Hi, I’m Amber and I spill Things

Do I have a sign on my forehead that says, ‘Hi, I’m Amber. I spill things’? I mean, I know that as a general rule I am a messy person. Ok, so I’m an extremely messy person. As in, yes that was me that spilled the red wine on our white carpet. Yep, and I ruined the keyboard at work by tipping over my water cup. Um… ok, so it was also me that dropped an entire large Jamba Juice under the seat of my friend’s car. But, hey, I also cleaned it up.

I had a hankering for French fries yesterday. I drove through the drive thru and order a small. A small. It’s not like I ordered a number two, supersize me please, with a jumbo fries and chicken nuggets like the day before. It was a small French fry.

This is how many napkins I was given.

“Here, lady, have a napkin. Oh, wait, scratch that. You look like the kind of person who needs fifty.”

On a side note, I spilled my coffee on the way to work this morning. Luckily I happened to have a bajillion napkins in my car to clean it up. #savestheday (Oh wait, this isn’t Twitter. #darn)

Proof My Car Hates Me

Is it just me or has Starbucks gotten a little… creepy lately?

This morning was one of those rare but wonderful mornings where I had time to go to Starbucks before work. I headed over to the one near my office, a different location than normal. I order my grande skinny vanilla late and pulled up to the window. The young guy working it popped his head out and said, a little too eagerly, “Hi! I believe I’ve seen you here before!”

I haven’t been to this Starbucks in months. He must have me confused with someone else.

“Oh, nope, not me.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve seen you in a different car?” He continued, as if I’d agreed with his previous statement.

Smile. Shake head. “This is my only car, and, really, I haven’t been here in, like… months.”

“Did you just buy it recently?” he asked, again ignoring my previous statement.

“Nope, I’ve had it for a while.”

“Do you ever drive a different one?”

Ok, Starbucks Guy, this is getting old and a little bit creepy. “No, this is the only car I drive.”

“I feel like you should be driving a different one.”

Yeah, me too. Now where’s my coffee?

Creepy Starbucks Guy leaned out the window and handed me my latte. I snatched it from his hands in a, ‘that’s mine! Don’t touch!’ kind of grab, ready to floor the gas and peel out. He started talking again, probably saying ‘What kind of cars do you like? I like red ones. Have you ever driven a red car before?’ when I slammed the car into drive, nodding a smile, and punched the gas.

My car died.

Of all the times for my car to die, and it chooses this one. My getaway was ruined. Creepy Starbucks Guy’s eyes widened and I waited for him to say “I really feel like you should be driving a different car”.

Yeah, me too, bud. Me too.

The Dance Contest

Did I ever tell you about the time that Zack and I entered a dance contest?

Zack and I have two things in common: We love to shake our booties on the dance floor, and we can both be painfully shy. It’s an odd mix, one that usually requires us to consume a couple drinks before we are able to boogie the night away. Two years ago Zack took me to Tahoe for my birthday. We hadn’t been together for that long and there was still some of the sweet shyness between the two of us. Normally when I’m into a guy it would take me a while to let loose Footloose style in front of him, but this weekend was a different story.

It was the night of my birthday and I was bursting with excitement, fueled by new love and several gin and tonics. We were in a casino sipping our drinks at a small bar with a dance floor and stage next to it. As the floor filled up Zack and I found ourselves swaying with the crowed. Eventually the music took over us and we lost control of our bodies. There was no helping it. We were dancing.

Consumed with the beat in our veins, we decided to find another dance floor with more people, louder music, and more room to strut our stuff. Destination: Cabo Wabo.

 We entered the club and found, to our delight, a packed dance floor, a dj, and (gasp) a dance contest. We had to enter. Because what would be better than winning a dance contest in Tahoe on your birthday?

The DJ announced the start of the contest. Three songs, no intermission. We hit the floor and we danced, like no one has danced before.

I shook my tail feather. I dropped it like it’s hot. I shimmied. I dipped, I swayed, I shook. And the judges watched. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one point to us, so I kicked it up a notch. I busted out moves I didn’t know that I was even capable of. And Zack? Well, Zack knocked my socks off. I could barely keep up with him. Together we had this in the bag!

At the end of the three song marathon Zack and I exited the floor, sweating and panting for air. Then we saw it. A table, at the entrance of the club with a large, can’t-miss-it banner that read: Dance Contest, Sign up here!

Um, oops. We didn’t sign up.

So we lost after all, but only by a technicality. Because I know had we signed up we would have won. And really, it’s better that way. It wouldn’t have been fair to the other dancers to be up agains such fierce competition.

Yep, that’s my theory and I’ll stand by it to the end.