Another Day, Another Dollar…or is it?

I manage a coffee shop and I love my job¹.  I spend the majority of my day out on the floor with my employees, making coffee, specialty drinks, and cleaning up.

And every morning, on my way to work, I think of all the people that will be coming through the doors that day. I imagine what their lives are like. I wonder if they’re going through an up side in life or a down side?

Are they getting ready to add a new family member into their lives? Are they starting to say goodbye to someone they’re going to lose?

Maybe they just got a new promotion at work? Or maybe they know they’re about to get fired.

They could be getting ready for an epic vacation? Or thinking about their weekend chillin’ at home.

Are they planning a wedding? Or picking themselves up after a horrible break up?

I really have no idea, but what I do know is that every single person who walks through my doors has a story…and I have a part in it. Sometimes I feel that my part in their story in super minor, which is true. And other times I feel as though I could make or break their day, which is also true.

Because if I forget to stir their Caramel Latte and they get half way to work thinking, “Hmmmm. My latte doesn’t seem to taste right?” Then they take a big gulp and find themselves with a mouth full of caramel, which they have to spit out before they choke on it, which goes all over their work clothes and their dashboard. They can’t see how fast they’re going and they get pulled over. Now they smell like a giant caramel latte, they’re late for work, and they got a speeding ticket. I just broke their day.

On the other hand, if I make it a point to always stir caramel drinks, take pride in making a perfect cappuccino, and always brewing the very freshest coffee (while remembering who they are and what they like to drink) their day isn’t promised to be amazing, but it sure will be better than it would’ve been, thanks to me.

The first time I heard someone from the company I work with say “Bright Spot” I kinda thought it sounded corny. But the more I think of it, that’s exactly what I want to be for others. I want to have a place where you come in and just feel better. The ambiance is great, the people are wonderful, and the drinks are always the best.

I came across this quote the other day and I totally believe in it:

The only way to do great work is to love what you do. ~Steve Jobs

As I reflect on that, I think about my guests and my co-workers and how I can be a Bright Spot in their day. I try my best, and from what I hear from them, I do a great job at it…because I love what I do.

¹All ideas and opinions on this site are my own and not the opinions of the company I work for.

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Oh where oh where can I be?

I turned 45 last week. 

And all I can think about since my birthday is, “What the hell happened in the last five years? Where did *I* go?”

Five years ago I was blogging like crazy, making funny videos, enjoying being a pink-head and playing with Curlformers, hanging out with lots of friends, playing Rock Band, running, and mountain biking in a tutu.

It was fucking awesome.

And then I had ankle fusion number one.

And then I had ankle fusion number two.

And guess what? After I healed from ankle fusion one and two, I got to have spinal fusion to my neck.

And all of this fucking sucks¹.

I rarely blog anymore or make videos. I haven’t been able to dye my hair for a long time due to the pain in my shoulders (and now because I’m not through the healing process of neck fusion). I hardly see friends anymore and our Rock Band stuff is packed away. And obviously I’m not running or mountain biking.

I just sit here and exist.

Nathan’s sure I have PTSD from all of my health complications and while he can’t “diagnose” me, he’s probably right. I need to start seeing my therapist again.

This isn’t the first time I’ve “slumped“. Oh, it seems like it happens again and again….so I know I’ll un-slump myself…somehow…and hopefully soon.

¹No need for a pity party or tons of advice. I’m just trying to keep it real and I know that writing is something that helps the un-slumping.


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I’m crazy (about some things) and it’s totally okay.

Srsly…This is so totally, completely, the wrong way to keep eggs in a carton. Who does this?!?!

I was making myself an egg for breakfast yesterday and when I pulled the eggs out of the fridge, I knew before I even opened the carton something was wrong.

You see, Nathan had not only boiled some eggs for his salads for the upcoming week, he also made me breakfast in bed on Sunday¹. So…he was the last one to use the eggs.

And he didn’t use them in the right order.

I could tell as soon as I picked up the carton. The weight of the carton was off. It was all heavy on one side and totally weight free on the other side.

*le sigh*

I’d have to re-arrange the eggs before I made my breakfast.

As I opened the container, my youngest son walked in and watched as I re-arranged them. Then I took an egg out for my breakfast and stood there. Frozen. I was left with five eggs in an eighteen egg carton.

Kade tried soooo many ways to get the eggs to work for me while keeping them in the carton.

Sometimes talking out loud about a situation helps, so I started talking to myself about the egg situation. Trying to figure out a way to fit five eggs in an eighteen egg carton correctly. Noticing I had a pretty intense problem on my hands, Kade weighed in and tried to help me find a solution, although he looked at me strangely and simply said, “Just put the eggs in the carton, shut the carton, and put them in fridge.”

But there was no chance in the world that would happen.

See? This arrangement of eggs is PERFECT!


I know myself too well. Those unbalanced eggs would’ve bothered me for days, or at least until someone used another egg. There was only one real solution.

Put the five eggs in a bowl and recycle the egg crate.

Kade looked at me like I was crazy. So I said, “I’m crazy. And it’s totally okay.”

The eggs were placed in their new home and put back in the fridge, while I enjoyed a stress free breakfast.


¹What did Nathan make me for breakfast you ask? Poached eggs, wilted greens, and bacon. It was perfect. Except the whole using the eggs in the wrong order thing, but I think I can forgive him. ;)

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Crafts? Crap? Sometimes it’s all the same.

A couple weeks ago I started going through my crap-room. (“What’s a crap-room,” you ask? Well, it’s kind of like a craftroom, except you don’t really do crafts at the moment so stuff is just piled everywhere and because you don’t really use the room, you pile more than just craft stuff in there. You pile ALL THE THINGS in there until you pretty much have a room full of crap.)

Anyway, I was going through the crap-room and boxing up a bunch of craft stuff that I could honestly say I probably would never use. After I had it boxed up, I sent a message to a Facebook friend. You see, I promised her weeks and weeks ago that I’d give her the stuff I no longer wanted. The message was simple enough. Something like, “Hey. Here’s a bunch of craft crap I no longer want? Do you want it? You don’t have to say ‘yes’. Either way, no biggie.”

Of course she said she wanted it¹.

And then…..

The fucking anxiety hit. You see, I haven’t seen this person in over twenty-five years. I’m not the same person I was back then. She’s not the same person she was back then. And what if my anxiety of re-meeting her kills me?

I knew that if I didn’t immediately throw the boxes and bags into the car and get over there, I’d flake out and not bring her the stuff. I’m like that sometimes. My anxiety gets the best of me and people think I just flake out.

And you know what?

It was a wonderful visit. Her kids are nice. Their cats are nice. And she is simply amazing.²

¹I mean, who *wouldn’t* want boxes and boxes of craft stuff, right?!!?

²Of course I forgot to say polite things like “It was nice to meet you.” to the kids, and “Thanks for having me over.” But…hey at least I got out of the house, actually made it to her place, AND I’m pretty sure I didn’t say the word “fuck” one time. #winning

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Do you want the red pill or the blue pill?

Let’s continue this theme of keeping things real about mental health:

Even though the appointments with my new psychologist (I like to call her “Karin The Phsyco…therapist”) are going great, we’re all in agreement that I could really benefit from medication. So yesterday I had my first appointment with my new psychiatrist. We’ll call her “Marie” because that’s her name and I can’t come up with anything sassy to call her yet.

My first appointment with Marie went well, considering that it’s a bit unsettling to unload the “Readers Digest” version of your life to someone you just met. I ended up using that last of her kleenex¹ and we joked about how she should charge by the kleenex for her sessions. Just as I thought I had this appointment under control she said:

“If I could give you a pill, right now, that could do anything for you…what would it do?”

And that question took my breathe away.  blue red pills

I mean, I *know* that I’m in her office to get medication to help with my depression, but the frankness of the question really threw me off.

Because it sounded like a dangerous question.

Marie wasn’t asking me if I’d take a pill to bring about world peace or end poverty. She was asking me what that pill would do for ME. If she could give me a pill, right now, that would do ANYTHING FOR ME, what would it be?

After a bit of silence, she added that there wasn’t a wrong answer and that I could take my time. I’m pretty sure she lied about the first part. There had to be a right answer. And I know she lied about the last part. My insurance company wouldn’t pay her for hours upon hours as I sat there and figured out the right thing to say. After a few moments of my brain racing to try to figure out the right answer, this is all I could come up with:

“It would make me enjoy life again?”

I mean I should’ve probably said something like; “Make me smarter, sexier, thinner, richer, more popular”…but no, I spouted out “enjoy life again?” And yeah, I said it like it was a question. The appointment ended shortly after that. She sent my prescription² to Target and I left her office feeling unsettled, but ready for whatever help was to come.


¹I didn’t really take her last kleenex. She had a whole stash of Kirkland brand tissues behind her desk.

²Turns out my pills are neither red or blue, they’re kind of a brownish-yellowish-puke color. I guess we’ll find out in a few weeks if I answered the question right?


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