You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Tim Horton’s’ tag.

1. When someone is waiting and allowing me to turn left in heavy traffic, it is rude to pull around them and make me, the person waiting for me, and all of the people waiting behind me wait longer when my left turn would have taken mere seconds to accomplish

2. In this day and age, why would you ever make a salad dressing in a plastic bottle without a squeezy top?

3. It is ridiculous when people (usually short, middle-aged men) check out my speed on the treadmill at the gym and try to match it, but can’t because their little New Englander legs are far too short. This is a bit funny too, but mostly annoying because it happens like every time I go to the gym. I am too fast for you.

4. When my internet hiccups and I miss crucial bits of chat. This is my fault for having the lowest tier internet speed, but still.

5. Also, the fact that I can’t watch instant Netflix movies because, again, my internet is too slow even though I’m paying what I feel is an exorbitant amount of money per month for it.

6. The fact that I cannot ever decide what to wear because the temperature changes every 30 minutes. I eventually do decide, because I must leave the house, but I’m rarely comfortable.

7. I still haven’t managed to find a good burrito in the state of Rhode Island, although I now have better idea (information which was previously withheld from me) of where to look.

8. The fact that even though I flatly refuse to ever buy diet anything, I still manage to come home with stuff that has phrases like “only 1 gram net carbs!” on it. It’s Chunky Blue Cheese Dressing (without a squeezy top), it will make you fat– full stop. Who the hell cares about how many carbs are in it?

9. Because my mother wholeheartedly embraces diet food, I still have a Lean Cuisine frozen pizza in my freezer from when the parents visited my in November. I do not want to eat it; I’m fairly certain it will taste like sand, but I hate throwing away perfectly good food. I also have two muffins from Tim Horton’s that my dad didn’t eat. I had one of the dozen he bought, and I know for a fact that these two extra muffins, now freezer-burned will taste appallingly bad, but I keep thinking that I’ll get poor enough/ drunk enough/ trick someone else into eating them. They stare at me every time I open the freezer, with their little freeze-dried bullshit blueberry eyes.

10. The two plants I bought last week are looked seriously peaky.

Last January, as I blogged about previously, my dad (Wayne) and I traveled to Florida to run The Walt Disney World Marathon and Half-Marathon respectively. We flew out of Minneapolis, where neither of us lived, so we have to do the “get up early and hit the road” thing. We stopped at a Holiday station on the way so I could get a giant coffee and he could get—cookies, I guess. He bought 4 giant cookies in a variety of flavors, offered me half of one, and when I refused, ate them all.

This was strange to me, but I thought, okay, maybe this is the carb-loading that people say you should do before a big race. Maybe it’s not pasta the night before, like I always thought, but cookies, five days before. For the duration of the trip, he just kept on eating cookies. Every day. “I’m going to go get a cookie for breakfast.” He’d say. The day after my race, when I was lying in bed and praying for the sweet release of death (or actually unconciousness)—he brought me a cup full of mini-chocolate chip nibblers that I’m sure were grossly overpriced.

Fast-Forward to this Thanksgiving when the parents came out to Providence to visit me. They would get up early every morning to go for a long walk around my shady neighborhood, then complain later when I took them on walking tours. These moments were all punctuated by my dad eating cookies. There’s a Tim Horton’s down the street from me that Wayne would visit constantly. Every time we’d drive by he’d say “Tim Horton’s, I hkasjlha frequent that place.”

“You do what, Wayne? You’ve gotta frequent that place, or you kind of frequent that place?”

He’d just nod and say “yup.” This happened more than once.

I’d been living next to that Tim Horton’s for three months by that point, and had never gone in. I still haven’t gone in. I’d had Tim Horton’s before, in Canada, and it was fine, usually. There was the one time when I asked the girl for half ‘n’ half for my coffee and she demanded “Half and half what? Half of what? What are you asking me for? I don’t understand you.”

She kept getting more and more agitated, so finally, I just spluttered “Cream.” I guess they don’t do half ‘n’ half in Canada.

She indicated the end of the counter, where it was hiding behind some napkins, and gave me an amazingly dirty look.

I don’t hate Tim Horton’s based upon that experience, even if it may sound like I do, I just don’t need to go there. For coffee-on-the-go, I seek out the state religion of Rhode Island—Dunkin’ Donuts.

When mom and I were working on the finishing touches of paint in my place, Wayne hovered around like an eager puppy, asking over and over if we were hungry, finally just saying, “I’m going to run down to the Tim Horton’s, if you want anything.” We said no, we were fine, but he came back with a bag of six cookies in a variety of flavors. When we finished up, washed our hands, and actually did want a cookie; we found that Wayne had made short work of the ½ dozen. He was quick to offer to go back and get more, though.

He got more cookies, also sandwiches, and the following morning, muffins. While he was on the second cookie run of the day, I finally asked mom, “What is the deal with Wayne and all of the cookies, is he always like this?”

“No, I don’t think so anyway. I think it’s just when he’s on vacation, he thinks he needs to eat cookies all the time.”

She looked thoughtful for a bit, until I finally asked her, “Do you think it’s weird too?”

“Yes, also, it’s not very good for him.”

Then Wayne showed up with 6 more cookies in a variety of flavors, and three sandwiches.