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Disaster Girl Diaries #1
02-14-05
He got the girl, I got the coffee...
I'm not the first to be on the bad side of love. I'm not the first to break skin by sparring with a brick wall. I'm not the first to find more enjoyment on the lips of a bottle of wine, over the company of others. I'm not the first to tear and burn keepsakes or nostalgia at a moments notice. But I always seem to get the worst parting gifts.
That is, I'm left with a tin can of beans gathered and roasted under the umbrella, Don Francisco's Gourmet Coffee (I prefer the Caramel Cream blend). Whereas my arch-nemeses/opponent/ better two-thirds got the Disaster Girl of my dreams.
| --Side note: As you might expect I quickly replaced my dreams with a new infatuation. No longer being intimate with a person can give one quite a bit of perspective as to the shortcomings of the aforementioned party. |
I suppose it really starts at the apartment of the opponent/arch-nemeses (for the time being let's call him Adam, because frankly that is his name). My girlfriend and I are in the West Hollywood apartment of Adam. He was originally introduced by my girlfriend as a ‘friend', so I felt comfortable and safe in his presence. Adam and his roommate had secured rather comfortable jobs upon moving to the West Coast from the New England area. This was evident in their luxurious spacious apartment, comfortable furniture, pool/jacuzzi access, and glorious view from the balcony. I knew nothing like it in my new home. My girl and I currently resided in her shrunken studio of an apartment in Koreatown; home of bug infestations, Latinos pobres, and a complete absence of parking. Not to mention she was quite the slob. The several of us were enjoying ourselves with drinks, conversations, and perhaps even a screening of the "Triplets of Belleville".
I, having just moved to Los Angeles for my Disaster Girl, was attempting to ‘take it all in' and come to terms with the phalanx of friendships that surrounded her. I was on my best behavior. I tried to be as interested and interesting as possible in hopes of making a satisfying impression on my future friends. Upon someone's suggestion, Adam's roommate began grinding and brewing a delightful pot of coffee for the apartment full of guests. I'm no connoisseur of café, but the smell was heavenly and the cup tasteful. I usually drown my cups of caffeine with cream and sugar to make it like some sweet after-school snack. But this particular blend required no augmentation for my tongue. I expressed interest in the flavor and maker of the coffee and quietly filed it away for future grocery shopping.
Well, like lovers do, the girlfriend and I parted ways (rather quickly I might add). And things quickly turned messy, as they also tend to do. The most unbearable of all assaults exchanged? My now ex-girlfriend attenuating her affections into the direction of Adam.
It was crushing.
Probably more crushing was the fact that I saw it coming for some time. She had mentioned meanderings of an anonymous crush prior to my arrival to the coast. I also consider myself an observant person when it comes to the revelatory nature of others actions. I take great joy in keeping my mouth shut and watching where a person's eyes may travel or where their rest hands may rest. Simple actions like these can be very indicative of one's thoughts. By their word-choice and eye movements I had always had the beginnings of a suspicion.
I was forced to find a new home after we split. So I gathered my few belongs and slept on the floor of an empty apartment in Koreatown. On the off-chance that I did shop for food, I quickly grabbed a can of coffee with a label I recognized and scurried off to the check-out line. Of course I purchased nothing less than a coffee made of 100% Arabica beans from the best coffee-growing countries, Don Francisco.
So now on these frozen winter nights (frozen for Los Angeles okay?), I shiver on my bed wishing I had purchased a larger heater from Target. When the tremble becomes too much, I reach for the tin of grinds and hope to put something warm in my belly. And every time, I'm reminded of who got the girl and who got the coffee.
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