I LOVE COFFEE!!!!!!!!!!!!(*&(*&%*%&&%@

OK, this is the posting of a true addict. I confess, when it comes to coffee I am an addict and a snob. I can drink it until my innards are peeling from the acid, and still I drink more. I like it strong, really strong. I would like to feel the caffeine buzzing through my veins within the second sip. Otherwise, what is the point?
I wake up thinking of strong espresso, and I consider my stove top expresso maker (birthday gift from my beloved husband) one of my most treasured possessions. If I had to flee in the case of fire, flood or genocide I would take my family members, some family photos, the rings on my fingers, and my stove top espresso maker.
I have reached a point where I do not even enjoy regular coffee. It must be espresso, or at least very strong, very delicious, very powerful, passionate coffee.
I find I like others who love coffee. I have trouble understanding people who do not love coffee, need coffee, crave coffee, or struggle with an unhealthy addiction to this delightful god sent substance.
When he was 18 months old I came down and Theo was struggling to put the stovetop espresso maker together with coffee, water, etc. When I walked into the kitchen he was balanced on a stool, struggling to turn on the front burner. He knew coffee was the way to his mama's heart.
Well this week, thanks to Alison Shore--another true coffee addict -- I found my place, and it is a coffee lover's wet dream. It is called L.A. Mill. It is on Silverlake Blvd., a stone's throw from the dog park. They serve coffee like it is a wine bar. You can get your coffee pressed in a million different ways--from the Clover, to the Eva something or other (the way coffee connoisseurs drink their coffee) You order your coffee from an elaborate menu more like a wine-list. Each coffee comes with a special tale that evokes the exotic coffee plantations and family traditions and environmental struggles of coffee growers in Ethiopia, Guatemala, Columbia, or wherever. The description ends with a few choice adjectives to describe the coffee--again, like a fine wine. Words like chocolatey, fruity, with a whiff of citrus, light, thick. As a writer, I want to write these things!
The coffee arrives in a caraffe, zipped into a little gortex jacket that makes it look like it is about to set off to summit Mt. Everest. It keeps the coffee cozy, and the hi-tech fabric keeps the coffee warm for hours of caffeine-fueled conversation.
What can I say?
It was pretty close to heaven.
I drank so much coffee I was scared. When I drink over five cups in a sitting I have been known to go crazy. My nerves just jangle right over the edge and I become a victim of unstable womanly passions: jealousy, insanity, general angst about love, my life, my accomplishments and lack thereof.
But not this time. I drank about four to five cups (I lost count I was so blissed out with my zippered coffee companion). I left ready for a psychological outburst of some sort, but told myself it was worth it. It was just so much fun!
But it never came.
And I wondered: Is coffee like tequila, or pot? Does bad coffee cause slightly negative reactions and psychological effects, while good, prime coffee, pressed in the way of connoisseurs leaves only the sweetest buzz?
Has anyone else ever experienced good and bad coffee buzzes? I need to know!

note: this is the posting of an espresso fueled writer!