Starbucks Redo

Okay, I *have* to tell you this story:

So, remember this post where I totally wanked and whined about Starbucks????

Well, the very. next. night I packed up into the car on my way to watch one of Andy's basketball games.

It was chilly out, and a hot chocolate seemed awfully cozy and yummy.

As I drove through the parking lot to the big green mermaid sign in the sky, I thought to myself:

"sweet...and I totally remember all of the sizes, so this should be easy!"

Yes, I really thought that.

Because I'm lame like that.

So I pulled up to the kiosk, and coolly announced:

"I'll take a grande hot chocolate with whipped cream."

Quick. Confident. I felt like the cool kid in school. I had this.

Until...

"Would you like the regular hot chocolate or the signature hot chocolate?"

I. almost. died.

I seriously started laughing.

Hysterically.

The poor girl probably thought I was a psychopath.

"M'am...?"

"Um, I'm sorry...I don't know what the difference is..."

"Well, our signature is a blend of four different imported cocoas..."

I almost lost it again.

Really???

Really???

Hot chocolate is this complicated too???

"I'll take the regular kind. Thanks."

***

On another note, the bad part of blogging is that everyone calls you on...well, everything.

I had four...count 'em FOUR...different people comment on my Starbucks...

"...what???!!! I thought you hated Starbucks???..."

Gee whiz.

Starbucks Stress

Since the last two posts have been a bit of Debbie Downers, I thought I'd post something super frivolous and random.

Why?

Because it's my blog, and I can.

With that, I have something to get off my chest:

Starbucks totally stresses me out.

Look, their coffee is okay. I don't think it's great...it's not bad or anything, but it's not that phenomenal either. (I'm sure some reading this will gaffaw and be utterly offended, but whatever, it's my opinion).

Even still, you will find me at the drive thru every once in a blue moon. Mainly because, well, you can get yourself a coffee at a drive thru.

Even if it does cost me almost 5 bucks.

But the whole experience makes me break out in a sweat.

I mean, really...can't I just have a MEDIUM mocha???

I can never seem to remember the stupid size language...why is a "tall" the small???? And the "grande" (which means BIG) actually the MEDIUM??? And then suddenly they go to "venti" which means 20 in Italian...because it's 20 ounces...but it's out of sequence. If you want to go that route, you should call the small Otto...since that's how you say eight (ounces) in Italian.

(By the way, I had to totally google all of that...)

CONSISTENCY PEOPLE!!!

And when I DO say the word medium...the cashier, er barista (whatEVER)...always feels the need to correct me..."okay, so you want a Grande Cafe Mocha..."

Seriously. Just give me my stupid coffee.

You don't have to insult my intelligence by correcting my inability/refusal to speak your MADE UP and inconsistent fake language.

I shouldn't have to refer to the menu in order to remind myself what your silly lingo is.

It's COFFEE.

Don't make it more complicated than it needs to be.

(It reminds me of when I worked at Victoria's Secret and they had all kinds of rules about words I used to describe the "panties"...ugh!...how gross is that word???...I wanted to just shake the manager and scream YOU SELL UNDERWEAR FOR A LIVING!!! GET OVER YOUR BAD SELF!!!!" )

Coffee.


And then they print these little "philisophical" quotes on the side of the cup...like they're doing you a favor by making you not only bi-lingual...but now you got your Enlightenment 101 for the day too.

Gee, thanks Starbucks.

Because I would be totally shallow and uneducated if it weren't for you.

And then...they start firing all kinds of questions at you...soy? dairy? double shot? whipped cream...

I just. shut. down.

I have no idea.

Just coffee that kinda tastes like chocolate.

In medium size.

Not the big one, not the small one.

The one in the middle.

Skinny? Macchiato? Frapuccino???

I have honestly been so overwhelmed at times, that I seriously scrap my entire order and just ask for a water.

"Bottled? Flavored? With ice? No ice? Lemon?"

O.M.G.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

"Would you like a shortbread cookie that supports an Ethiopian Village of basket weavers?"

No thanks.

"How about a CD with crooning tunes from a self-absorbed pseudo-pop star where five cents goes towards a knitting tribe in Madagascar?"

Just a medium coffee.

At this point, I don't even care if it tastes like chocolate.

In fact, I just want to get out of here.

The grinding and steaming and clanking is making me want to have an absolute nervous breakdown.

I always marvel at the people who go to Starbucks to "study" or "read" or have a "conversation"...how can you hear yourself THINK in all that racket????


(this is where I know I'm getting old...)


"Did you bring your own mug? Did you want a napkin? Would you like to buy a pound of coffee to make at home? Have you tried our new instant coffe? How about some granola and yogurt?"

Just shoot me now.

Obviously I'm not the only one...since someone made a cheat sheet...

Okay, I'm done now.

Thanks for listening.

I'm pretty sure I just wasted like 7 minutes of your day.

Sorry about that.

(Footnote: none of this is directed at the employees themselves, since I know that they are only doing their job and following corporate directives...hell, I had to utter the word "panties" all day long...ugh...just typing it gives me the heeby-jeevies...)

Since When Did Easter Get So D*%&* Complicated???

So, I had to go to Target today to buy a baby shower gift and a few other odds and ends. While I was there, I passed the Easter aisle, and thought I would just go ahead and pick up the stuff I “needed” while I was there. I’m not planning on doing an Easter Basket for Henry, but I thought he might be old enough to get a kick out of dying some hard boiled eggs and hiding plastic eggs in the backyard.

On my list: a basket/bucket, a package of plastic eggs, some jelly beans or gummy bears (to put inside the eggs), and a dye kit.

Simple enough. Or so I thought.

But what I found was aisle after aisle of STUFF. “Eggs” shaped like soccer balls, Easter baskets with Spider Man (and a 9.99 price tag!), and elaborately wrapped candy. There were Easter basket stuffers that frankly, I thought would make great BIRTHDAY gifts! Toy cars, dolls, you name it. It was all there…and all at prices ranging from 4.99 to 14.99. EACH.

I had to actually *search* high and low for a basket cheaper than 5.99…and finally found a 0.99 plastic bucket. It’s kinda goofy looking, but it’ll hold his plastic eggs just fine…then to find some simple, cheap candy (that will only be in a few of the eggs…he’s a bit young for that much sugar)…and finally found a bag of jelly beans, but it was on the bottom rack and practically hidden. Then I was off to look for Easter egg dye. Transformers, Spider Man, glitter, tie-dye…for Pete’s Sake! All I want is those stupid little tablets that I dissolve in water and vinegar in my kitchen! I don’t need stickers and Disney characters and special little cups. JUST DYE PEOPLE! JUST DYE. I finally found a box for 1.49. Sheesh.

I left with my $5 worth of treasures and made my way to the cashier.

And I was sad. Sad that kids are being taught that not only should they expect a day of gifts on Easter (which, isn’t what its about anyway), but that they should expect EXTRAVAGANT gifts. Big things, toys, tractors, and all with licensed characters. There was even Easter grass that was printed with High School Musical images. Really? Why?

Whatever happened to getting one of those chocolate bunnies that you eat ears first, a Cadbury crème egg, and some jelly beans in the same basket you’ve had for the last 6 years???

Why does everything we do or buy for our children now have to be some kind of proof of how much we love them? I feel a sense of guilt in refusing to buy this junk…like I’m a total cheapskate for not loving my son enough to spend $50+ on a basket for him. But it’s not that. It’s that I love him enough that I don’t want him to grow up feeling entitled. Growing up feeling that it’s all about HIM. Believing that gifts are only gifts if they are big and expensive and elaborate. I want my children to appreciate silly little things like a hollow imitation chocolate bunny with a disgusting little sugar button for an eyeball. I’m not opposed to the more “secular” side of Easter (I do, after all, dress up for Halloween and we do have a Christmas tree)…but I just don’t understand why we continue to shower our kids with crap…instead of simplicity and love?

I won’t even get started on the point that all of this so GROSSLY overlooks the purpose of Easter…um, in case we all forgot, the Resurrection of CHRIST. But, I’ll leave that for another day and another post.

For now, I’m sickened and saddened by the consumer culture we continue to shove down our children’s’ throats. You would think that with the latest issues facing our economy, we would be learning from our mistakes and trying to save our children from a similar fate…but I guess after years of believing that the bigger the price tag, the more you love…it’s a hard habit to break.

Rant: Bathing Suits

Ah, yes. Summertime. Sunny skies, warm weather, a hot grill...and BATHING SUIT SHOPPING. Who, may I ask, invented these things? It's a no win situation I tell you! No Win!

First of all, you pretty much have three options:

1) Bikini: not such a bad idea if you are young, tan, and firm. In other words, won't be happening here! Okay, now before anyone gives me grief about having lost so much weight, yes, I have. And yes, I probably weigh about the least I have in YEARS. Great...as long as I'm wearing clothes. Seriously. I look like a deflated balloon. Everything sags and hangs...and OH THE COLOR! Elmer's glue anyone? Truly. I tried on some suits today and when I turned to look at what used to be a relatively nice bottom, I didn't even recognize the hanging flaps of floppy, dimpled white skin. What on earth is that? That can't possibly be my butt! How? I expected that other parts of my body would look different post-baby...but my BOOTY? Why???? UGH. HENRY YOU ARE GROUNDED! FOR LIFE!

2) One piece: Okay seriously???!!! For as awful and disgusting as I look in a bikini, a one piece is more than I can bear. Just because it has more fabric doesn't necesarily mean it looks better. Somehow, I manage to look rounder, flabbier, and older than ever. They pull and press in all the wrong places, and don't get me started on the lack of support! Is it possible to make it hold at least SOMETHINGS up??? Really. I'll wear a thong bikini before I'll wear a one piece in public. Or, stay home.

3) Tankini: Ah, yes. The perfect blend of the two piece and one piece. For those of us who don't have abs, buns or other body parts of steel, but not quite 82 years old yet. NOT. First of all, most tankini tops seem to cut short right above your belly button. HELLO???!!! That's where all the flab is people! If there is ANYWHERE that I want covered, it's my lower belly! This is not the time to channel the 1986 midriff craze! I didn't look good in a midriff when I was 10, much less now that I've birthed a child! And we all know that it's likely the mom-crowd perusing the tankini aisle. But do we really have to be forced to select from the uber-safe solid black and brown...or the painfully obnoxious magenta and orange daisies??? All those 18 year old girls will be strutting around way hotter than me no matter what, so would it kill ya to let me at least have a cute print?

Bottoms: Wow. Where to begin. We have the scoop bottom. Maximum coverage, great, right? All the turquoise spandex stretched across your booty makes you look like a freaky version of a dolphin. And why is the elastic around the waist and leg holes always seem 2 sizes too small? It just pushes the soft fat right in and then makes it pop right out again in a scary, saggy, dimply muffin top. Ick. We have the boy short/hot pant. Wow. Who on earth buys these? You would think that they might help us non-jazzercise gals, but the leg holes always cut right above that softest, cushiest spot in your thighs and draws copious amounts of attention to the jiggle and shake dance that occurs unbeknownst to you as you merely walk normally. How do I feel like I gained 15 pounds the minute I put these "hot shorts" on? Only professional volleyball players look "hot" in these, so I don't know why stores continue to carry them. Shockingly, I find that the string bikini bottoms work the best (I didn't say they were perfect, just the lesser of the evils)...it's counterintuitive, but those little skimpy strings allow you to loosen it all up and keep the blubber press under control.

So, all of that to say that I ran into Old Navy the other day to buy a bathing suit, and I just about screamed in the fitting room. When the pimply faced kid with the stupid headset asked me how it went, I could have decked him.

Anyone else? Or is it just me?