Who Run the World?

Girls.

I'm Okay, You're Takei.....

I'm not a real "Trekkie". I wish I were, but I'm not. I don't know enough about the franchise, the ships and the cast to be able to actually call myself one. And it makes me sad.

However, I LOVE Star Trek enough to post about it. So here you go.

It's kind of hard to explain why I love it so. I think it's like anything, you like what you like and if you like something enough, you'll stick with it forever.

I grew up watching the occasional episode of the The Next Generation (it's my favorite series) with my father. We didn't sit around and watch it religiously each week, but it piqued my interest enough that eventually I started watching it on my own if I happen to land on a channel that was playing an episode.

My good friend Ryan was big into Trek but he and I shared a nerdlove for X-Men and didn't really talk a lot about Klingons and Vulcans. Now that we're older, we share fun little Trek related things over FB here and there. It's awesome.

My first real relationship just so happened to be with a fellow that could definitely be described as a Trekkie. But he was like, the cool, hip millennial Trekkie. You know, the type of nerdy guy that has become socially acceptable and admired over the past decade. He didn't walk around wearing Vulcan ears or get into screaming matches with guys about whether Kirk or Picard were the better captains while in line at the local coffee shop; he just grew up enveloped in the franchise. He had seen every episode of every series, knew episodes by name, actors by name, could tell you what year each film debuted. And I thought he was so freaking cool.

I touched on this briefly in another article (am I calling these articles? The thing itself is a blog so I shouldn't call it another blog, right?) but, when the time came for us to drive out to my best friends wedding, we made it our mission to stop in Riverside, Iowa: The Star Trek Capital of the World. It's considered as such because that is the town James T Kirk was from in the series. (This does not automatically make him the better Captain, for the record)

Again, I'm not a bonefide Trekkie but this was one stop I was really looking forward to and I'm really glad I can say I've visited. 

You see, Trekkies are a really special kind of person. The series itself was created by people who saw the world differently; imagined our world thriving, people getting along for the most part, but at the end of the day, a world in which we all still wondered, still searched for more. And I think something like that really resonates with folks, it's a timeless notion really. 

A few weeks ago, my roommates brother had come over. I had never met him before but they decided to keep me company while I was cooking in the kitchen. We talked about all manner of things but at one point he made a comment about the Cardassians. I replied to what he said and he thought I misheard him. I told him I heard him right and then proceeded to elaborate on my comment. He stared at me for a beat and then said "Wait, and your single?! How the hell are you single?!"

It was definitely a proud nerd moment for me! It's that kind of fandom that I've always admired and apparently I made the cut.

I mentioned that I met most of the TNG cast at Comic Con in another post. They were all so freaking cool. They all got along, or so it seemed and everyone was very kind and didn't give me shit about making sure my name was spelled with 2 Z's, most of them actually complimented me on it.

People talk about meeting their heroes, wondering what they'd be like and I was not disappointed. I have a few cast members to check off my meet and greet list but I look upon my wall of fame everyday and I'm so happy I got the opportunity to connect with these larger then life stars.

If you find yourself looking to pick up a "new" series to binge watch, might I suggest a Trek series or two? They're all wonderful and groundbreaking in their own right (yes even DS9 with the damned Pah Wraiths-ugh).  

Go ahead and live long and prosper-you'll like it.

An adult moment

I don't know how I'm going to write this. My head has been all over the place about this for awhile so there is an extremely good chance that this is going to be one hell of a rambling hot mess of words. Bare with me. Or don't, you're under no obligation to read this dreck, like, ever, so it's completely within your right to abandon ship now.



My father passed away in 2008. He was 61 years old and a total pain in the ass. I say that like he was my problem, he wasn't. He was the least of my problems which, is probably a problem.

Growing up my father and I had a great relationship. I remember watching wrestling with him, laughing at ridiculous sitcoms with him and running around outside while he did yard work or worked on the family cars or cleaned the pool or grilled on our back porch.



The man could fix anything. He wasn't a skilled craftsman per say, but he was a master of the patch-job. He could MacGyver a bandaid for anything and he always knew exactly what needed to be done. He knew about cars, basic plumbing, lawn maintenance, pool maintenance, I mean the list goes on. He was a no frills kind of guy. Literally, frills made the man visibly uncomfortable. You want information from my father? Make him wear a suit for 18 hours, he'll sing like a canary if it means he gets to put on shorts. His idea of a good day is one in which he could get his hands dirty and then drift off to sleep in front of the tv.



When he first met my grandmother and one of my aunts, he came to the door shirtless, sweaty and wearing ripped, paint-stained jean shorts. That was my dad.



He was the Crew Leader for the custodians at the local middle school and I used to love having the privilege of walking around the school after hours. It was seriously the coolest freaking thing. Everyone knew my dad because he was the one they would need to contact if anything happened. The lunch ladies used to fawn all over my sister and I and give us free cartons of chocolate milk whenever we went into the kitchen to say hello. All of the teachers knew him and loved him and my sister and I felt like a couple of badasses 'cause we were his daughters.



It was when he got injured at work and was forced into retirement that things changed dramatically. I was just entering into puberty; the asshole teenager stage and he was around ALL the time. Mind you, he wasn't a dick, he really wasn't. I had heard stories from friends about how their dad removed their bedroom door because he didn't trust them; listened as kids at school would gossip about someone's dad hitting them or hearing how someone's dad walked out on their family. Dad wasn't like that.



He was just home all the time. And he was bored. So when the rest of us were around, he was all up in our shit just looking for a little attention. But as an asshole teenager I wanted none of it. Combine that with the normal crap families argue about: money, homework, chores; and things suddenly became very tense.



My father had two children from a previous marriage that he really had no relationship with. He was told to stay away and so he did; but that gave him the desire to try harder, I think, with my sister and I. He didn't want to be "the dad" he wanted to be that cool guy that everyone liked. And he was-he was called "Smiling Ron" by everyone that had worked with him-they even gave him a hat proudly displaying the nickname. But I just thought he was annoying, not fake but, I just wasn't on the bandwagon. People would always tell me how much they loved him, how funny he was, what a great guy they thought my dad was and I totally took that shit for granted. It's cliche to say it now, it really feels cliche to say it, but I did. I completely took him for granted and now I miss him, terribly so.

Right after he passed away, my mother had spoken to me about some things my sister had gone through a few years earlier. She mentioned that while my sister had been diagnosed with and was working on living with Bipolar disorder, my mother came to realize that my father most definitely had it too. That realization completely sucked for me. My father was Bipolar and that would have been a game changer had we only discovered this before he died. I would've approached things so differently. I would've understood why he said and did the things he had done, rather than find them annoying and get pissed off and dismiss him altogether like I did all too often, But it was too late and holy hell does it suck to think about.



The past two years have been insane for me, a lot of change and a lot of ventures into things I know fuck-all about. And all of it has done nothing but make me think of my dad. I started working at the local mill in town in 2012 and discovered that one of my coworkers had actually worked with my father back when I was in elementary school. His name was Dwight and though he and my father worked together for only a year or so-two tops, he still remembered my father and spoke fondly of him. Dwight was killed in a totally random accident when he was out riding his bike one day and it broke my heart. He was a really nice guy who worked really hard and saying goodbye to him felt like saying goodbye to my dad again.



The following year I moved into my first home and went through 12 months of typical first time homeowner stress that everyone faces in their lives. Everytime something new would come up, a new issue, a new bill, and new repair: I thought of dad. He would've been the first person I called to handle any of it. The first person I would've asked for advice. I like doing things myself but I hate knowing that he's gone and that I have to struggle and figure it all out on my own when he would've known what to do immediately in every situation. And he would've loved it. He would've loved every phone call, every text, every Facebook update (holy shit my dad would've gone crazy with Facebook!) and he would've shown up if and when I needed him every time.



I got my love of gossip from my father. My social-butterfly gene. Also my love of all things pop culture. And my love of arguing. Not arguing to be some asshole, but saying what needs to be said regardless of who can hear you because, most of the time dammit, it's regarding something everyone should hear. I also inherited his no frills attitude. Sure, I like to feel pretty and put together, but I'm most uncomfortable in formal settings of any and every kind.



I was speaking with a friend of mine about Comic Con and my love for celebrities in general and she asked me who the one celebrity was that would make me just lose it and I told her I came really close when I was in line to meet Hulk Hogan. I watched him wrestle Sargent Slaughter in New Haven when I was 8 on a trip with my dad and Dwight. I grew up with him. He was the ultimate to my father; dad thought he was cool and tough and loved that everyone loved him. I know his rep is marred now, but growing up he was a God in our household.

He's short but still gigantic!

So I'm standing in line waiting to meet "God". I had met some cast members from the Star Trek series already and I was thinking about my father. About how excited and amazed he would be to know I had spoken with LeVar Burton and William Shatner and Jonathan Frakes and that here I was, waiting to shake Hulk Hogan's hand. I thought about the house and everything I had to deal with over the past few months and I just started to tear up, right there in line surrounded by hundreds of strangers. I thought about what I would say to Mr. H once I got to the front of the line; about how I would tell him I watched him wrestle since birth, had his action figure, saw one of his matches in person and about my dad. I called my mom and told her what was going on and thankfully, she did the crying for me.

I finally got closer to the tanned giant that is the Hulkster and realized that Jimmy Hart, the self proclaimed "Mouth of the South" was up there with him too. This guy hadn't been involved in the WWE in years, I hadn't seen him on TV since I was ten or eleven and holy shit, there he was. I met him first, shook his hand and told him that I grew up watching him as he signed my autograph. I then met Hulk Hogan. I told him how much I liked him, that I watched all of his shows and asked him about his family which he genuinely seemed to appreciate. As I was leaving he made sure to mention Jimmy was signing autographs too and when I told him I had already received one he told me to "make sure I still had my wallet" and I walked away beaming and thought, oh man, dad would've thought that was hysterical!

Now, my father was still a pain in the ass. But I'm grown and going through grown shit, and I do wish he were around to talk to and to see who my sister and I have become. I know he'd be pretty proud.

And now for something completely different.

I'm going to get personal with you for this post. I never intended to get "deep" or emotional on this blog, and certainly not about anything that wasn't completely trivial like my love of chocolate or how much my sides hurt after watching an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine (which you all should totally be watching!). Especially considering I haven't posted a thing (I have about five incomplete posts saved I swear, I'm working on it!) in about a year (over a year?! Ugh I'm the worst!!).

But recently I posted this article on my personal FB page that might have seemed like some kind of cry for help, attention, maybe even the need for compliments. My friends responded kindly, most explaining that they understood that was not my goal at all which I completely appreciate. But still, the topic at hand was one I had considered writing about for sometime.

I'm fat. No really, I am, it's alright. Actually I'm obese by medical standards. Albeit "mildly", or is it "moderately"? I don't know what the term for, a-hair-beyond-fat, is these days. Regardless, I am. Always have been; okay, since the age of 5. But even at 5 I don't think I'd be considered eligible for any Gap Kids modeling contracts.

It's something I never really talk about. I mean sure, maybe with other "fat" friends and family members. Maybe sometimes I talk about my body in a negative way as a means of highlighting how good others have it; but I've never been the kind of person who takes a look in the mirror and can't see beyond the superficial. I'm pretty fucking great. No, really, I love myself, who I am and what I stand for. I can honestly say I'd be best friends with myself. I mean, who wouldn't want me in their corner?!

But nonetheless, this fat body of mine still overshadows all that awesomeness upon first meeting. Again, that's never been something I've talked to anyone at length about but it's something I'm glaringly aware of. In fact around age 9 or 10, a family member (who was and is still fat!) told me they'd give me cash if I lost weight. I was in elementary school and told by a loved one who had been with me since birth that this pudgy shit just wasn't going to cut it.

So, being 30 now and still fat, I saw that article and it struck a cord. It's something that I feel often but never talk about. So here goes.

Growing up I was always the largest girl in my class. And back then, my friends, one was hard-pressed to find "cute" and "trendy" clothing for pre-pubescent chicks with my waistline. Everything was stretch pants, sweatshirts and old lady clothing. You should see my school pictures-thank God I'm not famous or you would have by now!

My first real honest to goodness relationship didn't happen until I was 24, but I'll get back to that.

My first honest to goodness "sexual encounter" happened when I was 13. I didn't lose the Big V or anything but that was when I met my first penis and decided right then and there that there was no possibility I was gay. After that, most encounters with the opposite sex went pretty similarly. I was always the great friend, you know? The one that no one wanted to date but that guys were okay with hooking up with every so often. I was the chick they'd fool around with while they were between girlfriends. While it's kind of shitty to say that was "my thing", I can admit now that it really was.

I wasn't the town bicycle or anything like that, I just mean to say that I never got beyond friends with benefits. The only experiences I had ever had with someone who was even remotely interested in me was purely as a hookup and under no circumstances were we to ever move past that. Again, I'm okay with this now. I'm 30 for goodness sake who gives a shit? But back then I did. It sucked. It hurt. It was confusing. Why wasn't I good enough? Oh, right, because I was fat. Again, that's what I believed.

I met the man that would be my first real boyfriend when I was 21. We became friends and though he was in a relationship, granted a shitty one with someone else, we started to hook up. He eventually broke up with her and we started hanging out regularly and I gave up the V that next year when I was 22. I don't regret it, let me make that clear. I loved him at the time and considering we ended up together for a total for 7 years, I think it's safe to say I could've done far worse.

Unfortunately during those seven years, he never once told me he loved me. This is because he didn't. I knew that, he was always very clear about it and felt truly guilty that he didn't feel the way for me that I felt for him. However, this knowledge not only made me want to fight harder to prove how great I was, it also caused my personal insecurities to run rampant at all times. The girl he had been in a relationship with before me was a size "0". When I met him I was a size "20" and over the course of our relationship, ballooned up to size "26". To be fair, his waist line grew as well but it never once mattered to me, I always (and honestly still do) found him to be incredibly good looking. And as part of my attempts to prove my worth, was constantly praising him and complimenting his looks and physique. Never once receiving that same feedback from him.

He complimented my skin, always reveling in how soft I was. He loved my tiny feet and liked the smoothness of my hair. But I wasn't beautiful in his eyes. It pains me now to write this but it's true. Again, it's something that bothered him because he did care about me at least to some degree but, for some reason, he never felt the need to compliment me like I so desperately needed. Instead, for seven years I felt like an embarrassment. Like he wished he could introduce someone prettier to his friends and family. I knew he was pressured from some of his friends and even one of his close family members to leave me; they all thought he could do better and to them that meant someone thin. The only compliment I ever received from that family member of his was that I had a huge rack, "sweater mittens" he called them. That was pretty much where my worth began and ended in his eyes. They had all been waiting until someone better came along and I lived with that knowledge for seven years.

This is the only picture my ex had ever told me I looked "hot" in. We had been together for five years at that point. Immediately my response to him was "that's because I look thinner" and his reply, "yeah."

That was it, that was my worth. I was nothing more to him and if I was, for some reason he could never put it into words. 

I'm not angry, no honestly, not at all. I loved him and I needed to love him. I needed that experience like we need every experience we will ever go through in life. Through that relationship I learned who I was as a person and what I brought to the table. I understood how to show someone I loved and cared for them and I learned what I needed from a partner. That I'm deserving of a real relationship. That I'm more then some friend with benefit to be kept secret but a person deserving of a real "status" to be promoted and appreciated.

I posted that article as a kind of PSA of sorts. Reminding people that everyone's got something going on, you know? That, before we scroll through the 'People of Walmart' page on our lunch breaks, we remember that these are people. Real life people with real life insecurities and needs like the rest of us. 

Again, I'm not mentioning any of this stuff because I'm looking for sympathy. This is my journey. This is my explanation as to why I have the insecurities that I have even now as a 30 year old gal with a hella-good job and a sweet new house to renovate. People that don't walk in my shoes won't understand. But I know everyone out there has something similar.

You go shopping and a stranger makes a funny face at you. Hell, that face could have been about something entirely different, they might not have even been looking at you; but you went right to that shitty place in your head that made you question what it was about you that merited that kind of look from them. It still mattered to you to some degree and you had to second guess everything all over again.

Well I can happily tell you all that, you know what? You look good baby! Go 'head with that fine ass and shashay-shauntay all damn day! We may not tell ourselves that all of the time, but if it's so easy for us to say it to others, why can't we take a moment and look into the mirror and say it too?

So here's my "mirror moment". A few of my FB friends did this "5 Pictures Where I Feel Pretty" post on their pages and because it's important that everyone know that I really don't look upon myself negatively (at least not a lot!), here are my five "pretty" pictures:

I know I'm making a funny face here but I honestly adore this picture. This was taken fairly early on in my relationship with my ex and I used it as my profile picture for ALL of my social media sites for years!

This was taken right before I cut my hair to donate. I had just changed up the style, parting it diagonally and adding side bangs. My eyebrows were just done and my nails were manicured that week. I felt on point!

First function I had ever attended with a "new man". I was wearing my favorite dress that I had just gotten tailored and was pretty pleased with the way I put myself together.

This one was a selfie-which I NEVER take because I don't think I can do "sexy" or whatever faces so I don't even bother. But I was having a great night at a friends party and decided to play around. I totally felt like hot-shit (in a good way!) that night and dammit I was going to flaunt it!

The quality of this one isn't great because it's a picture of a picture. But I'm including it because it was taken right before I participated in my town's annual 5k walk/run event. I never would have participated in anything like this three years ago. I knew I would finish dead last for the event, which I did (there was an 8 mile going on too so thankfully it wasn't like people were waiting for my to roll over the finish line) and who wants a bunch of strangers watching them sweating and breathing heavy in a not-in-any-kind-of-sexy way? But I did it and I finished and I was surprised by how good I looked when I got a copy of this picture the following week.

And bonus picture. This one was taken at the Big E with my favorite friend Tammy. This girl is my rock and I spend the majority of my free time with her and her incredible family. We took a picture the year before in the same spot and I loved that one too so I made it an annual tradition.

Being me, big booty and all, I like it <3

You know, for funsies...

I saw an ad that said "Browse Rings". The ring depicted in the ad was real purtty so I clicked on it. The site then had a "Design Your Own" option.

Apparently this is my "ideal" ring and apparently it's going to cost my future hubby (TBD) around 25K

I know you can't buy love, but you can certainly buy real shiny things. I Like It :)

Tribute

We always had pets growing up. My mother had two cats, Isis and Max, that were around since before I was born. They were awesome pets, but they were hers. When they passed away my sister and I went to the Animal Welfare Society here in town to see if we might be able to find some cats to fill the void in our hearts. I was 14 or 15 and Kat was about 10. We didn't know what we would find but we went in feeling excited and hopeful, my dad, being a typical dad, was a little less than thrilled. It was understandable of course, we had a family dog that my sister and I promised to take care of (I was like 10 and Kat was 6, oh yeah, the sense of responsibility was flowing) which of course meant mom and dad had already spent a number of years cleaning up and taking care of one animal, why would my father now be interested in repeating this all over again, times two?

But he was a good dad, and my mom told him to suck it up, so there he was with a grumpy look on his face and two daughters who were really excited about the idea of getting new pets.

I really wanted a female cat. Isis was my favorite growing up and I figured a girl was the way to go. I don't think my sister had a preference as long as it was fluffy and snuggly. We also didn't care about the age of the cats, ours lived for nearly two decades, I just knew I wasn't getting anything with a ton of fur, no, thank, you.

At the time the AWS only had one cat room-they were all about dogs then so there was a good chance we were going to walk out of there without any four legged friends. It just so happened that the AWS got a new litter of kittens a few weeks before our visit and all of them had just been spayed and neutered.

My sister found an UBER fluffy, long haired cat she positively adored and I found a few grey and brown tabby kittens that looked a little bit like Isis. I asked the volunteer which of the group were female and after she pointed them out, I picked one up that I thought would be a nice companion. Being tender from her recent spaying, she was not happy about being handled and squirmed and meowed her way out of my grasp. She was not the snuggly friend I was looking for. I looked at the other short haired tabbys from her litter and this sweet, tiny little male cat caught my eye. I picked him up and he sat happily in my arms. No squirming or complaining. He let me pet him and hug him and he didn't try to claw my eyes out or nothin'. He was my guy.

I was getting into art and really loved the works of Norman Rockwell so I decided on Norman. (My best friend, Christine, loved Hitchcock films so she always called him Norman Bates but that was NOT his name Christine!) My sister named her cat Chester, I'm not sure why but the name fit him well just the same.

This is one of the few pictures I have of our two cats together. Norman and Chester as kittens, exploring the yard for the first time. Look how tiny Norman is!

We brought our cats home and the snuggling began immediately.

I mean, look at this guy

How could you not love that face!

Everyone who visited since that day has fallen in love with my Norman. He was just one awesome, laid back kitty. He snuggled like no other but was still independent and did his own thing. 

As I grew up, so did my cat. He and Chester protected the house from "intruders" and they just loved showing off their handy work, like any proud kitty, by laying their "presents" at our front step every once and a while. And, I can't speak for Chester, but Norman was one hell of a mouser!

I went off to college and came home about once a month each semester. Though we didn't see each other often, Norman was always waiting to snuggle with me whenever I was around for a visit. He loved spreading out on "his half" of my king sized bed and was your classic lap cat. He had a meow that would melt your heart too. Even as he got older, his sweet little kitten meow never changed. 

After college, Joe and I got together and when Joe came to live with us, Norman found a new friend. His favorite seat in the house was either on top of Joe's desk in front of his keyboard or on Joe's lap in front of the television. He could sit with Joe for hours and I don't think Joe would have had it any other way because, like Norman, Joe was pretty laid back himself. The picture above is Norman in Joe's office chair, I think he liked to keep it warm for his "daddy".

Norman in his favorite spot....with a packing peanut on his head....thanks Joe.

This cat also had a thing for people's cars. Whenever I'd come home, he'd come right up the my driver's door and try to get inside the car. He did it to everyone, me, Joe, even my friend Dave. Yet this silly cat never actually enjoyed going for rides. One time he climbed into Dave's car just as we were about to run a quick errand. I jokingly suggested we bring Norman along and that poor cat meowed and meowed for the entire 7 minute trip. 

Relaxing in my Jetta after thoroughly exploring, silly Norman, you can't nap in cars.....

A lot of my friends used to tease Norman about his "sad eyes". A lot of (dumb) friends used to say he looked like he was stoned but one of Joe's friends met Norman for the first time and immediately thought, I still don't see it, that he looked like a dinosaur. He quickly came up with the name Lil D and never called Norman by his actual name after that. 

Roar!

This cat also LOVED boxes, he used to shove himself in boxes that were far too small for him and would, uncomfortably, sit in them for hours, even days. He liked to do the typical cat thing and find one spot in the house to lounge in for an extended period of time and then move on to another completely random (to us) spot. No matter what I was doing, the moment a box or container was open, Norman would find his way inside and did not enjoy having to leave before he was good and ready. 

Oh, you needed this?

I know everyone has or has had a pet that changed their life and for me, it was Norman. He was the first pet that was ever really MINE. And I'm sure his manners and behaviors are very similar to those of other cats, but he was my boy. 

I've had him for half of my life and this week we had to say goodbye. I don't know how to condense 15 years of love into a blog post so I'll end it here. Saying goodbye is always the hardest part and this is one incredible friend I'll never be able to forget. 

He was an amazing first pet. He never caused any trouble and just wanted to hang out and be loved and give some love of his own. Other pets have a come and gone, a lot in fact. But I'll never be able to thank you enough for the wonderful years of companionship and comfort Norman, but thank you just the same. I love you and you'll always be in my heart and the hearts of our friends and family. 

I don't just like you sir, I love you, I will always love you

Hi, welcome to Starbucks

My Dunkin Donuts friends might be annoyed with this one. Well, sorry, this chick didn't receive the "Friends with Everyone" superlative in 8th grade for being choosy or picking sides.

 

I hate coffee. Don't like the smell, the flavor, I don't even eat coffee cake. I go to Dunkin Donuts for the bagels (don't really like donuts either-never bought one for myself, ever.) and I go to Starbucks for one thing and one thing only: The Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino. I have, quite literally, never ordered another beverage from Starbucks.

 

See how happy it makes me?

 

Today, I went to the Starbucks drive thru, all amped up for my delicious liquid treat. I sat in line behind a lovely '64 Mustang that stunk up to high heaven (and we wonder how the Ozone could be crumbling..), but was still SUPER pretty and observed the woman in front of me being handed an ice water and having a little chat with the Barista at the window. I thought, surely she didn't hit up the drive thru for a glass of ice water, that's just silliness. After another beat, the Barista came back and handed her what appeared to be some sort of venti latte, soy and half calf concoction (whatever it is you weird coffee drinkers order) and she drove off with a smile on her face. How nice.

 

Then I get up to the window, pay for my beverage and wait patiently for the frozen cup of yum to emerge from the window. Before my drink was finished, the Barista (a lovely, outdoor/hipster/type gentleman) came back with a cup of ice water in his hands and asked me ever so politely, if I might like to take an extra ice water with me.

 

Now I don't know if ya'll have stepped out on the face of the sun this morning like I did, but it's hot as shit today. I did not hesitate when answering and gladly accepted the complementary refreshment as I knew I would greedily consume it once my Frappuccino was finished. But I thought, wow, how freakin' considerate of them to do that! I was so impressed, I was immediately compelled to blog about it and tell all of my friends :)

 

Then it got me thinking about Starbucks, or at least "the Starbucks I've come to know" over the past decade. I don't know what the standard company policies are. I don't know if anyone has ever worked at a Starbucks ad found it to be the worst job on the face of the planet. I can only go by my own experiences and the experiences my friends have had while working there. From what I've seen and heard, Starbucks is fucking great.

 

 

Sure hate on them for being some huge trendy company. Call them fascists for making a shit ton of money by selling overpriced coffee and having the gall to open locations directly across the street from one another. Is it silly, yes, we know it's silly, but are we in America? Will people gladly stop in the Starbucks conveniently located on the side of the street they happen to be walking along so they don't have to cross the intersection? You bet your lazy American ass they will. So I won't come down on them for makin' moves, it's our fault they get away with it.

 

But again, let's focus on the awesomeness shall we?

 

I had a friend in college who worked for the Starbucks a few blocks away from campus. he loved the job. She liked coffee and all of those weird trendy drinks and was a people person so that job was a great fit for her. But I remember her taking about how happy she was, and how nicely they treated their employees and thought, wow, Starbucks sounds pretty neat. She said employees were encouraged to take the old, used coffee grounds home at the end of each shift so they could be used in their gardens and compost heaps. That the company, rather then add to our countries ever-growing waste problem, provided each employee with reusable mugs so they weren't throwing away dozens of coffee cups each day (saving the company money in supplies as well I'm sure). I also heard that some locations give leftover food to local homeless shelters in their area (something other popular food places are doing as well), so thumbs up for giving back to the community!

 

I also had a cousin who worked there for sometime, at one point it was the only job she held and she was thankful that, while so many others were being laid off, or struggling to find some steady work (herself included, she was let go from her full time job), that she held a position at a place who seemed to value her as an employee. Now I know it's not the most glamorous position, essentially retail with scones, but when you're struggling and things seem helpless, sometimes it's that "regular job" that can keep you feeling upbeat and positive about what's to come.

 

For example, I had another friend who worked at a Starbucks in the neighboring town from me and he LOVES hi job! He gets to talk to different people all day, see his friends and drink a ton of coffee (dude loves coffee) each day. He loved the job so much, they started promoting him. First he was a trainer, then a shift supervisor and now a manager. Again, to folks with a 9-5 office job, this doesn't seem like a great direction for one to take in life. But if you're happy with what you're doing and your bills are paid-what's the big deal? I say, thanks Starbucks, for making lots of people happy!

 

Again, I don't know what the national (international?) company policies are, but the fact that they allow their individual franchises to do good within their communities and give back to their employees, makes them stars in my book.

 

So git yourselves out there, order some freakin' weird beverage and throw a coin or bill into the tip cup at your local Starbucks, they appreciate it more then you know.

 

Oh and try one of those Frappuccinos if you haven't tried it yet, I like it :)