It's true. Picture me wandering around my hood barefoot, scratching myself and licking my dried out, crusty white lips just like Tyrone Biggums. But instead of rocks, I'd be in search of a can of Coke...or some Wild Cherry Pepsi from the fountain...I'd even settle for some Shasta in my desperation, yo.
Anything for that burning sensation in my throat when I take my first gulp. Gulp...aaahhhhh.....mmmmmm.
I am a carbonated drink fiend. It's like crack to me. Seriously. I try not to have it in my house so I won't be tempted to drink it on a daily basis. I bought about thirteen twelve packs in preparation for a birthday party...and I had six twelve packs left. You don't know the damage I did. I had to get rid of the last three cases because I was going buckwild.
I make do with juice, iced tea, lemonade and water. When I eat out, I usually drink ice tea or water. But if I have friends and family over, liters or cans are usually around and at the end of the night, I am usually begging them to take home any leftover soda so I won't be forced to guzzle it down.
Cuz when I do...it makes me feel dirty. I know how bad it is for me. I know it's like liquid sugar for my body. I understand its not providing any nourishment for my thirsty self. It also makes my teeth feel nasty afterwards. I will drink a couple of glasses of the liquid crack and then berate myself for the entire rest of the day. Like today.
So I try to kick the habit by drinking Hansen's Natural Soda. Or Crystal Geyser Juice Squeeze. It seems to do the trick. My tastebuds are fooled into thinking its good times. And it usually is. But unfortunately, I can't walk into Subway or In-n-Out and get a Hansen's or a flippin' Juice Squeeze. Dang.
I guess you could say it all started in childhood. It seems most of our vices begin at that time, don't they? As expected, moms was fairly strict on soda consumption. It was usually restricted to parties or fast food. But being with my dad was a whole 'nother story. See, my dad is a soda/crack connoisseur too. The drug of choice was Pepsi. Whenever we spent the weekend with good ole dad, we inevitably stayed with my grandparents. So we would wake up at Nana's house, serve ourselves a plate of bacon and eggs and crack open a Pepsi. Yesss. No mom around to nag us or forbid us from having sugar so early in the morning. This was the good life. We could have potatoes or chorizo or waffles or menudo or pancakes and we would always wash it down with a can of Pepsi. The same with lunch. And dinner. And mom was none the wiser.
This just contributed to my life-long addiction to the can of liquid brown crack.
My experience it not unique. My sister and brother have the same addiction. We all blame dad. And my little, brown sweet Nana! Now we need some sort of twelve-step program. Or an anti-soda patch. Somethin'. I have half a liter in my fridge and it's callin' my name!
Denise...Deennnniissssssse...you know you want to drink some of me....you know you want to finish me off!
