Perfectly Over Caffeinated


I have had just enough caffeine today to ignite a rocket to the moon.  And scare a few tourists along the way.

It started with a cup of Marco Polo black French tea this morning.  Which morphed into a cup of Coconut Chai in the early afternoon.  Then it turned into a cup of Four Barrel Coffee around 1:30 p.m.  After which I killed a little time while I was waiting to meet a gentleman at the MOMA, by downing a large Peets.  Because nothing is better then assuaging your nerves on a first date like a large cup of Peets.  BAH HA.

Oh, and I’m not done yet folks.  After the MOMA, he says coffee?  And yes, that’s right I have another cup of Peet’s, but this time I do moderate a little, I get a medium.  I don’t think I scared off the nice man, but I may have, I was incandescent with caffeine by the end of the date.

I left downtown and walked home on rocket fueled feet.  I was going to catch the 30 Stockton back toward my neck of the woods, but I did not need to bother with it as I was moving so fast I beat the bus home.

I called Pell to discuss details for tomorrow’s walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, which now may be re-scheduled due to inclement weather, damn you rain.  And she said, “where are you? Let’s get coffee.”  I hopped up and down like a mad elf, startling the couple passing me by headed into China Town with their little folding map.

I flew up Clay St. and literally stumbled upon a chair that I have been looking for my studio sitting and waiting for me at Clay and Mason.  Perfect, shabby chic, worn red velvet, swivel chair with carved wood trim and old castor wheels, just looking for a new home.  Normally I would not have even tried to muscle it back to my place.


Amped on the date, the caffeine, the imminent arrival of Pell to hang out, I lifted the chair and hustled it down the side-walk.  I realized about a half a block away from my house I was going to get the best momentum by lifting the chair over my head and carrying it that way.

I grunt a little under my breath and clean and jerk the chair over my head, balancing it literally on my head and walk the last block to my house–drawing many a stare from the party of fine diners coming out of Venticello on Taylor and Washington.

I get the chair into my studio, scotch guard it (thanks Pell!), throw a little food in my mouth and put on my jacket as the texts come fast and furious from Pell who is rapidly approaching down Washington St. to come and  pick me up.

We head into North Beach, taking a few minutes to find parking, it is after all a three-day weekend and folks are out.  We swoop down on a place just as I’m about to suggest that perhaps North Beach is not the best place to go and voila! There’s an open spot!

So, Cafe Trieste here we come.  And you think does she really need more caffeine?  Apparently so, I order a latte, Pell, smart lady, orders one too, but decaf.  I think, momentarily, decaf that’s a great idea, but I don’t change my order.  I get my latte full strength.

We close out Cafe Trieste and poor Pell gets the story of my life in the hour and a half we are there.  I believe I exhausted the woman.  And now, I sit, pleasantly jittering along blogging my little wee heart out.

My chair looks great in the corner all ready for me to get cozy in it with one of the cats and a book.  I have some jazz on the Ipod player, hot tea in a cup, non-caffeinated.  And now that I got through this blog and my brain hasn’t combusted from all the caffeine;  I can say that he had me at Hallowell.

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