Organics-To-Go

The building I work in has a little cafe called "Organics To Go". It's very clean and shiny. They put up posters with informational quips about eating organic, healthy, pure food. The posters have photos of friendly, ethnically diverse people. We should all eat good pure food. They have colorful, artsy furniture. They have a salad bar. They have special water, and special chips, and a fancy fruit basket. Everything is organic.

This morning, while getting my usual cup of seemingly organic coffee I noticed the Organics-To-Go staff preparing food for the day. There were opened CANS of food behind counter. And not just your regular sized can of beans. I'm talking about the gigantic can of beans that you buy at Costco because you have 8 kids to feed, and that is how you save money. The gigantic can of corn that ends up on a shelf at the 99cent store because it is so frighteningly BIG.

I realized that all of the seemingly organic food at Organics-To-Go WAS COMING OUT OF A CAN!!!!

Now I don't mean to state the obvious but doesn't canned food imply chemicals and preservatives, and organic food imply no chemicals and no preservatives? And not to beat a dead horse but how can Organics-To-Go be pure and organic if it comes out of a can?

I hate being right

I am pessimistic.

I expect the worst. I expect that people will fail me. I know that humans make mistakes, so I should just expect them. I know that people make poor choices. They can't move on. They love reverting to the past. They are selfish. They are manipulative. They are hurtful. They are predictable. So I predict disappointment. I predict hurt. And you know what else? I predict I am right.

But let me confess something here. Let me tell you one absolute, unchanging truth about myself...

I am always waiting to be proven wrong.

Who really wants to be a crazy, cynical bitch? I might hate being proven wrong but I loathe even more being right.

Now I know...it doesn't take a medical professional to point out that I must come from some sort of dysfunctional background; that I have trust issues, and anger issues, and that I project my own fears through my pessimistic opinions onto...well...everything. Yet, inside me, there is always a silver lining holding out hope that my cynicism is not legitimate. That there are exceptions. That I might be wrong.

Well, my good friends, there has been a build up of several days upon several months, but my cynical fears came true again in people. Today I realized after putting these days and months together that I was right. Again. I hate this. The disappointment I expected...it came. Damn it. The same hurtful actions I predicted in people were made, just as I guessed that they would.

So I post this here...because it needs to be said about myself...I hate being right.

For the love of God, Allah, Abraham, Buddha, Ganesha, ANYONE...
I hate being right.

Who Belongs to this Cup of Water? Part II

Someone is taunting me. Someone left a cup of water (just like the one in my previous blog) on my desk.

Gross.

I almost DIED at lunch time

Today I went home for lunch, and while driving on Robertson, a white car in the lane to my left pulled into me, running me off the road and almost killing me. I know it happens all the time to all of us, so why should I care, but her car was literally inches away from my face (ie. the driver's side door).

I slammed on my brakes and swerved to avoid death. Then I honked at her. A lot. And for a long time. She had wandered more than halfway into my lane, before she realized what she had done. NOTE: she was NOT using her turn signal.

Now, I would have let it go but she didn't even acknowledge what she had done; not even with the courteous apology wave. So I pulled up next her at the first red stop light. I was still honking. I motioned at her "Hello?" Nothing. No response. We drove further. Stopped again. I honked. I motioned at her AGAIN. She saw me. Still nothing.

So here's my thinking, if you ALMOST kill someone by running them off the road, you should give them the courteous "I'm sorry" wave.

Once, this guy in a truck almost ran me off the road, and he not only waved, but yelled "Sorry!" through his window (so loud I could hear him) and also gave me a peace sign. That is the ideal response to give while driving if you almost murder someone.

So lady...I wrote down your license plate to post here for the world to see.

If anyone sees her, give her a honk for me.

White Toyota Corolla (newer model) - License Plate 5LRE785 - driven by a shorter, mid-50's, Caucasian woman with dark brown hair styled like Meryl Streep in "The Devil Wears Prada". Yeah, I took the time to notice her hair, but it was quite lovely, okay? Honk anyway!!

My Glorious Monday Morning

There's nothing better than a Monday morning meltdown on your way to work.

Honestly, I make every effort everyday to wake up on time, drive to work calmly and breeze through my work day. This did not happen today.

At 8:25 am, I dropped my peace of mind on the floor of my car while scrambling through my purse for my debit card and thinking, "All I want is a strong cup of coffee from Starbucks. I love my purse. It's new. It's black with braided handles. It's stylish and not big so I can use it all the time. It doesn't hurt my shoulder. Why hasn't anyone complimented by new purse? The lining is pretty. I'm not mad at the purse. Where's my debit card? All I want is coffee from Starbucks."

By the time I find my card, I have broken a frustration sweat and called myself an "asshole".

There. Right there. That moment right there. That, my friends, is the beginning of my glorious Monday meltdown.

So I head into Starbucks. Boyfriend stays in the car to read. I shouldn't be long....and I'm not. I see the long line but I'm insistent, "All I want is coffee from Starbucks." At this point, I'm scrambling through my mind looking for peace and optimism (forgetting that this asshole dropped it on the floor of her car). "The line will move quickly," I tell myself.

I stand behind this sweet, crusty, old man who is a regular...and a regular yapper. He once lectured me on the secret $1 cup of coffee from Starbucks. "It's a buck a cup." This nice man did NOT even speak to me, but I've already had (in my mind) the tantrum I plan to have if he DOES talk to me. "Hey! Fucker! It's a "buck a cup" at the donut shop next door. It's a "buck a cup" because there's only one friggin' sip of coffee in it. DON'T TALK TO ME!!!!!!"

I huff out of Starbucks - without coffee. I want to be able to go back there one day and not be embarrassed. You're an asshole, Ursula. I get in the car. Poor boyfriend. He knows I've lost it. I think he looked over his shoulder expecting to see my peace of mind on the sidewalk. "No coffee?" I rant about the old man. Side-note: boyfriend is reading a peaceful book about meditation.

The drive to work is quick (lucky for my boyfriend), but I (naturally) made snide remarks to every driver I see; especially the poor woman in a small black sporty car with the license plate "2SEXI4U". Boyfriend pointed it out. Poor guy.

BOYFRIEND: I hate people with personalized license plates.
ME: Me too.
BOYFRIEND: 2SEXI4U (Snicker) I hate that.
ME: (Finally noticing stupid license plate). Gawd! How pathetic. Five bucks says she's over 40 and struggling with the fact that she's lost her youth. Yeah. Over 40 and in Jenny Craig. Bitch. Or better yet, that's the plate you get when your husband leaves you for a younger woman. Women can have a mid-life crisis too, you know. It's called my husband is fucking his secretary so I'm going to get this license plate to try to convince myself I'm somewhat attractive even though it just tells the whole world I am over 40 and my husband is not fucking me.

Oh shit. I am an asshole.

Boyfriend and I get to work. Boyfriend is a champ telling me it's okay to stress out. It happens and I'm not an asshole. It helps, but it's too late. I still have no coffee from Starbucks and now I think every car in the parking structure is trying to run me over. Fuckers.

I head into work to really start my day...

Don't worry folks, I'm in therapy, and my peace of mind...it's waiting for me in my car.

Road Rage

On my way home from work last night, I was tortured by a middle-aged balding man in a black Honda Pilot (ie. SUV piece of crap), and if I wasn't so ANGRY, I would have written down his license plate number to post here (yeah, fuck his privacy rights).

So anyway, I was driving behind him through a quiet residential neighborhood on a road with two lanes and plenty of available street parking. He was driving (no joke) 5 mph in BOTH lanes. There was no traffic in front of him. There was space for him to pull over. And if he wasn't such a friggin' road HOG, room for me to pass while he snailed his way through the rest of his life.

Surprise! I lost it.

When he finally s-l-o-w-l-y pulled over to park (not to let me pass, stupid inconsiderate jackwad). I pulled up next to him, rolled down my window and (note: I have never done this before in my life) screamed like a banshee:

"ARE YOU STUUUUUUUUUUUPID ????"

There were 3 great things about this moment:

1. His window was down - so he heard me.

2. People on the sidewalk watching this man, heard me.

3. I screamed so loud and so hard I slobbered all over myself and the passenger seat of my car that the only thing left to do was laugh.

This is my boyfriend...Part 1

This is my boyfriend in Joshua Tree National Park. In this video, he proves that he can conquer the boulders of Joshua Tree.

Too Angry

So sometimes I am angry that my angry blog is so angry.

I was having second thoughts about posting my rage for all to see. My BFF Sarah confessed that even she was taken aback my anger. Her words: "It's toooooooooo angry." And she's known me since 9th grade. Someone give her a medal. Seriously.

But then I realized I could have a nice blog too. After all, I am both angry and nice. I can hear my good friends snickering but even they know it's true.

So check out my nice side on http://niceursulablogger.blogspot.com/

I haven't posted anything yet (stop laughing at me) but I will. Because I am nice. And angry. But nice. Really. Okay...who is that giggling at me?