Potential Starboy

It's been a year since I have even thought about forming my next relationship at Starbucks.

BUT I moved into a new place this year and now I go to a different Starbucks. It's the Starbucks I swore I'd never go back to - the one off of Hillcrest that, at one time, hosted far too many females for my liking.

I come here regularly (since it's within walking distance from my townhome) but I'm usually busy with school, reading, or downing coffee to notice anyone.

Now, however, I'm far too busy watching the tall, dark and handsome barista making my coffee. (Note: I do like men. I looked up the origin of "barista" just to be sure I was using it right. It is of Italian origin and is used for both males and females. This is a male barista.)

At first I was like, 'I must figure out why he is working at Starbucks! He could be a starving artist peddling his drawings on the street and working here on the side; he could be a jazz musician waiting for the saxophone to return to popularity meanwhile making hot java; he could be a student paying his way through college; he could be a dancer; or this could be his real job.'

To be truthful, I would be fine with all of the options except for the last one. I am a highly ambitious person and I surround myself with people who are the same way. You have to be interesting, want something, work for something, and have that "never say die" attitude. If you're just working at Starbucks and smoking weed on the side, then I'm sorry but it's just not going to work out between us.

After overhearing a conversation between him and a regular, he is a student studying Business. IMPORTANT FACT: he does not go to SMU. Thank God. I'm sorry, but SMU boys are just...well they're driving me nuts. This was music to my ears.

Ok, so now that I've done some covert background research, it is time for action. Next time I think I'll ask him for some water or something with my coffee and hopefully I'll say something funny. We'll see about that.

For now, I'll just keep coming back and spending money on overpriced coffee. But now I have a perfectly good reason to: I'm basically supporting a student trying to achieve his dreams in the Business world.

I should be given a medal.

The Cutie at Work

So a wave of new people started work at my office on Monday. Among them was an attractive 20-something male. I immediately cursed my decision to not do my hair that day.

I was sitting at my desk doing my work when my boss brought him over to meet me.
"Haley, I want you to meet Walker."
I acted like I had never seen him before in my life and had no idea a hottie was now in close proximity 3 days a week.
"Hi!" I stuck out my hand. "Nice to meet you! Welcome to Swingle Collins!"
My boss gave me a funny look like: 'Why are you in such a good mood at 9 am? P.S. you're doing bitch work today.'
"It's nice to meet you, too Haley," he said. He might as well have gotten down on one knee because, well, he sounded really sincere.
"Haley," my boss started, "We are going to have to move you. Since Walker is a producer (aka a higher position than you), he's going to need your desk."
"Oh no problem at all!" I said. "Let me just grab some of my stuff!" Que big smile. My boss looks at me like: 'Who smiles about getting kicked out of their desk??'

I get up and follow my boss out into the lobby. She then turns to me and goes, "By moving you, I meant that you actually have no desk and no computer now. This is just until the renovations are done in two weeks. For now, just ask Fara, Misty or April if they need help with anything."
Super. All of the stuff I usually do demands a computer. That damn cutie!
"Ok, will do."
So I get work done and Monday is over. P.S. I still haven't found out if he is married yet so that is on the to-do list for Wednesday.

Wednesday rolls around and without a computer or desk, I don't have anything to do. Therefore, I go over and wait by my boss's desk to ask her for something to do. Then, a producer walks up behind me to wait as well and then starts asking me questions: where do I go to school? Why did I choose SMU? What's my major? I start thinking this is odd because I've been here for over a month and everyone in the office already knows about me.
He then asks, "What do you need to ask Michelle (our boss)?"
"Ohh well that new producer needed a desk to work at so I got kicked out of mine so I need work to do that doesn't require a computer," I say.
"Right," he says, "I'm the new producer. Walker, remember?"
My face drops. WTF? I have issues.
"Ohh, right, I was just....umm...I meant that...wellllll..." Thankfully Michelle walks out of her cube and starts asking Walker if he had any trouble signing in. Meanwhile, I am literally cursing myself in my head using any four letter word I can think of. I'm such an idiot.
He turns to go and as he does he says, "Bye, Haley, see you later." Que red face.
I find work to do and then Wednesday is over. I was so embarrassed that I didn't even look for the ring on his finger. I had suffered enough to risk being caught on that.

So it's Friday. I have binders to make and I need my three-hole-punch.
'Perfect!' I think. 'I'll have to go over to my old desk (aka Walker's desk) and get my three-hole-punch.'
I calm down and remind myself what his name is and what he looks like so I don't look so dumb again. I walk over to my old desk and ask him where my three-hole-punch is.
"Umm..I have no idea," he says.
"WHAAAT? You gave away my three-hole-punch?!"
"Ohh, I had no idea they were so important." He smirks.
Trying to gain some composure, I say, "Well, all the other ones in the office suck and that one was brand new." Seriously, if only he knew how awesome that three-hole-punch was and how good ones are so hard to come by, then he wouldn't be looking at me like some psychotic freak who has a mental breakdown over her three-hole-punch. But he doesn't understand. Sigh.
"I think someone may have put it in the supply closet," he says. He is now looking at me with a blank look on his face. I am quickly losing points.
"Ohh, well, that makes perfect sense then. Thanks."
As I am about to turn and walk away, he takes a sip of his coffee with his left hand and there, on his ring finger is a solid gold ring.
"WTF??" I start to think, "WHO drinks using their left hand?? Doesn't he know that when you set a table, the drink goes on the right because everyone drinks with their right hand? I bet he did that on purpose to show that he was taken. Whatever, I can't be with anyone who doesn't understand the severity of a missing three-hole-punch. It obviously wasn't meant to be. It just sucks that our relationship had to come to an end over office supplies...oh and the fact that he's already married. I guess it could have ended over worse things."
I walk back to April's desk, use her three-hole-punch (which isn't as good and I'm having separation anxiety) and resolve that I'm going to be single for the rest of my life.

Oh well, I'm single now and still having the time of my life right? RIGHT!

The time I got hit by a car and lived to tell the tale...

This occurred last night.

First, I must preface this story by saying I did this to myself. Usually all of my mis-haps occur because of some idiotic situation I put MYSELF in. Ehhh whatever - at least I keep things interesting.

So I rode my bike to a friend's house last night for a house-warming party. I had just finished a grueling practice and was exhausted, but I wanted to go anyway. I get there, have a great time, and then it's time to leave.

I walk out with a few friends and they're like, "You rode your bike here?!" Let me also say that everyone at this party was over the age of 25 and a few years out of college. Therefore, they only ride bikes when they are stationary at the gym and have lost all touch with the concept that people actually enjoy riding bikes rather than driving their car and spending money on gas.

Anyway, I'm like, "Uhh yeah, so?"
"Well, that's just stupid. You can get a BUI."
"What's a BUI??"
"Biking Under the Influence." (HAHAAHA)
"I only drank water here."
"But still. It's dangerous."
"I ride on the sidewalk."
"Well, do you have a helmet?"
"No."
"Lights?"
"No."
"A bell?"
"What?? No."
"Haley! Please tell me you at least have brakes on your bike!"
"Do you think I'm stupid?! OF COURSE I have brakes!"
"That bike looks unsafe. How old is it anyway?"
"Well, it was my grandmothers so I think it was made in the mid 1950s."
"You. Are. Joking. Me."
My friend Matt walks over.
"Here, Haley, I found this for you in the garage."
*Holds up a hideous neon green vest with reflectors on it*
"What the hell is that?! I'm not wearing that!"
"How are people going to see you? You are going to get hit!"
"I'm not going to get hit. I already told you I ride on the sidewalk and no cars ride on the sidewalk. If they do, they are going to be in some trouble, not me. Besides, I'm wearing a hot pink shirt - it's good enough."
"Haley, that's not hot pink. That's a faded baby pink and it basically looks white in the dark."
"Same thing."
*all sigh in exasperation*
"I feel like we should follow you home in our car."
"Don't be silly! I'll be fine. I do this all the time."
"This just doesn't seem safe to me."
"Don't you talk to me about safety, missy! If your sister only knew some of the things you did."
"If you tell her, I'll kill you."
"I won't tell her. Just let me ride in peace."
"Ugh fine, but text us when you get home."
"Will do."

So I'm riding home and it's a really nice ride. People out at bars are giving me funny looks like they've never seen a bike before. Seriously, people.

So I'm about to cross a street and I totally have the right-of-way. I'm watching the cars to make sure they see me and I see them and they aren't going to run this red light and hit me. I have a feeling in my gut about this one car and my gut is telling me just to wait a little but then all of a sudden my feet start peddaling.

Then the car starts to go! I'm right in front of the car and he doesn't see me! So I put my foot out in front of the car to keep him from hitting my bike and then he finally sees me but not in time. Contact is made.

I'm knocked off my bike but I don't fall over. You can thank my stabilization exercises from rowing workouts for that. The man rolls down his window starts apologizing immensely and is about to get out of his car when I convince him I'm fine. I cross the crosswalk walking my bike and I try to get back on but the seat is all twisted. DAMNIT! I spend a few minutes trying to sit on my all twisted up seat and resolve that it's just too uncomfortable and I'll have to walk my bike the remaining mile home. I take a few steps and I'm like, "This is ridiculous. I'm not walking all the way home." So I take a few minutes, fix my bike, and then it's ride-able again. I go home and go to bed and check the status of myself and my bike.

No blood, no bruises, and the bike is fine. Ok, all good. Time for bed. I was tired!

The End.

I love my dad

This is going to be one of the lamest posts ever but whatever. If you don't want to read it, then don't.

I love my dad. He is one of the best people I've ever met. Honestly. He is always looking out for other people and is always thinking ahead. He wants what is best for everyone and always gives really good advice.

I talk to him on the phone almost every day telling him what's going on and asking him what I should do about this or that. Seriously. You may say, "You are a 21 year old woman! Stand on your own two feet for Pete's sake!" But why would I want to do that when I still have my daddy?

He has challenged me, pushed me, helped me up when I've fallen, not helped me up when I had to learn how to get up on my own, made me do things I didn't want to do but had benefits beyond my wildest dreams (he made me start rowing which landed me a scholarship at SMU, the school I love), taught me the value of a hard days work, taught me how to enjoy the money you have worked so hard for, helped me seek and find balance, serenity, peace and happiness.

He has been incredibly supportive. I would not have made it through some of my tough times without him there to keep me going and I certainly would not be there person I am today.

You know that that story of the man walking in the sand and during some of his hardest times there were only one pair of footprints because Jesus said, "Well I was carrying you."? Well I'm pretty sure in my version those footprints are my dad's.

The Receptionist is on to me...

So I finally have time for a new blog post. Not really, but still.

Anyway, I started a new job at a new insurance brokerage firm. And no, I did not get kicked out of the last one for my shenanigans. That was an internship that had a pre-set ending date, thank you very much.

On the first day of work, I immediately began sizing up my coworkers to see who would be my friend, who could take a joke, and who would forever think of me as an immature 21-year-old (guilty). My task that day was to shadow the receptionist. She would show me how to work the phones, introduce me to people around the office and basically orient me to the company. Having a 45 year difference between us was difficult, to say the least. Even though we were both female and spoke English, there was definitely a barrier: generational, that is. Needless to say, we didn't see things the same way. No, there is no animosity between us; we respect each other very much. We just see and sense things differently. Hence, my suspicion of her suspicion of me.

On the second day of work, I read the employee manual. On page 64 section B part 2, there was a description of disallowed activities in the office workspace. A few lines down, I read, "No horseplay, joking around, or pranks. No unapproved tape recorders or voice recorders. Keep recreational conversation to a minimum." WHAAAAAAAAT?! I dropped my head in disappointment and I think I even shed a tear (or is that my allergies?). Regardless, that may as well have been a death sentence, "WHAT am I going to do at work?!" I thought in exasperation, "I literally don't know what to do with myself now."

Surprisingly, the thing I was most upset about was the whole tape-recording thing. My friend gave me this great practical joke idea where you put a sign on the copier saying that it is now voice activated with "the password". People are confused and don't know what "the password" is so they start yelling out random passwords at a copier that is unresponsive (because it's not voice activated). You record the whole thing. Well obviously this is now impossible. Sigh.

I walk into the lobby where the receptionist is and ask for a pen so I can sign the employee manual. It takes me about a minute of staring at the signature line wondering if I really want to agree to no pranks but I resolve that I do want this job. The receptionist gives me a sideways look and goes, "Are you going to sign that?"

"Umm, yes, I'm just looking for the line..."

"It's right here." *points*

"Oh, yes, right."

"Did you read the whole thing?"

*I look up*

She's either thinking, "Kids these days never read anything if it's not on a computer or tomigotchi," "I hope she read page 64, section B, part 2 twice," or "Have I checked the mail yet?"

I give her my paper and drag my feet back to my desk.

On the third day of work, my boss realized I was working in the dark. The way my cubicle was set up blocked out a lot of light. She decided I needed a lamp. I brightened up a bit. I was thinking I got to pick out my lamp that would go at my desk. Wrong.

After lunch, the receptionist calls me over to look at some of the lamps she picked out for me. One word to describe all of them: BORING.

"Umm..is that all the lamps they have to offer?"

*Sideways glance* "Well I thought these would offer you the most light."

"Well, umm, are there more pages of lamps?"

"I really think these are your best bet."

A stare-down ensues. I give way to seniority.

"All right..."

I got a lamp like this:

When I really wanted a lamp like this:

I bet she knew it too.

On day 4, I brought a salad to work. She saw me eating in the break room and said, "Salad, huh?" I stopped chewing for a moment to decide what her comment actually meant. She either said, "You're a fat chick at heart; you're not fooling anyone," "There's no way you can eat a salad every day and be satisfied," or "That looks like a really good salad."

We broke eye contact and I resumed chewing.

On the 5th day, Friday, I came to work with barely any make-up on, my hair pulled into a tight bun and a headband on. Yes, I went out Thursday night and woke up too late to do my make-up or fix my hair. Therefore, the headband was a failed attempt to cover up my God-awful hair.

"Nice headband."

"Thanks."

I walked to my desk and sat down. I paused. Wait, was that sarcasm? Did I see a smirk on her face as she "complimented" me or am I imagining that? Let's think....

She was really saying, "I know you were out late last night," "You look like shit," or "I like that headband." Just as I was about to run into the lobby yelling, "You are NOT my mother," a co-worker stopped by my desk for a memo and said, "Oh, Haley, I like your headband."

Ok, so either everyone thinks I look like shit today or likes my headband. Or thinks I'm 12 years old.

So that was my first week. Looking forward to many more.