Not only do I need a support group for my klepto issues, but I am also an addict. That’s right, kids. If I don’t have an I.V. drip of strong ass coffee every morning, then I’m about as useful as a pantyliner is to Bruce Willis.

I consume no less than a pot of the stuff before I even leave my house in the morning. That’s just the regular, rut-o-the-mill crap too. The the games really begin when I get to the office. Oh yes, I have it made there. My boss is sympathetic and spoils me with Seattle’s Best beans. For Christmas 2 years ago, we acquired a mac-daddy espresso maker that grinds the columbian beans into powder and then spews boiling hot water through it with extreme pressure so as to extract every last bit of the caffinated goodness inside. God bless espresso and the occasssional vanilla latte.

If I don’t get my daily dose of good stuff, I become as foul as an 87-year-old school lunch lady who’s sloppin cole slaw food stuff onto the tray of a smart ass high school kid. It’s cool. I don’t do without much.

However, I have went on strike from Starbucks. Pisses me off that I have to pay around $4 for a latte that I can whip up here for nearly nothin.
Nevermind the fact that I feel like the total redneck as I am ordering my “Non-fat venti vanilla latte, please” with my thick ass southern drawl. I always feel like they give me my total, ask me to drive around to the window, all the while making fun of the redneck chick with the funny accent.

Plus, I’m highly influenced by what I hear. And I a little squirrley told me that StarSchmucks is evil. He doth spout the truth!

(If you’re offended by extremely foul language, I advise you not to click that down there. And I apologize in advance for being so easily amuzed by such profanity. Please know, my mother raised me better than this. I am a black sheep.)

(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ad8DUB0XkJA)

I’d like to say that my day was the product of many an adulterated hallucinogenic street drug.  You know, the kind you get from the rebellious children of hippies burnt out a long time ago.  

Unfortunately a drink called the “Toddy” is responsible.  Cold brewed coffee, the style that takes twelve hours as water slowly drips over the sultry grains of pulverized black gold.  Then, by the grace of God alone, it is poured out of the carafe and served on ice. If you like, there could be room left for cream.  If it were on draft, you’d have to slice it at the end of the pour to take it away from the tap.

It is a buzz like no other.

No side effects to report as of yet.  With the exception of almost clear clairvoyance and purity of thought.  A Zen-like state of premature enlightenment.

The kind of bliss that makes you want to write philosophical rhymes without reason on crumpled pieces of napkins while listening to old school trance music over the P.A.   All the while just sitting in a coffee shop, where you could stare at the walls for hours and be happy.  For the first time in this lifetime, I could be content sitting in an empty room with only my thoughts to entertain me.

Who knows what the night will entail?

What ever it may be, it most definately will be an interesting evening.