And today I received a lovely e-mail advising me that I had been approved for a subclass 457 visa which allows me to stay and live and work in this fair land until October 2014. Glorious news? Absolutely. But I must confess that I cannot fully celebrate this achievement as there is something far greater on my mind:
Oh yes. Now, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. These are not just any cute baristas. Oh no. These are my cute baristas. They’re mine. They don’t know that yet, but they are. I claim these cute baristas in the name of Phill.
Every Saturday and/or Sunday (usually “and”, seldom “or”) I head around the corner to the little café that has become a staple of my weekend routine. Upon entering the establishment, cute barista #1 promptly greets me and begins making my coffee. As I’ve been doing this regularly since February, he knows my order. He’s cute and skinny and Aussie and he’s as adorable as six kittens. Then, after a moment, from further back behind the counter, cute barista #2 turns around, notices my presence, smiles, and asks me how I am. He’s also cute and skinny and probably as adorable as eight kittens and he’s Irish and bald. Not Irish in the way that I can’t understand what the hell he’s saying because his accent is so thick, but Irish in the way that his accent is just perfectly comprehensible enough to make me swoon. And not bald in the way that he looks old and gross, but bald in the cute adorable I just want to rub his bald head sort of way. You know how Chris Daughtry (meow!) makes bald look sexy? Cute barista #2 makes bald look totally hot. Is it getting warmer in here, or is it just me?
Did I mention that one weekend morning I showed up at 7:45 not knowing that they don’t open until 8 on weekends? And did I mention that I walked up to the door, realized my error, made a big frowny face, and then almost proceeded to walk away when I saw cute barista #1 inside the window waving at me to stay? And then did I mention that he made me a coffee and brought it out to the door even though they hadn’t opened yet? My cold little heart grew three times the size right then and there, just like the Grinch’s heart grew on Christmas.
I keep dreaming of the day when either one of those baristas hands me my latte, smiles so innocently, and shyly asks me if I’d like to cuddle with him… or make out with him… or keep him warm in some other way. And once in a while I dream of the day when both of those baristas smile so devilishly and bluntly ask me if I’d like go with both of them to…
Oh wait - I’m about to get severely off track with that thought. I’d better stop.
But, alas, as is always the case, my mountain of cute barista dreams is about to come tumbling down.
This past weekend I learned that cute barista #1 and cute barista #2 are co-owners of this little café. No big deal. They’re just friends and happen to be in business together and both totally single and pining for me day in and day out, right?
But then my sleuth of a housemate – Vicky – informed me that they both wear rings. Matching rings maybe. I have to investigate next weekend. Vicky has a little fag hag crush on my baristas and I don’t care if it is platonic - she’d better back off because she’s stepping into my territory. Hands off my men, Vicky.
Well, Vicky asked her weekday baristas in the CBD about my cute baristas - because apparently all baristas know each other - but they actually do know each other (who knew?) and it appears that indeed cute barista #1 and cute barista #2 are most likely a couple. There’s only one word in the English language that can describe this turn of events: TRAGIC.
Eight months of dreams and devotion and love and lust and coffee has now quickly turned into… just coffee. Tragedy and coffee.
Now that I have my visa, I’m probably going to begin looking for an apartment of my own. And now that I know the cute baristas are a happy couple with each other and not a future happy couple with me, I no longer need to factor the distance to the café into my apartment search. Because I was going to factor that into my search.
Is that weird?