The Tale of Two Coffees

Hey kids!

Welcome to Stupid Sunday, where I detail something stupid I did today. ENJOY!

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I go to Starbucks every single day. If you think that’s an exaggeration, please feel free look at my credit card statement and/or my Starbucks card on my phone in horror.

Every single day I order a grande vanilla iced coffee.

Every single day.

I don’t even shower every day. That’s how up there this is with “breathing” on my list of things to do.

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The bottom of the cup actually filters into a tube that goes directly into my blood stream.

On my drive over to Starbucks, I was getting nervous because I was going to a location I normally don’t go to and I know it can be disgustingly busy there. To take the edge off, I started repeating the order “tall vanilla iced coffee” in my head. Mind you, the last time I ordered a “tall” anything at Starbucks, I was in 10th grade and at the time the talls were the size of what the current grandes are. Don’t worry, I feel like a giant asshole for even knowing this and talking about it publicly.

At one point during my mantra, I even caught myself. I don’t even order talls. It’s a grande. Grande. Grande. I want a venti. It’s Sunday, I’ll get a venti.  I want so much coffee I can feel the kidney stones getting ready to pass. Tall. Tall vanilla iced coffee. No it’s not a tall it’s a venti.

When I finally arrived to said Starbucks location, the line was wrapped around a beef jerky and Oprah tea display and wound out the door. All the people standing and waiting made me anxious, so I just let my eyes dart around and continued with my inner monologue turning into a vicious dialogue over coffee size.

Sure enough when  it was my time to order, “CAN I HAVE A TALL VANILLA ICED COFFEE PLEASE!”

Fuck.

The nice barista prepped my baby sized cup and asked if that would be all.

“YES. THANK YOU.”

No, I’m a dumb idiot. Why can’t you see this pain on my face?

When I made it over to the cashier, I knew I couldn’t leave there with just a teaspoon of coffee. My heart was set on jumbo and by god, jumbo is what I would get.

The nice cashier started, “One tall vanilla iced coffee? That will be–”

“UM WAIT, CAN I ACTUALLY GET ANOTHER TALL VANILLA ICED COFFEE?”

This is the kind of response kids would call “no chill.” A normal person would have asked for the size to be changed. Not me, I prefer to double fist two very small coffees because that is the adult thing to do.

“Uh, sure. You want two tall vanilla iced coffees?” nice cashier asked.

“YES, ONE IS FOR A FRIEND” said the psychotic person.

Lying always helps the situation, despite no one caring if you are ordering two coffees for yourself or not.

I paid, I waited, I brought my two Barbie accessory sized coffees over to the sugar/dairy counter and proceeded to make two identical coffees because me and my friend just so happen to like our coffees the exact same way, from the half & half and whole milk combo down to the dash of cinnamon on top.

This is me. This is the choice I made. I am a real person existing in the world doing these things.

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Have you ever gone out of your way to make yourself less embarrassed about a situation that literally does not matter to the rest world? Any really weird things you did to cover your tracks to avoid anyone knowing you’re an idiot?

PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT IT IN THE COMMENTS!

K, I love you. Happy Sunday. Remember, Jesus is King and so is Simba.

Hey, I’m Dumb and Here’s Why: A Moment on Suicide and My Stupidity*

*Please note this post discusses suicide and may be triggering for some. The National Suicide Hotline for those in need: 1-800-273-8255.

HEY FRIENDS!

Today I watched the Virgin Suicides for the first time. Not the most uplifting of movies, but who would’ve guessed with that title?sdfsdfsdfsdfsdf

I know I’m about 15 years too late and I’m not sure if spoilers have a “statute of limitations” but to spare anyone who hasn’t seen it, I’ll make a vague statement by saying–they talk about suicides! One of them being “sticking your head in the oven.”

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Now, for someone who was very sheltered in their life and was lucky enough to grow up without having to learn from such an experience, I did not know what the logistics were behind the “sticking your head in the oven” method. I’d heard it and almost found it humorous because I pictured someone’s nana having a fit over bad manners at the dinner table and using it as a threat to get everyone to shut up, behave and eat nicely.

Me and my roommate started getting upset over the thought of this horrific way to end a life. “So do you just wait for it to heat up and you burn yourself?” and “Or do you just hit yourself with the door?” were some of the genius questions posed by these two. “How scary must it be to wait for it to preheat??”

We finally googled it out of sheer morbid curiosity.

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That’s when we found out just how dumb we really are!  Apparently, it was very easy to manipulate old GAS ovens and breathe in the toxic fumes. YEAH. No one was trying to have a Gremlins moment. Thankfully, this misuse of an appliance is not as easy to partake in now.

Oh yeah and then I peed my pants laughing about how serious we took ourselves in our plight to save non-existent people from not cooking their head meat A urine-soaked cycle of chumps and chump-related thoughts.

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In any case, I want to stress that I don’t find suicide itself funny because it’s not. What I find funny is how I am terribly naive and have a lot to learn about mostly everything in the world.  For example, I am still not 100% sure on how to use a can opener. Suicide just happened to be the subject of the day.

Have you ever done or thought anything so tremendously stupid, it was almost borderline adorable how much of a knucklehead you were? How did you find out that you were wrong and possibly irreversibly dumb? I NEED TO KNOW!

Stay safe! Breathe clean air! You are loved even if you don’t know how to use a can opener either. 143 123 xox pfffft.

My Arm Almost Came Off and I Lived to Tell the Tale

Hey childrens,

This week in Things I Have Done to Injure Myself in Dramatic and Stupid Ways, I nearly got my arm chopped off.

While I was trying to tuck my giant desk-sized coloring books behind the couch and the wall, I dropped them from too high up and the force made them slide a bit under the couch. I knelt on the couch and peered down the back, my forehead against the wall.

Ah! I’ll just stick my arm down there and pull them back up so they are standing!

Well, when I stuck my left arm down the back of the couch, I must’ve pushed my body weight against the back of the couch, pinning my arm between the wall and the wood frame. I knew something was wrong when my hand began immediately began to pulse and the blood rushed to my fingers.

Wow, this a lot of pain for a coloring book rescue mission.

I tried to pull my arm out but with every tug it felt more and more like my arm was in  a vice-grip or like when the doctor takes your blood pressure and tries to pump your arm until it explodes.

I tried to to use my right arm and pull the back of the couch quickly enough to free the other. Unfortunately, this couch has had a real sour attitude ever since we accidentally dropped it down a flight of stairs while moving in.

After about of minute of panic and wondering if my roommate would find my dead body hanging over the couch, I tried to use my body weight and shift the couch opposite of how I body slammed it against one of my extremities. Too bad the two front feet of the couch were firmly placed on our short haired carpet. Sure, I could push the couch and the back legs would slide on the tile but pulling it against the carpet was not happening. I was defeated.

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Here I am sawing my arm out of from behind my couch.

So, did a super hunk hear my cries for help and kick down my door and ripped the couch from underneath me?

Obviously not, you big dummy!

But I did rip a generous amount of skin off while pulling it out. I tried to manipulate the ever-so-delicate, non-muscle parts of my arm (read: squished my arm fat around) but it just felt like my bone was snapping in half when I moved it. I did have a nice little dry heave and .03 second black out BUT I MADE IT! And I guess now I have a scar I can make up cool stories about.

Do you have any scars with interesting and possibly not true stories? Did you really just drop your coloring books down the back of your couch?

PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT THEM!

K I love you and also brownies. GOODNIGHT!