31 August 2012
"the way in which they treat the waiter/waitress
how they feel about the weather
whether they dog ear pages or highlight in books
and hands in general
their preferred creative outlet
how much they dread/enjoy talking on the phone
whether or not they drink coffee
if they ever forget to eat
how honest they are with themselves (and others)
if they correct your grammar
and whether or not they get nervous before haircuts." via.
I'm temporarily living in Colorado at the moment, and up until a month ago I was a waitress. I always treat them well and give a good tip even if they don't deserve it because I understand that sometimes, your boss was yelling at you minutes before or a teenager who you vaguely knew but was loved by people you loved died that morning. It's easier to give grace if you understand how hard it is sometimes just to smile at your table as you bring them another coke.
When it comes to the weather I relentlessly complain. I hate summer, it is too hot and too sunny and sometimes I'll lie awake in bed at night because it feels so hot that I can't breathe. Here in Pueblo, there've been times where I can't touch the steering wheel without burning my hands. I hate winter, it is too cold and too icy and my hands never really warm up. I love spring. I love fall. Rain is good too, and sunshine in moderation is good. Fall and spring are best though, no matter what the weather.
My books are well worn and well loved, neither dog eared or highlighted. If you flip through them though, there are plenty of pages with quotes underlined circled and starred. My best friend Alex says it's interesting to see which parts stuck out to me. (Confession: I pencil-underline in library books.)
Right now my fingernails are painted sparklycinnamon. ("Who needs Peeta when you have Cinna's buns?") I'm 98% sure this is Cinna's color from the Hunger Games line. I swiped it from my little sister and my fingers are glittering while I type this. Usually I bite my nails but they're gradually growing out and sometimes I just look at them proudly.
I have medium sized hands and tiny wrists and I wear one ring all the time on my right hand fourth finger. My wrists are layered with bracelets, some from Jordan, some made by little sisters, some stolen from aforementioned best friend.
When I was a sophomore I took Drawing 1 at 8am every Monday Wednesday Friday. I loved/hated it, as with most classes, but there were moments when I genuinely enjoyed it. Jack Kerouac says though, "Someday I will find the right words, and they will be simple." I think that mostly my preferred creative outlet is searching for the right words, whether in sporadically published blog posts, long and complicated journal entries, or equally long and complicated emails to Jillian.
Talking on the phone, especially to strangers, is an experience that I dread. I'll put it off as long as possible, make up excuses for why a phone call is unnecessary, and generally avoid them. Face to face conversations are far preferable.
I am a cliche in that I love coffee, and less of a cliche in that it's only sometimes. See, there are days when I'll pour out five or six cups into my mug and I drink them slowly and steadily; other days the thought of coffee makes me feel sick.
I like food too much to ever forget to eat. Although otter pops do make a good meal substitute every so often.
If I'm being honest I can say that usually I'm not very honest. Not to the point where I habitually lie, but I don't very often let people know if I'm feeling sad or upset. I don't know. Maybe that's just what I think. You'd have to ask my family to be sure.
If I correct your grammar, it's either subconscious or I'm trying to annoy you. Depends on the person and the time. I was on a coffee date with Liz and Ali the week before I left for Colorado, and I (subconsciously because I love her) corrected something Liz said. "If you know what I mean, don't correct me," she told me, full of sassiness.
Haircuts are complicated. I'm never nervous about the change to my hair or anything along those lines. What makes me nervous is being trapped for upwards of half an hour, forced to make conversation with someone I barely know. I've had nightmares like those.
written by Katie