Ah!

Ok. So. I have a crush on a bartender. And before you say anything - I know. Seriously - he isn't even cute. Like, at all. Read: small teeth and receding hairline - stuff I usually don't notice so they must be bad, right?? Right. I'm chalking my attraction up to the $3 margarita's he serves during happy hour at a bar conveniently close to Anthroplogie, his accent AND his flair. You know - flipping shakers, swinging bottles...that whole thing...it's hot.

Fast forward to this morning. I can't sleep. I've been awake since 4AM when a corkboard fell off my wall *that's another story*. As 6:30 rolled around I decided enough is enough. I threw on a cardigan, my chucks, grabbed my bag and headed to the bakery under the train stop. Paying a whopping $1.75 for the most delicious coffee in the world (I think they use heated condensed milk or fairy dust - who knows) and a donut I bought the latest issue of New York Magazine and headed home to enjoy. Please imagine my giddy, incredulous surprise when on pg. 40 - my bartender crush was pictured along with 20 other New Yorkers in the Breakfast Poll. I was all like - "I recognize that guy. How do I recognize that guy!?" Finally, it dawned on me that it was MY CRUSH!! The one I drunkenly gush about to my roommate when I come home from happy hour. How totally bizarre and random! Too bad it's still obscenely early and Sara is still asleep. I'm like a kid on Christmas morning waiting for their parents to wake up so they can pounce!

Oh, and in case you were wondering - he ate Moroccan Couscous with grilled chicken and hummus, an americano and fresh orange juice. Sorta pretentious if you ask me. I'll take fairy dusted coffee over "an americano and fresh orange juice" any day!