I wonder if it is rude to wear earplugs at an open mic night. It probably isn't the most polite thing I could do, but the amplifier is painfully loud. And since I found a pair of earplugs (left over from the Make Believe show) in my bag, it seemed like a marvy opportunity to protect my ears. Laugh if you want, but when I am an old lady and I can hear children making fun of the hairs sprouting from my chin, you'll wish that you'd done the same.
Yes, it's another night at the coffee shop. I don't even love this place. It's overpriced and a bit grimy, and aside from the guy who looks like the singer from Earth Crisis, the baristas aren't overly friendly. I come here because it's a good place to watch people swarm the intersection of Milwaukee and Damen, and it gets me out of the apartment.
I also must confess that I have been coming here lately because one of my summertime crushes is a frequent customer. I've asked a few of the baristas about my crush, but they tell me that they see dozens of people every day and they can't remember. That's only partly true, because some of them remember me; but my crush is so stunning that it's hard to believe that they wouldn't notice such an intriguing individual.
On my way here tonight, I stopped by a dining establishment to say hello to one of my other summertime crushes. I gave him a copy of the current Venus but then nervously blurted, "But you are at work and I don't want to get you fired, so I will go." He said that I should go see his friends play classical music at Heaven. I am convinced that he thinks I am a big-time ho because I always dine with someone different (Tom, Adam, Brian, Josh, Miles, Lindsay, and Megan come to mind). I wish that I could just say, "I like how you're always quiet and sweet to me when I eat here. You seem a little lonely, and I am lonely too, so maybe we could go to the park and be lonely together." But that would probably be considered creepy. Much like the guy at the table across from me, who keeps alternating between attempts to read my screen and steal none-too-subtle glances at my thighs and breasts. Does he think I am sitting in a bucket of crispy fried chicken or something?
Oh god, open mic night is closing with that "Jammin'" song by Bob Marley. That's my cue to head home, sore ears and all.
Yes, it's another night at the coffee shop. I don't even love this place. It's overpriced and a bit grimy, and aside from the guy who looks like the singer from Earth Crisis, the baristas aren't overly friendly. I come here because it's a good place to watch people swarm the intersection of Milwaukee and Damen, and it gets me out of the apartment.
I also must confess that I have been coming here lately because one of my summertime crushes is a frequent customer. I've asked a few of the baristas about my crush, but they tell me that they see dozens of people every day and they can't remember. That's only partly true, because some of them remember me; but my crush is so stunning that it's hard to believe that they wouldn't notice such an intriguing individual.
On my way here tonight, I stopped by a dining establishment to say hello to one of my other summertime crushes. I gave him a copy of the current Venus but then nervously blurted, "But you are at work and I don't want to get you fired, so I will go." He said that I should go see his friends play classical music at Heaven. I am convinced that he thinks I am a big-time ho because I always dine with someone different (Tom, Adam, Brian, Josh, Miles, Lindsay, and Megan come to mind). I wish that I could just say, "I like how you're always quiet and sweet to me when I eat here. You seem a little lonely, and I am lonely too, so maybe we could go to the park and be lonely together." But that would probably be considered creepy. Much like the guy at the table across from me, who keeps alternating between attempts to read my screen and steal none-too-subtle glances at my thighs and breasts. Does he think I am sitting in a bucket of crispy fried chicken or something?
Oh god, open mic night is closing with that "Jammin'" song by Bob Marley. That's my cue to head home, sore ears and all.
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