2004-07-25 - 10:51 p.m.

My feet reek.

And I wonder why Secret Crushes aren't as sweet on me as I am to them. No, not the Secret Crush I was talking about a few weeks ago. Don't get me wrong, that little Dominican apple of my eye at Dunkin Donuts' is still top of the pops - but I've moved on to more heart-wrenching Secret Crushes.

Just ask Becca. Or Shan-Y. They're the ones that have had to counsel, cajole, calm and castrate me over the whole thing this last week. Ok, not so much the castrate one. I just needed another "C" verb, and "chew " wasn't gonna cut it. Ahhh, how ironic that I use "C". For my (Not-Really-So-Much-A) Secret Crush's name begins with that letter. I can't even type it out. Too much pain. Secret Crush really has put me on a roller coaster ride this last week. How so? Glad you asked. I'll share:

A.) I first see her a few weeks ago and start jokingly referring to her as "The Ghost of Hal-Y". Why? Well, 1.) she has flaming red hair, just like Hayley and 2.) she works at the Chocolate Store - which I'm pretty sure is where Hayley would like to be buried. [Note: all this talk of "ghost" and "buried" might lead one to think Hayley is dead. Not true. She's just living in Northern Florida right now. So even worse, right?]

B.) I decide one day when in Olympia looking at Damon jerseys that I have a crush on her and will upgrade her later that day to Secret Crush status. Being in Olympia has no bearing on my decision, but felt I should note if for the historical record, so to make it easier once A&E does a Biography on, "The Romance Of The Century".

C.) I take Al-Y down to S.C.'s store so she can decide if she passes muster and to see if I can get the Vegan Church's blessing. Spike is working instead and Al-Y and I, scared for our lives, run, cry, and hide under the jelly bellies and laffy taffy at Sweet Factory.

D.) Last Wednesday I see S.C. walking in front of the store! Oh joy! She seems so happy go-lucky and care-free! Her red hair floating gently in the breeze blowing from Ann Taylor LOFT's gaping maw. Her red glasses glinting off the glare from Things Remembered's evil white smile. Nothing could be as close to heaven as this! Or hell - since she seems to be holding some guy's hand as she swims by like an otter. A sexy little otter. Who does this "some guy" think he is?!? My disbelieving brain, along with help from Becca and Shan-Y, decide this is either her brother (and they were raised by Angelina Jolie) or her gay friend. Either will do.

E.) Friday night. Becca and I, with the help of Hampton & The Hamsters, psyche me up enough to go down to the chocolate store and try to make an impression. Hopefully a good "come across funny, charming, interesting, and better looking than a Brad Pitt/Johnny Damon hybrid" sort of an impression. Not a bad "throw up in my mouth and then try to whistle and have the puke escape in steady streams all over my shoes" sort of impression. Things go great. They go better than great - they go grood. She offers me free fudge samples (which is customary, but I make pretend it's just for me). I make several jokes, she laughs at them all. Not too hard of a laugh - meaning she's fake. Not too small of a laugh - meaning she's dumb and doesn't get it. I try to decide if I'm going to just come out and say, "By the way, I'm Zach." Yes. Something as simple as "My name is . . ." was going up to a vote in my brain. Before I could decide, she handed me my change and I bid her a good night, eager to get back to the Wallakers and tell Becca of my good fortune. Well - that and share the monster white chocolate peanut butter cup with her. (A dessert SO big we had to CUT it open with the ORANGE SCISSORS! THE ORANGE SCISSORS I SAY! Hannah, Hadlee - I know you understand the danger of using those devil blades!) I retell to Becca what went down at the chocolatier and she weeds out most of the lies, (i.e. - me saving puppies from a fire, and kitties from trees) and concludes that yes, I did indeed score a good impression. It's as Becca is scrawling "S.C." in big letters across the receipt from our treat that both of our eyes see it at the same time. S.C.'s name is on the receipt! Her name! Ah, and what a beauteous name she has. I was so scared it would be fucktardingly awful like "Courtney", "Tracey", "Jeter" or "Larkin". But it wasn't! But I'm not sharing her name here. You jackals can be content with S.C.

F.) Saturday. Hannah comes in to visit with Becca and their mom. Becca is working later that night, but for now, around lunch, they're all in to visit. I tell Becca that she should show Hannah who S.C. is, but sadly, I already stalk . . . um, I mean checked to see if she was working and she wasn't. Oh well. Right? Not quite. So Hannah and Becca go to the haberdashery, or wherever you go to get new glasses - LensCrafters or some such - in the food court (or Food Festivale if you must). The following is recounted to me by Becca when she gets to work later that night:

B: "Good news! We saw S.C. eating dinner in the food court when we went to get glasses!"

Z: [heart fluttering] "You did?! Did she mention me?!"

B: "Um . . . no. BUT she was reading! And you like books! And Hannah got to see her. She was eating by herself too!"

Z: "Ahhh! Why didn't you come get me?! I could have . . . I could have . . ."

B: "You could have what? Come down and sat at her table? Even though she doesn't know your name yet and you only know hers because we combed the receipt last night."

Z: "Um . . . maybe?"

B: "Well . . . friend . . . she wasn't alone the whole time."

Z: "WHAT?!?!? Who?!?"

B: "Um . . . her 'brother'. I mean her 'gay friend'."

Z: "Wait - why are you saying those in quotation marks?"

B: "Wait. How could you tell?"

Z: "Well, I'm already paraphrasing this whole conversation days later in an entry and since I'm the one who typed the quotes in, I kinda knew before you even said it they were going to be said in the slightly stilted way that single quotation marks imply."

B: "My head hurts."

Z: "Mine too. So then what happened?"

B: "Nothing. They ate and then she left for work."

Z: "What was he like? Be honest."

B: [knowing well enough that when Zach says, 'Be honest' about something like this, he means nothing of the sort] "He had sideburns that were dark and he looked kinda of scraggly and he definitely wasn't a little bit cute."

Z: "Wait. That means you DO think he was a little cute! I know it! Besides, I can shave my goatee off, cut it in half and glue new sideburns on to my face."

B: "Yeah. I guess you could."

Z: "This is horrible."

B: "I know friend. Let's listen to some Hampton and the Hampsters."

Z: "That's your solution to everything."

B: "I know friend."

G.) Sunday. I go in to the mall, on my day off, to give Becca the Freaks and Geeks DVDs so her and the Janelle can watch them. God - could this be a more Eldridge filled entry? Inside Jokes my Sweet Aunt Fanny, Hannah! Anyway, so I talk to Al-I and Becca about S.C. a bit, we decide I have to get right back up there on that horse and try again! So I decide to go down to Hudson News and buy the Sunday Globe. Why? Well so I could get pictures of the Red Sox literally kicking the Yankees asses yesterday. Which made pansy A-Rod start to cry. Don't believe me?

Tell me the tears aren't about to start flowing on his lemon-puckering gay ass Jeter-loving face

Oh, what's that? Sorry, can't watch A-Crybaby, too busy making great catches

So yeah. Those kind of pictures. I'm on my way to get the paper and I look in to see if S.C. is working. She is! And there looks like there's no one in there. Except . . . jumpin' jehosephat! It's Jeff and Amy! Ordering an apple from S.C.!!! So I trot right in and strike up a conversation with them. I don't really know what we talked about since I kept watching S.C. to see what she thought about me talking to such cool cats as Jeff and Amy. I know we were talking about Shannon and Co. (Kelly, Roy, KP, etc.) getting kicked out of the Gaslight - but like everyone else I've talked to about the incident in the last 24 hours, I got no specifics about that. I bet S.C. just loves people who's friends get kicked out of bars. If that's the case, I am so in! I try to think of ways to get Jeff and Amy to say my name so S.C. can hear it, but no luck. I even tried playing the pyramid with them, ["Slater's sparring partner, um - Lego Maniac, Ben Bunker's younger brother, Gigi's older brother, um, um - the Black Mighty Morphin Power Ranger . . ."], but I think Jeff thought it was rude of us to continue the conversation in the store, so we went out into the hall. I thought it would have seemed awkward if I loudly stated, "No! NO! Let's stay here and talk!" So we finished the conversation - mostly about how Ben got slipped a mickey last night and how Leahy, expectedly, never got back in touch with me. I bid them goodbye and go to buy the Globe with even higher spirits for my return trip to the chocolate store in a few minutes to not only buy something but this time chat it up with S.C. and finally tell her my name. Nothing could go wrong!

H.) I buy the paper and head back to S.C.'s H.Q. It's packed! Dammit. Damn all you parishoners coming to the mall on the Sabbath for your unholy chocolate cravings! So I decide to go to FYE first and pick up some CD cleaners. It takes me all of 2 minutes. I head back for one last try at the chocolate store. If I keep hanging around there, the Mrs. Fields & Sunglasses Hut Neighborhood Watch Program will ring up McGruff and my ass will be in jail! The store looks empty! Sweet sanctuary! I'm about to just wing it and open with some sort of witty opener when I see him. Some greasy looking kid hanging out near the sugar free candy. With dirty jeans. And a grubby white t-shirt. And dark hair. With long dark sideburns. And if you freeze frame that moment on the DVD, akin to Ralph Wiggum's heart, you can pinpoint the moment mine broke. The rest is a haze. I know she offered me fudge. Peanut Butter Fudge. And I said, "No thank you." Maybe I didn't make my point clear. I said "No thank you." to FREE Peanut Butter Fudge. I'm sorry, but I couldn't just let her think she had me wrapped around her fudgy finger. I remember ordering an apple. I remember shifting my eyes towards the counter so I wouldn't look right at her. I remember ripping Grubby McIStoleMySideburnsFromDylanMcKay's arm off and beating him to death with it. Whoa. No more Kill Bill for Zach before bed time. And then she told me to have a good day. And then I think I said, "If you really wanted me to have a good day you'd drop this loser and meet me after work for a drink and all-you-can-eat breadsticks at the O.G. and then we can go to Barnes and Noble and I'll make fun of the fact that you're pushing yourself to read Anna Karenina and you'll point out that it's odd how much I revere Green Acres and then we'll stop for some canolis on the way home to watch Wet Hot American Summer and then you'll meekly ask me if it's ok if we go see Spider-Man 2 for the 3rd time and I tell you that you make my spidey-sense tingle and you laugh but not too strong a laugh and not too weak a laugh but one right in the middle that shows me that you get it - both the joke and me." Except, now that I think about it, I think all I said was, "Yeah, you have a good day too."

It's been real,

O-Ren Ishii

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