Tag Archives: Starbuck’s

Confession Mondays: my coffee addiction

So, I made my re-entry back into the world of coffee without much of a glitch, save a bit of shame for being such a hypocrite, telling the world I would never drink “the crap” again. I had originally quit because of headaches and a near-complete dependence on the stuff, a la a pure substance abuse. I couldn’t wake up without it. I couldn’t get through my day without a second hit. And I couldn’t feel a part of American culture if, like everyone else, I didn’t have a tall soy latte in my hand while coursing my way through an intersection.

I had made it an entire month without it, and felt pretty good, despite some migraines the first week, for which I needed to see a doctor.  I substituted with green Kombucha tea, Yerba Mate and red rooibos–all of which did weird things to me. But, soon enough, I felt cleansed, unpolluted, alert, and mostly, free from the ritual of having to hunt down a Starbuck’s every where I went so as to recharge and make me feel part of humanity again. But my digestive tract had become so dependent on the caffeine (from roughly 300 mgs per day down to about 25 mgs or less) that for the entire month, horribly unmentionable things were happening to me. OK, I’ll mention them: burping, belching, farting, constipation, IBS and so on. Not only that, but, without caffeine, I craved bad foods. Usually my diet is very healthy: slow-cooked oats for breakfast, salad for lunch, chicken, veggies and a starch for dinner. Every once in a while  I’d have a sweet. But when I stopped drinking coffee, it was as if I had this Get Out of Jail Free card for eating burgers, fries, potato chips (something I NEVER eat), crackers, and other junk. It’s as if there was this yin and yang within me…pulling at me to do something bad to counteract all the good I was accomplishing. There’s only so much a green tea and Andrew Weil a girl can take, you know. I was too cleansed, too pure, too unpolluted. Not to mention all my friends were on my case, insisting that I needed a vice. “Live a little,” they said. As if drinking coffee, and vices in general are the mark of a satisfying life.

In a way, they were right. Coffee keeps me balanced. And  I don’t mean my digestive tract. Coffee keeps the bad girl in me alive. It keeps me a little sullied, a little uninhibited, a little wild.

My sis-in-law was over last night and we were discussing the documentary “Babies.” She was saying that too much care can cause an individual to weaken. Too much hand sanitizer, for example, can keep us over-protected from being able to build up an immunity to viruses and bacteria. In that sense, I’d like to think that my coffee addiction keeps me dirty enough that I can actually exist among society.

But the truth is, I’ve decided to try quitting again, after the holidays, when I can spend a month or two alone, isolated and insulated from the rest of the world. Detoxing is a slow, meticulous process, which needs time and patience. And the fact of the matter is, I feel better without it, physically and mentally. And though I’m sure to substitute my bad girl coffee habit with something equally bad (shoplifting? sex addiction? loitering in front of the “No Loitering” signs around town?), at least I will no longer be a slave to the ritual or dependent upon a substance that has a little too much control over my life.

But for now, the coffee maker is brewing my usual french roast and my Starbuck’s card is fully loaded and ready to be swiped.

Confession Mondays: it’s Tuesday

I confess. I haven’t been all that faithful to Confession Mondays. Truth is, I am living a rather somber, uneventful life and have little, if nothing to confess. Not even a tempest in a teapot. And speaking of tea, perhaps the most lurid detail I can share is that Starbuck’s frappuccinos make me crazy. Especially the java chip. This is due in part to what DL (a friend of mine on FB) attributes to the fact that I’ve never done hard drugs. My system is delicate, granted. But it may also be due to the fact that  Starbuck’s may be adding extra shots of caffeine, mocha and sugar to these drinks that throw me overboard. Whatever the case, I am an addict.

A dollar a donut

pink_sprinkled_donut

Yesterday, my kids asked me if they could get a donut at Dunkin Donuts. I hesitated. The first thing I think of when I think of donut is fat kid eating cheap food. But I said OK as they never eat those things, and they wanted to use their own money. “How much is a donut?” they asked. I hadn’t been to DD in years, so I said, “I don’t know, maybe forty-five cents. Seventy-five at the most.” I remember paying a quarter for a donut. A dozen was three dollars, plus tax.

I used to eat donuts almost every day. Seriously. Almost EVERY DAY. Sometimes two or three. And not those little donuts that come 40 in a box. I loved the big, round, Homer Simpson donuts with lots of frosting on top. I preferred Shop Rite donuts. I would buy one for Dani, one for Julien and two for myself as I could never choose between vanilla frosted or chocolate glazed. Mostly, I’d cut them both in half and eat half of one and half of the other. But other times, I just ate them both and had my regrets. How I managed to process that amount of sugar I’ll never know.

I pull through the drive thru at Dunkin and order two strawberry frosted with sprinkles. I have change in my hand. The Indian woman behind the speaker says, “One dollar, ninety-one cents.” I’m shocked. Almost two dollars? I pull around and ask how much one donut cost. “One dollar and six cents,” she says. “You are getting a discount since you bought two.” Wow. I just saved myself twenty-one cents.

This is one of those moments where  you remember when cigarettes only cost two dollars a pack. When a phone call was ten cents. When a stamp was even less. Heck, I remember buying two hotdogs for a buck down on the Wildwood boardwalk. A donut is now a dollar. A fried piece of dough with a hole in it, no bigger than your hand is now a dollar.

When I tossed the bag back to the boys and effectively yelled at them not to get sprinkles on the carpet, they ooh’ed and ahh’ed at the treat. They smacked their lips together and devoured the pink, sprinkly cloud within seconds, thus leading me to believe it was mostly air and very little dough. They thought a dollar was reasonable. I just drove off in disgust; in search of a tall, Starbuck’s coffee that now costs me four dollars and some change.