A Starbucks Story

Tags

Christmas, pretentious, starbucks

First an explanation about why I am in Denver and spending my day rotting at a starbucks:  My boyfriend Eric is taking his Muscle Activation Technique certification exam (feeling weak?  have any aches?  feel muscle tightness? Interested in your overall health and well being? give me a call.  I’ll refer you!) here and I decided to tag along.  His two-day, super grueling and intense exam is over tomorrow and we will spend the rest of the week vacationing in downtown Denver.  In the meantime, I have been spending the last 7 hours glued to an uncomfortable wooden chair listening to the most horrendous renditions of Christmas songs imaginable (I can perfectly recite lyrics to most Christmas songs on demand but “dreidel, dreidel” is a toughie.  Such a bad Jew).

Despite the fact that my ass has been asleep for the majority of the day, I have certainly been awake and alert due to the intensive people-watching I have done so sit back and enjoy as I walk you through the plethora of pithy people who will pay $4 for a cup of poffee (I had to keep the alliteration going, sorry).

7:50 am- I order my tall soy sugar-free vanilla latte hoping that because it is such a unique order, no one will steal it when it’s called.  Eric gets a practical breakfast sandwich.  Note: I get soy milk because I am lactose intolerant, not because I’m an asshole.  However, I AM an asshole because I paid $4 for a cup of coffee, absolutely.  Also, I didn’t mean to say sugar-free but the woman in front of me did so I decided to go with it (yes, I would TOTALLY jump off a bridge if my friends did).

8:00 am- Some chick swoops in OUT OF NOWHERE and steals my tall soy sugar-free vanilla latte when it is called.  I retract my former statement.  I knew I should have gotten it with real sugar!  I kiss Eric goodbye and wish him luck.  Find a table that is close to an outlet, plug my computer in, and pretend to do work.  The morning rush is picking up and my ears are ready, willing and open.

8:30 am- CAN’T ANYTHING EXCITING HAPPEN???!!!

9:00 am- Get approached by a dude who wants to know if there is anyone sitting two tables away.  I don’t know but I decide to say that no one is in anticipation of some dramatic exchange when the actual table patrons return.  UPDATE: no one was sitting at the table.  Serves me right.

10:00 am- Another business professional interviewer man says to me, “Excuse me, are you Karen?”  No, sir.  I am not.  I’m pretty sure interviewee Karen wouldn’t be sitting at a table in jeans looking at fashion blogs, reading “Allure” and skimming “The Girl Who Played with Fire” simultaneously.  And if she were, then I would hope the interview would be canceled.

12:00 pm- Eric picks me up for lunch.  We go to Noodles and Company AKA his Mecca.

1:00 pm- I’m still here.

3:00 pm- Yup stiiiiiiiiiill here…and I’m pretty much the only one.

4:00 pm- STARBUCKS IS STEALING MY SOULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Happy Birthday Daddy!

Tags

Birthday, dad, daddy's girl, flight simulator, mullet

Today is my dad’s birthday and I don’t know what to get him. What kind of gift or gadget can you possibly buy for a man who helped create you (both literally and figuratively)? I really don’t think a shitty tie or “World’s Best Dad” mug will suffice and that is why I am turning to the adult equivalent of a finger painting. Look dad! I wrote this just for you!!! But I did it with love!!!!

The last time I attempted to paint something, it looked like one big sneeze on a canvas so I will have to use writing to express my love for this dude who made sure that my life was great just by being in it. I feel that the term “daddy’s girl” has such a negative connotation because it conjures up images of high-maintenence girls who think paternal love is a credit card with no limit. I was never that kind of daddy’s girl because I was chubby, had an awkward mullet-esque situation on my head (thanks mom!) and our credit cards most certainly had a limit and that limit was “DON’T SPEND WHAT YOU DON’T HAVE!!!” Ohhh the perks of immigrant parents! Instead, the bond I have with my father comes from his ability to give a HUGE shit about me and my life…thankfully, not literally. Also, he still loved me when I was fat and unfortunate-looking (not an easy feat, I have photos to prove it).

Over the years my dad has been my therapist, my life coach, my math tutor (when mom would give up on trying to help and we’d both be screaming at each other), a referee (mom’s math tutoring…enough said), and my best friend. He has helped me through my darkest moments and has seen me at my best. He is full of original quotes (ex. you will never achieve the extraordinary if you take the ordinary way) that I live by and he always badgers me to read “The Alchemist” because it changed his life…and it’s probably the only book he’s ever read ;P  Despite his love for flight simulator (it’s so dorky, he has all the gears and pedals and plays on a ginormous screen) I still think he’s super cool and I’m proud that we have some of the same personality traits.  Well, except for our stubborn nature.  Two stubborn people arguing is about as productive as…playing flight simulator.

I don’t think some people realize that being a dad is a big fucking deal. It is not a job to take lightly and even though my dad was only 25 when I was born (he might as well have been an infant) he learned very fast. Despite the fact that he has probably changed three diapers in his life (my poor mom!) he can recall every meltdown I’ve ever had and what he did to fix it. When I lived at home, I always looked forward to our Saturday morning “coffee talks” and our long philosophical discussions about the universe (we weren’t even high!)

I wish you a very happy birthday, dad, and while this blog post is NEVER going to accurately describe how amazing you are, at least it’s not a shitty tie.

Seriously, don't mess with us. (Side note: this photo was taken about 19 pounds ago)

I love you, dude