A Love Story

6am Me loves 9:30pm Me.  When 6am Me zombie-walks over to the coffee machine and realizes all she has to do is press the on button because 9:30pm Me loaded up the machine the night before, 6am Me is filled with love and good feelings even though it’s not completely light out yet and there’s a fatigue headache throbbing behind her eyes.

This reminds me of when I was single.  I sometimes slept over at a boy’s house, but this was usually reserved for people I was actually dating and therefore cared about a little bit.  Everyone else slept at my place.  Having little to no feelings for them helped because the following did not bother me:

a) I lived in a hovel of an apartment,
b) I disliked cleaning and explaining to someone the pride I took in not having done dishes for almost a year was misunderstood by most, and
c) If anyone was allergic to cats they’d be fucked, not because I am a Cat Lady but because The Cat sheds out of spite.

When I slept over at the place of someone I wasn’t dating, it was because I was way too drunk to drive and had probably showered that day, and was therefore unconcerned about looking like a seabeast the next morning.  Which is fine if it’s a one night stand to begin with, but what if I need to hit the gas station before going home?

(Note – although I am in a committed relationship and don’t sleep around anymore, I re-wrote the below paragraphs a dozen times before realizing they sound less stupid in the present tense.  So just remember that.)

It’s so much easier to kick someone out of my place than to kick myself out of theirs.  I’m rarely silent or graceful about anything, so imagine what a lumbering yeti I am when hungover and trying to find my underwear.  The standard morning after conversation is dumb enough, but waking someone up by accident and enduring the “Hey, Where Are You Going So Fast?” conversation is really awkward.  And those guys rarely, if ever, have coffee.

“Want something to drink?” they ask.

“Do you have coffee?”

“Uh, no…but I have {insert totally unsuitable beverage here}.”

Totally unsuitable beverages I have been offered include beer, Mountain Dew, and tea.  Listen, asshole, if it’s 9am and I was drunk enough to sleep at your place, I am clearly not in the mood for more alcohol.  The only possible way I could be coerced into drinking more booze is if it’s in mimosa form, and that would require going to brunch with you, and I don’t feel like you staring at me while I try to read the paper.  Also, Mountain Dew?  Really?  Did I just sleep with a 13-year-old gamer?  You should be thankful that shit lowers your sperm count, because you, Sir, should not be allowed to reproduce.  And tea.  Motherfucking tea.  That is the worst.  Tea is not a substitute for coffee.  Ever.  I don’t care that you buy the best Earl Grey/English Breakfast/lapsang souchong at Whole Foods, tea is for pussies and I do not want it.  I want coffee.  Give it to me now.

Some dudes have coffee but no idea how to drink it.  Drinking sludgy black carbolico is certainly impressive, but it’s not the way I want to start my day.  If you sometimes entertain overnight guests, be hospitable and offer some milk and sugar.  Not a lot.  I don’t require a 6-2 milk-to-coffee ratio (hey, weirdos who do that: maybe you just don’t like coffee, okay?).  I drink my coffee regular, which means it’s a fairly standard way of imbibing it and I am not a freak for wanting just a tiny bit of dairy.  No, powdered coffee creamer that expired sometime in 2004 does not count.

While I’ve never had to murder anyone for offering me Sanka, I have had more than one person try to serve me Maxwell House.  I would rather walk barefoot to the neighborhood 7-Eleven than drink that garbage.  Grow the fuck up and buy a quality coffee.  I’m not asking for fair trade, shade grown, organic ultra roast harvested by psychic virgins in Madagascar.  I am not that special.  But swill like Maxwell House will cause me to abandon all my crazy liberal principles and buy the most expensive item at Starbucks as soon as I can escape your house.

It took Graham awhile to understand my issues with coffee.  Once he brewed it at 7am and forgot the grounds.  Another time he brewed it super strong and forgot the milk.  Obviously I stayed with him for other reasons, and now he knows the exact mornings when I 100% need coffee or I will rip things off of other things because the world sucks.  And although he knows it’s not necessary, he’s smart enough to buy the really good stuff.

About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
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