An Actual Conversation

I recently returned from a short trip home to Ontario.

My father, The Dadda, enjoys a good medium roast coffee. I have come to learn that I prefer my coffee sort of kick me in the balls with flavour and aroma in the morning, and that this can only be achieved by a dark roast.

A really dark roast. Like, pissing blood and shooting venom dark roast. Any other sleep-deprived, coffee-loving Mammas out there probably understand this.

While clearly dependent on the go-juice now, I have also seemingly developed a sensitivity to it. My thyroid was AAAAAAALL sorts of out of whack, which likely worsened my caffeine sensitivity. I have to find the happy balance between just enough coffee to keep me awake and keep my junk bruised, and too much coffee where my heart does a rumba all on its own, and I end up feeling weak and tired from too much of the stuff. Like my adrenaline has spent itself by 10am. (Let's hope I never have to run from a bear at 10:05am).

So I need stronger, and less of it. And I bastardize that shit with Coffeemate and a 1/2 teaspoon of sugar, so I'm not doing my ass any favours with more than 2 cups a day.

Visual approximation of me without coffee

Anyway, I digress.

Once we got home, The Hubs was sitting on the couch with Baby D. (Well, she was reprogramming his computer while he was looking at the TV, albeit momentarily). I said "I realized that I missed my Keurig while we were away".

(I am a HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE, coffee brewer, so my coffee machine has allowed me to like stuff at home again, thank Jebus with Baby D and the cost of Starbucks!).

And "I missed my dark roast".

The Hubs replied, with EXTREME enthusiasm in his voice.

"You missed your dark roast, and you think you missed your period while we were away?!?!"

Me: *sigh*

"No, hon. My Keurig. I missed my Keurig."

The Hubs: *extreme disappointment, almost-visible-floor-drop-of-smile*

"Oh".


Yeah. Have I mentioned I love dark roast coffee? And having only one child?
Okay.
Just making sure.


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Starbucks Is Ridiculous

That's right, I said it.

Now wipe your non-fat, no-whip, no water, half caff latte foam off your nose and listen up.

I feel like such an utter idiot when I walk up to order coffee at Starbucks.

First of all, Y U NO HAVE NORMAL SIZES STARBUCKS!?

Y U MAKE ME FEEL DUMB?!?

I know it's supposed to be like an authentic cafe experience, with the barista and fancy Italian-ish names, but, let's be honest here, you started in Seattle.

And the worst part is that when I just ask for "the smallest size" or "a medium", the barista almost ALWAYS shoots back some foreign-ish, totally meaningless word back at me. I glaze over, much like a terrified deer in headlights. I usually explain at this point that, well, I'm not sure. Which cup is that?

*DERP*.

I can already hear the snickers of the seasoned coffee-goers behind me in line. It's like I'm wearing a neon sign labelling myself "STARBUCKS NEWBIE. BE GENTLE."

I ask to see if I can get something without milk (since I am currently off of dairy for the baby, and her rapidly pooping bum). "Can I get it with soy milk, though?" I ask, fearing the barista may lean over and slap my foul mouth for requesting such an atrocity.

Instead, she gives me a smile that says "Oh, you pathetic little soul, OBVIOUSLY you can. You PAY for crazy requests here. It makes you feel special!"

I'm not sure... do they only have one kind of coffee? Is there decaf drip coffee, for us elderly fogies who shouldn't consume caffeine after 3pm if we want to have any hope in hell of sleeping? (The answer to that around these parts of BC is that, no, they DON'T have decaf coffee which is weird. Decaf Americanos are always offered instead, at a higher price. They are watered down decaf espresso and I personally think they taste like poo, and I'd rather lick my dog's butt. Probably).

Anyway, if I have to drink the caffeine, I want a nice dark roast. I always ask "Do you have a dark roast?" and I never get an answer, just that weird, knowing barista smile again. It almost feels like I ask about 6 questions at the register, yet leave even more confused than when I came in.

Hmph.

So, I finally figure out the puzzle, (Not really, but I order SOME type of hot beverage [I assume]) and ask for hot water in a cup to warm up Baby D's milkies.

We sit. I warm. She eats. I drink my coffee.

And I listen to the throng of people coming through. And here is where it gets even more odd.

I listen to people bark out orders like the barista is THEIR BITCH. I mean, total cool ignorance, haughty even. I've never ever heard more complex beverage orders in my life. And EXPENSIVE ones at that!

One lady ordered herself a tea (I think) that consisted of about 6 special thingies, and the two small children she was with got some soy hot chocolate specialty drinks. They were very young. And her order was over $13. SAY WHAT?! I'm pretty sure she ordered something chai, with no water, with extra foam, with possibly the tears of an angel mixed with a smattering of sugar-free methadone. Something like that.

I told the Hubs that Baby D gets no-name brand hot chocolate out of a packet when she's older, and she's gonna love it. F_ck this $6 hot chocolate bizznazz. You know the kids will have that liquid gold spilled before they even get to the car.

Another lady bought 8 vanilla bean scones. I'm pretty sure she had to take out a second mortgage on her home.

But yeah... so after this weird social observation, I came home and relayed it to the Hubs. He was equally perplexed at the complexity of some of the drinks I spoke of.

Fast forward two days, and we walked down to the Starbucks not too far from our house. I run through my gamut of confused-question asking clarifications.

"Can I please get a caramel brulee latte please?" (Already I feel pretentious, those are fancy-soundin' words, y'all).

I also say it with a lilt in my voice in case I am pronouncing it wrong.

"In the largest size, please?"

She replies "Venti?"
I shrug and nod.

"But could I please get it with soy milk instead of regular milk? I can't have dairy."
"Oh and would it be possible to just get it half decaf stuff? And half regular?"

She says some words that don't make sense.
I nod again.

"Half sweet?" She says.
What?
Who me?
Huh?

"Did you want it half sweet, too, or just half caf?"

I explain I didn't even know half-sweet was an option, but no, thanks, I want full sweet. This ass doesn't keep its commanding size with half-sweet. Word.

Then she asked if whip was "still okay?". I had to pause and think for a moment. Whip... hmm... are we talking like some kinky sexual coffee stuff? I drag my mind out of the gutter (albeit briefly) and realize she PROBABLY means whipped cream. Unless she winks at me.

I wait a moment. No wink.
Whipped cream it is.

I clarify that I can't have that either.

I FINALLY get my drink. Don't even get me started on how many cup lids I have to try and fail at before I finally find the one that fits my cup.

I go back outside and reunite with the Hubs and the dog (baby's been on my chest and embarrassed at my lack of Starbucks-lingo skills all along).

He asks me what I got. I stop myself from rambling through my entire series of questions... and then I realize I am just as bad as everyone else. I have BECOME ONE OF THEM.

Carefully, I explain that I ordered:

"A half caff, venti caramel brulee latte, no dairy, soy milk, no whip."

The Hubs smirks.

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So apparently I can make coffee even WORSE

Yeah, remember when I forgot the filter a week or two ago when attempting to make my usual morning coffee?

Well...

Today I remembered the water.

I remembered the filter.

I even used filtered water. (Did I just blow your mind?)


I was oh-so-proud of myself, despite my foggy head, raging allergies and general disdain for the morning.

The one thing I forgot?

The damned coffee.

Yep.

I made coffee without coffee grounds. And I can't even use "Monday" as an excuse. Let's just say that the colour and taste were a bit off.


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Heartburn or Esophageal-burny-cancer-destruction?

So, as my stress level elevates, so does my acid reflux.

I'd like to think this is just run of the mill heartburn.

Then I made the mistake of mentioning it and drinking coffee at the dentist's office the other day and DEAR-LORD-AND-MOTHER-OF-ALL-THINGS-CANCER-FREE, it sounds like my esophagus is slowly killing me in my sleep.

As a sleep-deprived, stressed girl in her last days of pre-wedding planning (read: AGONY), she ASSURED me that what I need is water. WATER. That'll keep me going on the tough days! Water is the cure all! Wateroiahngvia sdiuhauow gvoijhdowerijd bgvpa;ojd... oh, sorry, I fell asleep at the keyboard.

Yeah, sorry tootsie, but water just ain't gonna cut it right now. I even bought a huge Coke after that, and it didn't even help, as I sat listless on the couch doing the DJ play list with Feyoncé™.

So, back to my esophagus and it's stealthy plan to kill me. For the acid reflux I can feel, she said there's a ton more I DON'T feel that could be eating away my tissue at this very moment.

*cue horror music*

Suggested:
I am supposed to raise my pillows up.
Raise the head of my bed up.
Stop drinking anything but water.
Perhaps re-think the 80 Tums/antacids per day.

Actual:

Assume it will get better after the wedding.
Tell myself I'll drink less coffee later on.
Not do a damn thing and start popping Nexium.

Everyone's a critic.

*cue Tums commercial music*

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