starbucksbreak.com

New Blog! After 3 years!

cheryl — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 23:18:49 +0000

Want to know what I’ve been up to lately? Check this out: http://twentieshacker.com/

Confession: Life scares the hell out of me.

cheryl — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 01:04:21 +0000

On any given day, I spend at least 8hrs wondering what I’m doing with my life. Sometimes, I’m certain that I’m going down the right path- that somehow, being a Community Manager will lead me to a life I never could have imagined. Other times, my heart starts racing, and I think about all the changes and country-hopping I’ve made and done since I graduated, and I think about how I’m 25, and how this is THE time to get it together, and I panic because I haven’t gotten it together. Not even close. In fact, I’m not even sure I’m on the right path to where I’m going. For all I know I could be going in the complete opposite direction! And this journey– this obsession with the unknown and the figuring it all out, it’s exhausting, and at some point you just want to give up, except that giving up makes me feel like a failure. Like I had dreams and I didn’t even bother to fight for them. Except that, as of right now, I don’t even know what my dreams are, and my biggest fear, my deepest darkest secret that nobody knows, is that MAYBE I have no dreams. MAYBE I’ve been heading in a direction that goes nowhere, doing things that don’t even matter to me. MAYBE I just live to pay the bills. How fucking sad especially when I’ve lived the first 25 years of my life believing I was in the direction of great, no, MONUMENTAL things. And these fears, they’re constantly at the back of mind and while I want to do everything, I’m also too afraid to do anything.

But today I made a decision. I decided to just say fuck it. Fuck the dream. Fuck the fear. Fuck the way my heart beats every time someone mentions how they know exactly what they want to do in life. I don’t have it figured it out and I am okay with that because I am trying out new things, and I might spend my entire life trying out new things, but that also means that by the end of my life, I’ll have learned a whole bunch of shit I never could have learned if I hadn’t made that decision.

So this is what I’m going to do: I’m going to live my life one day at a time, figure things out as they come to me and not before, and I’m going to live, love, laugh, cry and I’m going to be fucking awesome at improvisation because maybe that’s what my dream is: to live life as it comes to me, and if 20 years down the road,I figure out what my purpose is on this earth, well.. we’ll talk then.

I’m not a rockstar. Yet. Groceries Stores are like Hell on Earth. I tried to find a title that encompassed everything in this post except there was just too much shit.

cheryl — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 03:58:47 +0000

I turn 25 on Thursday. This. Thursday. The big two-five. You know how everyone makes certain milestones in their lives? Like when I was 15, I decided 17 was going to be the age I finished High School, and 22 would be the year I finish University and be done with school. By 25 I thought I’d be a fucking rockstar- the kind that had Eminem begging at their feet for friendship.

News flash: I am not a rockstar.

Are you shocked? I am. I mean, have you met me?

I’m kidding.

But despite getting fucking old and still without a clue as to what my purpose on earth is, the last 24 years of my life have been one epic experience after another. I mean, just in the last two years, I moved from one country to another and then another. I met a whole lot of new friends, reunited with a lot of old friends, started a business with my bestfriend, started working for an incredible company doing a job I always wanted to do, and in the midst of it all, I’ve managed to stay sane, healthy, and at a normal weight. And while being a rockstar would be AWESOME, I’ve got incredible friends, a family that loves (hopefully- my mom will deny it though) me, and a boyfriend who- well, let’s just say that for the first time in my life, I’ve found someone who makes me happy everyday, and makes me want to be the best version of me.

So 25, I’m ready for you because anything you throw at me can only make me a better person.

Anyway. Enough of the sentimental shit.

Hey, what’s up with people at supermarkets? It’s like people think that at the supermarket, you’re allowed to be a fucking idiot, and trample over people with your carts, and stand, with your cart, in the middle of an aisle so you block off anyone who’s trying to get through. And you know what’s really bastardly? When people see that you’re standing there trying to get through, and they continue to stand there, like they’re fucking God of the aisle, and they DON’T move and eventually you just get so fed up, you turn around and go through the other way, because whatever is at the end of that blocked aisle just ain’t worth it. And how about when you’re trying to pay for your groceries, and you go through the self check-out lane because it’s supposed to be the fastest way to get out of the store, and there is some idiot in one lane who can’t figure out that all you have to do is scan, put in bag and pay- like oh my fuck, IT’S NOT ROCKET SCIENCE, and in the other aisle is an old Asian lady paying for $20 of groceries in nickels and quarters, which is just so bizarre and stupid, you can’t even register the situation. And in the back of your mind you’re like, I really could help to make this whole thing go faster, except the situation is kind of funny and you’re sort of an asshole and maybe also slightly masochistic. Slightly.

Oh God, blog, I’ve missed you. Let’s start this again.

cheryl — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 02:51:58 +0000

“Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it,
and the imagination to improvise.
The worst enemy to creativity is self doubt.”

-Sylvia Plath

Bieber testicles, my obsession with Taylor Lautner, and this is the most pedophile-ish post I’ve ever written.

cheryl — Wed, 09 Mar 2011 15:21:25 +0000

There is something seriously wrong with me.

So you know how you know when you’re old? When you’re scoping a line of hockey players picking out your future husband, and the statistics for each player comes on the TV and you realize they’re like 20 years old. Or how about when you’re watching Twilight and Taylor Lautner comes on the screen shirtless and you’re like “OH MY GOD YES FUTURE HUSBAND RIGHT THERE” but then People Magazine tells you he’s only 17, and you’re almost disgusted by the fact that your jaw has dropped to the ground over someone who’s not even legally able to fornicate without parental approval, and in your mind you’re trying to justify it by saying, ‘well he’s famous, and famous people are different’, except that no matter which way you put it, he’s still jailbait, and so you wait for the wonderful day when he finally turns 18, and sure enough, a couple months later, he does, and you’re like HELL YES! FINALLY. And for like 5 minutes, you’re on top of the world, but then you realize that the reason you’re getting so excited is because of some guy who’s just turned 18, when 18 for you was so long ago, you cant even remember it, and you’re like fuck there is something seriously wrong with me, and the sad thing is, there really is. All of a sudden the top of the world is a very gloomy place filled with evil child molesters and multiple people who look like R.Kelly.

Don’t even try to tell me that’s never happened to you.

I know y’all would pay a million dollars to get a picture of Justin Bieber’s undescended testicles.

Anyway.

You know what’s shitty? This weather. Like one day there’s massive amounts of snowfall, and the next day, there’s massive amounts of rainfall, and then the day after it’ll be wicked sunny, and you’re just like I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO DRESS ANYMORE, and it seems like everything you own is weather inappropriate, and you’re getting sick all the time, and working from home is such a drag because all you want to do is play, except there’s nowhere really to play because there’s slush all over the place and all your boots have been soaked through, and haven’t had enough time to dry out.

I’m going to crawl back underneath my covers.

Or stare at Taylor Lautner.

And by ‘stare’ I mean…

….

Peace.

The time I took a bus and almost killed someone, but not like the Greyhound guy who beheaded that other guy. I didn’t actually kill anyone. I’m actually really nice.

cheryl — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 03:16:11 +0000

Why is it that every time I’m on a bus, there always has to be this one asshole blaring his music at top volume, and it’s so loud that even through headphones, you can hear every single word clearly, and everyone’s looking at him but no one wants to say something, and you can see the guy next to him is annoyed that he can’t fucking sleep because the music is so damn loud, and like- it’s not even good music, because at least if it were good, he could be forgiven; instead, this guy is playing Ke$ha on repeat, and you’re just sitting there like “I SWEAR TO GOD IF I HEAR THE WORDS TIC TOC ONE MORE TIME I’M GOING SHOVE MY MACBOOK UP HIS ASS” except that the MacBook is far too expensive to be pummeled into a guy just because he’s being annoying, so you just kind of sit there and stare out the window and attempt to sleep, except that all you can think about now is how there’s a 23 year old girl brushing her teeth with a bottle of Jack, and you just want to scream except that you’re too exhausted and the bus is way too hot for you to even breathe properly, let alone use your vocal chords, and so you just ignore it, and you finally drift off into sweet slumber, except then he decides to switch to another song, and this time, it’s some sort of realy loud techno music and there is all this anger and frustration and sleepiness going through your head, and so you turn around and go “Hey dude, TURN YOUR FUCKING MUSIC DOWN, GODDAMNIT”, and the whole bus stares at you, but then they smile, and you know they’re damn grateful because no one else had the balls to do it.
You’re fucking welcome.

The time I decided that some things just sound scary.

cheryl — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 20:10:50 +0000

You know what’s scary? Pigeons. But also commitment. I think I’ve spent my whole life avoiding commitment towards other people or other things. At the end of the day, it’s just not me.

I think it was Webster’s dictionary that defined commitment as a pledge or obligation towards doing something in the future. That’s a horrifying concept. I mean, I don’t think I could have even pledged to graduate from University had my dad not bribed me with MacBooks, iPods and a crazy amount of spending money. It just seemed crazy to me that someone could make a commitment to follow through with something for as long as eternity. Like marriage? What was that about? Ridiculous.

It was my mom who once, over board games and coffee, told me that I’d change my mind, and that the reason I hadn’t already, was because I hadn’t found anything worth committing myself to. I think I was 17, and in my first relationship that lasted more than two weeks. That was pretty nuts. We broke up a couple weeks later. I think I successfully made it to three months, but he clung to me like maggots clung to.. I don’t know, rotten food. It made me want to vomit.

I was no better at jobs. Company loyalty? Who was I kidding? I mean, I wasn’t going to go around talking crap about the place I was working at, but I would totally jump at a better opportunity, and anyone who says they wouldn’t, is a huge liar, and should be fired for being full of shit.

I don’t think the idea of really being committed to something came around til after I graduated college. By then I was like a “responsible adult” or whatever- I guess it meant I had to stop drinking excessively and get a job, which I did. I can’t say that was easy. I mean, I had to go into work from 9-6 every day, stare at a computer screen and type up reports about things I really didn’t give a rat’s ass about. I mean, everyone’s job is pretty much the same, no? I grew to love it though, and stayed at it for a year and a half. Biggest commitment I had ever made.

It happened the same way with my boyfriend. We had a million fights and disagreements, but we trudged through it, and a month became a year, and a year became two, and so on and so forth until I was all up in the mother of all relationships talking about marriage and shit, and it was like, fucking insane, but totally right at the same time. Except that it didn’t happen. At all. But not because I wasn’t committed, but rather because, shit happens.

The thing about commitments is this: it’s a scary word and people should stop saying it and trying to define it. Commitment doesn’t need to be drastic or horrifying at all, and it doesn’t need to be any sort of pledge or obligation to any sort of eternity. It can be pledge to yourself at this present moment: a commitment to be the best person you can right now, and to love the person you’re with today.

How do you feel about committing to things and/or people?

The time my stomach almost combusted because I couldn’t stop eating.

cheryl — Sat, 29 Jan 2011 04:57:40 +0000

So you know how sometimes you go to a delicious burger joint, and I mean delicious- like if you had a choice between the burger and having Ryan Reynolds as your future husband, you’d go for the burger? I just went to one of those, and it was like i died and went to burger heaven, except that it doesn’t feel like heaven at all- it actually feels like I’ve died and have sort of gone to Hell because my stomach is on the verge of death- like, it feels as if I’ve swallowed a balloon, and somehow that balloon has inflated, and now it’s just stuck and pushing up against my lungs, and as I sit here sick in my stomach, I’m thinking about all the reasons I thought of earlier to justify stuffing my face with juicy succulent cow, except that my reasons don’t make sense anymore- like how does finishing a $25 just because it’s $25 justify potentially undergoing cardiac arrest? Like, does anyone else also do this- just eat yourself senseless until you’re ridiculously sick just because you didn’t want to waste a ridiculously expensive meal?

I will never look at a cow or burger the same way again.

I need to throw up.

Peace out. Have a great weekend y’all.

If you only read one post this month, it should be this one.

cheryl — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 18:48:14 +0000

You know how most of this time this blog is hilariously awesome, and I do ridiculous shit and you just all laugh at me and I die on the inside? Well, this isn’t one of those times, but it’s really important that you read this. And not just skim read it. READ IT. WORD FOR WORD. I want you to think about this today, and all the rest of your days and I want you to really remember what I’m trying to say here today because I NEVER speak out about issues unless they’re ridiculously important and THIS IS IMPORTANT.

Yesterday I got around to reading Bill Zeller‘s suicide note. Today, I read about Lori’s husband who hung himself in front of her during a psychological breakdown. If you didn’t know already, Bill Zeller was a computer programmer who committed suicide at 27, and wrote a suicide note that disclosed sexual abuse. Lori is a wonderful blogger who writes Random Ramblings of a Stay at Home Mom.

I wanted to make this point clear today- that I get it. I get that life is hard. I get that it’s even harder when the demons in your head force you to sit there and tell you that there is not ONE person in the world who gets you, who will ever love you for who you are. And I get that sometimes it just feels this world wasn’t made for you, that God dealt you shitty cards, and now you are being FORCED to survive because you feel like you need to- because other people need you to, and I’m writing this today to tell you that you are loved. You are wonderful. And your existence?- Your past, present, and future- it all matters. It matters because you are important. And if you ever forget that, you tell someone. And you speak up and tell them what’s wrong, and you let them help, and you let them adore you. Because you fucking deserve it. You deserve to be loved. And you are worth it. You are worth every second of my day, and I will let you talk until you are dry in the mouth, until your body can’t possibly produce anymore tears- if that’s what it will take for you to reconsider that YES there is something to live for. And today I just wanted to tell you that we don’t have to know each other for me to know that you are incredible. You are amazing. And there is nothing, NOTHING, in this world that will prove otherwise. There is nothing in your past, in your present, or in your future that will urge me reconsider that maybe you are not as great as I think you are, and if you are reading this today, and you are feeling off, even the littlest bit, you send me an email, or you send someone else an email, or you call someone, or you tweet and tell someone what’s going on. Because the whole world? We care about you.

Please share this post. Tweet it, Facebook it, whatever. Lori’s blog was suggested to LoveBomb, but they’ve got a lot of missions to do, and this can’t wait because people NEED TO KNOW that they’re loved today. Tomorrow, it may be too late.

I’m here for you.
Email: starbucksbreak@gmail.com
Twitter: @starbucksbreak
Facebook: http://www.facebook/yeung.cheryl

The link for this post: http://starbucksbreak.com/?p=2012

Update: Man, you guys are amazing.

Update 2: Lori commented! You guys are INCREDIBLE. Be really proud of yourselves right now.

Thank you so much for this. I’ve been copping a lot of flak today, for writing as honestly and graphically as I have been Seeing this come up in my stats- it made me smile, wipe the tears from my cheeks.

People are speaking. That’s all I wanna hear.

Thank you, again. Much love xoxox

Today, I read a book that changed my life.

cheryl — Sun, 09 Jan 2011 23:01:09 +0000

By the time you hit your twenties, you’ll have dated more than one man/woman. If you’re anything like me, you’ll have dated twenty. Most likely, the majority of men and women you date will break your heart. You’ll experience things like abuse, cheating, lying, broken trust, and a broken heart. If you’re anything like me, you’ll find it almost impossible, even exhausting, to trust again, and you’ll avoid falling in love at all because the idea of being broken again is far worst than being alone. And for a while, it works, and life works because you’re no longer focused on the fact that your heart has been damaged in more ways than you care to admit, and so you move on, and you kind of date, but only ever casually, and if doesn’t work, you move on, and it’s easy because you never give your heart away.

Then one day, you sit there reading a book, and it’s one of those books that make you wonder about life and love and whether or not people actually fall in love anymore, and you sit there and think about it, and start typing a blog post that counters every single argument the author gives about how it’s possible for two people to actually genuinely fall in love, and talks about how retarded it is that not only was this book published, but that it’s a best seller.

But then just as you start posting, a message pops up on your screen from someone you hadn’t heard from in a long time, and it’s sort of just a casual message asking how you’ve been doing, but then the conversation turns into something else. Something you never expected it to turn into. And you talk- about the past, about the present, about your individual plans for the future, and he makes you smile, but the kind of smiling that comes from the inside- the kind that makes you all queasy in the stomach, and you kind of want to pinch yourself to make sure you’re still alive- or sober, and you are, which is just fucked because it means you have real feelings for this person. And sure enough, one conversation turns into two and two turns into four and four turns into fuck I need to get off the phone with him but I just can’t because I’ll miss him, and your wall starts falling apart, and it’s terrifying because it took so damn long to build, but he doesn’t just let the wall collapse, he takes it apart bit by bit, and lets you adjust, and reassures you that it’ll be okay. And it is. It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.

Then one day as you’re cleaning out the drafts in your inbox, you find a post that starts off with, “today, I read a fucking stupid book”, except it was more like- today I read a book that changed my life.