I love my Starbucks

I admit it: I’m addicted to my triple grande nonfat latte. It’s as important a morning ritual as taking a long shower or picking out the right pair of earrings. A workday unfueled by my latte is foggy, gray, uninspired, bland. The creative side of my brain doesn’t fully function if my left hand isn’t in the cup-grip mode from 8:30 until 11:30.

I love everything about the Starbucks part of my morning. The smell of brewing espresso as I open the door. The way the cup warms my hand. That first sip of latte. But there's more to this morning ritual than a jolt of espresso.

My Starbucks is my Floyd’s Barber Shop. They know me, they know my drink. I know it’s a chain, but the casual, friendly atmosphere has almost the same feel as Javamonkey did during my Decatur days (just not quite as funky). My Starbucks run is about more than grabbing a cup o’ joe. It's also about the connection. Marlene or Luke start brewing my latte as soon as they see me walk through the door. Cup in hand, we chat about our lives for a few minutes — Marlene’s steamy new romance … the escapades of Susan’s little boy … what Luke’s up to in school or on the golf course … my heavy workload or heavier social calendar. We talk art exhibits and arts festivals, can’t-miss movies and must-read books, cocktailed evenings and muggy mornings. At my Starbucks, I start my mornings connecting with my neighbors.

In fact, that connection factored in my decision to possibly buy my townhouse. I’ve always been an ITP* girl because I love the neighborly feel of intown areas (and I’ve lived in nearly all of them). The suburbs bored me: strip malls, traffic, assimilation, invisibility. Thanks to my Starbucks, I now know that Peachtree Corners can also be funky, friendly and my home.

*For you non-Atlantans, ITP is our local abbreviation for "inside the perimeter," or our intown section of town.

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