it's MY damn coffee shop! alternatively titled: scumbag 101

I went on a date last night. It was weird and completely out of the blue.

Shortly after waking up yesterday morning (i.e., 2:30 p.m.) I sat down at a table outside my friendly neighborhood coffee shop with a full cup of iced coffee, an unlit cigarette, and an empty crossword puzzle (I can finish New York Times Tuesdays now!). Before I could begin any of those wonderful things, some dude commented on my t-shirt, which was a tattered old rag from my alma mater that has become my pyjamas (where on earth did that word come from?). Anyway, he proceeded to ask me all sorts of questions about my background, what I was doing in Ithaca, blah blah blah. Normally in such a situation I would answer a few questions, smile, and say something only slightly more tactful than "I have to go over there now." But as I was clearly not going anywhere anytime soon, I decided it wouldn't hurt to, like, be nice and friendly. Turns out he's finishing up his MBA at Cornell and will be moving to New York soon to become an i-banker. Fascinating.

He introduced himself, we shook hands, and he re-entered the coffee shop. I breathed a big old sigh of relief. Unfortunately, not two solved crossword clues later he returned and asked when I wasn't working and if I wanted to get a drink sometime. He was not at all my type (not that I have a type, mind you, but I most definitely have not-my-types,) and I knew fat ladies would be singing to flying monkeys on an iceberg in hell before the two of us would be having sex. However, I am not the sharpest tool in the shed before I've had my coffee, and I completely forgot the trusty "sorry, I have a boyfriend here/in Canada/in my imagination" line. So we met up at the coffee shop six hours later to go to a bar.

I'd decided from the beginning that this "date" would be purely for entertainment purposes, and in that regard I was not disappointed. Over the course of the evening, Mr. Wonderful managed to flirt with the waitress, whom he mentioned he sees frequently at the gym and who has a really amazing body, talk incessantly about "his friends," two chicks he'd dated, one of whom he picked up in a coffee shop (neat!) and with both of whom he isn't really on speaking terms but he could totally have them hook me up with a psychology or magazine job, and mention on many occasions the insane amount of money he owed for taxes this year, which I am 99% sure was a big fat lie. Speaking of lies, he told lots of other neat ones, such as "I design for Cosabella lingerie" and "I know Marc Jacobs." Through some deft drunk dude manipulation on my part it was revealed that his friend maybe wore a Marc Jacobs shirt once or something. (Well my friend got her picture taken with Marc Jacobs when he was wearing a polar bear suit, so there!) He also forgot pretty much any detail about myself that I'd told him, and only became legitimately interested when he found out where my sister goes to school (he'd recently been rejected for a job by someone who went there) and my SAT score (he asked.) He also stared at my boobs constantly, and, well, there ain't much to stare at, especially when I'm assuming the "insecure, uncomfortable, and hunched over my beer" position.

Needless to say, I wasn't really feelin' it, but I was feeling the wheat beer. Against my better judgment I let him kiss and grope me a little too much, but I was about as standoffish about it all as a drunk girl can be. When we returned to the coffee shop to part ways, him in his car (he doesn't actually live near the coffee shop, and there are many where he does live) and me on foot just for two blocks, he quite literally begged me to go home with him and had the nerve to get angry/surprised/offended when I instantly declined--three times. I got home and ate half a pint of New York Super Fudge Chunk to rid myself of the ickiness and somehow managed to get to sleep. Now guess who I saw at the coffee shop this morning (i.e., 1:30 p.m.)!!