...or, "yet another reason why starbucks -- or, rather, the starbucks in point loma -- should be avoided at all costs."

i hate the starbucks in point loma. i really do. one, you have to deal with rosecrans -- arguably the most aggravating street in the greater san diego area. i'm not entirely sure where the people in point loma learned how to drive... if you could even call what those people are capable of behind the collective wheels of their collective cars "driving." personally, i prefer barely-controlled suicidal maneuvering while simultaneously checking e-mails on the blackberry and sipping... starbucks.

but, as per usual... i digress.

i had waltzed (read: stumbled) into starbucks relatively early in the morning (read: 11:30 a.m.), only to find that a ridiculously large line of people stood between me and a venti americano on ice. needless to say... i was not too pleased. i decided, however, that being angry at the whole situation would accomplish nothing -- except for, perhaps, actually resulting in my head physically splitting open, a threat that had been lurking on the horizon ever since i'd been stupid enough to open my eyes earlier that morning. so, i took my place at the end of the line...

...only to have the guy in front of me, who i may or may not have stumbled into as i tried to navigate my way to the back of the line, turn around and say, "rough night, sweetheart?"

my wit having deserted me -- no doubt on account of there being no room for it in my head, given my massive headache -- i simply stared at the guy. in a moment of weakness, i opened my mouth to apologize -- that is, until i noticed that he was wearing a nomar garciaparra jersey.

dodgers fan.  

"actually, i was celebrating," i said.
he smirked. "twenty-first birthday?"
"no, the cubs trouncing the dodgers. ten to four, something like that..."
"eight to two."
"well, great game, regardless."
his smirk quickly faded. "don't tell me you're actually a cubs fan."
"hell no," i said.
"but you're obviously not a fan of the dodgers."
"your powers of observation are astounding."
"and your breath reeks of alcohol. let me guess... boston fan? you strike me as a let's-jump-on-the-bandwagon kind of girl."
"try padres," i said.
"strange," he said. "for half a minute there i actually thought you knew a little about baseball."
"the implication being that my being a padres fan precludes me from knowing anything about baseball. ouch."
he shrugged. "whatever turns you on, sweetheart. but i'd recommend switching your allegiance to a winning ball club. i'd hate to see a girl as cute as you waste her time with a team like the padres."
"as much as i'd love to take your advice, as a general rule i don't trust people that i can't see eye-to-eye with... if you know what i mean," i said, looking down at him -- which i'd been doing, of course, from the beginning of the conversation... as he was about two inches shorter than i was. i smiled.
he started to turn back around. "try not to puke on the jersey."
"no promises," i said.

the rest of the starbucks ordeal was relatively uneventful. dodgers guy had definitely irked me, which, in combination with the other symptoms i was experiencing at the time, did not make for a particularly pleasant starbucks -- or otherwise -- experience. however, my spirits were partly lifted when the poor seventeen-year-old barista behind the counter made the wrong drink for the dodger guy. small consolation, but every bit helps.

oh, how maggie hates those dodgers.