Apparently, Stephen Colbert mentioned Netscape on the Colbert Report the other day. It was a real brief blurb, but I'm super excited for one really simple reason.

It means that Stephen Colbert and I have been on the same website.

Potentially at the same time.


Now, bear with me. This is important.

This means we could potentially vote, or comment on the same story.
At some point, Stephen Colbert is going to check who commented on his comments, and he's going to see me. My smiling face. And my BRILLIANT prose is going to win him over. He will fall head over heels for me after he sees what amazing insights I have.

Sadly, it won't work out when I develop a deep love for his coworker Jon, and we eventually run away to Barbados and I spend my time writing for an obscene amount of money while laying on the beach in a bikini I miraculously became thin enough to wear.

Seriously.

Best. News. Evar.

Having been so productive today at work I felt like sharing one of my new favorite reads with you guys.

Enjoy.

I still have both my nuts.

Im the happiest girl ever! The Man of My Dreams seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth for awhile. No emails. No calls. No comments. I was convinced he had left me for a younger, cuter blogger. You know, someone more famous, and less controversial. I was going to quit writing to force him to come back again, but it turns out that he never left.

In other words: I have no excuse not to write.

I spend a lot of time traveling back and forth from home, my parents house, and work. Between keeping up on my writing and my "real" job, I don't have a lot of time for sleep.
Consequently, I spend a lot of time in Starbucks.

The one thing I hate about Starbucks is the fact that I am not the only customer there. The place is full of young professionals with their Louis Vuitton bags and their ridiculous shoes. This, in itself, does not bother me. (Except for you girl ahead of me today. If you want me to believe that's real, make sure they spell "Prada" right). What bothers me is the fact that their coffee orders are more complex than string fucking theory.

"I want a triple sugar free vanilla latte skim extra hot with no foam"
"I want a half caf soy latte with extra foam extra hot with light whip but no cinnamon and a half a shot of carmel syrup. Sugar free."
"I want the girl behind me to put her foot in my ass because my coffee order takes 35 minutes to punch in the computer".

These people piss me off. How difficult is a cup of coffee? I mean shit, I understand that a little flavor is good, but in the end, coffee is a means to an end. Its an addictive substance I use to prevent me from murdering my coworkers, nothing more.

I finally got to the front of the line and in front of me is this urban hipster type girl. With the emo glasses and the skinny jeans, and the smug look of someone who is by far smarter and cooler than I will ever be despite the fact that she slings coffee for a corporate monster in the suburbs.

I got the same thing I always get. A triple venti skim cinnamon dulce latte with an extra shot of espresso and light whip...

And then it hit me. MY coffee order was pretentious, too. I had somehow become one of those snotty suburbanites who order things that normally come with foam without it. Who demand their salad dressing on the side, who would sooner die before they ate something fried, who never leaves the house without sunblock or a matching purse.

I can't pinpoint exactly when I became that much of a full out jackass. Sadly, I am far too addicted to my coffee to give it up now. However, to differentiate myself from the well groomed holier than thou jackasses, I will be nice to the people who give me my coffee. I will occasionally not dry my hair before work.

I am convinced if I catch it in the early stages (being a coffee snob) then I can curb it before I ever say anything so snotty that it would make my own mother want to slap the shit out of me.