ihop, I like to put cream and sugar in it, because there’s something comforting and satisfying about ripping open packets of sugar and pouring little creams (They’re so cute! And they’re perfect portions). It’s like a ritual. It’s a coffee drinker thing. 

And somehow that distracted me from what in my mind were the glares from judgy drinkers thinking who is she having coffee in a bar?! Geez, lighten up! Have a beer! In reality there were no glares and no judgements: just my own minuscule insecurity, quickly washed away by a dark liquid and a loud bass beat. My better judgement says dream on, my dear. You’re not that important that people care what you drink (but your cigarette cloud is bothering everyone!). Yeah, I’m sober, but I’m not special, and even in my thirties I have yet more confidence to construct.

But I have to admit I’ve come a long way (baby!), from my embarrassing beat red moments, to my inability to walk into any bar or party without an alcoholic beverage. I’m growing up (finally). My high school government teacher, Mr Logan, used to say everyday you are becoming the person you will become (I think I’m quoting that correctly). That’s right. Better yet, I listened to the song Carry On by the band Fun and I couldn’t help but write down this lyric: 

“let your past be the sound/ of your feet upon the ground” 

I love that (I’m a lyric nerd, but I think their meaning makes music more powerful). It’s a great song, if you’re feeling blue or need to be reminded of your greatness. Music is awesome. The band tonight did a lot of 80s songs (for a millennial, I think I know my eras), by Flock of Seagulls and Kajagoogoo (definitely had to look up that spelling), and threw in a Doors song for John :) You could tell there was so much spirit for this music and just a general camaraderie in that place. Everybody was there for different reasons, and everybody was drinking something different, and nobody cared. And one person had a coffee.

This music thing, this lyric thing, this word thing, this writing…I think it’s going somewhere. Like putting little creams and sugars in a hot cup of coffee, it’s about incorporation. Experiment. Creation. Life.