Javapalooza

Not so well-kept secret about me...I really like coffee. A lot.

This thought crosses my mind a lot now that I have a day job. I'm not a morning person, and I usually will grab a cup on my way into the office. The day seems a bit more bearable with a steaming cup of joe on my desk. But over the years I crossed the line between "morning drinker" and "slave of Juan Valdez."

I remember my first cup of coffee. I was in Kentucky for my grandmother's funeral, and was sitting in the kitchenette of the funeral home. It had been a long couple of days, and frankly, I was exhausted. There was a soda machine, but I didn't have any change on me. I'd already had several cups of hot tea, and one more would have made me physically ill. ( I start feeling nauseous after three or four cups. I have no idea why.) I needed something to keep me going for the rest of the day.

There was a pot of coffee brewing, and I swear to God it was talking to me. Beckoning me. Calling me by name.

What the hell. I poured a cup, added a ton of cream and sugar, and drank it. Mmmmmm. Yummy, and it gave me the much needed jump start to survive the onslaught of mourners that I barely knew. And that was the beginning of the end.

I ditched the additives about a month later in college when I got back to my table one morning and realized I'd forgotten the cream and sugar, but was too damn lazy to go back to the counter and get them. Tried it black. Bitter, but still pretty good.

At this point, I was still only drinking a cup in the morning before classes. After all, that was what normal people did, right? No one I knew drank coffee after 11 am. And then...

I was working with a friend at a summer job, and every time I was at her house, there was a full pot of coffee ready to go. Didn't matter what time it was. Between that and the fact that the after-bar meeting place was one of those 24-hour breakfast joints, I started drinking coffee at new and different times. The middle of the afternoon. Three in the morning. Once I discovered the angst-ridden havens of the local coffeehouses, I was pretty much a goner.

Sometimes I drink it to wake me up. Sometimes I drink it because I'm cold. Sometimes I drink it just because it sounds better than anything else. I was at a club last night, and ordered coffee. Not a beer. Not the $1.50 double well drinks that were on special. Coffee. Black. Three cups, in quick succession.

So I'm an addict. And I'm helping others join me in my overcaffeination. Last month I showed my friend how to work her Mr. Coffee machine. She had received it as a wedding present and had never used it, but stopped at Dunkin Donuts every morning on her way to work. After I showed her how much coffee to put in the filter basket (and replaced her two year old can of Maxwell House with freshly ground beans), we drank three pots and proceeded to stay up all night watching movies.

I also got my father addicted to flavored creamers. After searching desperately for Cinnamon Hazelnut at the supermarket the night before my sister's wedding, I finally settled on French Vanilla and went back to my parents' house. The next morning Dad gave me a pretty hard time about my "wimpy" creamer...until he tried it when he ran out of milk. I'll lay good money that there's some in their refrigerator right now.

I have my favorites - the hazelnut coffee at Kaldi's, Dunkin Donuts French Vanilla, the Indian Malabar at Sitwell's, the Cafe Mocha at Buzz, Millstone Maisonette Blend - but I pretty much will drink whatever is poured into my mug. The aforementioned nightclub is notorious for having mediocre coffee, but when I worked there I drank a pot of it every night. But I draw the line at Starbuck's. Ugh. I swear it tastes like it's burnt. (But that's just me. My sister made her husband drive to the nearest Starbucks and get her a latte less than an hour after giving birth. I rolled my eyes, mumbled something about the 20 or so mom & pop coffeehouses that were closer to the hospital and had better house blends, and let her order her drink. She'd been coffee-free for months, after all.) I think Starbuck's just opened a few locations in Hell. Why not? They're everywhere else.

My freezer has next to no food in it, but I have five or six varieties of beans on the door shelf. I've never used my Crock Pot, but I have a cappucino maker. I have too many mugs to fit in my kitchen cabinets. The first thing I think of when winter storm warning season rolls in is "Do I have any Bailey's and Kahlua in case I get snowed in?" I constantly make fun of Roger Mexico because he has a teeny tiny 4-cup coffee maker. I mean, 4 cups? What's the point?

I need help.

Yeah, it probably hasn't helped my insomnia much. (I swear I had trouble sleeping long before I sold my soul to the demon bean.) Yeah, it makes me babble incoherently at times. But there's new research that coffee drinkers have lower rates of colon cancer, liver disease, gallstones, and Parkinson's disease. So there. Good and good for you.

So anytime someone wants to buy me a cup of coffee, I'm there. That is, unless it's decaf. That's even more evil than Starbuck's.