miércoles, marzo 6

Where is: My Coffee. Where is it?

Click Me For when you can't be alone with yourself in silence.



Black coffee: You started drinking coffee at age 11, about six months before you began sneak-buying Marlboro Reds from the vending machine near the bathroom in Bennigan’s. You eat Raisin Bran every morning, like a good medium-rare steak and own a complete tool set. You also sleep in the nude and have never worn corduroys.


Decaf: You like being part of the crowd, but since caffeine makes you "crazy", you hang out drinking decaf with Splenda in the office kitchen while getting all the good gossip. You've stayed away from drugs, except for that one time you tried pot and took down an entire family-sized bag of Party Mix, and, like years ago when your favorite Backstreet Boy was Howie but you pretended it was Nick, today you say you listen to Frank Ocean and the Black Keys even though you really love Kelly Clarkson and are still playing Call Me Maybe on repeat. Or you’re pregnant. Congrats.

Double espresso: You are all business. You walk fast, talk faster and have never used an exclamation point. You go to Soul Cycle every morning, detest the color pink and think artificial sweeteners are lame, like gluten-free bread, team-building activities and Anne Hathaway.

Hazelnut (and other flavored) coffee: You just began your first office job and started drinking coffee because it makes you feel like an adult, like booking your own doctor's appointments and watching 60 Minutes, though your parents pay for your cable and you’re still on the family plan.

Latte: You’re put together and relish the small things in life. You make small talk easily, buy your clothes at department stores and love omelettes and brunch. And though you think people who rest their elbows on the table are terribly unsophisticated, you see nothing wrong with drinking out of a big bowl in public.

Irish coffee: You drink martinis before dinner, red wine with your meal and bloody marys with brunch. You've spent innumerable hours by yourself in hotel bars, often fall asleep while watching Jeopardy and see nothing wrong with topping off your drink, even when it's just water.

Soy chai latte: You shop exclusively at Whole Foods or your neighborhood co-op, do yoga and swear by meatless Mondays. The probability of your having tried a juice cleanse is at 98.7%. You can't wait to book your trip to India, loathe Guy Fieri and are a prolific tweeter of humble brags.

Tea: You are a disillusioned yet still semi-hopeful lady on a late Sunday afternoon OK Cupid coffee date. You can proudly recognize a no-go in less than five seconds and know the precise amount of time you must stay without seeming rude (23 minutes, 37 seconds). At that point you will trudge home to watch last week's Girls and eat cake.

No-fat, no-whip white chocolate machiatto: You are complex and full of contradictions. You eschew saturated fat, subscribe to Women's Health, Shape and Fitness and have a rare ability to order dressing-less salads everywhere from Mexican restaurants to Japanese steakhouses to the airport, but you also love gummi candy shaped like fruit and think nothing of eating only baby carrots, rice cakes and Crystal Light for five days straight. And after a virtuous week of early morning workouts, apples and spring water, you really let yourself go when out with the girls at book club. And then feel bad about it for days.

Bottled frappucino: You are a kid at heart (or an actual kid). You laugh every time someone farts, love cheesy gorditas and have never bought an antacid. You don't understand the concept of making plans, never watch the news, and would rather not bother yourself with worrisome thoughts, like the possibility of horse meat in your hamburger or fact that there are unpronounceable ingredients in your pre-made morning beverage from the drug store.

Strawberry Coolata: You are part of a roving pack of teenagers at the mall group singing the lyrics to Taylor Swift's "We Will Never Ever Get Back Together". Everyone hates you.

I need more coffee...
Wonky