CPP #8: Starbucks Spinach & Feta Breakfast Wrap

Product: Starbucks Spinach & Feta Breakfast Wrap

Place: Starbucks

Price: $0On a rare occassion, I bought one measly tea

Then Starbucks offers, “Breakfast wrap – for free!”

I didn’t hesitate to snag my deal

And select an item with the greatest appeal

Flavors were balanced, which was a surprise

Although added Sriracha to let the spiciness rise

All in all, twas a damn tasty wrap

Perhaps I don’t mind this rewards system trap.

What I Learned This Week #3

Here we go again.

1. This is how you cut a mango.

I wanted to make a mango/strawberry/tomato/avocado salsa, which sounds like a mouthful. But even I have to admit – it was quite delectable. Before I attempted this tropical dip, there was just one problem. How to cut a mango…so I watched this handy video, which turned out not so handy because I started cutting the mango with the “slice” approach, when I should’ve attempted the “dice” method.

So I had skinned half of the mango, but realized I wanted to make the little bite pieces instead. There was a lot of slippery slice dicing going on. But my second mango saw a little more success.

2. Los Angeles is officially the worst highly populated city for pedestrians.

http://www.latimes.com/local/california/la-me-walkability-downtown-20150412-story.html#page=1

Yep, there goes $197 from your pocket (although most sane people don’t carry that much around). Just for crossing after the white man has been replaced by the flashing red hand.

I may not miss Boston for its winters. But I sure miss its respect for the walking individual.

3. My dog is not allergic to bees. I took her on another daily stroll and we had probably just hit the first mile mark when she suddenly stopped using her back left leg and hopped on the other three. This was pretty unusual, so I checked under her foot. Sure enough, there was a little fuzzy, gold-and-black-striped honeymaker gripping onto her black paw pads. Actually feeling sorry for my dog, I flicked the bugger away, but there was some speck still lingering (presumably the stinger?). So I forced her to lie down in the middle of the gutter. She was probably humiliated.

I wiped off whatever was still on her paw, she licked it a couple times, and then got up. Still hopping. Funny thing – on that particular day I decided not to bring my phone. There was no way I’d be able to physically carry my dog back home, but I didn’t want her bunnying around for the rest of the walk. There was some gardening guy in the distance…would he have a phone?

But then…my persevering pup – bless her cold, black heart – toughed it out and kept trotting along as if nothing had happened.

4. Jellyfish look like…jelly.

My sister and I made an impromptu trip to Manhattan Beach on a late Monday morning. We peppered with the volleyball, took a half-hearted jog/walk, tried to crush our vitamin D deficiency. That’s the lifestyle that outsiders imagine all Southern Californians follow.

In the words of Clueless’s Cher, another Los Angeles native:

Well, Cher lived in Beverly Hills. But that’s still considered LA, right?

Later my sister went into the water, but since I’m cold-blooded I read a bit of Darkly Dreaming Dexter. It wasn’t too long until I got fidgety, so I ambled up and down the shore.

And what do you know, there was this plate-sized creature just hanging around on the sand. Well, maybe not hanging.  It was probably dead.

I assumed the tentacles were buried underneath somewhere, so I figured it was safe to prod it with my toe. Surprisingly, the texture wasn’t a mushy gel. It was more like a semi-solidified gelatin.

Guess I can add that to my bucket list – and check it off.

5. A dirty Oprah chai is a Starbucks order that’s essentially an Oprah chai with a shot of espresso.  Thank you Oprah for sacrificing your name to a) raise money for education and 2) allowing us to attempt not-so-sly, immature jokes to imply that you’re “skinny” and “dirty.”

6. Art can be hazardous to your health. That is, if you suffer from Stendhal syndrome (thanks again to Stuff You Should Know‘s explanation of the Louvre). Basically you see a grand piece of art and you suddenly experience dizziness, nausea, panic, or hallucinations. I think the only work that would’ve pushed me a millimeter in that direction is the Statue of David.

When my eyes met that marvelous sculpture, it was like my life and everyone else’s in the world was completely meaningless. Because none of us would ever be able to accomplish something of that nature.

But then a little Florentine gelateria called La Carraia served me this cup of heavenly gelato delight:

And life was worth living again.

The Helpful Hobo

Most of my close calls with homeless people are on the streets or in a library. I guess this could be considered the streets.

Previous episodes include:

1. I was at the Fullerton library and a hobo (at least he looked and certainly had the urine scent of a hobo) sat down at the desk next to me. Oh boy, did he have a stench. But trying not to be blatantly rude and disgusted, I stayed in my spot, praying that my nose hairs would protect me from any gag reaction. Funny thing was, he pulled out his own laptop. Okay, so he could afford a laptop but not some deodorant. Even if he had gotten a donated laptop, couldn’t he find some donated perfume? Maybe he just has different priorities. Or maybe he was going to use his laptop to look up which deodorants work best. When I told my sister this story, we agreed that if we ever had enough funds to spare, we should open up a Showers for Sidewalk Sleepers facility.
2. I was at the Pasadena library and lo and behold, a homeless lady sat down across the table from me. She kind of radiated some expired pee smell too, but after ten minutes of getting settled she actually sprayed herself with some body mist. Thank god, I’ll be able to inhale oxygen now. But apparently the library doubles as her cafeteria. She pulls out ingredients for her lunch – like some veggies, a tortilla wrap, and best of all – canned sardines. Now, I actually love sardines. I practically survived off of the 65 cent cans in Sydney. So I can tolerate that fishy smell. But I doubt anyone else in that library came with the intention of breathing in those omega-3s. Anyway, I saw that she was struggling to twist the cap off her pomegranate juice.

Me: Do you need any help?

She takes a look at my pitiful, preteen Asian frame.

Sardine Hobo: I doubt you’re any stronger than I am.

Me: Well, maybe you loosened it up. I can just give it a try.

She handed it over. I positioned my hands, turned…and sure enough, off it went!

It’s not about strength. But the size of your hands. In this case, my baby hands are especially designed to grasp onto small bottle caps.

She was pretty shocked, but mouthed a thank you and proceeded to enjoy her lunch from the sea. Later she left for a while, but her belongings were still on the table. I found her sleeping on a chair further away before I left. It reminded me of how my friend and I camped out at the airport overnight. Sometimes you just need a place to rest your eyes.

Okay, enough rambling. Let’s get on with the most current story.

The Specs

Who was he?

No clue, just some scraggly homeless-looking man in his 50s, or maybe 40s. His hair was a rust brown, with some specks of dust here and there. It’s hard to tell when they’re not looking their best.

What happened?

I was working on the screenplay (as all unemployed people in Los Angeles do) and I hear someone trying to get my attention behind me. So I look over, and there’s the homeless man.

Oh fuck, another hobo about to make me feel like a total selfish cheapskate for not giving them money. This would be especially true because I had my laptop out.

But to my surprise and pretentious presumptions, he held out some napkins to me.

Napkin Hobo: Here.

I just stare back in confusion.

NH: You need some tissues to wipe down your computer screen. It’s dirty.

Me: Oh, thanks.

I accepted the napkins, expecting he would turn and start charging me per square centimeter.

Nope. He just walked away.

When did this happen? Where was I?

This was yesterday, Monday, November 24th around 11:30 a.m. or 12:00 p.m. My dad and I go to what we call the “ghetto Starbucks” on York in Highland Park. It has a drive thru, but there’s only outdoor seating. I enjoy being able to soak in the sun because it’s the only way I can escape from the icicles of my house – even when it’s 80 degrees in LA. But sitting outside in Highland Park, completely unshielded can sometimes be considered a risk. Ah well, it’s been like five years since that girl was shot at the Rite Aid across the street.

Why would I take napkins from a hobo?

Well, he was offering. Hopefully he doesn’t have Ebola. I like to think this incident is sadly amusing because it means that my screen was so dirty and dusty, even a homeless person couldn’t stand to look at it. My standards of living could now be considered worse than a hobo’s.

How will this change my attitude towards hobos?

Sorry, no eye-opening, I’m-going-to-be-Mother-Teresa epiphany. I’ll still make excuses why I have no change on me. Until my student loan repayments are done – and they’ve just begun – and I can make more than $300 a month, then I might consider making an effort to check my pockets.

But I haven’t completely brushed it off. I can’t make promises, but maybe in the future I won’t always assume that someone who looks a little disheveled is out to beg. Maybe they have something to offer up instead, because they’re more likely to have a heart.

Oh great. Now I’ve given birth to the expectation that hobos will give something to me.