Going back over my life recently, I figured out I was 22 years old when I met my true love. I was wounded and working in a shit job with a lot of tough teamsters. I know, repetitive – tough teamsters, but until you know teamsters up close and personal, you don’t know tough.
Anyway, my love was dark and bitter and that spoke to me in ways others had but could never maintain. He had a staying power nothing else could match. If I had known him first, there are many others I never would have bothered with.
My true love is coffee.
He has been there for me in good times and bad. Fat times and Skinny Bitch times. From the concrete streets of San Francisco to the cobbled streets of Europe, coffee has been a close companion. Just like doggy style, globalization allows me my Stabucks fix and assures me that satisfaction, a guaranteed O.
He doesn’t care if I smoke a cigarette and adores chocolate. He accompanies me in his sweet travel mug on the road. If I’m having a hard talk with someone, he’s there lending me his strength. When I visit my mother-in-law, he is always right beside me and doesn’t go to the bathroom four times leaving me to discuss the weather while in my head all I can think about is how she should have used corporal punishment because it might have made my life easier. Coffee agrees.
Coffee introduced me to that cute bearish barista long ago. Can’t remember his name, but he was hot and we went out a few times. Coffee gave us conversation when there was none, filling in the gaps between, uh, deep and meaningful, uh, talks.
I wake up in the morning thinking about coffee. If that’s not a sure sign, I don’t know what is. As I kick my own ass to lose this last 20 pounds before a plastic surgeon will even discuss the loads of money I’m planning to spend, coffee is my bestest friend in the whole entire fucking world (no offense Tat, GBF and Sparky).
Re-reading old journals, I found the following. It was written in 2001 and truthfully, I think my love has just grown stronger.
Nothing like scalding hot coffee. I’ve noticed though, if I don’t get it by 6 am, I start to fade away. Coffee is so necessary to my work life, I’m waiting for the surgeon general to outlaw it. I would become a coffee smuggler if that happened. Live life on the lam, from one cup to the next. I would start the Java train. An underground railroad for coffee lovers. I would peddle on the streets. Mothers would shoo their children away from the strung out looking coffee pusher. I would sell to children to get them hooked in hopes of a better future through addicted future politicians. I become one of the 10 most wanted for my trips to south America for the bean…
Pardon me, coffee and , uh, we have to go talk.