Who ordered the JJ?

Provided with free and relatively palatable coffee, as we are at my office, there’s never a legitimate need to walk to Starbucks and spend my own money during the work day. Yet, every other week or so I feel something pulling me in the direction of the nearest franchise. Something even stronger than my debilitating caffeine dependency:

Fate.

Despite the throngs of people swarming both our courtyard and the slew of food trucks lined up out front of our building, I experience the occasional urge to place myself amongst a different crowd. A cross section of people whose paths I would not cross if I were to simply plunk down in the shade of our decorative waterfall and read my book. Yesterday afternoon I not only felt this pull, but a push, as well.

“Today,” my horoscope began, “you are wonderfully optimistic about matters of the heart, dear Justin! Lifted by the auspicious influence of the Sun and the Chariot, you’re making big steps forward in your romantic quest. If you’re single, you may find your soul mate today, and if you’re a couple you will re-discover your intimacy. Everything that has to do with love and emotions is under a benign influence today. So seize the opportunity – be passionate!”

Not one to ignore the Universe – or MSN astrologists – I took a late lunch and set off toward the green awnings, nearly giddy in anticipation of an iced coffee and, perhaps, a side of true love.

Is it you, Rivers Cuomo 2.0mo? I scanned the rocker’s doppelganger as I let him step ahead of me in line while I sipped on a sample. I like your glasses. You’ve got great hair. Ohhh – old hands. Hmm…Okay. You’re still really cute.

What about you, sexy Persian? A swarthy college-aged boy stepped up to the counter as I moved over to wait for my drink. That Abercrombie & Fitch emblem could say gay, not just poor taste. But you didn’t check out my ass.

Shoot. You’d notice. Even if you weren’t interested, you’d notice my ass.

You can’t ignore that which is there
Even if you have no sense of smell
you still breathe air.

God DAMMIT, soul mate. I just wrote a fucking poem. Right here in line. Jesus. Snap me UP already.

“Keep on rockin’ the mustache,” Rivers Redux interrupted my train wreck of thought as he walked past.

“OH!” I began to laugh, taken off guard. “Thank you!”

“I don’t know the coffee shop etiquette,” he engaged a young blonde woman at a nearby table. “Can I sit here?”

I frowned.

“Muchos gracias,” he pulled out a chair.

Ooo – no, don't. Don’t pull out the Spanish pleasantries. Meh. Whatever. You can have him, girl.

“I’m learning,” he smiled, winsomely.

Awww...That is cute, actually. Corny, but cute. FUCKYOUGIRL!

Well, maybe he’s a Taurus, too. Alright. You go boy. Meet your girl. Someone might as well find their soul mate today; because it ain’t lookin’ like it’s gonna be me.

It wasn’t.

Not during the 28 minutes I sat outside the coffee shop. Nor the two hours I spent at the gym later that night. Perhaps I should have gone to the grocery store like I planned, but by then my failing deodorant was bound to overpower fate, anyway.

And my horoscope wasn’t completely wrong. I am still “wonderfully optimistic about matters of the heart.” No amount of false promise or unfulfilled fortunes will ever squelch that enthusiasm.

Especially not on two cups a day.