If you’ll forgive me for being one of those obnoxious pet owners who talks about her pet as though she’s a dear (human) friend… let me list for you the many traits Emma and I share.
So my ramblings about my cat may evidence my neuroses, but don’t worry… there’s more to come in the days that follow. I’m still working about some thoughts about men in my mind. (I say that as though it’s news. When am I not pondering these mysteries?)
Iām sitting in Starbucks (surprise!) and the CD playing is so atrocious I canāt concentrate. So much for reading with a latte in an oversize chair.
Look at your calendar. Last I checked, November 17 is too early for Christmas music. (I know this topic is addressed so often itās become trite. Give me a moment.)
Itās worse still when those untimely tunes are crooned loudly and off key! I know the Christmas dĆ©cor and products are intended to boost sales. (And Iām highly susceptible to these ploys. Whenever new merchandise fills the shelves, I rush to examine the brightly colored goods. Iām ready to drop $20 on a set of mugs from the last merchandize blitz.)
However, when the music is this painful, Iām surprised customers arenāt running out of the store! The girls studying near me muttered to each other, āThis is horrible.ā The song they complained about was followed by another that should have been retired years ago. Thereās no place for āThe Lion Sleeps Tonightā in a coffee shopāever.
So I think Iāve figured out the Starbucks secret.
Itās not their ubiquity. Itās not the benefits they offer their employees. Itās not even freshness of products.
Starbucksā appeal is in brainwashing.
Think about it. At least an entire generation has cut their coffee drinking teeth on Starbucks. You may be like me, starting out with a fluffy 16-year-old girl drink and progressing to combinations not even listed on the menu. You drink Starbucks because itās convenient and itās the same in every city.
Given a couple yearsāor weeks, depending on the frequency of your visitsāthe addiction takes hold. You slowly move from a social drinker to brewing a cup a week in your home toā¦ well, letās be honest. You end up brewing at least two cups a day at home, and you often stop for a latte when youāre out. And now that youāve developed a full blown expensive coffee habit, youāve got to determine your favorite local shop. We all know true coffee snobs donāt drink corporate coffee!
So you grab an almond latte at Safari Cup during your lunch break. Itās fresher than the French Roast in your Starbucks thermosā¦ but it doesnāt fulfill your craving. The next day, you try a ācinnamon rollā from OāHenryās. The blend of cinnamon, caramel and vanilla smells delicious and warms you from the inside out, but it doesnāt really compare to the toffee nut latte you wanted this morning. (Everyone should have toffee nut syrup.) Highland Coffee serves organic, fair trade coffeeābut itās still more acidic than you prefer.
Thatās it. Starbucks must slip some sort of brainwashing additive into their espresso. You think you prefer the way they roast their beans. You guess itās because pumpkin spice lattes arenāt available anywhere else. But youāre wrong.
If drinking Starbucks means youāre brainwashed, then Iām perfectly content being a zombie. Bring on the toffee nut.
Some girls make lists of what they’re looking for in a man, ranging from the serious (a godly leader) to the physical (blond hair, blue eyes, killer grin). I shredded my list years ago because I realized I was dwelling too much on finding a man. (Well, that and I kept liking guys with all sorts of hair color/eye color combinations. Kidding! I’m kidding…)
I think it’s time for a new one.
I present to you CJ’s ridiculous list of what she wants in a man:
I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you? š Leave all applications in the comment field.Ā Requests will be answered in two weeks to four years. Bonus points for good dancers.
I ran into another pair of beautiful brown heels in Nashville this week. Like the others I’ve considered, they featured a low heel and a pointy toe. But these babies would look good with pants and skirts – and they had a fun steel-heel look that I was diggin’.
I didn’t get them.
I suppose that supports Alisa’s hypothesis that I’m a commitment-phobe. I maintain that my hesitation to buy shoes is out of wisdom, not fear. (The problem here? Will these shoes still be worth their money after I wear them three or four times? The leather was already starting to crease, and I was afraid it would destroy their appeal.)
Alisa’s not completely off, though. When I began to consider what I would look for in a church, I had to face a hard truth about myself.
You see, I tend to think that commitment will be fairly simple within the context of marriage. I know I’m never going to find Mr. Perfect, but I believe love is a choice. I will choose to love even when there are hard days, even when Mr. Right-for-Me is showing his bad side(s). Maybe I’m a little idealistic, but these ideas led me to an important comparison.
Husbands are supposed to love their wives as Christ loved the church. Wives are to submit to their husbands as though they’re submitting to Jesus. I think that’s one of the coolest things ever. But I never stop to look at the other side; what does this say about my relationship with the church?
I don’t have the best church background. I’ve attended countless churches since becoming a Christian five years ago, none of them for much longer than a year. Daydreaming little CJ thinks she can accept the faults of a man, but how can she expect that when she can’t accept imperfections in the church?
Granted, I don’t want to attend a church with faulty theology or unfriendly demeanor. There are certain “non-negotiables” in a searching for a church home – just as there are in looking for a mate. The difference is I rarely recognize the difference between non-negotiables and deal breakers when it comes to the body of Christ.
I think the fault lies with me.
That’s why it’s been so important to me to pray about what I must have in a church and what I prefer. I’m only “guaranteed” four months in Birmingham (well, three months and 9 days, at this point), but I want to maximize that time. I don’t want to dilly dally between congregations forever.
So I might settle on a church before I pick up a pair of brown heels.
I’m okay with that. I think it means I’m growing.
Today I went shoe shopping.
Whoa now, donāt turn away from me just yet! Thereās greater truth to be told here ā or at least, my former roommate thinks so.
Iām in dire need of a pair of sassy brown high heels, and work starts next week. With my personal shoe specialist at my side, I hit the streets in search of the perfect chocolate-colored complement to my wardrobe.
We spotted a pointy little number with a kitten heel that slipped onto my foot nicely. It looked stylish with my jeans, and promised to be just as flattering with dressier attire. So I did what comes naturally ā I replaced the shoe in its box and walked away.
When I recounted this tale hours later, Alisa accused me of having commitment issues. She mentioned that yesterday in relation to boys, and she decided that my shoe shopping episode was the perfect analogy.
Perhaps it is, I agreed. But maybe not in quite the way she was thinking.
See, when Iām going to drop a significant amount of cash (or credit, as the case may be) on something, I give it time. I mull over the purchase for at least a few days. Buying a pair of shoes is a serious commitment, and in my opinion, not something to take lightly.
So are men. Okay, okay ā I havenāt had to deal with any real commitment issues because I havenāt dated anyone for longer than three months. But Alisa will be the first to mock me for the length of time I take to admit interest in a guy. [Cue āWinterās Endingā]
Iām a firm believer in giving appropriate weight to decisions I make. Iāll admit that dating a guy is a bit more serious than buying a shoe. š But who cares if I give both careful consideration? With the time, money and potential for pain invested in each, I believe theyāre worth the thought.
(Can I get an āamenā?)
