Ripped Jeans: A Testimonial

I'm not really sure what I ever did to Starbucks, but Starbucks seems to take an especial pleasure in f**king up the beginning of my day. And yet, I go back. So what does that say about me?

I know there are those of you out there that despise Starbucks and everything it stands for (namely corporate greed I guess?) and those of you that practically have a Starbucks IV hooked up to your arm because you need it so badly. I guess I fall somewhere in the middle? I'm not a caffeine fiend --I like to go there on occasion to treat myself. And for whatever reason, most times, something is wrong.

How hard is it to make a grandevanillaearlgreyteamisto? I could do it (except for that last part, I'm not sure what they do with the milk). Sometimes they put in 2 tea bags, others they forget the vanilla. Rarely do I get my perfect drink. I especially like paying $100 for my beverage only to have to get to work and make adjustments.

Why do I go back? Because when they get it right, oh man do they get it right.

Unfortunately, I'm not a complainer.

OK, I guess if you are reading my blog, you would beg to differ.

However this is not real life. This is my blog life. This is where I passively aggressively b*tch and moan about everything in my work life. I can't actually do anything about it, so I complain. Anonymously. More or less.

So when Starbucks f**ks up my morning start, I smile. And say Thank You.

I'm such a pussy.

I'm not sure where I was going with this. Or if I was going anywhere with it. It just kind of happened.

Can't we all just be glad that its Friday? We've managed to make it through another whole week without murdering anyone. Quite an achievement, though I say so myself. There have definitely been some close calls.

There was the time that John insinuated that he and I were some kind of team.

The time where I had to listen to some FNP on their cellphone, almost crying about how its friend had let it down and it's just not going to try anymore. Child, please.

When Amy asked me what I was doing and I told her about John's concern that the List was getting ignored and she said "OK, so I will get Veronica to get you some more reminders then?". Yes, that is exactly what we just talked about.

The whole rigamarole (great word) around my Olympic dream (to take off the 2nd week sans pay). Answers like "we're trying to be flexible for everyone" and "we're trying to go through the appropriate HR channels" nearly caused a rage stroke. Even now I can feel my blood pressure rising.

And I would be remiss without revisiting the you-were-5-minutes-late-how-are-you-going-to-make-up-the-time? email. That was neat.

So its quite an accomplishment that I have a) not killed anyone and b) not had a stroke.

And today is Casual Day so I get to wear jeans. Sure, they are ripped on the inner thigh. Absolutely I need to go jeans shopping. But I will wear my ripped jeans to the office, confident that no one will notice. Even more sure that I just don't care.

To all this, and to you, brave office warriors, I raise my glass.

Ima get drunk tonight.

Maybe not. But the dream lives on.