Frappuccino...You want any fries with that?

My favorite thing to order at Starbucks is a Frappuccino. 

I first discovered these with my best friend, Matt, somewhere around the 8th grade. My first Frappuccino was a Venti Caramel Frappuccino. I ate the whipped cream off of the top. Then I was done.

Turns out the caramel Frappuccino is a tad too sweet for this coffee lover.

Still, my first introduction to the Frappuccino certainly was not my last. Over the years, I've acquired fast favorites. My first regular order was the tried and true Mocha Frappuccino. I then progressed to the Java Chip Frappuccino. After that, Peppermint Java Chip. Now I live on Caramel Mocha. The mocha does an excellent job of taming the sweetness of the caramel, and the mix of the two flavors is, quite frankly, divine.


So, as you can tell, I'm no stranger to Frappuccinos, be it texture, flavor, consistency, etc.

Recently, Starbucks changed how they make the Frappuccino. Instead of a vague "base" specific to the trademark blended drink, they're now "However-You-Want-It" Frappuccinos. There are defnitely a lot of positives when it comes to the recipe change. For instance, now you can choose which kind of milk you want— 2%, soy, whole, or what have you. Also, there is more room for customization. And the consistency is, in my humble opinion, much better than that of the previous Frappuccino, which tended toward allowing the flavor to be sucked out in such a way that in the end, you were left with a sort of slushy flavorless icy substance in the bottom of your cup. (Which I always drank, anyway.) Now, if anything starts to settle, a quick stir with the trademark green straw rights those wrongs immediatly.

I'm a big fan.

However, with more room for customization comes more room for inconsistency.

For example there are two Starbucks that I frequent here in College Station. I love both. And the baristas at both are fantastic—friendly, welcoming, conversational. No complaints. But when the new "However-You-Want-It" recipe was first introduced, both stores made Frappuccinos that tasted completely different from one another. The one closest to me—which had been the one I visited most frequently—started turning out Frappuccinos that tasted way too much like milkshakes. Suddenly, I could hardly taste the mocha. I could only taste the milk. And while the consistency of the drink was excellent, the overall experience was anything but. The flavors were all wrong. Consistently all wrong. As a long-time Frappuccino fan, I was concerned. I thought, "That's it. I've had my last delicious Frapp."

I even remember calling my Mom and filling her in on my woes. I was, with a heavy heart, grieving the loss of my long time favorite beverage.

No two Frappuccinos taste alike!

Then I made a trip to the Starbucks on the other side of town. With trepidation, I ordered my usual—a Caramel Mocha Frappuccino.

Lo and behold, it was excellent!

I was thrilled. Unlike the unappealing milkshakyness of the other Frappuccino I'd had, this one was perfect. It had a rich mocha taste and a smooth, creamy texture. The milk was much more subtle, but still pleasant, and best of all, very fresh. My faith in humanity—or at least in Starbucks—was restored.

Which got me thinking. Why the inconsistency?

This has been a problem I've experienced for my entire Frappuccino-drinking life. An extra pump of mocha can be totally different from place to place. Even the amount of time the blend the drink changes the experience. There's nothing more frustrating than having a particularly delicious Frappuccino one day, then returning the next expecting the same level of yum, and being utterly disappointed. But you can't complain that the barista made it wrong. Because they didn't. They just made it. And it turned out different.

I'll always love you, Frappuccino.
Even if you do let me down sometimes.

This is a problem, Starbucks! I consistently enjoy the atmosphere. The baristas are consistently friendly. But the drinks are consistently...inconsistent.

I'm not sure what could be done to solve this problem. And I AM sure that it's not going to keep me from my beloved Frappuccinos. But I do feel it's important, as a customer, to be allowed to expect some sort of consistency in flavor when they order the same coffee. And also, I'm just curious as to whether or not I'm the only person who's encountered this as an issue.

Either way, each trip to Starbucks is a toss-up on whether or not my drink will live up to the one before it. Or, if the one before it was wonderful, if the next will surpass it. It's like I never know what to expect except a drink that won't taste the same as it did the last time I ordered it. I love Frappuccinos, but I don't love those odds.

I see London, I see France...

It was two in the morning. And admittedly, I should have already been in bed, but I wasn't. I got wrapped up in Fatal Attractions—why, why, why would you handle poisonous snakes with bare hands??—and could only bring myself to turn off the T.V. when they started playing re-runs. So then I took Tucker out for his last potty break of the night, and that's when it dawned on me.

It felt amazing outside. There was a chill in the air, a rather boisterous breeze. After spending a day on campus in almost-ninety degree weather, it was bliss.

So I came back inside, flung open the balcony door (okay, well, it's a sliding door, so..."flung" is just for dramatic effect), turned off every light except my nightlight, and kicked back on the sofa. I could feel the cool breeze, was enjoying listening to the sound of the wind and some crickets, had started to feel completely relaxed. The perfect way to wrap up a long day.

And then the SUV drove up. It might have been a Jeep. I'm really not sure. I can only attest to the fact that it was silver and full of girls.

They parked it in front of my building; not a totally unusual occurrence, since they apparently just needed to drop their friends off. Out emerged two tanned and dolled up girls. Back from a night of partying, I assume. Laughing, giggling, staggering. Drunk. And if there had been any question of their intoxication in my mind, out it went when I heard, "Oh my god, I am so drunk!"

They made it up to the sidewalk well enough, and their friends drove away past my building, did a U-turn at the next one, and decided it would be like, super fun to honk at their friends as they headed for the exit. Their inebriated friends laughed and waved and stumbled towards what I can only assume is their apartment.

It might be super fun for you two, but honey, it's two in the morning. The rest of us are not quite so amused.

After these two girls disappeared, I resumed lounging on the sofa. I was thinking, "Okay. Noisiness is over, enjoy the breeze. Relax again. Then go to bed."

But no such luck. I soon learned that the noisiness was not over at all.

Suddenly, instead of just the sound of the wind, I heard muffled country music and the roar of an engine. A red convertible Mustang pulls up, blaring his stereo—loud enough that I can hear it from the third floor of my building even though he has his windows up. And can I just say that, at two in the morning, it doesn't matter what kind of music you're listening to; if it's cranked up, it's annoying.

He parked facing away from me, headlights still on, and killed the music. So then I thought, "Well that's nice. At least he switched it off before opening his car door or rolling down a window." Only then, instead of shutting off his car and getting out, he just sat there. The headlights stayed on. And then the music turned on again.

He sat there for several minutes and then, lo and behold, who should come back on the scene but the two not-so-sober girls from before. I could hear them before I could see them, giggling and laughing, as if completely unaware of the fact that it's now two thirty in the morning and most people are trying to sleep.

They walked between my car an the car next to me, headed for none other than Mr. Mustang. Who knew?

Both of them were still stumbling a bit, and one of them ran into the car parked next to me. Her friend said something along the lines of, "Watch out for the car," or, "Don't hit the car." To which the other girl replied, "As long as it's not my car!" and, as she laughed in a manner that said, "Heheh, I'm such a rebel," she proceeded to purposefully bump into the car next to me several times as she passed by, using whatever it was she was holding in her hands to thump along the side.

Sweetheart, that's not cute.

And then, the kicker. The punch line. The you've-got-to-be-kidding-me moment.

As I watched them head for the Mustang, worried that next they'll decide it'd be funny to bang against my car, I realized that one of the girls wasn't wearing quite what she was wearing when she got dropped off.

Somewhere along the way, she had lost her pants. And shoes. All that's left is a top and her underwear.

This didn't seem to phase her at all. I had to do a double-take to make sure my eyes weren't deceiving me. I thought, "Surely those shorts are just really short, because normal people don't hang around outside of an apartment building in their underwear, right?"

Wrong.

They were most definitely not shorts.

I just can't imagine. Even when drunk, I have never had the urge to show myself in public in my panties. In fact, even when I've had perhaps a bit too much to drink, I come home, make it up the stairs to my third-floor apartment, pop a leash on my dog, and take him out to use the bathroom before we go to bed. So I don't know what this girl's excuse is...

The last thing I heard her say as she and her friend headed back inside for the second time? "Oh my gosh! I can't believe I did that! I am so embarrassed!"

Well, hindsight is 20/20. And I, for one, didn't need to sight your hind.

Live and learn.

Get'choo some.

I got all these cartoons from NatalieDee.com. She is hilarious. I deserve no credit for them. I'm just sayin'.

Define Definition

This is kind of a long post, so bear with me. Or don't—your call.

Sometimes I think that people don't really know what they're saying. Or what the words they're using mean. And I'm talking, people who by all rights SHOULD know the definition of the words they're using. Because then they would understand why I look at them with a blank stare, thinking, "You're saying one thing, but it's not what you're meaning."

I have several examples of this happening in my life. Two very recent. One not so much. One of them is the first time I really noticed it happening. I will start with the most recent.

re·quest

   [ri-kwest]  Show IPA

–noun

1.

the act of asking for something to be given or done, esp. asa favor or courtesy; solicitation or petition: At his request,they left.

2.

an instance of this: There have been many requests for theproduct.

3.

a written statement of petition: If you need supplies, send ina request.

4.

something asked for: to obtain one's request.

5.

the state of being asked for; demand.


I recently got a speeding ticket—my first speeding ticket, actually. And I suppose it wasn't too recent. It happened on July 4th. (I know, I know. Like, one of the worst days to speed, right?) And I thought, "Oh super. Well, I'll request to take defensive driving, that way the ticket won't go on my driving record." So I paid what the ticket told me to and I sent off the appropriate paperwork, aptly titled, "Driver Safety Course Request." Then I waited.


And I waited.


And I waited.


Finally, yesterday, I called the Municipal Court of the city I was pulled over in and asked them why I hadn't yet received anything in the mail letting me know whether or not the court had granted my request to take Defensive Driving instead of having the ticket go onto my driving record.


The nice lady on the phone then informed me that I wouldn't be getting anything in the mail; that I wasn't supposed to get anything in the mail. That the paperwork clearly stated that I was to mail in the request and then within 90 days complete a Defensive Driving course and mail the court a certificate of completion along with a copy of my driving record.


Okay, fair enough—It's on the paperwork. I should have read more closely.


But look, I don't go around getting tickets often. And when I'm finding myself in dealings with a COURT, I don't exactly consider myself a high enough authority to say, "Look, Court, I know I got a ticket, but here's how this is gonna go down. I'm taking defensive driving, and you're not putting this on my record." See, when you have me fill out paperwork that's called Driver Safety Course Request, I assume that the word request is actually being used appropriately. And as you can see from the definition above, the word request implies that an answer, either yes or no, will follow.


So, Municipal Court, I hereby suggest that you trash the title of your "Driver Safety Course Request" form in favor of the following: "Intent to Complete Driver Safety Course." Because that implies that by sending in the proper paperwork, I am stating my intent to complete a course and my intent to send in the certificate and driving record so that none of this will go on my record.


I believe my recommended form title is much clearer than your own.


Thank you.

piv·ot

   [piv-uht]  Show IPA

–noun

1.

a pin, point, or short shaft on the end of which somethingrests and turns, or upon and about which something rotatesor oscillates.

2.

the end of a shaft or arbor, resting and turning in a bearing.

3.

any thing or person on which something or someonefunctions or depends vitally: He is the pivot of my life.

4.

the person in a line, as of troops on parade, whom theothers use as a point about which to wheel or maneuver.

5.

a whirling about on one foot.

6.

Basketball . the act of keeping one foot in place whileholding the ball and moving the other foot one step in anydirection, so as not to be charged with walking.

Next occurred in my Business Math class. My professor was trying to explain some steps involved in using matrices and the Gauss Jordan Elimination Method (don't quote me on that...). The word he used for this particular step was pivot. I spent a lot of time working on the homework, trying to figure out how exactly I was supposed to pivot, and what exactly it meant. When I use the word pivot, I define it like the above definition. I was trying to figure out which numbers shifted around which number, and why. And how.

I had very little luck. And by very little, I mean absolutely none. Even after recruiting my math savvy friend to help me out.

So today, after class, I went to my professor and asked him kindly to explain what in the world he meant by pivot.

He tells me he's not really sure why they use that word easily because apparently it's just fancy mathematician speak for, "Make x number equal 1, and make the remaining numbers in its column equal 0."

Yeah, I don't get why in the world they're calling that pivot, either.

sum·ma·ry

   [suhm-uh-ree]  Show IPAnoun, plural -ries, adjective

–noun

1.

a comprehensive and usually brief abstract, recapitulation,or compendium of previously stated facts or statements.

–adjective

2.

brief and comprehensive; concise.

3.

direct and prompt; unceremoniously fast: to treat someonewith summary dispatch.

This last, summary, occurred in—of all places—my AP English class during my senior year of High School. That's right, my Advanced Placement English class. This teacher did NOT know the proper definition of the word, "Summary."


Best friend and fellow Blogger, Matt Bukaty, was in this class with me. He'll corroborate my story.


Our first assignment of the year was to read whichever chapter of Dante's Inferno our teacher assigned to us and present a summary of it in front of the class.


Easy, right?


So we went home, read our respective chapters, and prepared a "brief and comprehensive; concise" summary.


The next day, we started presenting. And actually, Matt was the one who got to go first. So he stood up, gave his summary, and very well I might add—he touched on the main points, giving us the run-down, as it were.


When he took his seat, our teacher quickly corrected him, more or less saying that his presentation didn't include enough detail. That she was looking for a detailed and descriptive play-by-play of a summary, more or less. The rest of us—no exaggeration; literally everyone else in the class looked at each other like, "Oh great, that's not what I did AT ALL."—ended up being allowed to take our copy of the book up with us. I remember that I took my book, my notes, and more or less skimmed the book and gave a real time account of what I was skimming. In great detail.

I made an A.

Matt did not.

And all because our Advanced Placement English teacher did not know the definition of an admittedly easy word.

Come on, really?? You teach English! You should know what a summary is. Just sayin'.

What really bothers me about all the above instances is that none of those words—request, pivot, summary—are "big" words, or "hard" words. On the contrary, they're words that I expect most people know and could casually use in a sentence. Appropriately.


I know that, as an English major, I have a tendency to be kind of a word Nazi. I like to use big words, I like to expand my vocabulary whenever possible. But again, those aren't difficult words. There's no reason that the people in question—Municipal Court, the people who WROTE my math book, an English teacher—shouldn't know those words.


Sometimes I worry that with all of the new and ridiculous words getting added to the dictionary (staycation, bromance, frenemy, chillax, tweetup, defriend...) we're actually forgetting that words really do mean something. They're not just something to say that arbitrarily changes based on context. 


I weep for a lazy generation who LOL their way to ROFL until they have to BRB or TTYL but likely have no earthly idea what "abbreviate" means. Not that it isn't fast to text, not that I completely judge anyone who does this—I do it, my Mom does it, it's fine. I just hate to know that some kids are literally brought up on this way of communicating.

Curious to know just how many lazy abbreviations text messaging and instant messaging have created? Check out this overwhelming and ridiculous list. I call it language devolution.