…it’s soapy coffee day!
No, seriously I am totally kidding. It’s not soapy coffee Friday because that is what the coffee on my floor looks like EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. I’m starting to feel like I’m in an episode of Punk’d, The Office or Without a Trace or something. Someone here is trying to poison the entire floor. I have never seen coffee that bubbles up like this coffee does.
When I start feeling desperate for some coffee, I approach the coffee bar with hopeful anticipation – it’s FREE Starbucks after all. I will tenatively push the button down on the big carafe thing and stare intently into my cup, hoping upon all hope that no bubbles will appear. But every single time, those bubbles froth up like dish detergent and I have to dump it out.
Today I got brave though and stuck my finger in the bubbles and tasted it. OHYESIDID. And it didn’t taste soapy. I’m still alive to blog about…but we’ll see how long that lasts.
Sidenote: I totally snuck BACK into the kitchen just to pour another cup of coffee and snap a picture of it with my trusty little Blackberry so I could prove to you guys that I wasn’t a liar. Also I learned that when you pour hot coffee into a plastic cup that just happens to be sitting there, the plastic will melt. Oops.
Also – a friend of mine on Facebook recently posted this as her status:
copy and paste this to your status if you know someone, or have been affected by someone, who needs a punch in the face. People who need a punch in the face affect the lives of many. There is still no known cure for someone who deserves a punch in the face, except a punch in the face, but we can… raise awareness.
I have to pause here to catch my breath, because it makes me laugh SO HARD. I must have read it to Todd 3 times the other night, laughing harder each time I read the words. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a violent person and would NEVER advocate punching anyone, anywhere. It just happens to make me laugh, because that’s how I’m wired.
But since we’re on the subject – there is a guy on my floor who shows up only on Fridays. He has the office directly next to mine. I guess you could say we are office neighbors. I am going to call this man, Mr. I’m Having Trouble Controlling THEVOLUMEOFMYVOICE. That’s a little bulky, isn’t it? Fine. We’ll call him Mr. Loud Talker. I am not trying to say this man should be punched. Just that he’s loud. Draw your own conclusions.
Mr. Loud Talker and I have never met, incidentally. I only know he’s around because it feels like someone is standing over me and shouting directly into my ear. This is impossible of course, because I am the only one in my office. Today I heard Mr. Loud Talker explaining to his doctor’s office how he got the same biopsy letter three times in the mail. No, not 3 letters in one envelope. THREE SEPARATE MAILINGS, THREE OF THE EXACT SAME LETTERS.
Last week I found out it was Mr. Loud Talker’s birthday and that he accidentally slept through his alarm, was late getting his son up for school and then his car wouldn’t start.