cell phone project revival

I know. I slack. I'm trying to get this re-started.

Andrew Astro (415)

andrew works at the cafe adjacent to my sushi slinging dungeon and I regularly visit him behind the counter next to the espresso machine, thus breaking a cardinal rule of the fascist regime at what the employees of DG have come to affectionately call, "the citadel". andrew is slight in stature with bright eyes that pop when he gets excited and as he behaves as the resident thespian of our employment operation, they're always wide and seeking to hold someone's gaze. he's 44 and hails from africa, "god's country", as he likes to call it, and will make no bones about tearing anyone to shreds that inquires as to what part of the UK he is from. he's also flamboyantly gay and obsessed with jimi hendrix as well as astrology, and remembers everyone's birthday that he has ever met. (seriously). on the computer at the counter every barista's name is listed off on the touch screen quite unremarkably; lillian, rollin, kan, nick, summer, and then andrew's button says "FLAMING HORSE" to reference his fire sign birth year, but the entendre ties in nicely with his charming theatrics.

andrew also has a tendency to innocently tread into topics that perhaps are best saved for a later date behind closed doors with one's most trusted confidante. from day trips to the std clinic to sexcapades with his roommate who is 24 years his junior, there just doesn't seem to be anywhere he will not direct a conversation. one day there was a considerable line of customers that were being helped by one barista while andrew made the drinks, and I stood idly by, sticking my fingers in the powdered chocolate. andrew loudly launched into an epic tale of his greatest and most true love affair, it was rife with passion and drama, controversy and romance, and how it just happened to be with his cousin, jeff.

I choked a little and looked up at the line of customers, all of whom were now staring.

"oh, what's the big deal, anyway? why is it such a taboo?! we were in love, and two men obviously can't produce a child together, so there's no chance of 6th toes or mongoloid children."

"andrew." I said, smiling uncontrollably.

"really, now, I just think it's ridiculous that our parents condemned us. what's wrong with a man loving a man in his own family? he was a gemini dog... awful moody that one, but gorgeous, and let me tell you, in the sack...."

"an-DREW."

"what is it, ox-ox?" he turned the milk steamer off and reached over to pet my head.

"there's a time and a place for familial incest, and this may not be it." I gestured to the uniformly horrified faces in the queue.

"fine, you big-breasted bigot." he sighed, pretending to be offended, even though he may have been the only person in the cafe that wasn't. "double mocha with whip!" he yelled, slamming a paper cup onto the counter that was snatched up by a blue haired older woman whose sneer went completely unnoticed by andrew.

he leaned in close to me and raised one of his eyebrows mischievously before whispering, "you know, he's married with kids, now."

redirect

as much as the drawing board terrifies me more than the idea of lazily reclining in my stagnant pool of misery, I'm ready to go back to it. now it's time to forget all that I thought I knew (which was everything,) and re-learn the basics. things on the checklist: a. find a safe, stable place to live that I look forward to coming home to. b. boozing is for weekends, not for all waking hours. health going wrong can make everything follow suit, just as being a belligerent drunk doesn't make new friends or keep the old. c. make the best of my night job, and excel at my internship with faith and confidence. d. forgive myself for blunders and foibles and learn from them.

this stuff is not as easy as it sounds when I look back over it.

I'm ready to try, though, and I'm done attempting to rescue my emotionally abusive roller coaster relationship whose death rattle has lasted 3 months. loneliness is a hell of a drug, but it hurts less than trying to be with him when fully aware that I'm being played like an romantically caustic game of scrabble. (how many points would I get for: slimylyingbastard?) I'm calling on all of the break-up gods to grant me a favor and help me flee the treehouse as fast as I can. don't I have something in my karma savings account? anything? I once rescued a little girl who was being attacked by a gang of cholas on the 24! I practice random acts of kindness! I always tip baristas! I tell my friends the truth when they ask me if those jeans make their ass look fat! throw me a bone here! does anyone know the patron saint of jilted suckers who can't get craigslist to come through for the life of them?