It's been said, that you can catch more flies with honey, than you can wih vinegar. And unless you have a reptile or amphibious pet, I never understood why you would want to catch flies. But what I do understand is, if you want someone to do something for you, ya gotta act sweet. Which explained why, last Tuesday, my-not-so-hot-post-it-friend-girl Corrie wore a baby blue corset, under a fitted black blazer. Obviously, the girl was after something, and as it turns out, it was me. I was the fly. Sorta.
Ms. Tyler, my journalism teacher, said, that as a final, we were all required to write a news article. And since I was found to be the most interesting person in class, Corrie decided to do a feature profile on moi. I thought the very idea was a bit narcissistic, but after some convincing arguments from fellow classmates, I relented and agreed to meet Corrie for lunch the next day.
That night, I got to thinking what kind of outfit would the most interesting person wear? In entertainment magazines, all the most interesting celebrities go casual e.g. flip flops and jeans, and so I figured why not me? After much consideration, I finally decided on a pair of olive green cargo pants from Express, my brown Crocs, a white t-shirt, and oversized white sunglasses. It was totally casual, with a hint of subtle sophistication. It was just the kind of look celebrities hoped to be caught candid in. Too bad the paparazzi here in Tucson, is like almost non-exisistant.
Wednesday afternoon, at exactly 1:45 PM, I arrived at Cafe Poca Cosa, an upscale Mexican restaurant, where the waiters looked like models and the lunch menu changed more often than Sarah Jessica Parker at the MTV movie awards. Immeadiately I was seated by two hostess' who both offered me a glass of wine. But being that I wasnt 21 and afraid they'd card me after I drank it, I declined and stuck to my water with cucumber slices.
Fifteen minutes later, me and my casually cool clothes were still waiting. Where was Corrie? Was I being stood up? Was Corrie trying to get back at me for going out with Paul that one time instead of her? But how would she know that? Maybe she was psychic. I realized, I only had about five dollars in cash on me, and began to wonder if restaurants really did make their low-fundage patrons wash dishes. But I only had water and complimentary tortilla chips. They wouldnt do that, would they? As I began to formulate a complicated dine-and-dash plan, in walked Corrie, the journalist du jour. And following the journalist du jour, was Damien. And his girlfriend.
Quickly I looked out the front window and tried to cover my face. This was not happening! Damien's too ghetto to eat in a fancy restaurant like this. Who does he think he is, trying to walk up in here, all casually dressed in jeans? I mean, really who wears jeans to a hip, happenin' place like Cafe Poca Cosa?
CORRIE: Hey David!
ME: Ok, do you really need to shout my name with such enthusiasm? God, you're worse than a cheerleader on crack! Hey!
CORRIE: What's wrong?
ME: Oh, uh, nothing. I just have a, I have a, whatchamacallit, itch on my face.
CORRIE: Oh. Ok.
ME: Yeah, and...and, um...
DAMIEN: David?
ME: Shit muthafucker fuck shit!
Damien spotted me. I could feel his eyes on me, and so I continued to scratch the non-existent itch which had spread to my entire face, hoping that he would get the hint. Or at the very least, ignore the person with severe turrets. I mean, what would I say to him?
DAMIEN: David?
ME: Oh, hey! Dude, what's up? I didnt even see you there!
DAMIEN: Yeah. Um, can I talk to you real quick?
ME: Oh, well, I dont know. I'm actually kinda on this, um, this, uh date thing with this person friend and, you know...
DAMIEN: Dude. Just real quick. I need to know how Rose is.
ME: Yeah. Yeah. Um, she's ok, but um...
DAMIEN: Is she mad at me? How's Katrina?
ME: Uh, I dont know. I, um...
DAMIEN: David! Just real quick. Five minutes.
I sat there, unsure of what to do. I mean, did he really expect me to just get up and tell him that everything was all right? That Rose was just fine and dandy? That his three-year-old daughter was telling everyone she met, "My daddy scares my mommy and me." Luckily, Damien's girlfriend, came over and whisked him away. The problem may have disappeared, but unfortunately, it wasnt solved.
CORRIE: Well. That was rude, huh?
ME: I know. I'm sorry about that. I didnt think he'd ask so many questions.
CORRIE: No. I meant, you ignoring me. That was kinda rude.
Oh, no she di-int! This bitch, trying to tell me it's rude for friends to table hop and chat. Wasn't she the one who was late? Wasnt she the one that didnt have the audacity to phone the hostess? And it's not like I ignored her. I acknowledged her pressence. Sorta.
After the waitress came and took our order, Corrie began to interrogate me. Where did I grow up? What do I like to do for fun? Where do I see myself in the next 5 years? I wasnt exactly sure, but what I did know was, Corrie would not be in my future. After all these months of having a kinda-semi-sorta crush on Corrie, my intrest in my not-so-hot-post-it-friend-girl faded away. Throughout the entire lunch, she complained about everything. The chicken was too dry. The slice of watermelon garnish on her salad was out of season. The restaurant decor had no heart and was way too modern/good for Tucson.
Maybe she was trying to impress me, but instead she only managed to turn me off with her acid tongue. The food was excellent, top-notch really, and unless she went down on Brad Pitt every night, I highly doubted that Corrie had put anything better in her mouth. Besides, I couldnt be with someone like that. Someone who looked for the bad in everything. Because when you look for the bad in something, you will surely find it.
As our lunch began to dwindle down, the waitress presented us with a large glass dish of chocolate mousse, compliements of "our friend." The very word, made my stomach turn, and I knew, without a second of a doubt, that it was from Damien. Corrie, spooned at the dessert like there was no tomorrow, but I couldnt. I was now the fly, and Damien's honey was this mousse. This delicious, airy, chocolatey, smooth...ok, so maybe I could just try it. I could tell Damien really was concerned about the reprecussions of his actions from last weekend, but I wasnt sure how to tell him that it was gonna take a lot of honey to get on Rose's good side. Obviously he knew his behavior stung like vinegar. And now, here he was trying to lure his past life back into his life, using me as the honey.
He called four times yesterday, and I'm still not sure what to say. If I help Rose and Damien get back together and they break up, it's my fault. If they dont get back together, Damien will tell Rose that I tried to help reunite the odd couple, therefore assuming the fact that I think the only man that should be in her life is Damien, forcing Rose to never speak to me again. It's a classic no-win situation.
Ms. Tyler, my journalism teacher, said, that as a final, we were all required to write a news article. And since I was found to be the most interesting person in class, Corrie decided to do a feature profile on moi. I thought the very idea was a bit narcissistic, but after some convincing arguments from fellow classmates, I relented and agreed to meet Corrie for lunch the next day.
That night, I got to thinking what kind of outfit would the most interesting person wear? In entertainment magazines, all the most interesting celebrities go casual e.g. flip flops and jeans, and so I figured why not me? After much consideration, I finally decided on a pair of olive green cargo pants from Express, my brown Crocs, a white t-shirt, and oversized white sunglasses. It was totally casual, with a hint of subtle sophistication. It was just the kind of look celebrities hoped to be caught candid in. Too bad the paparazzi here in Tucson, is like almost non-exisistant.
Wednesday afternoon, at exactly 1:45 PM, I arrived at Cafe Poca Cosa, an upscale Mexican restaurant, where the waiters looked like models and the lunch menu changed more often than Sarah Jessica Parker at the MTV movie awards. Immeadiately I was seated by two hostess' who both offered me a glass of wine. But being that I wasnt 21 and afraid they'd card me after I drank it, I declined and stuck to my water with cucumber slices.
Fifteen minutes later, me and my casually cool clothes were still waiting. Where was Corrie? Was I being stood up? Was Corrie trying to get back at me for going out with Paul that one time instead of her? But how would she know that? Maybe she was psychic. I realized, I only had about five dollars in cash on me, and began to wonder if restaurants really did make their low-fundage patrons wash dishes. But I only had water and complimentary tortilla chips. They wouldnt do that, would they? As I began to formulate a complicated dine-and-dash plan, in walked Corrie, the journalist du jour. And following the journalist du jour, was Damien. And his girlfriend.
Quickly I looked out the front window and tried to cover my face. This was not happening! Damien's too ghetto to eat in a fancy restaurant like this. Who does he think he is, trying to walk up in here, all casually dressed in jeans? I mean, really who wears jeans to a hip, happenin' place like Cafe Poca Cosa?
CORRIE: Hey David!
ME: Ok, do you really need to shout my name with such enthusiasm? God, you're worse than a cheerleader on crack! Hey!
CORRIE: What's wrong?
ME: Oh, uh, nothing. I just have a, I have a, whatchamacallit, itch on my face.
CORRIE: Oh. Ok.
ME: Yeah, and...and, um...
DAMIEN: David?
ME: Shit muthafucker fuck shit!
Damien spotted me. I could feel his eyes on me, and so I continued to scratch the non-existent itch which had spread to my entire face, hoping that he would get the hint. Or at the very least, ignore the person with severe turrets. I mean, what would I say to him?
DAMIEN: David?
ME: Oh, hey! Dude, what's up? I didnt even see you there!
DAMIEN: Yeah. Um, can I talk to you real quick?
ME: Oh, well, I dont know. I'm actually kinda on this, um, this, uh date thing with this person friend and, you know...
DAMIEN: Dude. Just real quick. I need to know how Rose is.
ME: Yeah. Yeah. Um, she's ok, but um...
DAMIEN: Is she mad at me? How's Katrina?
ME: Uh, I dont know. I, um...
DAMIEN: David! Just real quick. Five minutes.
I sat there, unsure of what to do. I mean, did he really expect me to just get up and tell him that everything was all right? That Rose was just fine and dandy? That his three-year-old daughter was telling everyone she met, "My daddy scares my mommy and me." Luckily, Damien's girlfriend, came over and whisked him away. The problem may have disappeared, but unfortunately, it wasnt solved.
CORRIE: Well. That was rude, huh?
ME: I know. I'm sorry about that. I didnt think he'd ask so many questions.
CORRIE: No. I meant, you ignoring me. That was kinda rude.
Oh, no she di-int! This bitch, trying to tell me it's rude for friends to table hop and chat. Wasn't she the one who was late? Wasnt she the one that didnt have the audacity to phone the hostess? And it's not like I ignored her. I acknowledged her pressence. Sorta.
After the waitress came and took our order, Corrie began to interrogate me. Where did I grow up? What do I like to do for fun? Where do I see myself in the next 5 years? I wasnt exactly sure, but what I did know was, Corrie would not be in my future. After all these months of having a kinda-semi-sorta crush on Corrie, my intrest in my not-so-hot-post-it-friend-girl faded away. Throughout the entire lunch, she complained about everything. The chicken was too dry. The slice of watermelon garnish on her salad was out of season. The restaurant decor had no heart and was way too modern/good for Tucson.
Maybe she was trying to impress me, but instead she only managed to turn me off with her acid tongue. The food was excellent, top-notch really, and unless she went down on Brad Pitt every night, I highly doubted that Corrie had put anything better in her mouth. Besides, I couldnt be with someone like that. Someone who looked for the bad in everything. Because when you look for the bad in something, you will surely find it.
As our lunch began to dwindle down, the waitress presented us with a large glass dish of chocolate mousse, compliements of "our friend." The very word, made my stomach turn, and I knew, without a second of a doubt, that it was from Damien. Corrie, spooned at the dessert like there was no tomorrow, but I couldnt. I was now the fly, and Damien's honey was this mousse. This delicious, airy, chocolatey, smooth...ok, so maybe I could just try it. I could tell Damien really was concerned about the reprecussions of his actions from last weekend, but I wasnt sure how to tell him that it was gonna take a lot of honey to get on Rose's good side. Obviously he knew his behavior stung like vinegar. And now, here he was trying to lure his past life back into his life, using me as the honey.
He called four times yesterday, and I'm still not sure what to say. If I help Rose and Damien get back together and they break up, it's my fault. If they dont get back together, Damien will tell Rose that I tried to help reunite the odd couple, therefore assuming the fact that I think the only man that should be in her life is Damien, forcing Rose to never speak to me again. It's a classic no-win situation.
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