Down on Starbucks

I am a little bit of a coffee addict. I love the smell of freshly percolated beans. I love the rich, dark brown color. I love how the aroma fills the air. I don't, however, love the taste. At least in it's truest sense. I love coffee that has been doctored until its a warm, sweet concoction that is easy to sip and with no hint of bitterness. I have a weakness for the White Chocolate Mocha at Starbucks. I don't like to admit it. I'm actually a bit ashamed. And I am working vigorously to break the habit. As my Dad recently pointed out, 'those coffee drinks [I] like' have hundreds of calories (he learned this from some health article he read, ironic since he never drinks coffee). They cost way too much and the brand has in recent years become somewhat of a fad. I have tried limiting myself. No more than once a month (okay, once a week). I have tried going cold turkey. But it never fails, I wake up one morning with a craving. I rationalize. I try to fight it. I remember all the times I've had to wait too long, all the customers that arrived after me only to get their drinks first, and all the failed attempts, as only certain baristas can make the WCM just right. And then I drive to the nearest store. This morning I found myself in line at my local chain. I was running late and didn't have time to make a more cost effective drink in my new french press (or so I rationalized). Really, I just haven't perfected the warm, silky, sweet coffee drink I desired. I ordered and anxiously awaited. The drink that arrived, I noticed after leaving the store, was not quite right. In fact it was completely wrong. After waiting in line, paying a ridiculous amount for a cup of coffee, all my anticipation, the incredibly irking experience of the barista not making drinks in the proper customer order, and my drink was almost unpalatable. Starbucks failed to deliver. This isn't the first time this has happened, but it may have been the last straw. Maybe some cold hard facts will help me break the cycle. One WCM a day for one year (at this mornings price and not even accounting for the inevitable inflation) would cost me $1,708.20 (well $1,703.52 because hey, the corporation is nice and gives you a free drink for your birthday). I would consume 146,000 calories. Limiting to once a week would still add up to my total caloric intake for 10.4 days. And that's assuming I don't get whipped cream, which lets face it, I almost always do. Not to mention all the trees and landfill space my paper cups would use as I can never remember to bring a reusable mug with me. So, in an attempt to have less of an impact on the planet, my body and my wallet, and because I am fed up with their inability to make my drink to my liking, I am quitting Starbucks. Again. Stay tuned to see how it goes.

Saying Yes to the Dress

I have my wedding dress! It is currently under lock and key at my parents house having entrusted my mom to keep it clean and secure for the next eight months. Finding the dress was a bit of a process, but actually picking it up was even more of one. I found 'the dress' at a little boutique in downtown Frederick (my home town!) called TLC Bridal. It was the third store I visited. I really had no intention of buying my gown there but thought it might be fun to look while in town. The reviews on line were fantastic and after my other less than exciting experiences I was hoping for the bridal treatment. At a previous store the consultant asked me to describe the style dress I wanted. At the time, I had little idea, but described a dress that I had liked and others I was looking to try. All the gowns she pulled were mermaid (which I absolutely did not describe, mermaid being the one style I knew was a definitive no). Partway through the process, frustrated with the fact that I was not liking any of her picks, she grabbed the dress I was wearing and yanked me into the dressing room as I stumbled over layers of lace and pouf. Needless to say, I did not purchase a dress from this store. TLC, however, was great. Bridget (my sister and maid of honor) found the store and suggested we try it. She was even the one who pulled the dress I ended up choosing. It was different from anything I had tried on and not what I thought I was looking for and I almost said no when she first showed it to me. Turns out it was perfect. Although I did not fully realize this until I walked away, went to a previous store to try on another dress again, and rationalized my way through the decision. Lets just say I did not have the moment most brides talk about when they knew they had found 'the one.' I am much too practical for that. When I ordered the dress I was between two sizes. Because the measurements were so close, and the style of the dress, the owner recommended I go with the smaller size. The dress came in within a month, almost three months early and when I went to pick it up it wouldn't zip! We knew this might be the case, but thought it would be a small, fixable issue. Instead the zipper barely budged. The owner worked some magic and three appointments later the second dress fit almost perfectly!

Engagement Pictures

Check them out here!

I Hate to Write

In theory, I love to write. I have thoughts. I have ideas. And in my head they effortlessly combine to form eloquent sentences in a beautiful and poetic voice. In my head, I am witty. And funny. And every thought can easily be transcribed into interesting anecdotes and blurbs. In reality, I hate writing. The bright white light of a computer screen is an eye sore. The blinking cursor is immovable. An empty page is overwhelming daunting. And confronted with it all, I freeze. It is happening right now. I am intimidated by the thought of writing about hating to write. I can start a sentence. Then, the process of translating it from my mind, through my fingertips to the keyboard and onto the screen, becomes too much of a task and interrupts my thought process until I wind up with a jumble of disjointed words. A rambling sentence such as that last one. Writing is rough. There is the rough draft. The unbelievably rough chore of editing and attempting to make something readable out of random words. And the roughness of wondering, after all that, is anyone even going to read this?