Thursday, September 24, 2009
I was never a coffee drinker; I always thought it tasted pretty much like what I imagine poop tastes like. I could handle a frappuccino, but only because it really tasted like chocolate. Then B introduced me to coffee with booze on the weekends (and I developed an admiration for the Nancy Botwin character on Weeds, always sipping her iced latte), which led to many interesting mornings at his place. Eventually, we started grabbing coffee when we were out wandering and running low on energy and it is a habit that has stuck quite firmly. It doesn't seem to have the same effect as when I first started drinking it, but I've grown to enjoy it.

Now, despite my likely ulcer, I've become almost a "regular" addict though I typically only drink it on the weekends. On Friday or Saturday nights I'll grab a Double Shot to ensure that I can make it farther into the evening than I normally would; on Sunday mornings it's a nice pick me up to get me through my domestic rituals. Occasionally during the week when I don't get enough sleep (or my office HVAC is torturing me with AC in the winter) I will grab a cup from work, but the stuff they brew up there is "truck-stop" strong.

I'm still no coffee connoisseur and I don't even own a coffee maker, let alone a French press. Though it would be nice to be able to make my own (and cheaper!), having constant access would probably mean ultimate disaster for my stomach. Maybe it all evens out considering my newly restricted fast food intake? *fingers crossed* And maybe I just don't care, dammit.

No comments:

Post a Comment