i should write a letter

Dear Mr. or Mrs. Starbucks,

I told myself last week that if your Cleveland staff kicks me out one more time five minutes before the store closes, I was going to write you a letter. I could go on here about the obvious lack of time-telling skills among your Cleveland baristas, but really it all comes down to mathematics. AND LUCKY FOR YOU, I've found myself with a bit more spare time than usual as of late, so I've gone to the trouble of crunching the numbers for you.

I have been drinking Starbucks coffee consistently for five years. By "consistently," I mean twice a day without fail. Yes, I'm that one customer who has shown up twice before noon on Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve and twice after 5 pm on Christmas Day for the last five years (picture me waving and smiling at you here).

I'm the girl who has chosen one place of residence over another depending on proximity to one of your stores in various US cities, including New York, Chicago, Las Vegas and as you already know, Cleveland.

I'm the girl who is still pen pals with several baristas from said various US cities.

I'm the girl who boldly (get it?) puts up with the inevitable "coffee snob" label that comes along with refusing to drink coffee from any other establishment, including my good mother's own kitchen.

I'm the girl who tows your coffee around the gym like a walking billboard (do you have any idea how effective a marketing tool this is for you?).

I'm the girl who forgoes cashmere sweaters and new cars for Christmas in lieu of Starbucks gift cards from everyone I know.

I'm also the girl who entrusted my heart to Starbucks when I met the man I was planning on marrying there one snowy morning--I figured that he at least had enough sense to drink only the best coffee, and this was a good enough start for me. Now, of course, this assumption has turned out to be horribly horribly wrong, and we are currently in the process of a custody battle over regional Starbucks locations and even the baristas are taking sides BUT I DIGRESS...

Here's my point:
Five years=1,825 days.
1,825 days X 2 grande bolds at $1.95 each with regional differences in cost and inflation taken into account= $7,117.50

Did you get that? $7,117.50!

I'm sure you have heard of this thing called the "Latte Factor?" Well, I AM THE LATTE FACTOR. Look down at that expertly tailored suit and Italian-made shoes you are wearing right now. Look outside your corner office window at the Jag you just made your monthly payment on right now. You're freaking welcome.

As it turns out, nine days out of 10 I have more money on my Starbucks card than I do in my checking account. In return, all I am asking for is the five minutes of free WiFi I have diligently sipped my way to earning.

venti love,
m.

p.s. Pike's Place sucks

all is fair in love and war and baby, this ain't love...

I woke up this morning with a tiny shred of hope unfurling somewhere deep (OK very very) deep inside of me: It's March 1st, which means for all us here in northeastern Ohio, we do in fact only have three more months of winter! The groundhog, as far as I'm concerned, is a fraud.

On Saturday, I washed my hair (full disclosure: Commandment #31 addresses the sad sad truth that you SHALL not wash your hair for 5 days--yes, I do mean in a row). I took washing my hair as a good sign as the state of my hair is often an apt indication of my emotional state until I walked outside and--I kid you not--an entire rooftop worth of snow fell on me. The whole ordeal reminded me of my one and only near death experience with a grotesquely large and free falling icicle on the Upper West Side of Manhattan six years ago. Given the strange similarity between these two events in my life--both involving aggressive water in frozen form--I figure there must be a take home lesson. What is it? I have no idea--though that little fit I took on Friday night during which I actually threw snowballs at God (again, misappropriated anger) probably didn't help. Don't antagonize God. He will always win.

Anyway, I brushed myself off and met a friend for a little window shopping. We did amazingly well for two girls who were not going to spend any money. And for all those haters out there who say money can't buy you love, I beg to differ. Aside from Girl Scout cookies, nothing eases heartache like bagfuls of clothes you don't need bought with money you don't have. Commandment 32? You SHALL look fabulous the next time you run into your ex, even if it means wearing a "poppy sorbet" sundress from the J. Crew resort collection while standing in line outside Velvet Tango shivering like a fool--albeit a fabulous looking fool.

Tomorrow: I Should Write a Letter

brilliance vs. um, no

I'll keep an ongoing short list parsed from an ongoing long list of what's worth reading and what's not in my somewhat inconsistent, but always honest opinion. Textbooks, fashion magazines, nonfiction, literary tales, and the back of shampoo bottles: I read them all. So check out the lists below.