While in the middle of writing a series about deep and meaningful adjustments in my life, the snarky side of me is still alive and well. So to detour from the “new me” with some mini-rants and a laugh or two at myself …

Things that make me say “dang it”:

#1 Ordering my favorite, iced Starbucks drink (refresher – half berry hibiscus, half cool lime, no extra water … it has taken years to come up with a drink that makes me feel sophisticated) and then driving a couple miles down the road before realizing that I forgot to ask for very light ice.

Dang it!

I just paid four and a half bucks for a plastic cup filled with chunky ice cubes!

Why doesn’t Starbuck’s make light ice the standard in all of their drinks?! If people really want a tablespoon of beverage at the bottom of a mess of ice cubes, they should special order it.  But for the rest of us who go to Starbucks for a beverage and pay dearly for it … we should get  a beverage … not a cup full of ice.

We’re all geniuses.  We get why Starbucks does this. But seriously … do they really have to be so cheap, given most of us have invested enough money into our caffeine addictions to pay for someone’s college tuition. (Wait!  I think we do pay for college educations at Starbucks. And to clarify, I don’t hate Starbucks … I hate too much ice.)

#2
Dashing to the store on some urgent errand (probably a chocolate bar) sans makeup and with a teenager-like pimple on my middle-aged chin, dirt in my fingernails from the bad habit of digging in the garden without my garden gloves, and clothes that look they’ve been neatly stored under a pile of rocks … only to run into the entire family of former students … whose  names I cannot fully remember given I was put on the spot and it’s been four years since I’ve seen them.  I slink away, leaving them to shake their heads and wonder – I’m sure – “What on earth happened to her?!”

Dang it!

#3  Pecking out a long, important text only to find out that my fat fingers made one really – really – long word with a bunch of “v’s” or “b’s” stuck in the middle.  Auto correct says it can’t find a replacement, so I have to start over.

Dang it!

Texting is supposed to make my life easier and more efficient … it doesn’t. It stresses me.  Maybe because I didn’t come out of the womb with a cell phone in my hand like kids today.

I’m probably just not meant to be a “texter”.  After all, I am the person, who while trying to answer a message to my daughter while I was at a concert, was approached by a college-aged kid.  He had been sitting in a section several feet away and had a birdseye of me on my phone.

“Are you trying to send a text?” I realize now that he was trying to keep a smirk out of his eyes.

“Well, yes, I am.” I’m sure my voice squealed a bit, touched at his interest.

“Let me help.” He reached for my phone.

I told him the message and in a nano second he was finished.

“Oh, thank you so much … that was taking me forever.”

“Yeah … I know.  I was watching, and it was driving me crazy,” and he disappeared into the crowd leaving me to feel very old.

Dang it!

#4  Shaking a bottle of kombucha before remembering that you can do that with organic juices to mix up the good stuff, but it’s not recommended for kombucha. That’s mildly stated.  Don’t shake kombucha.

Dang it … too late!

#5  Getting 10 minutes into a conversation before realizing that I’ve called the other person by the wrong name at least 3 times.

Dang it!!

And the list goes on and on:

  • Hurrying to the store only to realize I left my list at home. (Put my list on my phone!)
  • Shooting off an email to parents, only to discover just how much auto correct hates me. (And that I’m not any better of a proof reader than my students.)
  •  Spilling food on my shirt before getting up to speak in front of a group.
  • Misplacing a half-eaten candy bar during a hurried break and becoming suspicious that a student took it … even suggesting it to the class … only to find that I placed it on the corner of my desk and accidentally pushed a pile of papers over it.
  • Getting frustrated at the person in the car pool lane for driving solo, only to get close enough to cast dirty looks at her and then notice the baby in the back seat.  (Disclaimer: I was not the one giving the dirty looks … I learned my lesson about jumping to conclusions from watching that lady lose her mind on the freeway and then having to speed away in embarrassment.)

I think I had one more … but I can’t remember it right now … and it was a really good one.

Dang it!

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