Caren Gussoff writer. geek. bon vivant. dot com

Seattle writer discovers the awesome efficiency and cost-savings deliciousness* of brewing espresso in a macchinetta; loses main reason to currently leave house.

Oh, man.

Between this and the fact that I have started netflixing Angel** (yeah, you read correctly. I never watched it the first time around. Buffy, yes, though not religiously. Firefly, religiously), I don’t ever have to do anything that isn’t survival-related outside again***.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.

*Seriously. It is really, really good. I know someone will argue me over the fact that “stovetop” espresso is different, blah blah blah. But I don’t care. I milk and sugar it up and it tastes spectacular. Plus, the low-tech of the whole thing amuses me to no end. It’s magic. MAGIC.
**I have also never read a Harry Potter book. Not one.
***This is not necessarily a good thing. At all. Being unemployed and having some rocky personal stuff tends to hermit me inside anyway, but now I don’t even venture farther than my stovetop, mailbox, or keyboard.

three years ago today, I married the coolest-ass geek evar.

And the second best part is that we can has cake from, IMHO, the best bakery in town. They also did our wedding cake, but I made the cake toppers myself:

Happy anniversary to us!

Right?

As for the young punks, it’s so rare that one actually gets it together to say something awesome at the right moment that I want to celebrate and document my latest. So, I get approached my a group of young teenagers, obviously in town for an all ages show, donned in their finest mall punk rock garb (including new Doc Martens)* and demanded I give them money (“You have a job” they said. WTF?)**. Usually, I ignore demands for money, but one particularly PINK young girl with pink Manic Panic hair and a poofy pink skirt kind of stood in my way and kept demanding money.
So, I lost it, just a tad–and loudly replied:
“Get out of my way, Strawberry Shit Cake.”

She got out of my way.

*I, on the other hand, remember when I had to schlep to the post office to get IRCs and International money orders to get Docs from London (s0 O1d sk001)–but that’s not the point. The point is that I was, at that moment, wearing an outfit which, in entirety, cost less than a pair of Docs (thrift store, Payless shoes, and Old Navy. Ahhh, the life of a writer).

**They obviously had good, warm homes in high-tax school districts. When did panhandling become cool? How out of touch am I with the young folk?