By charging more, offering less convenience, and having longer lines, Starbucks has won my business. Short of kicking me in the face and pouring coffee in my lap, this caffeine-hawking behemoth has done everything possible to chase me away, yet I keep forking over four dollars for my daily dose.

Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz, the Darth Vader of the beverage world, has made his java empire so strong that it seems you are never more than 50 yards from one of his stores. Every corner in every city now has at least one Starbucks, with more on the way and four or five knockoffs down the block. Analysts actually predict that if the current rate of expansion continues, each American will soon have his own chain coffee house, and every single one will be crowded.

On its march to global domination, Starbucks has also managed to chase almost every lovable, affordable local coffee house out of existence. Though this has dramatically increased the availability of ratty old couches, it has also left thousands of sixteen-year-olds with bad hair and uncomfortable-looking piercings without a place to hang out.

But, while my days of sitting in a poorly lit room wearing all black and arguing philosophy have long since passed, my coffee consumption has only increased. For me, the omnipresence of Starbucks means that instead of grabbing a 65-cent cup of joe on my way to work, I now find myself breaking a $20 to buy products for which coffee comes in about fourth on the ingredients list.

Forget sugar, steamed milk and other traditional add-ons, half of these beverages resemble cake more than the stuff normally made in a percolator. Yet, despite my utter loathing for the concept, something about being inside a Starbucks makes me drink things like egg nog lattes and vanilla mint cappuccinos.

Even the idea of getting a simple small coffee has been clouded, as every corner store struggles to add an array of different "accinos" and designer flavors to its roster. Convenience stores now force you to slog through an array of varieties with names like "Arabian Dark Raspberry" and "Southwestern Cinnamon Mocha Split" before you can place your order.

Though all of these flavors taste exactly the same, and they probably all come from the same pot, you still must select one before moving on to the next round of complication: naming the size you want. Grande means medium, tall means small, and a request for a large just brings a blank stare. Each store has its own system with no relation to the traditional small-medium-large standard, which until recently, was commonly accepted.

Perhaps it's this state of coffee confusion that has led to Starbucks' rapid rise. This giant, charmless chain gets my business for the same reason I buy pants at the Gap. Every store has the same stuff kept in the same place, for roughly the same price. A mocha Frappuccino in one location tastes exactly like a mocha Frappuccino in another, which makes you forget that you have no real interest in drinking one.