Okay, guess where I am, as I write this. Not my actual physical location, but guess what kind of place I'm in.
You guessed that I was in a bar, didn't you?
I'm in a coffee house!
And I guess it's a Christian coffee house, or that's what I'm told anyway. Not that that matters to me one way or the other. It's the being in a coffee house that make this weird for me. I'm pretty sure that this is the first time I've ever graced such as establishment with my presence. Despite having lived in Seattle for six years.
Anyway, I'm here because I was invited, sort of. Or maybe I invited myself. Hard to tell sometimes.
I feel like some kind of hippie or something. I wonder if I should start hating myself. I also have a strong urge to smoke a clove cigarette, but they don't allow any smoking in here. I think that's part of the Christian coffee house thing they've got going.
Also, I hate coffee!
But, of course, I'm not here for the coffee, or even for the nonsmoking or the Christian music playing softly. I'm here for the company, and she's lovely.
So, I'm writing this on the back of an old carshow flyer from 2002, using a pen from that same era. I'm doing these things because my aforementioned lovely companion says I can't use her pen, nor can I have a sheet of paper. So I found an old pen and some old flyers in my glove compartment.*
Lovely, but stingy, apparently.
I'm drinking this fancy hippie soda named Bawl's Guarana. I don't know why - I just picked it. Maybe because of the pretty blue bottle. It says "High Caffeine Guarana Beverage" on the label. So that might be good, to have some extra caffeine. I was up late last night, and up early this morning.
Since we've been sitting here, two different women have walked in looking like they're having the worst day of their lives. I feel like I should go offer them a hug or something, but (a) I'm not one to go around hugging strangers, and (b) they look like they're bitches.
And now I feel a little useless. I don't want to bother my lovely companion with my inane chatter. She's trying to work, after all. I just leafed through an entire chick magazine, but that didn't really make me feel any more useful. Not a lot of call for magazine-leafer-throughers these days, I don't think.
I'm not bored though. I mean, I am here after all. So it could be much much worse. Like I could be somewhere else and not have such a pretty girl for company.
This fancy caffeine soda isn't all that good. Tastes kinda like flat Sprite.
Wow, I've managed to fill up this entire sheet of paper with my scribblings. I thought for a second about just scanning it and then posting the image, but I don't think I want anyone to know just how bad my penmanship is.
And now, I've got a decision to make. Do I start writing on the back of this second sheet of paper, or do I stop?
I'm pretty sure that no lives will be saved or lost as a result of my decision, but it could definitely affect how bad these
craps cramps in my hand get.
Heh, when I first wrote the word cramps I accidentally wrote craps instead.
Like I had craps in my hand.
* - She was kidding, and I was totally fooled by her kidding. Of course she would have let me use her pen, and a sheet of paper.