  I am herby taking a break from the composed, poised teen act and slipping back into Jr. High. There, you've been warned. I am no longer responsible if you think I am a total loser: Oh....my...GOD! Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Guy-from-the-rocket sighting! I'll exlpain.
No, I can't explain. It's too hard. The long and short, I am totally in love with this guy who works at The Rocket. The Rocket= ultra hip coffee shop downtown that has currently become my hangout for two reasons. 1) I like coffee 2) I am in love with the sex god that works there. Sex God remains nameless, I regret to inform you.
He's so damn sexy. And I never use that word, ever! See what he does to me, I'm a blithering idiot. Good lord, he looks perrrrrrrfect. Perfect for me that is. Mussy dark hair, brooding eyes, tall, lanky.
His uniform is obscure band t-shirts, All Stars, and jeans. And if starring at him over a cup of quasi-good coffee isn't awesome enough, he spoke to me. And not the usual, "Here's your change/ I like your shirt/ You're probably going to be late to class if you don't hurry/ It's hot outside". I saw him at Huckleberry's Grocery, this completely lovable organic food store. I spotted him buying soy milk as I was picking out starfruit. How romantic!
I made a beeline for the soy products. (In doing so, might I add, I almost ran down a small hippie child with my buggy) And then the heavens opened and he spoke to me. The mini-conversation went a little like this: "Hey..."- Sex God "Umm, hi. "- Dorky Sophomore known as Anna "I think I know you. Anna, right? " "Yah!!!!
" "You and that blonde girl hang out at the Rocket, right? " "Yah, that's Mary, my friend. I love the Rocket. The coffee is so good. " "You do? " Laugh, oh gorgeous laugh.
"I work there. " As if he needed to tell me. "Cool. " "Yah. " "You drink soy milk? " "Yes, I'm vegan.
" "Cool. " "Yah. " "Well, I gotta go... Anna. See ya. " "Mmmm. " And my life is complete.
It was like something out of the weirdest Teen Romance Novel. HE FUCKING KNOWS MY NAME! How the hell does he know my name? How? I demand to know! Probably heard Mary say it or something, but that's not the point.
He saw my face and associated it with a (correct) name. I love my life. I love it. I love it, I love it, I love it! If anyone out there now desires to read some truly insightful writing, I don't blame you. Not in the least.
And please, I beg of you, flip over to urlLink http://mysecretlyintrestinglife.blogspot.com/. Katie is this incredible fellow high-schooler who writes with a comedic flair, and has a pension for actually writing well. She also is way cooler than I, in that she likes these awesome, underappreciated bands, like Bright Eyes and The Might Be Giants. Here's one her great insights. Seriously, I never would have thought of this. It's about Michael Jackson's song Billie Jean: "This song is hilariously ironic to me because of the lyric "the kid is not my son.
" See, 15 years ago he was rejecting kids left and right; now...well, I don't even need to say anything here. " Brilliant! Ohmygod... I want to marry the Sex God. Affectionately... Anna 
