Greetings loved ones. I am sorry to report that this entry will not be as travel-filled as the past couple have been. Indeed, the only real travelling I’ve been doing is from the couch to the refrigerator — and occasionally to the shower. And by occasionally I mean OCCASIONALLY. Just kidding I shower. It’s just that I think that life should be about more than just looks you know? That may or may not be my excuse for not showering.
Anyways, if this accidentally starts to sound like a cover letter, I apologize as I’ve written and applied to about 39825783946598 jobs in the past couple weeks. And no, that was not just me running my fingers across the number keys. That number is an accurate reflection of the amount of times I have released my resume into cyber space with a blind faith that I will eventually hear back from someone — a thought that I am beginning to think I have pulled out of my backside region. Every day on Facebook it’s the same ol’ thing. Everyone posting statuses about how they just landed the best job ever and life is just sooo great. Well shove it.
Ok, that sounded really bitter. But when you’ve just spent 200,000 big ones on an education that has so far only made you more dependent on others than when you were 3, you tend to become a little bitter. Bitter like a lemon. Or those cumquat things that, I’m going to be completely honest with you, I thought were baby oranges for a good portion of my late teens/early twenties. So like up until a month ago. Maybe that’s why I’m unemployed. Well geez if I knew that was going to be a test maybe I would have asked sooner why those stupid orange bushes outside my friend’s house never grew oranges that were bigger than an inch. I just figured they had vertically challenged trees. How was I supposed to know? Crap.
So this has been my life — waking up, showering (….), going to Starbucks, applying for jobs, and repeat. Throw in a couple episodes of The Office and really stupid scary movies about three or four times a week and you have a day in the life of Ashley. Come on in, the waters’ fine. Only if you want to though. Because the water is warm, but boring. Didn’t know water could be boring did you? It takes talent.
Speaking of me, I went to Starbucks today. Shocking. But this was no ordinary Starbucks. No. This was THE FIRST STARBUCKS I EVER WENT TO EVER IN MY LIFE. Of course I was about 14 then. I remember it as if it t’was yesterday. My dad opened the smudged-glass door unto the bustling café of wonders and legal-stimulant addiction. As a reminder, this was in Placerville, so by bustling I mean there were five people in there.
Anyways, as my innocently eager eyes scrolled down the menu (a menu that by the time I went to Pepperdine I would be able to recite backwards while intoxicated and solving a Rubik’s cube) I found my poison — a mocha malt. Now, because I was young and uncultured, I had not the foggiest idea that a “venti” meant the biggest freaking cup in the whole world. I mean, shoot me but I thought “tall” was supposed to be the large one — forgive me, I knew not what I was doing.
So there I stood waiting at the counter with my father, so proud of my choice yet so blindly unaware of the error in judgment I had made. As the barista called out my dad’s grande black coffee and my larger-than-my-head blended drink, my heart was filled with both joy and confusion as to why anyone could ever possibly want a coffee that big. Of course now I just have no idea why anyone would order a tall. I mean c’mon, it’s not even worth it.
So I grabbed my 10,500-calorie drink jubilantly and skipped out the door and into the car — sipping all the way. Five minutes later on the hairpin-turn drive home, I felt like my stomach wanted to be anywhere but in my body. I didn’t go back to Starbucks for like a year. Actually, the day I went back was the day I got my drivers license. I was again, with my dad — and it was the same Starbucks. And so began my addiction.
And now here I am — then just a naïve 14-year-old girl, now a mature, sophisticated, and unemployed 22 year-old woman. Just livin’ the dream — one day/venti iced coffee with room for cream at a time.
Damn you Dad, damn you.