Make no mistake, I’m still utterly heartbroken over the abrupt and completely out of the blue departure of the Broken Poet. But hey, you can’t fight nature…and just as he’s probably powerless to fight the Mexican half of his heritage that likely prompts him to run, I’m pretty powerless to not flirt with appealing guys through the clever tweak of a phrase.
They never even see it coming.
Hell, I am sometimes surprised by the game I got.
All that said, I have a date.
With a straight guy?
This…THIS is my life.
One romantic misadventure after another.
I was grabbing a coffee this morning. At, like, noon. I’d been up and under-caffeinated since 7:00. It was time to haul my butt out of my mopey bed and into the shower, then to the coffee shop.
Sidebar: I totally discovered upon leaving my place that what I assumed was the soundtrack of my wrecked romantic life was, in fact, a tree being cracked in half by wind and blown over onto a car right outside my window.
Oh, the ego my id has.
So, I walk in and the barista gives me a big, “Hey man, where ya been?”
“Cool. Iced Mocha?” he asks, flipping a cup out of the stack and catching it.
Um, no. It’s Iced Mocha Mondays, remember?
“Aaah…my bad! Cold Brew! Sorry, I was distracted by your shirt!”
I look down. It’s always a surprise to me to discover that my de rigueur black tee has anything on it. Today I was sporting a black tee that said, “Dagobah Academy: Learn, You Will” surrounding a silhouette of Yoda.
Prompting the red-headed barista slinging shots to look up at my shirt.
Yeah, that’s the guy. Hide yo shock.
I tell the OB (original barista, duh) that I’m really more of a Star Trek person, yet I oddly have no Star Trek tee shirts. Not that I want any.
He chuckles and says he’s always liked the epic feel of the Star Wars movies versus Star Trek.
I agree, telling him that the series were always more of a re-write of morality plays, outside of the season ending cliff hangers.
The red-head jumps in with a comment about how he never really got into Star Trek but liked the Star Wars movies.
I laugh and clarify that I like both, obviously. Pointing to my shirt. But tell him that if he thinks the movies begin with Episode 1, he should probably be quiet and let the adults talk.
He goes back to pulling shots, grumbling something about being in his 30s.
OB shrugs and tells me I should play nice with the non-geeks, so I tell him that I’ll take him to see Episode 7 to make up for being mean. He shrugs and makes an effort to still look hurt.
Then OB shows me a new trailer for Episode 7 that dropped a couple of days earlier on Instagram while I stab my Cold Brew with a straw.
While we’re watching – mind you, it’s a 15 second spot – the red-head walks over with a drink for another customer, “Ok, I’ll go”.
Fine. It’s a date.
“Not that I’m gay! I just don’t want you to feel bad.” he says.
Don’t give yourself so much credit. You don’t know me, but if you did, you’d know that I felt bad when I walked in. Pointing at his shirt, I suggest he try peddling the “I’m not gay” shit down the street because I’m not buying that anyone wearing a Russian River tee shirt can be straight.
There isn’t enough hipster irony in the world.
OB shrugs, like he deals with this all the time.
I tell the red-head not to worry.
You don’t have to be gay for our date. I sure as hell won’t be in shape. It’ll wash out…but there is three months for us both to work on our imperfections.
“Sure, you get ripped and I’ll get gay!”
Uh-huh. I say, remembering the old saying about the difference between a straight guy and a gay guy being a six pack of beer.
Laughing and shaking my head, I just walk off.
“See you tomorrow?” I hear as I cross the threshold.
“Still won’t be Monday!” I reply.
Of course you will.
That counts as:
B) a date
Right? That’s the extent of my game.