Tuesday, December 13, 2005


I get home from work yesterday, and am pleased to see that Betsy has an attractive young man over, both are already drunk off Jim Beam and time spent at the Dragon. Betsy has been heartbroken as of last week. She had been hoping that things were rekindled with her ex, but he recently informed her otherwise, so I'm happy that she and her hot co-worker (who shares her love for 60's/70's soul and r&b) are hanging out outside of work. They take off and I make myself dinner, watch a little Felicity, then head over to the local shop to read. My crush is working and the place is packed, the only available seat is at the front counter, and I am pleased to take my seat, hoping for the opportunity to chat with my love interest. Instead I bury my nose in Harry Potter and keep to myself, listening in on his conversation with his buddy and adding a couple sarcastic comments when appropriate. The conversation turns toward christmas gifts and how the buddy hadn't gotten anything for his girlfriend yet, and then the dreaded words..."what did you get for (girlfriend's name here)?" Tickets to the ballet, how cliche huh? Said girlfriend shows up within the half hour and I'm subjected to pecks on the cheek and back rubbing within 3 feet of my presence. Thoughts of "this is totally lame" and "I'm way more attractive than she is" roll around in my head and I move to a recently emptied seat in the other room and attempt to get lost in the realm of Hogwarts, but to no avail. Well, it's getting late and there is still a couple episodes of Felicity waiting to be watched and cookie dough to be eaten in my depressed state so I head home. As I'm leaving I get asked out by yet another unattractive old guy who keeps talking about how I make him "melt" while I'm trying to make it clear that I just want to get home. Now I'm thinking about avoiding the local shop since I A. no longer have a chance with the object of my affection, and B. keep getting hit on by old men. Betsy comes home shortly after, still drunk, and makes me laugh hysterically by sharing excerpts of her scathing letter to the ex, and how hot, fun and manly her new crush is. She lends an understanding ear to my tale of unrequited love, I support her villification of her ex (with whom she is still obviously in love), we watch an old man cry on antiques roadshow and finally retire to our respective quarters.

Time for angsty chick music.

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