I think the boy that works here at Starbucks is very handsome. He's like a short haired Teddy Geiger and when I walk by him, he smiles at me. I think he does it to be polite but he's got to realize realize that sometimes being polite is foolish. His attempts at being polite lead me to believe that maybe I'm not an epic failure. I happen to be really incapable of flirting. I seem to believe that flashing a man my 'gun fingers' will make him think I'm something special. Talking about my hairy feet and blaming them on the fact that I'm part hobbit is supposed to bring men in but instead, it drives them off for some reason. Because of the realization that I'm actually truly romantically retarded, I try my best not to talk to boys at all. I see a boy, I smile like a dog that's just gone and shat on the rug and try to get away as fast as I can which usually just results in me making a complete idiot of myself and inadvertently telling the whole town not to be friends with me.
Anyway, this boy is very handsome and very charming. I don't know him at all but I'm... enraptured? I don't know what that word means and I can't look it up because I'm busy being awesome. So he works at Starbucks. He's a barista and he makes me happy. The only problem with this is that coffee makes me sick. I mean like quite sick. I have to pee every ten minutes, I blow up like a balloon and I spend about half an hour locked in the bathroom to stew in my own shame. The only thing that brings me and Barista Boy together makes me feel like if someone touches me, I'll burst into a million Waldo chunks and they'll have to put me in a jar and try to reconstruct me out of my own bits of flesh and pig parts.
EDIT: My cousin reminded me that Starbucks sells tea too.
It's now 9:47PM and I'm very tired. I told myself I would get a good sleep tonight considering I didn't sleep well at all last night but obviously this just isn't going to happen. I thought for a moment I'd truly overcome my fear of the undead a few nights ago but as I approached the bathroom tonight to fetch some Gold Bond powder(I'm allergic to aluminum so basically every time I use normal person deodorant, I get a rash. Hot, yeah?) I had a brief fantasy in the pitch black that I'm too frightened and alone to relay in detail but basically it scared the shit out of me and now I can't sleep. I effectively spent the last hour and a half plucking my eyebrows and waxing my dreadlocks on the bathroom floor. To say it was a real display of adulthood and will power would be highly false. When I'm out on my own, I'm quite sure I'll be calling my dad every night to come over and check for zombies at 2AM because I heard a spooky noise outside that sounded like the rattling death gargle of the undead. See, I just scared myself again. Sometimes when I do that, I'll punch around in erratic directions. If I were a zombie sneaking up on someone and she just started punching the air, I'd think she was some really badass mofo and if she actually managed to hit me, holy shit. She must be a fucking ninja to know I was coming and to hit me without looking. I would run as fast as my deteriorating legs would take me. My only defense against my own imagination is the imagination of others, usually wielded in the form of an awesome movie. Tonight, it's Dodgeball. It has been Dodgeball since I accidentally took The Anchorman to work in my laptop, removed it from the CD drive to try burning some songs onto a different disc and left it under the counter with all of the sad garbage bags and the watering can I've never found a use for at a clothing store.
On a lighter note, we watched the 11th Hour tonight. It really inspired me for a moment. I was motivated. I was a force to be reckoned with. I was unstoppable. It inspired me to do my part and then some, and inspire others to inspire others. I started thinking about ways I could recycle within my own personal unit like maybe taking an old shirt that has a rip in it and transforming it into a rag, a couple of rags, or a fancy hat. I could make a point to wash my clothes in cold water to conserve energy and plant a lot of... plants. Of course, then came the question of how to start with this life-changing project of mine to save the earth. I figured the best way to begin would be by not having sand mysteriously gathered in my sports bra and that was the end of my inspiration. Good intentions are hard.
Doing things on a worldwide scale is even more difficult when you can't really plan ahead or look into the future. A lot of people can sort of make goals and see themselves where they want to be on a realistic level. I'm not really that sort of person. I can see tomorrow and I can see today. If anyone asked me to seriously look at my life and say where I'll be ten years from now, I think I'd have an aneurysm and just sit there drooling on myself and making unintelligible noises. I can fantasize, if that counts at all. I can make up happy little pretend worlds in which I'm married to Taye Diggs and I'm a famous actress who lives in a house on the beach with solar paneling and two dogs(a bull mastiff named Ralph or Watson and a great dane named Sherlock. I don't like female dogs because they're real bitches) and my cat Iago. I would study starfish and cephalopods in my spare time and I'd have a very expensive treadmill so that I could have a body like Beyonce without having to go out for a hike when it's bear season or when it's pouring rain like it has been recently.
Realistically though, I see myself doing nothing. In ten years I'll be sitting in my 'bright, spacious bachelor suite' with my cat and my laptop, blogging alone at quarter after ten about my fear of zombies and romantic retardation. It's a sad thought and I hope it isn't true but knowing how driven I actually am, it's likely.
I was hoping by now my melatonin would have kicked in but I see that just isn't happening so I'm going to close my eyes, listen to Dodgeball, remind myself that nothing bad happens in Canada and force myself to sleep.
If that doesn't work, I'll just go to Starbucks in the morning before work.
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