The Coffee Boi

There's something happening that's quite unusual. I like someone, like for real. Not some guy who plays a guitar on a stage and has an active myspace page. Not some guy who I see once a week at church and with whom I have a conversation once a month. Not some guy who I met on Craigslist that I feel like I would have to settle for. Not some snobby guy who is in one of my classes that can't tell the difference between a friendly girl and a flirty one. Not any one of my male friends who live in other states that I email with every now and then. No, an honest-to-goodness cute little boi who serves me my daily coffee, smokes cigarettes and reads Nietzsche for fun.

A little over a week ago, I took a different route to the coffee stand. I was chatting with the ladies in the coffee stand and he runs in, breathless, saying, "I saw you coming and wanted to say hello." He had spotted me from out the back door of the shop; my heart skipped a beat. Another time he discovers that we have something in common: we both wear our belts to one side. I impress him with my roller skating skills, he impresses me with his knowledge of the politics of Russia and the surrounding area. He wears a vest and Converse the same day I wear mine. We exchange smiles and glances and giggles. I don't think I've had an experience like this for YEARS. Dumb.
It makes me so dumb that I don't even have the nerve to give him my card, complete with number and myspace page. God, what if he sees this? What would he think then? Eep!
Anyway, as I ponder this new state of mine, I ask myself, where did this excitement and infatuation come in? Granted, I'm prone to like people excessively, but not to the point of my heart skipping a beat. When do I become emotionally involved? Rarely ever. Most of my thoughts on love and relationships steer toward the "it's a choice" direction and not the flutter-bys-in-my-tummy direction.

I swear, I've just become so cynical about love. I can't stand a cute couple and never really want to be a part of one. The what-ifs start going on, especially when it comes to me. What if he can't commit? What if he thinks I'm too lumpy? What if I insult him without knowing it, as I am prone to do? What if he already has a girlfriend. Essentially, what if it doesn't work out? What then? Have I just wasted so many weeks/months/years of my life? Frankly, that thought scares me - a lot. My cynicism covers over that, so that I may be right about the state of that relationship or this person's feelings. It protects my own from harm.

But now, coffee boi, you are beginning to overcome my what-ifs, making me drink too much caffeine and making my heart skip beats. You are so sweet and dirty and nice. You are excited to see me, talk with me, admit to me that you like to smoke. You even smoke the good ones - Marlboro reds (I think). You read popular continental philosophy and understand what you are reading. You make me want to give up my lofty notions of choice and throw all caution to the wind, seeing where the road takes me. Now I know why there's so many disgusting romantic comedies, and why people believe in soul mates. Not that I believe in that, but I can see why.

That's it. I give up. Let's just hope you're not taken. Or gay.