Tag Archives: coffee

The Rise and Fall of Crack Day

This past week I got to be the dumper instead of the dumpee.  No, I wasn’t lucky enough to dump an actual guy. I dumped Starbucks, and left it crying on the curb like a little baby.

You see, I haven’t always been a coffee advocate.  After hearing about the Pumpkin Spice Latte for literally the past decade, I decided to give it a try this year.  And then I became obsessed, and then it was all I talked about, and then I got my mom, my aunt, and my 9 year old sister obsessed too and we would have PSL parties on the weekend mornings and run around for the next 6 hours like crackheads in a crackhouse. And then when we came down from our high we would tell each other that we looked like crackwhores. Because we did. Sunken, tired eyes, aimlessly wandering around trying to remember what we needed to do before we drank the PSL. Yes I know, I am a horrible horrible person, I got a 9 year old addicted to espresso. But what the fuck ever, Italians let their kids drink espresso and they turn out all right.

jersey shore


Then I found this food challenge I wanted to try. It’s 30 days long and while you can have 1 cup of black coffee a day, we all know that the PSL is no where close to being black coffee. So I had to quit. Lucky suggested that I just straight up eat espresso beans like a fiend, but I think for the sake of everyone else I’ll just stop with the coffee all together. 

So that brings us to the breakup. You see, Fridays were my crack day. I would wake up with a shit eating grin on my face every Friday, first and foremost because it was Friday, but also because I got the crack on Fridays. My PSL and my cinnamon roll.

cinnamon heaven

(I’m convinced that in Heaven people swim in PSL and have cinnamon roll pillows.)

Each Friday I would get to work throw my shit down and skip off to Starbucks without a care in the world. After a few weeks my co-workers started to notice that after returning from my coffee run, I would ping from the walls for the next 4-6 hours and get absolutely no office related work done. I became a different person, I was a sociable spaz and told people (everyone, separately) in the office my opinions on things like cloth diapers and flavored beer. No one cared, but they loved it. After about a month of said behavior, when I would come to work on Fridays some would chant, “Crack day! Crack day! Crack day!” The pressure became too much, so when I decided to do the 30 day challenge I had to break it to everyone that the coming Friday would be my final crack day.  They cried, but they’ll get over it. Eventually.

When I went to Starbucks for my Final Crack Day, I broke the news to Jake the Barista (Baristo? What the hell do you call boy Baristas?) that he would not see me for at least the next month, possibly forever if I could withstand it, and that I really appreciated him always warming my cinnamon roll to the perfect temperature, hot enough to melt the frosting but not so hot that it burnt my mouth.  Jake was sad to see me go, he even drew little sad faces on my cup. But at last, we parted ways.

And that is how I dumped the PSL and cinnamon roll. The best relationship I’ve ever had.

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Three’s a crowd.

“You didn’t tell B anything did you? I told her nothing happened and that I just went home after the pool. Anyway, I think we’re having people at the pool for a cookout for my birthday.”

Yeah. That’s the text message I woke up to Saturday morning. Clay was freaking out that his cover was blown because, first of all, he wrote on my facebook wall last weekend that he was coming to the pool. Naturally, his girlfriend asked him if anything happened, he lied to her face, and got away with it.

Fucking awesome. The weekend had barely even started and I’m already caught up in someone’s web of lies.

I didn’t reply to the texts.

Instead, I roll of out bed and checkout my facebook. Oh, and what do I have? A message from B, Clay’s girlfriend, inviting me to Clay’s birthday cookout at the pool on Sunday.

Now, I ran a few scenarios through my head. The first being to respond with this:

“Thanks for the invitation, B. However, I have a feeling that pool party would be slightly awkward considering Clay put his dick in my ass last Sunday.”

I refrained. I also thought about replying to Clay’s message and telling him that yes, I DID tell B everything and he would rat himself out and I would laugh hysterically.

In the end, I did nothing, I replied to neither message and just went to boxing like a normal citizen. Because that, folks, is what Kate Middleton would do.

On the drive home from class, I contemplated all of the things I could do with my day. And yet, when I got home, I showered, and took a long nap on the couch that resulted in me never getting properly dressed, and moving from the couch to the floor and vis versa, until 10 pm that night.

I watched three hours of the Casey Anthony trial on HLN.

Has anyone else been keeping up with that shit? If you haven’t, I highly suggest it. Right now, they are in the “scientific” phase of the trial, where they’re showing all the physical evidence and explaining the findings. What boggles my mind about this case, and the Natalee Holloway case, is this: how do these morons (Casey Anthony and Joran Van Dersloot) dodge the law juuuuust barely?!?!

You would think that a hair in the trunk of Casey’s car would put her behind bars for sure. BUT NO. The hair may or may not be that of a dead person’s…AND the hair may or may not be Caylee’s, Cindy’s, Casey’s, etc. Since when is DNA evidence a “maybe” thing?

Anyway, Sunday, Boots and I had plans to go see a movie. Well, since Boots is old, we had to go to the early bird special and see Bridemaids at freakin’ 9:50 in the morning.

A, who sees a movie before 10 am and 5, who sees a moderately raunchy movie before 10 am on a Sunday? Have some respect.

I wasn’t kidding when I told him I would need coffee for this venture. So I snuck a giant one in my purse, bought a bag of chocolate covered almonds, and we were good to go.

For the record, Boots insisted I bust in on Clay’s birthday pool party that afternoon. “Oh my god, you have to go, you have to go, please tell me you are going,” he said.

“No way,” I said. Although I knew it would make for ah-maaaaazing blog fodder.

So there you have it—my freakin’ weekend. I didn’t sleep in on either day. Fuck that.

Last night, I went to boxing class, and I’m proud to report that I’m meeting people and feeling a lot stronger in the class. But alas, it’s not all crayons and condoms, the lamest, baldest, beer guttiest guy in the class had to claim the bag next to mine right from the start.

I could feel him watching me during our punching combinations. I just tried to focus on the bag and look forward.

But of course, during the “cool down” we had to partner up. The guy immediately claimed me as his partner, and we got to toss a 13-pound medicine ball around for 20 minutes.

I wanted to die for multiple reasons.

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