I really appreciate how Dunkin Donuts encourages their patrons to share various Dunkin-related stories. Historically it’s always worked out well for me (see here and here) and I’m glad that the organization cares so much about my welfare and general habits to inquire about #mydunkin.
My story involves being an office temp at a job where I get to watch the full-time employees enjoy perks such as the boss bringing in a cardboard gallon of Dunkin Donuts coffee for them. And after, when the full-time employees are throwing a party with a specific note on the door that says “FULL-TIME EMPLOYEES ONLY” I decided to take several of the unused Dunkin cups, go into the secret party room filled with food and paid sick leave, and filled them with mac n cheese. So I guess #mydunkin involves pilfering food and cups from my office superiors and hiding at my temporary desk while eating it.
#mydunkin arrives in my tummy through swindling and shame
No garbage can is safe from me. People throw away a shocking amount of very cool things. While I don’t endlessly route around in pails of garbage, rifling through old food and cat liter, I have been known to dumpster dive from time to time. And, often times, I find freaking awesome things.
Even more importantly, when people come over to my apartment they are stunned to see some of my, perceived, achievements. This week I have been gifted the ability to, now, be a champion bowler. Go ME! Go GARBAGE!
You Life has been in mourning since leap year. The Monkees were an integral part of my development and are, most likely, why I am the way I am today (the good parts of me, not the parts that get confused for a homeless person).
And while it might seem unusual for a twenty-something to be so effected by this loss, I can confidently say that many life decisions I have made are because of the Monkees.
It explains my relationships
It shouldn’t matter that I was always a Peter fan:
I am taking the Davy news EXTREMELY hard. It has manifested, mostly, in crying and listening to “Daydream Believer” on an endless, tear stained, loop.
Also, it might have manisfested in spending an entire day at work making this. You Life never claimed they were an artist, but their love is true
Whenever I need to make a decision between two women, I will heed Davy’s sage advice:
Sometimes You Life needs a guest who is doing the productive stuff. That is the case this week. I have done nothing in the creation of this; it is all the efforts of another.
My boyfriend has a backyard that is generally populated by junkyard cats (all of which we have named: Buster, Auntie, and the babies). It is also the home for a great deal of garbage that neighbors dump there instead of walking to the front of the complex. In an effort to create a hospitable environment for himself, and with the hopes that there might be summer barbecues in the backyard, boyfriend decided to turn his trash heap of a backyard into a garden.
This proved a problem due to the unusually large amount of cinderblocks dumped onto the land. But, always the optimist, boyfriend tilled the soil, got rid of the garbage, and used an old (soaking wet) mattress to turn the cinderblocks into the foundation for an urban garden.
We had the tools of the trade (mattress, beer, spray paint, and American pride) and urban gardening prevailed. You life is not so urban garden as ours.