Froyo? Oh no.

Maybe it was just the overall experience of the cleverly named "Yogurtland". Maybe it was because I mixed too many flavors (chocolate, vanilla and coffee, plus whatever chocolate flavored candy stuff I could find). Or maybe it was the bright pastel colors and hipster something kind of atmosphere. Or maybe it was the "dude" that shuffled in with his wavy blonde hair, Right-Said-Fred-one-size-too-small white polo and salmon colored shorts (with watchband to match). Or maybe it was because the scale was in hundredths of a pound but the price was in ounces; if it was that hip, it should have all been in grams (note - semi-colon). Or maybe it was the fact that they had a tip jar. Yes. A tip jar at a SELF-SERVE establishment. Do they not know how miserly I am? The poor vacant kid at the register did ask if we wanted a receipt, but is that really worthy of a tip? What the crap are you tipping for? "Nice job converting pounds to ounces - you're a champ. Here's 1/8th of a ten dollar bill."

Also, I'm lactose intolerant. It happens when you get older. There, I said it. But I have pills for that. But apparently I'm hipster intolerant too, though I'm not sure the affects are similar (for example, I don't think Ivy Caps, mutton chops and black plastic frames make my stomach gurgle - but I'm not ruling it out). But that probably happens when you get older, too. "You darn young-uns and your kitsch. Back in my day we called kitschy 'contemporary' and it was all new and young and we did it just to piss off old people."

So if I could just lasso in the tangent for a second, I think I went in for frozen yogurt, with the wrong idea (never saying "froyo" again for fear I might just start punching myself in the face to make it stop). It's supposed to be kinda healthy, right? Vanilla. Fruit. Done. Maybe peach yogurt with some nuts. In which case, I have an idea for a tip: a folded up piece of paper with these words of advice "Do NOT try to trick me with chocolate. Know who you are. If froyo (punch, punch) is supposed to be an alternative, do this: yogurt. fruits. nuts. and if you must, lychee. But for the love of God, do not insult me by faking chocolate yogurt. Leave that to ice cream." Or maybe a ransom style note that says, "Arm-wrestling contest. Parking lot. 10 o'clock." And then leave a note in the tip jar at Cold Stone that says "Arm-wrestling contest. Parking lot of Yogurtland. 10 o-clock. Bring the thunder." And then when the scrawny hipster waddles into the parking lot, the Pop-eye fore-armed, basketball shoed, baseball cap wearing chic from Cold Stone pop's off froyo's ivy cap, twists him into a headlock and demonstrates the "Mix-in" technique with blood and teeth and unflattering use of a waffle bowl.