In Which We Are Decafed

 

Stop the presses.  I have given up coffee.  That may seem like unearth-shattering news, but my devotion to the sweet black nectar was a long-standing passion.  The center of my every day is a trip down to Peet's, the world's finest cafe, for a cup of joe and a pastry.  Diane von Austinburg has long been resigned to any activity with me being guaranteed an interruption for a latte.  I once tracked down an espresso in Montana where none should have existed based solely on my fervor for one.

So what happened to my longest running love affair?  I got old.  I had noticed my guts rumbling and complaining and even become aware that my pee smelled like a stale cappuccino.  While I had been thinking about giving it up, I wanted to wait till I got back from Paris, because what is the point of France without coffee?  So 3 weeks ago, after I got back from Europe, boom, I cut myself off.  No more java for you, mrpeenee.

It hasn't been difficult, no headaches, no cravings, no whimpering.  I still toddle on down to Peet's every day, but now I restrict myself to a large iced tea, like the respectable elderly widdah that I am.  The baristas I'm friends with there noticed and commented with some concern, but I headed  them off before they were actually able to organize an intervention.

I seem to not have a weakness towards addiction.  Every time I've decided to give something up, for whatever reason, all I've had to do is put on the brakes and move on.  Other people, I know, struggle and are tortured by the grip of addiction (hello Matthew Perry.) I am just so glad that I missed out on that, because I have waded through the swamps of plenty of addictive thrills.

In my life, I have given up, in chronological order, alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, opioid pain medicine, Valium, Ativan (admittedly that was a bumpy ride,) garlic, dark chocolate, and being a responsible adult in general.  Actually it feels like I'm leaving something out, but I don't want anyone to think I'm bragging.  And with all of them, I just decided "okay well I'm not going to do that anymore" and I stopped.  Yay me.  Even the Ativan and opioids weren't difficult to give up, just white knuckling through the physical withdrawal was the most unpleasant part, and if I had had the brains to taper off them, I could have missed out on that.

So anyway, here I am, living without all the things that used to make my life so amusing.  Well, almost all the things.  I still have porn and sugar, but I am determined to go to my grave with them. 

Men I am hooked on:

Stas Chugunov, which reminds me, Wordscapes, the word game I am so fond of, will not accept the words "glans" as if I'm trying to slip in some smutty reference.  It's a medical term, fer cripesakes.

I don't know what emergency he responds to, but what ever it is, I am pretty sure I have it.

You know when he pulls that out, there is an audible "plop."

A pretty boy's musclepussy and a cheap motel room, it's a classic combo.

The artistic sylings of Xavi Aragon.

Maybe not nekkid, but so darn summery.

There is something so very appealing about a guy who is not exactly pretty, but who possesses such a gorgeous pussy.