Friday, January 2, 2009

I Have a Coffee Problem

Some people smoke, some people eat chocolate ten times a day, and some, like me, are totally, completely, absolutely addicted to coffee. Oh sweet Lord do I have a problem with Mr. Bean right now. I’m hooked and I don’t think I want to get off, and here is why.

I just drove 11 hours from Tampa back to Columbia after watching my Gamecocks get their butts whooped in royal fashion. The game was a total loss, my birthday was, well, interesting, and to top it all off, I’ve come to the realization on the long ride home that I am completely addicted to coffee.

It started at about 7:30 am this morning, with some crappy Marriot coffee, you know the kind that tastes a better than cardboard but not as good as plastic? That kind of coffee, and it wasn’t just one cup, it was two. Then a third before we hit the road, that would be all for the day right, I mean that should wake me up, it’s crappy Marriot coffee, the taste alone ignites the gag reflex.

Since I haven’t slept much since last Tuesday, which is a story for another blog post, I had to have more. When my pal Mike urged us to stop at Starbucks somewhere in Hicksville Florida, I couldn’t resist. I ordered the biggest cup they had, and slurped it down until my hands were shaking so bad they could barely grip the wheel. I started to wonder if I would be able OK to drive, the coffee made me feel kind of weird. After that I’d surely be done, right?

Not so fast my friend, the real caffeine started to rush through my veins IV style when we stopped at a redneck McDonalds four hours later known only as “South point MacD” if you go by the receipt, I ordered a large, and you know they really give you a large at the golden arches, iced coffee that was so big I had to hold it with two hands. It took like twenty minutes to make, and the guy brought it out to me from behind the counter, for a second, a brief second, I thought I was at the Ritz Carlton and the pool staff was bringing me a Pina Colada. I got back in the car, and drank like two thirds of that thing, and here is when things got weird, I started to feel better, like my body just needed that hundredth cup to really wake up. Three hours later, I’m home, I can’t sleep and I’m not sure of anything, except well, that I’m totally addicted to drinking coffee.

I’m listening to a French lady on iTunes singing about things I can’t understand, but judging by the fast tempo of the beat on the track, I’m pretty sure she’s singing about coffee.

Go Cocks, we suck, Tampa was kind of tacky, but the coffee flowed like Stephen Garcia interceptions.

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