2 posts tagged “boys”

Tonight, Barnes & Noble cafe:

Me: Hi, I'll take this book and a venti coffee frappuccino, please.

Cute Cafe Guy 1: Sure, will that be all?  No cookies, cupcakes, various other things that will make you feel bad about yourself tomorrow? (<---that last part might be an exaggeration)

Me: No, thanks.

Cute Cafe Guy 2: Heeey!  What're you up to?

Me: (looks around, trying to make way for the person he's talking to, and sees no one) Uh, nothing...you?

Cute Cafe Guy 2: Not much, just making your coffee.  Venti coffee frap, right?

Me: Uh, yeah.

(several minutes pass)

Cute Cafe Guy 2: So, you always order this, right?

Me: Usually.

Cute Cafe Guy 2: (hands over drink, does not let go) And what's your name?

Me: (I'm kinda deaf, so I wasn't sure I heard right) Uh, pardon?

Cute Cafe Guy 2: Your name.  What is it?

Me: Oh!  Aubrey.

Cute Cafe Guy 2: Hi, Aubrey.  I'm Donnie. (I think that's what he said.  As I mentioned, I'm kinda deaf.)

Me: Nice to meet you.

Donnie (??): Nice to meet you.  See you next time?

Me: Sure.  Goodnight.

Cute Cafe Guy 1: Have a good one!

Me: EEK! (runs away)

God, I feel like this means one of two things...either that I've become one of those weird "regulars", and they want to know my name so that they can accurately fill out a police report when I'm mistaken as a stalker, or perhaps that Donnie(??) has taken an interest.  You know what?  He's probably just a very nice young man (VERY young...maybe 20 or 21) who takes an active interest in his customers.  I think I'm going to make a sign to wear around my neck that says, "Hi, I'm Aubrey.  I am a 26-year-old divorcee who smokes like a chimney and gets strung out on coffee at least four times a week.  Please, don't display behavior that could, in any way, resemble flirting...it only confuses me.  Thank you."  Leslie's all like, "You know, maybe they know you now as the hot chick who comes in all the time."  Pshaw...what-the-hell-ever.  I look a lot better than I used to, but I ain't no hot chick.

I have seriously screwed up one of my toes, and am currently hobbling around like a pimp, or possibly a penguin.  I skinned it pretty badly while rummaging around in the dark, and I have nightmares now about gangrene and amputation.  Thank God I just got a tetanus shot last month.

This was my eighth day in a row of working two jobs, and I have asked to be scheduled every weekend at the music store until I drop, in addition to my M-F at the bank.  As of right now, I'll be working 20 of the next 21 days.  Lots of money and no time to spend it.  That's my plan, anyway.  I may die of exhaustion long before then.

Betty and Gio

My friends and I have a habit of falling in love with fictional characters or celebrities.  Leslie's got Mr. Darcy and Edward Cullens, Kristi's got Orlando Bloom, and I have too many to name.  I recently became a fan of Ugly Betty, and am trying to catch up on all the episodes that I've missed.  Now I've got a thing for Gio, who may be the most perfect fictional character ever created.  I want one.  He's sweet, funny, he can dance, has a killer accent, and he genuinely falls for Betty, the girl that so many people find unattractive and frumpy (they're all assholes, I say).  What a fairytale. SPOILERS AHEAD, KINDA!!  He's got this great line in the most recent episode, and my little heart went *wibble-wibble* all over it.  "I don't want to be the rebound guy.  I want to be the guy."  God dang it.  That's the best line ever.  I'm going to cry.

Carrie Bradshaw I ain't, but the more I see of this town and the dating scene that I've forced myself back into, the more jaded I become, and the more I want to write about it.  I don't want to nitpick all the psychological aspects of it, like Carrie...rather, I'd write it as it is, a bit like Laurie Notaro: awkward, frightening, alcohol-drenched, and piss-your-pants hilarious. 

I'd write about the group of people standing outside the club one night, being drilled by police, and one of them keeps shrieking about "Rhonda!  Rhonda!"  We figure she is talking about her ride, but this "Rhonda" is nowhere to be seen.  The girls and I are standing around, then a big SUV pulls up with another woman hanging out the passenger window.  She's flailing somewhat, and though I cannot remember how we put two and two together, we realized that this 45-year-old woman with her boobs half-hanging out of her shirt was Rhonda, and we directed her to the proper party:)

See?  That stuff is priceless.  I'm going to start bringing a notepad with me when we go out.