Kopi Kampung Kopi Kampung Kopi Kampung Kopi Kampung Kopi Kampung Kopi Kampung Actually, I had a homemade vanilla latte from home today. I’d been neglecting Francesca and she was good to me. She frothed just right.

It’s Almost As Strong As Starbucks

I’m not big on looking at Google searches for how people found me, but today I actually had the time to do it. While I have no idea why the “crawling skin” person would be interested in me, I am most pleased that “shoplift the pootie what does it mean?” garnered me the number one spot. Cool. Starbucks needs to watch their back, too, because “kopi kampung” brought them up in the 1st and 2nd spots, but it was MOCHA MOMMA that was numbers 3 & 4. HA. I’m hoping to knock them out so please leave some Kopi Kampung love for me in the comments should you be the commenting type.

His Kung Fu Is Strong, Too

Recently, my addiction with flickr has helped me find not only great photos, but some great bloggers as well. Currently, my favorite photographer is Ted Foo who has some serious kung fu to his photos. He also introduced me to this as Mr. Rogers has been the topic of late in our house. The video is about 6 minutes in length, but it’s worth it to watch the entire thing for his sincere concern for the state of television in 1969. Every time I watch it I tear up for how it touches me.

First, it’s been the topic because Morgan watches it every single day. I’m grateful for that because Mr. Rogers was The. Coolest. Guy. Morgan doesn’t really have much of a choice since we don’t have cable (or TiVo or anything – it’s a personal family choice so we don’t watch crap).

Secondly, because Ken’s sister used to work for the public television station. Once, while working up on a scaffold she dropped her hammer (or wrench or something made of metal and hard) and she yelled “Ow! Fuck!” (or something really, really bad) and when she looked down she noticed Fred Rogers walking by and looking up at her. Of all the people in the world you wouldn’t want to cuss in front of, I would think Mr. Rogers would rank right up there.

Her Kung Fu Is The Strongest

Since I’ve been handed my ass by my mother in yesterday’s post comments, I figured it was time to make good come of it. Because, seriously, I don’t need my mom to be mad at me. It’s not like I hold the cards on her and can’t make her life miserable while living with me. Sure, we have an extra room, but that couch is looking like a perfect fit for her now. This was paragraph number one, Mom.

There’s something about the impending threat of my mom moving in with us that makes me want to clean things that she would never really care about, but I don’t need to hear anything about the state of my closets or about the dust behind the piano. I’m on it. Mason was given the dustrags and some furniture cleaner first thing this morning from his TaskMasterMommy. Right after he asked to go to the movies and needed money, I knew how I would rope him into doing housework. This was paragraph number two, Mom.

There are a few things my mom and I do well together and one of them is cook. We are on the same vibe in the kitchen and have shorthanded language and like to eat all the same things. No one in the world makes better biscuits and gravy than my mom and I’m going to make her cook it every Saturday morning. Please, Mommy? This was paragraph number three, Mom.

It’s my sincere hope that our family doesn’t try to change things when she moves in, but I know that’s inevitable. We’ll try to live life as normal as possible with regards to hanging out as a family, attending various kid functions, but Kennimus and I will try to have very quiet sex. This was paragraph number four, Mom

Her sense of humor is far greater than mine and she is exactly where I learned to be this wild, mouthy, opionated woman. It’s possible that we’ll even get another tattoo together. I envision a lot of laughter in this house and that’s no different than our every day norm. I even laughed when I saw her comment for the first time ever. But, in truth, what I originally thought when I read it was don’t get cheeky with me, motherfucker.

I’m more concerned about cussing in front of Mr. Rogers than I am my mom.

No coffee today. I’m ok. Really I am. I just didn’t have any coffee. In lieu of a post, I offer a quote from Oliver Wendall Holmes that my mother sent me in the mail: The morning cup of coffee has an exhilaration about it which the cheering influence of the afternoon or evening cup of tea cannot be expected to reproduce.

My coffee of choice today was sex. To sweeten it, I added a dash of sex. It was very nummy. But seriously, I have a question for those of you who read the Cuppa the Day: is it hard to see it over here? I’m thinking of putting it back at the top of my entries. Do you have any thoughts on that? Or do you just have sex on the brain? Geez.

Sometimes, a cuppa can be a work of art. The Moroccan coffee, which is this beautiful reddish-brown color, is normally so special that I don’t have to add anything. A dash of vanilla creamer was a treat this morning as I watched it swirl into this pretty design. Ron, who sent it to me, is a painter who does beautiful work. He’s just let me know that he’s nearly finished with a painting of me from a photo I sent him. Watch out, Art World! I can’t wait to see it!