So this is pretty much how my conversation with Charlie turned out to be:
Yup instead of wasting our time having a real conversation at the coffee shop, we took a nice detour and crashed at my place instead. It was nice. No one, and I swear it on my hamster's grave, No One can pull off yellow and pink polka-dotted lingerie like Charlie can. Oh man.
We made sweet love down by the fire.
Ahh, not really. And it's a damn shame too. :(
You see, as I took my leave from the glossy green booth seat by the window, empowered by what I'd thought was a valid sign that it was a good time to proceed with my actions - dude - this giant jock-type, cleft-chinned, Mick Jagger-looking asshole comes right up in front of me and sits directly in the seat I was headed for. We're not talking the seat that happened to be next to it, or one that should have been across the room - no, this is a seat that I'd had to calculate how many steps it would take me to get to. It was right beside Charlie. And he sits in it!
Now excuse me for getting rant-happy, but if there was a good time to use the word, it's now. This is Prime Example A of your genuine cock blocker. So from now on? I'm giving this guy a new name. Mr. Cock Blocker.
What a douche.
After making a quick and embarrassing swerve of a detour away from their table ( And I just know, Mr. C gave me the stink eye ) I headed home. An entire day's worth of work and what do I get? Well, it certainly isn't Happy Time.
I think some serious music therapy will be needed to get me out of this rut of anger. I'm thinking heavy metal or... Go-Go
-Max
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