Tuesday, September 13, 2005

back on the sauce

just as i thought, my day without coffe was exactly that: one day without coffee. i am now on hiatus from being on hiatus from the sauce: ah, sweet bliss, would that any other elixir moisten the back of my throat and lighten my dawning dread?

i love coffee, and this love affair began when i was 7 or 8. i'm not sure if i mentioned this, but i was and still am (hello, did you not get the memo about my inexperience with changing light bulbs?) a consummate daddy's girl. when i was knee-high to a fly, i thought my dad was the greatest thing since sliced bread. if he said, "sweep the floors," i'd sweep til you could feast off 'em. if he said, "clean the bathroom," i'd good god damned scrub the place 'til it sparkled like the mediterranean sea at sunset. and, one evening, when he asked, "do you feel like helping your old dad out and getting his coffee ready for tomorrow?" it was a no-brainer.

basically, he simply wanted me to put the however-many-cups of water in the perculator, and place the coffee grounds in the filter each night before going to bed. in providing this assistance, all he had to do was press the button the next morning. and, eventually, when my blue collar family caught up with technology -- hell's bells, he didn't even have to press a button 'cause the alarm did it for him. occasionally, on a lax day, i even got to fetch my dad his cuppa. i was fit to be tied whenever he complimented me on the git-up'n-go juice idling away on the burner courtesy of your's truly.

at that age, i would have given up all my barbies, well, maybe a few of the ones with the broken necks anyway, to be just like my dad. my dad shaved. i, too, would smear frothy toothpaste on my face and pretend like my toothbrush was the world's sharpest and most dangerous razor. my dad would scramble ten eggs and eat every last one of 'em; i would eat a dozen and ask for seconds. my dad would drink his coffee black. i would drink mine blacker.

...and that's where i stepped in it a little. he didn't mind me drinking the coffee (it would, after all, look bad if he told me i couldn't since i was the brewmaster -- and what a stout caraffe of joe i could brew!), he only asked that i put lots and lots of milk in my coffee so as to water down its caffeinated potency. sure, i did this...if you believe pigs can fly, yeah, sure, i always put milk in my coffee. the moment my dad was out the door, with us girls sitting at the table chiseling away at the rock-hard breakfast cereal (some of ya'all might know it as oatmeal) with our spoons that he so tenderly prepared each and every winter morning, my behind was off that hardwood seat and over at the coffee maker, worn coffee mug dangling in hand, faster than you can say "grease lightning".

thus began my love for, and addiction to, coffee. i love coffee. i love the smell of it. i love opening a fresh, air-tight package of jacob's kronung and inhaling breath-after-breath of the thick coffee-scented aroma. it is heavenly. and soothing. i sit there and breath in deeply as the smell of virgin grounds carries me back to my childhood, that well-hidden place where i am comforted by those early morning memories of my favorite person, my dad.

nada

i would have posted last night, but i barely made it until 7 p.m. i crashed like a junky.

not much going on; we're studying some crap in my class -- the fanatic actually agreed with me. i feel so validated.

also, i stopped drinking coffee yesterday. it sucked. i think i'll be back on the sauce this morning. i really can't live without coffee. i have been drinking coffee since i was 8 or so...it is my anti-drug.

i won't be going to bad durkheim. i have my pt test and i'm trying not to party, and it's very hard. this weekend is my only chance to go to bad durkheim since i won't be here next year. ugh. i'm so pissed. plus, it's only a short distance from my parent's house. did i mention i'm pissed? chances are, i will be there. chances are, i will be hungover for the next 2 days given my history with wine.

i'm thinking about getting waxed. after getting propositioned by A several times on saturday night, i realized the only reason i didn't concede is because it looks like i have don king in a leg lock. i told this to zephyr over the telephone the other night and he said, "yeah, but your hair is blonde, right?" yes, because i spray my crotch liberally with sun-in. just givin ya a hard time, z. anyway, i haven't trimmed my chia pet since july when i went camping with naughty in bavaria, a.k.a., the last time i got laid. does waxing hurt? i just hate shaving -- especially during the summer time. i'm sure you ladies can empathize with that, though. let me re-phrase my question - HOW bad does waxing hurt? is it worth the pain? when do you have to get re-waxed?

i budgeted myself for the next couple of months. it looks like i will have to go on dates again so i can afford to eat. normally, i don't like dating. i like partying, and if i meet somebody i'm attracted to, we fuck. anyway, i also like to treat myself to good food (i.e., anything that isn't created in my kitchen), but with saving for new year's and making car payments, this is a no-go. here is my problem with dating -- the 3-date rule. occassionally, i'll get wild and wait several dates to fuck somebody and it is almost always a monumental let-down. the last time this happened was exactly one year ago. the guy's errection was so miniscule i couldn't even deep throat him. this is not an exaggeration. it was a massive let-down. obviously, things just didn't work out. the things i am forced to do in the name of preservation.

not much else is going on. like i said, i crashed bad last night. i'm still a little sleepy this morning, but i woke-up of my own accord.

ciao.