As Told Over Lift Coffee Shop Brunch

October 23, 2016 by Cazey Williams in Cazey's Column, Richmond Brunch Review

I’ve been to Lift Coffee Shop three times over the last two years, and none of my visits has been disappointing. This last time was the first time I went for brunch, so I’m glad to finally be able to review it. But I’ll also review the coffee since I’ve had that more times than brunch.

So, anyway, the coffee is good. My first time here I got a hot Americano, which is very not my style since I normally only ordered iced drinks. But it was a cold March day. I was on a date. She had asked me out. Conversation was good. Coffee was better. I never saw her again. Well, at least formally. I’ve run into her once or twice while walking in the Fan, but we just smile and keep walking.

This past summer I met Sara and her family at Tarrant’s Café on Broad for brunch. After brunch, I had a whole day ahead of me and I had no special plans. Instead of driving home to do whatever, I decided to walk down to Lift since I remembered it from over a year ago on my date and I also wanted coffee.

We Met On an App - But Then I Paid For More Than Apps

February 24, 2016 by Cazey Williams in Cazey's Column, Dating, Life In Your 20's, life lessons

Senior year of high school we had to choose a topic to debate in my dual enrollment English class. I elected to debate the merits of men paying on the first date. That is, I defended why men shouldn’t pay on the first date. I cringe when I think back on my arguments, because they were rudimentary and based more on wit than wisdom (what’s new?), but I still stand by the assertion: We need to recall the age-old notion that men pay on first dates.

The rule should be either:

a.) Whoever invited you on the date pays (which can be the man then), or

b.) You split the check.

The Telling Windows of Amsterdam

November 17, 2015 by Sara Woznicki in Leisure, Life In Your 20's, life lessons, Sara's Column, Tweets and Mascara

While I found Amsterdam in total discord, from wanting to be a beacon of new economy and growth to also simultaneously wanting to be a historical city, there is one part of the culture that I could spend weeks enjoying:

Amsterdam's Windows.

Some of the windows in Amsterdam are purely entertaining, some are wildly informative and some are just interesting. These are the three types of windows of greatest fascination to me.

How Much Should I Tip?

June 29, 2015 by Cazey Williams in Humor, Life In Your 20's, life lessons, Cazey's Column

As of late, I've been become preoccupied with when and how much to tip. This might have something to do with living in Richmond, VA where a significant portion of the population is the starving artist type who lives off tips. I've also read several posts by service industry workers expressing that if I don't dole out after out I order a muffin at the counter, then they can't afford to live in their 10' x 10' studio that they share with a roommate and a cat over a storefront.

There seems to be an expectation to tip everywhere. No one wants to be seen as cheap. (My mom criticizes that I always calculate my tip so that the total sums to the nearest whole dollar. She argues that my tip should be in whole dollars lest I look stingy. I bristle because oftentimes the server is getting above 20 percent with my computation; I do study math.)

Because It's National Coffee Day

September 29, 2014 by Cazey Williams in Cazey's Column, Guest Post, Leisure, Life In Your 20's, Tweets and Mascara, Young Professionalism

I’m here to set the record straight: I’m not addicted to coffee.

I’ll admit, I’m like the middle school girl who pines for the most recent teen heartthrob idol and adorns her binder (which is already emblazoned with his face and brand, thanks to Wal-Mart capitalism) with his name and hearts, and she won’t shut up about him - but when it comes down to it, she isn’t even dating Justin Bieber/Zac Efron/Brock from Pokemon.

So I talk about coffee all the time; it doesn’t mean we’re together.

You could call me the emotionally abusive/absent boyfriend. Ask me if I drink coffee, and I’ll say I only drink it twice a week – three times if I’m especially sleep deprived – which is true, but it implies a sort of objectivity and detachment from my mistress. Which is definitely not the case.

In fact, I have nicknamed my fondness “#bae.” And like a misogynistic boyfriend, I have preferences for my #bae: Iced and with soy. (Pause here: Misogyny actually isn’t a joke; I can rant about this at another time. Besides coffee, feminism is a passion of mine.)

My friend recently told me that she found a coffee shop on Yelp “that supposedly has the best iced coffee in Richmond. I knew you’d appreciate this. You’re my only friend who loves iced coffee and not just coffee. It is a separate creature, really.” No kidding; iced coffee is a unicorn compared to just to regular, blah, hot coffee.

I didn’t wait for my friend before I tried the coffee.

So based on this adoration, you must be wondering how am I not addicted? Well, like I said, I limit myself to #bae twice a week. So physically I’m not addicted. But emotionally, it’s a different story. I schedule things around the days I allow myself to overdose on Americano on the rocks (that’s what my friend told me the Europeans call iced coffee, and I like to be pretentious). Here where the problem lies: I want #bae every day.

Like, I wish you could bring iced coffee to cycling class instead of water.

I hail from a family of caffeine junkies. Heck, I hail from a nation full of them; we might have poured tea into the bay, but we run on Dunkin and, Gabriel knows, Starbucks is a millennial mecca. People don’t judge if you waken to the coffee pot and need the black stuff to get through listless afternoons. #bae whispers, “What would be so bad about addiction?”

I remember the first time I unlocked the omnipotence of coffee. Two years ago to this month – the third Wednesday of my senior year at college – I had slept ten hours the night before, but I felt as dead as a patient undergoing open heart surgery, and so being as cheap as a broker who banks in the Caribbean, I sought self-service Starbucks (it’s a college campus thing) where instead of paying full price, I filled a 32 oz. soda cup with straight iced coffee (double brewed if it’s Starbucks!), maybe three ice cubes, and a splash of soy milk. Then I went to work where I casually sipped my bae down in about fifteen minutes.

Your eyes probably just bulged. If they didn’t, they should have. I came that close to cardiac arrest that day.

BUT MY GOD, HOW GOOD IT FELT.

Some people get the spins when they’re drunk. I get the pulses when I’m (over)caffeinated. You are infinite. You can run for hours – physically and metaphorically. You are fearless.

The reason I am afraid of addiction is as messed up as that high I had on September 12, 2012: I don’t want a tolerance. I want to be able to get back to that high whenever I please. And if I’m caffeinated every day, eventually it will be an everyday thing, and it won’t be special.

Am I overthinking this? Obviously. But that’s my trademark.

So I sip my #bae and forget these qualms. And senses awaken. Energy proliferates. Social media abounds (because did you really order #Sbx if you didn’t insta it?). And what’s another coffee tomorrow, the next day, even later today? As long as I’m not addicted.