The Barista and the Waves Mature content No. 39 Published August 13th, 2017 2:14pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "We walked into the coffee house many, many times throughout the course of a few years. Those employed there were always young and the turnover was fairly high due to school schedules and the like. Some stayed longer and created a courteous rapport with daily visitors. Others came and went as their lives changed. One day recently we strolled in and the entire look and feel of the business changed. Behind the superautomatic espresso machines was a six-foot tall blonde barista with the dimensions of the gods. She was always smiling while working, and her movements were as fluid as any viscometer would attest. Every part of her was screaming to be dimensioned. Long arms, very long legs, slender fingers, beautifully tapered at every cross section. She walked about performing her duties and all the while looking as if she should be on a runway rather than brewing beverages for the masses. The sight of her was nearly crippling. Day after day we stopped for coffee and most of the time she was there. When speaking, she was very pleasant and kind. When working she stayed busy, balancing the courtesy with production. On any given occasion upon seeing her the QR card yearned to fly out of the wallet. It never did. That woman was everything we sought (just as others mentioned here), and the thought of creating a portfolio of her has been more than desirable. It has been demanding. She was a gorgeous and anomalous example of the numbers which appeared at their very limits, regardless of their location on her. Everything was there -- from her long hair to her lengthy, narrow feet -- and every stop on the way down. Stretched to the ends of our senses There are many correlations regarding the barista and her supreme look. The first which comes to mind was the girl at the express checkout (already covered here. She was nearly as tall -- likely at least five foot nine -- with similar yet exaggerated features. And then there was the girl at the super bowl party, five foot eleven at the least, with her incredible form. Two hours of staring at her was excruciating and frightening at the same time. Those women with their unending and fascinating dimensions were brought to mind immediately at the sight of the young barista. And we mean young... She had a pin which read '2017 Graduate'... And we are not speaking of college. Yikes to the nth degree. Regardless of the desire to hand her the QR card, that is just not appropriate. Add ten years and the situation would be a bit easier to press. The related writings of the past two years came to mind along with the need to place the information here. These days we are unable to avoid exploration of the subject. In that vein, her form was very lanky and pushed some of the mechanical relationships into the stuff of dreams. Her long neck, slender waist, and sharp shoulders led us to again feel the intense desire to wrap the seamstress tape about her and begin recording. When she walked to and from the back area of the store, we could see quite the beautifully flowing gait. Just a few steps were required for her very long legs to carry her across the room. And she did not stop for a second -- the busy morning meant moving quickly to serve so many patrons. As days passed, we saw her often and added some polite conversation while ordering. Her smile showed off a natural flair for the service industry, and her bright, beautiful eyes conveyed much kindness. She was something of note, to be sure, and we did our best to take in as much as possible while in her presence. The barista and her incredible height stood out in the room like a green moon in the sky. The whole of her appearance, demeanor, and energy helped to give our morning a substantial boost toward a work day. Unfortunately, underneath it all began the waves of discomfort and disillusionment at our position with regard to this most deviant of obsessions. The feelings crippled us within minutes of exiting the shop... Every single time. Our need to know of the entirety of her form has become a problem and a distraction from everyday activities. We still visit the shop most mornings, make our pleasant remarks, and move on down the depressive road toward work. We cannot help but go to see her (partly due to the coffee being on the way to our daily destinations) because she now represents the only recurring vision out of the mass which we have sighted. The idea is we can continue to see the gorgeous barista without any involvement whatsoever. That is both wonderful and traumatic at the same time. Mostly the latter. Defined throughout The waves come crashing over us at any given moment. We think of her image and become swept up by the motion and the power of the sea. They take over our senses and leave us without mental form. The images are washed within our dysfunctional psyche and come out the other side to be very damaging. The press of the water and the force of the impact leave us sans air. Our energy level drops significantly and then every mental image comes back to leave us without any motivation whatsoever. We simply fall down a hill and into the water, leaving us at the mercy of the fucking waves. So, where do we go? The fucking beach? Or do we sit and wait for the next set of swells to pull us under for good? Huh? Too often we throw out the allegorical crap and then the entire essay goes to shit. Let us be clear, for a change. The issue of seeing these examples of mechanical beauty is becoming too much to simply sit and write, and we are soon going to need a massive fucking change. The barista is a person, and we are the catalyst of the difficulties. The girl at the checkout is the same... a person. Perhaps she crafted herself for years into a goal of looks, or perhaps she ended up that way through circumstances and actions over which she had little control. Who knows, but the result was one of the most strikingly beautiful women ever within our vision. Still, she is a person above all other things. And there are more waves. And more. Then, the alcohol. Yay! Right. That tall blonde is a wondrous sight -- just as many others -- and naturally drives us straight to the keyboard. Why not? This is quickly becoming all of us. The whole shitaree. We could talk to her, but then the age factor comes into play, and then we flop back to the need, and then back to the fact that she is so young, and then the obsession so far unrealized, and... Oh, fuck it. You know. Yes, the catalyst of the difficulties. All of it. The Raven was not the cause of anything aside from destructive behavior, and that period of time was the combination of both of us. Very thin, with the numbers we need And now we go all the way back to the girl at the car wash... So many years between that sight and the barista. This is different, of course, because we think of everything within a changed world combined with our changed outlook. Back then it was dim, but the reason was a lack of understanding. Now, the barista drums up thoughts of the car wash because of the height involved and, more importantly, the fact that the early interest turned to obsession and eventually a dire need. It became enough to force us into the ocean if things did not bear fruit. And they have not. Aside from the Raven, there has been no research, no photography, no numbers... only words. As much as the outlet of dialog can benefit us, the truth is we need so much more and that may never happen. Another wave. We will not sit here and continually question the 'where' and 'why' because that has already been tread into the fucking subsoil. The fact is that we need to move forward somehow. Somehow. Somehow. We need to fucking step through and either press this into something good or give the whole thing up (is that possible?). La mer awaits. And so does the Raven for fuck's sake. She is there, too. Another wave. The whole affair is driving us to drink. Yeah, no shit. We have been here a long time. Hopefully this is not leading to the end of the mess. We need it to go on for some time in order to allow for possibility. The barista is not going to be there, but someone of her caliber may come into our sights, and if such an event takes place we must be ready and mentally able to push forward. The ocean may be awaiting our plunge, but something else could be waiting as well. Time will either illuminate or force us to vanish once and for all. Either is acceptable, honestly. How many fucking times have we said that? Jesus. Blonde hair and length From here... Indeed. What to do? For the time being we are going to continue with the QR venture and see what develops. Only a handful have been handed out and so far no response of any kind. Not even an angry email or two. Nothing. There seems little else that can be done other than further exploration of the subject. Perhaps we can streamline the splash and see if that helps a bit. The barista really tossed everything on its side for a while, and we were not expecting such a feeling. She is there day after miserable day and all we can do is fix up the coffee, glance, and leave. There are no options when it comes to that example due to her age. We do have limits, believe it or not. And we shall continue the search regardless of the downsides to our mental health. There is no other way. If we implode, we implode. If not, readers are guaranteed little to no improvement or upside here. No shit, right? Where have we heard that before. Perhaps we will sight some sort of succubus that can put us out of our misery and remove the harmful memories." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
The Barista and the Waves Mature content No. 39 Published August 13th, 2017 2:14pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "We walked into the coffee house many, many times throughout the course of a few years. Those employed there were always young and the turnover was fairly high due to school schedules and the like. Some stayed longer and created a courteous rapport with daily visitors. Others came and went as their lives changed. One day recently we strolled in and the entire look and feel of the business changed. Behind the superautomatic espresso machines was a six-foot tall blonde barista with the dimensions of the gods. She was always smiling while working, and her movements were as fluid as any viscometer would attest. Every part of her was screaming to be dimensioned. Long arms, very long legs, slender fingers, beautifully tapered at every cross section. She walked about performing her duties and all the while looking as if she should be on a runway rather than brewing beverages for the masses. The sight of her was nearly crippling. Day after day we stopped for coffee and most of the time she was there. When speaking, she was very pleasant and kind. When working she stayed busy, balancing the courtesy with production. On any given occasion upon seeing her the QR card yearned to fly out of the wallet. It never did. That woman was everything we sought (just as others mentioned here), and the thought of creating a portfolio of her has been more than desirable. It has been demanding. She was a gorgeous and anomalous example of the numbers which appeared at their very limits, regardless of their location on her. Everything was there -- from her long hair to her lengthy, narrow feet -- and every stop on the way down. Stretched to the ends of our senses There are many correlations regarding the barista and her supreme look. The first which comes to mind was the girl at the express checkout (already covered here. She was nearly as tall -- likely at least five foot nine -- with similar yet exaggerated features. And then there was the girl at the super bowl party, five foot eleven at the least, with her incredible form. Two hours of staring at her was excruciating and frightening at the same time. Those women with their unending and fascinating dimensions were brought to mind immediately at the sight of the young barista. And we mean young... She had a pin which read '2017 Graduate'... And we are not speaking of college. Yikes to the nth degree. Regardless of the desire to hand her the QR card, that is just not appropriate. Add ten years and the situation would be a bit easier to press. The related writings of the past two years came to mind along with the need to place the information here. These days we are unable to avoid exploration of the subject. In that vein, her form was very lanky and pushed some of the mechanical relationships into the stuff of dreams. Her long neck, slender waist, and sharp shoulders led us to again feel the intense desire to wrap the seamstress tape about her and begin recording. When she walked to and from the back area of the store, we could see quite the beautifully flowing gait. Just a few steps were required for her very long legs to carry her across the room. And she did not stop for a second -- the busy morning meant moving quickly to serve so many patrons. As days passed, we saw her often and added some polite conversation while ordering. Her smile showed off a natural flair for the service industry, and her bright, beautiful eyes conveyed much kindness. She was something of note, to be sure, and we did our best to take in as much as possible while in her presence. The barista and her incredible height stood out in the room like a green moon in the sky. The whole of her appearance, demeanor, and energy helped to give our morning a substantial boost toward a work day. Unfortunately, underneath it all began the waves of discomfort and disillusionment at our position with regard to this most deviant of obsessions. The feelings crippled us within minutes of exiting the shop... Every single time. Our need to know of the entirety of her form has become a problem and a distraction from everyday activities. We still visit the shop most mornings, make our pleasant remarks, and move on down the depressive road toward work. We cannot help but go to see her (partly due to the coffee being on the way to our daily destinations) because she now represents the only recurring vision out of the mass which we have sighted. The idea is we can continue to see the gorgeous barista without any involvement whatsoever. That is both wonderful and traumatic at the same time. Mostly the latter. Defined throughout The waves come crashing over us at any given moment. We think of her image and become swept up by the motion and the power of the sea. They take over our senses and leave us without mental form. The images are washed within our dysfunctional psyche and come out the other side to be very damaging. The press of the water and the force of the impact leave us sans air. Our energy level drops significantly and then every mental image comes back to leave us without any motivation whatsoever. We simply fall down a hill and into the water, leaving us at the mercy of the fucking waves. So, where do we go? The fucking beach? Or do we sit and wait for the next set of swells to pull us under for good? Huh? Too often we throw out the allegorical crap and then the entire essay goes to shit. Let us be clear, for a change. The issue of seeing these examples of mechanical beauty is becoming too much to simply sit and write, and we are soon going to need a massive fucking change. The barista is a person, and we are the catalyst of the difficulties. The girl at the checkout is the same... a person. Perhaps she crafted herself for years into a goal of looks, or perhaps she ended up that way through circumstances and actions over which she had little control. Who knows, but the result was one of the most strikingly beautiful women ever within our vision. Still, she is a person above all other things. And there are more waves. And more. Then, the alcohol. Yay! Right. That tall blonde is a wondrous sight -- just as many others -- and naturally drives us straight to the keyboard. Why not? This is quickly becoming all of us. The whole shitaree. We could talk to her, but then the age factor comes into play, and then we flop back to the need, and then back to the fact that she is so young, and then the obsession so far unrealized, and... Oh, fuck it. You know. Yes, the catalyst of the difficulties. All of it. The Raven was not the cause of anything aside from destructive behavior, and that period of time was the combination of both of us. Very thin, with the numbers we need And now we go all the way back to the girl at the car wash... So many years between that sight and the barista. This is different, of course, because we think of everything within a changed world combined with our changed outlook. Back then it was dim, but the reason was a lack of understanding. Now, the barista drums up thoughts of the car wash because of the height involved and, more importantly, the fact that the early interest turned to obsession and eventually a dire need. It became enough to force us into the ocean if things did not bear fruit. And they have not. Aside from the Raven, there has been no research, no photography, no numbers... only words. As much as the outlet of dialog can benefit us, the truth is we need so much more and that may never happen. Another wave. We will not sit here and continually question the 'where' and 'why' because that has already been tread into the fucking subsoil. The fact is that we need to move forward somehow. Somehow. Somehow. We need to fucking step through and either press this into something good or give the whole thing up (is that possible?). La mer awaits. And so does the Raven for fuck's sake. She is there, too. Another wave. The whole affair is driving us to drink. Yeah, no shit. We have been here a long time. Hopefully this is not leading to the end of the mess. We need it to go on for some time in order to allow for possibility. The barista is not going to be there, but someone of her caliber may come into our sights, and if such an event takes place we must be ready and mentally able to push forward. The ocean may be awaiting our plunge, but something else could be waiting as well. Time will either illuminate or force us to vanish once and for all. Either is acceptable, honestly. How many fucking times have we said that? Jesus. Blonde hair and length From here... Indeed. What to do? For the time being we are going to continue with the QR venture and see what develops. Only a handful have been handed out and so far no response of any kind. Not even an angry email or two. Nothing. There seems little else that can be done other than further exploration of the subject. Perhaps we can streamline the splash and see if that helps a bit. The barista really tossed everything on its side for a while, and we were not expecting such a feeling. She is there day after miserable day and all we can do is fix up the coffee, glance, and leave. There are no options when it comes to that example due to her age. We do have limits, believe it or not. And we shall continue the search regardless of the downsides to our mental health. There is no other way. If we implode, we implode. If not, readers are guaranteed little to no improvement or upside here. No shit, right? Where have we heard that before. Perhaps we will sight some sort of succubus that can put us out of our misery and remove the harmful memories."
The Barista and the Waves
Mature content No. 39 Published August 13th, 2017 2:14pm pdt read ( words) Past entries
"We walked into the coffee house many, many times throughout the course of a few years. Those employed there were always young and the turnover was fairly high due to school schedules and the like. Some stayed longer and created a courteous rapport with daily visitors. Others came and went as their lives changed. One day recently we strolled in and the entire look and feel of the business changed. Behind the superautomatic espresso machines was a six-foot tall blonde barista with the dimensions of the gods. She was always smiling while working, and her movements were as fluid as any viscometer would attest. Every part of her was screaming to be dimensioned. Long arms, very long legs, slender fingers, beautifully tapered at every cross section. She walked about performing her duties and all the while looking as if she should be on a runway rather than brewing beverages for the masses. The sight of her was nearly crippling. Day after day we stopped for coffee and most of the time she was there. When speaking, she was very pleasant and kind. When working she stayed busy, balancing the courtesy with production. On any given occasion upon seeing her the QR card yearned to fly out of the wallet. It never did. That woman was everything we sought (just as others mentioned here), and the thought of creating a portfolio of her has been more than desirable. It has been demanding. She was a gorgeous and anomalous example of the numbers which appeared at their very limits, regardless of their location on her. Everything was there -- from her long hair to her lengthy, narrow feet -- and every stop on the way down.
Stretched to the ends of our senses
There are many correlations regarding the barista and her supreme look. The first which comes to mind was the girl at the express checkout (already covered here. She was nearly as tall -- likely at least five foot nine -- with similar yet exaggerated features. And then there was the girl at the super bowl party, five foot eleven at the least, with her incredible form. Two hours of staring at her was excruciating and frightening at the same time. Those women with their unending and fascinating dimensions were brought to mind immediately at the sight of the young barista. And we mean young... She had a pin which read '2017 Graduate'... And we are not speaking of college. Yikes to the nth degree. Regardless of the desire to hand her the QR card, that is just not appropriate. Add ten years and the situation would be a bit easier to press. The related writings of the past two years came to mind along with the need to place the information here. These days we are unable to avoid exploration of the subject. In that vein, her form was very lanky and pushed some of the mechanical relationships into the stuff of dreams. Her long neck, slender waist, and sharp shoulders led us to again feel the intense desire to wrap the seamstress tape about her and begin recording. When she walked to and from the back area of the store, we could see quite the beautifully flowing gait. Just a few steps were required for her very long legs to carry her across the room. And she did not stop for a second -- the busy morning meant moving quickly to serve so many patrons. As days passed, we saw her often and added some polite conversation while ordering. Her smile showed off a natural flair for the service industry, and her bright, beautiful eyes conveyed much kindness. She was something of note, to be sure, and we did our best to take in as much as possible while in her presence. The barista and her incredible height stood out in the room like a green moon in the sky. The whole of her appearance, demeanor, and energy helped to give our morning a substantial boost toward a work day. Unfortunately, underneath it all began the waves of discomfort and disillusionment at our position with regard to this most deviant of obsessions. The feelings crippled us within minutes of exiting the shop... Every single time. Our need to know of the entirety of her form has become a problem and a distraction from everyday activities. We still visit the shop most mornings, make our pleasant remarks, and move on down the depressive road toward work. We cannot help but go to see her (partly due to the coffee being on the way to our daily destinations) because she now represents the only recurring vision out of the mass which we have sighted. The idea is we can continue to see the gorgeous barista without any involvement whatsoever. That is both wonderful and traumatic at the same time. Mostly the latter.
Defined throughout
The waves come crashing over us at any given moment. We think of her image and become swept up by the motion and the power of the sea. They take over our senses and leave us without mental form. The images are washed within our dysfunctional psyche and come out the other side to be very damaging. The press of the water and the force of the impact leave us sans air. Our energy level drops significantly and then every mental image comes back to leave us without any motivation whatsoever. We simply fall down a hill and into the water, leaving us at the mercy of the fucking waves. So, where do we go? The fucking beach? Or do we sit and wait for the next set of swells to pull us under for good? Huh? Too often we throw out the allegorical crap and then the entire essay goes to shit. Let us be clear, for a change. The issue of seeing these examples of mechanical beauty is becoming too much to simply sit and write, and we are soon going to need a massive fucking change. The barista is a person, and we are the catalyst of the difficulties. The girl at the checkout is the same... a person. Perhaps she crafted herself for years into a goal of looks, or perhaps she ended up that way through circumstances and actions over which she had little control. Who knows, but the result was one of the most strikingly beautiful women ever within our vision. Still, she is a person above all other things. And there are more waves. And more. Then, the alcohol. Yay! Right. That tall blonde is a wondrous sight -- just as many others -- and naturally drives us straight to the keyboard. Why not? This is quickly becoming all of us. The whole shitaree. We could talk to her, but then the age factor comes into play, and then we flop back to the need, and then back to the fact that she is so young, and then the obsession so far unrealized, and... Oh, fuck it. You know. Yes, the catalyst of the difficulties. All of it. The Raven was not the cause of anything aside from destructive behavior, and that period of time was the combination of both of us.
Very thin, with the numbers we need
And now we go all the way back to the girl at the car wash... So many years between that sight and the barista. This is different, of course, because we think of everything within a changed world combined with our changed outlook. Back then it was dim, but the reason was a lack of understanding. Now, the barista drums up thoughts of the car wash because of the height involved and, more importantly, the fact that the early interest turned to obsession and eventually a dire need. It became enough to force us into the ocean if things did not bear fruit. And they have not. Aside from the Raven, there has been no research, no photography, no numbers... only words. As much as the outlet of dialog can benefit us, the truth is we need so much more and that may never happen. Another wave. We will not sit here and continually question the 'where' and 'why' because that has already been tread into the fucking subsoil. The fact is that we need to move forward somehow. Somehow. Somehow. We need to fucking step through and either press this into something good or give the whole thing up (is that possible?). La mer awaits. And so does the Raven for fuck's sake. She is there, too. Another wave. The whole affair is driving us to drink. Yeah, no shit. We have been here a long time. Hopefully this is not leading to the end of the mess. We need it to go on for some time in order to allow for possibility. The barista is not going to be there, but someone of her caliber may come into our sights, and if such an event takes place we must be ready and mentally able to push forward. The ocean may be awaiting our plunge, but something else could be waiting as well. Time will either illuminate or force us to vanish once and for all. Either is acceptable, honestly. How many fucking times have we said that? Jesus.
Blonde hair and length
From here... Indeed. What to do? For the time being we are going to continue with the QR venture and see what develops. Only a handful have been handed out and so far no response of any kind. Not even an angry email or two. Nothing. There seems little else that can be done other than further exploration of the subject. Perhaps we can streamline the splash and see if that helps a bit. The barista really tossed everything on its side for a while, and we were not expecting such a feeling. She is there day after miserable day and all we can do is fix up the coffee, glance, and leave. There are no options when it comes to that example due to her age. We do have limits, believe it or not. And we shall continue the search regardless of the downsides to our mental health. There is no other way. If we implode, we implode. If not, readers are guaranteed little to no improvement or upside here. No shit, right? Where have we heard that before. Perhaps we will sight some sort of succubus that can put us out of our misery and remove the harmful memories."
Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
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