I preface this by saying that I rarely go out for coffee. I love brewing a pot and sitting in our sunny kitchen, either catching up on blogs, or trying to address my ongoing battle against the pile of magazines that threaten to overtake me at any minute.
So in February, I decided that I wanted to try the Starbucks Trenta. If you’ve been living blissfully unawares, the Trenta is a 31 ounce caffeinated behemoth (it only comes in iced coffee or iced tea) meant to spread enlightenment and energy to The Masses.
Insanity loves company.
Starbucks tried to thwart us, because while allegedly the Trenta would be available nationwide on May 3rd, it apparently is not available in Northern markets.
But not to be deterred, we were hell-bent on drinking a Trenta of something.
Mere mortals might have called it a day, but no. Two Grandes and an extra ounce of coffee later, I was on the warpath.
At which point the barista subjected me to an interrogation as to whether or not I wanted my coffee sweetened. Truly, the only conversation topic that could have been more complex at that particular moment in time is the Middle East Peace Process. But, after a bit of a debate, we managed to come to the conclusion that since I was [technically] ordering two coffees, we could sweeten one and leave the other.
They say that variety is the spice of life, no?
I decided to try to down the unsweetened coffee first since I thought that the sweetener might mask some of the watered-down flavor of the second coffee. Not that drinking 32 ounces of coffee requires some sort of epic strategy.
But it might.
About 1 1/2 hours in, I finished the first one while I watched NBC’s Mint Julep-laden coverage of the Kentucky Derby. This was a feat in and of itself in the sense that I probably only drink 12 ounces of coffee a day to begin with.
But the Trenta isn’t about moderation. It’s about going big or going to the bathroom.
And as I picked up my second coffee, I had the dreadful realization that the coffee and I were basically going to be soulmate-ing until the finish. By soulmate-ing, I mean that I was committing to being That Girl who carries her coffee shop cup with her everywhere.
Little did I know that the finish line would be 3 1/2 hours later in the middle of meeting the new baby.
Yes, this means that all signs point to me planning on finishing a marathon faster than I’m able to consume 32 ounces of coffee without becoming violently ill.
By the time that I put the second cup in the bin, I was walking circus. In writing terms, I was 100% stream of consciousness. Which was all right and good, I guess. I say this with the full knowledge that I couldn’t hold a conversation for more than two minutes at a time because EVERYTHING WAS JUST SO INTERESTING.
Her hair. That wallpaper. Is that a crumb on his shirt? Our waiter’s glasses. I didn’t know they made focaccia here. Why are we all drinking water out of tiny cups?
Our world is an endlessly fascinating place, kittens.
The biggest surprise of the day? When I hit the wall at 11 PM, I slept like an absolute rock. Go figure.
Do they sell the Trenta where you live?
Are you a coffee drinker? How much coffee do you drink on a daily basis?
In all seriousness, total jankiness aside, the fun-sized coffee pot I had from my freshman year of college was absolutely perfect for me because Marcus doesn’t drink coffee and I can’t drink a ton of it.