Exotic Coffee is My Downfall

Kiwi is entirely right, of course. (Although didn't I mention in a post that I knew I got lots of sugar from my fluffy coffee? I didn't? Maybe I said it, you know, OUT LOUD to someone. The brain gets confused.)

I love Starbucks, y'all, I really do. I worship them. I can't help it. Oh, I TRY to help it--occasionally I buy other kinds of coffee, from independent stores, and I feel really good when I do it, but that short-lived good feeling is not enough to keep me away from the CRACK that is Starbucks coffee. (Much like the short-lived good feeling that I get after kick-boxing is not enough to make me want to go again.)

Monday I was really good: although I did indeed go to Starbucks in the morning (hey, y'all, nothing else is open when I have to be on the train at 6:00 IN THE GODDAMNED MORNING) I just got a triple espresso. Generic, cheap(ish) and easy on the girlish figure.

And then Tuesday I got a huge fluffy coffee--with almond syrup AND mocha syrup AND whipped cream--and today I got one, too. Sigh. Every time, I tell myself, "Well, I can get fancy coffee, I just won't eat much today, so the calories will work out the same in the end."

But somehow it never works out that way. And I keep drinking Starbucks. Which is probably the sole enemy of me losing weight. And I still can't give it up.

On the other hand, I DID go to kick-boxing last night, and while I was on the phone with TheBoy, I was inspired: henceforth, "kickboxing" shall be replaced with "sexy butt" class. He (bless his heart) was trying to convince me to come hit a bucket of golf balls on the range, and I said, "No, I have to go to kickboxing!" Despite the fact that of course, getting a bucket of balls and maybe a pitcher of beer sounded like a much better idea. He was trying to convince me, and I was trying to hold on to my principles, and suddenly I said, "Don't you want me to have a sexy butt?"

He sounded a little surprised. "Well, of course."

"Okay, then. Kickboxing gives anyone a sexy butt. From now on, it's "Sexy Butt" class.

And who was he to say he didn't want me to go to Sexy Butt Class? Exactly.

And while I'm on the subject of giving things different names, I'm calling Starbucks "crack" from now on. Instead of saying, "Do you want to go to Starbucks?" I'll say, "Do you want to go to the crackhouse?"

Especially liberating in the presence of conservative engineers, all of whom will TOTALLY have, at the same time, one COLLECTIVE aneurysm! And it will be AWESOME!

Speaking of B-----, I have to say I'm again a fan of the Health Risk Assesment I took. After all, I've completely forgotten what it said, but my $25 Amazon gift card arrived today and it has already been spent, y'all, on the following:

1. Why Men Love Bitches: From Doormat to Dreamgirl-A Woman's Guide to Holding Her Own In a Relationship, which is funny and right on, and

2. Date Like a Man: What Men Know About Dating And Are Afraid You'll Find Out, which is my FAVORITE dating book, and

3. Night Watch by Terry Pratchett, because fiction and humor are really important.

Is it sad that the first two books on this list are dating books? I debated with myself about that. On the one hand, there's the pathos inherent in buying any dating book; on the other hand, these two are hysterically funny and remind me where I've gone wrong when I get off track and become completely needy. (And y'all, it happens.) And I got myself some Terry Pratchett just because I love him.