half-caf, part-skim, extra shot of wheatgrass with paprika, please

I am embarrassed when I go to the coffee shop and order a drink with many variables. But then I realize, really, it's just like going to the doctor with a weird medical problem - they've seen a lot worse.

i hate you, hipsters

I hate you. I hate your smugness. I hate your carefully-cultivated flat affect. I hate your self-conscious b&w photos. I hate your Urban Outfitter clothing that you say you got in a thrift store. Oh, I hate your thrift stores, too. I mean, I hate your "vintage" stores, which are just thrift stores with a 200% markup. I hate your jailhouse tattooes which you definitely did not get in jail, and your trucker hat which you definitely do not wear on long-distance hauls (unless you count driving to Ikea). I hate seeing you in the Comet, pretending to be entranced by your boyfriend's brother's shitty band. Your facial expression is interfering with the digestion of my burrito which, by the way, turned out to be not-that-tasty anyway. I hate your "art" and the fact that you think it's the best fucking thing that ever happened to Northside.

Also I hate your hairdo.