Coffee & Traffic = Good day

Today could have been very bad. It had all the components to be very bad. If I wasn't such a goddamn optimist, I probably would have marvelled at the potential very bad-ness of it all.

But today, my glass is half full, folks.

I left the house this morning, knowing that the torrential downpour was going to turn my miserable hour-long commute into an agonizing snail's crawl into hell, aka work. I tried to find the bright side of things and decided not to dwell on it, instead treating myself to a creature comfort before getting in line with everyone else on the 15 South Parking Lot - I mean, Freeway. I drove over to Starbucks, silently lamenting the fact that I was not able to walk over to my beloved Influx anymore. It's not that I hate Starbucks... just what they represent. (However, although I hate feeling like I am selling out, I hate the thought of having to forgo my caffeine even more.) Anyway, where was I?
Oh yes...so I drove over to Starbucks, and stood in line, trying to figure out what I wanted. The kid at the register looks at me expectantly. Maybe he thought he was being helpful in telling me that he could indeed help me RIGHT NOW, thus causing me to have to make an instantaneous decision on what I wanted to drink. I wasn't really in the mood for my triple shot Soy Vanilla Latte, but it seemed a safe choice... I mean, what other choice did I have when given only 2.5 seconds to respond? After a short wait, I pick up my coffee from the barista and head out to my car, intent on staying as dry as possible until I can get into the relative protection of my vehicle. As I open the door, my hand slips and I almost drop my steaming cup of caffeinated goodness. (I would never cry over spilled milk... but I would probably shed a tear or two over the demise of my latte.) Although I didn't drop it, I unfortunately had forgotten to cover the opening on the top of the cup and foam splashed out onto my coat, my white (of course) t-shirt and (unbeknownst to me) the side of my head, where it does not drip down my face but sticks.. like "hair gel." Or maybe hair mousse - it was foam, after all.
I step back into the downpour to run into Starbucks to get napkins, cursing my bad luck the whole way. (My deepest apologies to the stunned family sitting at the table near the door.) Finally back in my car, I look in the mirror, clean up the 'money shot' from the side of my face, and then see I need to get fuel for the car. Like any good (broke) American, I snub the Shell since they are a whopping 3 cents more expensive than the Arco across the street, only to find the damn pay islands at the Arco out of order. Another string of expletives finds our intrepid heroine hurtling down the road, partly in frustration and annoyance at the morning's events and partly because she is hydroplaning on the slick suburban streets. I pull into another gas station, unwilling to compromise (still 1 penny cheaper than Shell - so take that!) and pump my gas. I take a few fortifying breaths and get back in the now soy-milk smelling car.
After that, everything else was smooth sailing... I decided not to stress about how late I was going to be. Sure, the drive was long, but all the music on the radio was excellent. (Thanks 91X, 94.9, 102.1 and random Spanish radio stations!) I also got major points while playing the interstate license plate game (Iowa, Georgia, Hawaii!, New Mexico, Illinois, Oregon & Colorado). And I reflected on the past few months of my life and reminded myself that in spite of small grievances, I really am a lucky girl.

In other news, Mike is having dinner with the X tonight. Hopefully, they are going to be able to resolve a few lingering issues that make her the bane of my existence. What does that mean to me? If I can just get through this workday, I am rewarding myself with sweet, sweet booze... Happy hour after work???