happiness is a warm gun (a la mode)

I hate Wednesdays.

Especially on mornings when the i-80 is a friggin' parking lot that stretches from Vallejo through the maze and past Treasure Island on the Bay Bridge. It's especially bad on those mornings when even the diamond lane refuses to budge. And then you have those crazy jackasses who decide they're going to drive on the right hand shoulder all the way to the exit.


Now I understand why highway shootouts have become popular within the Richmond city limits. Not only is there the heaviest amount of traffic in that area, but also some of the worst drivers. that's some hard-core road rage.


Plus, if I haven't had my morning coffee by the time everyone's already read this week's paper it can be pretty damn bad because all you hear throughout the office is: "oh, what the fuck?!"

I'd had a headache pretty much since the morning's commute, which I thought would be eased by screaming in my car at the top of my lungs and blasting Nirvana's "Nevermind" louder than hip hop eminating from the pimped-out Buick with shiny rims that was hovering next to me.

I figured two things might help. 1.) A Parisian style lunch at Cafe Clem in Berkeley and 2.) A double-shot iced mocha from Scharfen Berger Chocolates down the street from the cafe. No relief. Even the extra-strengh pain reliever from the office medicine cabinet refuses to help me out.

I will say that lunch was superb as always. I tend to get the same thing: le monsieur sandwich on rustic bread. It's basically a grilled ham and cheese sandwich - comfort food on a day you just want to curl up into the fetal position and dissappear.

I usually get my lunch to go and eat it in the office, but today the office was the farthest place I wanted to be at. So, I sat at one of the little cafe tables reminiscent of the ones that you find all over Parisian cafes. All I needed was a pack of French smokes, a cafe au lait and a stack-full of post-cards. Then it would feel just like Paris. Instead I sat and read a book. I figured if I didn't the smoke coming out of my ears would be visible.

I still needed something . . . chocolate and espresso, perhaps? That always helps. So, I headed to the only chocolate factory I know of here in the East Bay. I love the smell of chocolate. It reminds me of home. I grew up with the bittersweet aroma of cocoa coming from the Guittard chocolate factory in Burlingame. That smell, along with the airplane fuel exhaust and midnight jasmine, always remind me of home.

But of course, one does not walk out of a chocolate factory with only a mocha, does one? Yeah, I caved in and got a raspberry chocolate cheesecake. (They were out of their signature chocolate cake). But as with anything chocolate. two bites is always more than enough.

I think the only thing that can cure this headache is lots of alcohol at the event we're hosting tonight. That might just be the cure. Here's to a Midori Sour!