Girly Juice

1. The charmingly bedraggled server at the vegan café. He forever looks like he just rolled out of bed, hung over, the morning after modeling in a Calvin Klein underwear shoot, threw some rumpled clothes on and walked to work. Once I saw him greet a customer, “Hello! Happy Monday!” and it was Wednesday. Maybe he was thrown off because she was cute. Maybe he’s just like that.

2. The hot soft-butch waitress at the diner, who’s clearly just doing this to support her true passion of stand-up comedy or improv or TV acting, because she’s loud and hilarious and talks with her hands. She dresses like a female character from The Sandlot if that movie had any girls, and she always gets my breakfast order perfect. One time I overheard her telling a coworker about the shitty misogynist jokes in an improv show I’d also seen the night before, and my heart swelled for this woke little ragamuffin.

3. The guy who does the lights and sound for my favorite Friday-night improv show. He’s the main reason I keep coming back, week after week, year after year. His cues are usually funnier than the entire rest of the show put together. He punctuates scenes with absurd music stings and unexpected-yet-perfect sound effects that dial up the funny without ever stepping on anyone’s toes. I blush every time he takes my ticket at the door, because brilliantly funny people are my kryptonite. I don’t use the word “genius” lightly, but…

4. The intense blonde hostess/server at the high-end steakhouse who held my gaze with her cool blue eyes while explaining the entire complicated menu from memory. How the fuck is she that pretty. How the fuck is she that smart. How the fuck can I get her to step on my face.

5. The beefy, bespectacled nerd at the Greek pastry place who always brings me my spanakopita right-side-up in its little to-go bag and always, always says “Thank you” when I put coins in the tip jar.

6. The unbelievably tall improvisor I occasionally see in longform shows, but don’t specifically seek out much anymore because one time he made me laugh so hard that I accidentally spit beer into the hair of the lady sitting in front of me and now I am ashamed forever. Also because one time an improvisor friend of mine introduced us at a party and I, at a total loss for words, said, “You’re super funny!” He knows he is. He said, “Thanks!” At least he was polite.

7. The multi-instrumentalist who used to accompany my favorite quirky singer-songwriter in tiny, intimate shows at the queer piano bar. The sight of his tongue darting out to wet his clarinet reed was of particular interest to me. Once I saw him leaving a school playground with his small son in tow, and my heart melted into a sticky puddle.

8. The “senior executive barback” at the fancy cocktail bar with the “verbal menu.” He will take your order, no matter how vague or nonsensical, and spin it into something not only drinkable but downright divine. Once he complimented my arm tattoo and I was so disoriented I nearly fell off my barstool. He’s the only person I’ve ever seen look devastatingly handsome in a pineapple-print button-down. But of course, competence can do that to a person.

9. The musical theatre actor with the impossibly luminous face. His headshot in the playbill never quite captures it. Once he smiled and waved at me and my mom from across a busy street because he recognized us from the front row of the Sondheim musical we’d just seen him in (ugh, help). I would see him in anything, as evidenced by the time I considered taking a 4-hour bus ride each way to see him play the lead in a small-town staged reading of Angels in America. I eventually decided against it because my boyfriend was going to be in town, but… I almost wanted to drag him along.

10. The spiky-haired, big-grinned boy who’s always around to help me find the lube or condoms I need at the giant gayborhood sex shop. He still makes me giggle like an absolute weirdo, even though we’ve been fucking on-and-off for nearly two years.

11. The absurdly competent, pretty, blonde bartender at the cozy cocktail bar. She knows how to make my favorite drink even though it’s not on the menu and everyone else who works there seems mystified by it. The way she handles a cocktail shaker is a source of particular fascination.

12. The tiny brunette server at the Greek diner, who brings me my $6 breakfast with speed and precision, all the while seeming so cold and unaffected that I might as well be a piece of gum stuck to her shoe. Fuck me up, queen. And bring me some orange juice, too, if you could. If you think I’ve earned it.

13. The very tall, very aloof comedian who sometimes tends bar at the improv theatre. It’s not a fancy bar – once, we ordered bourbon on the rocks, and he looked alarmed and said, “Pardon me?!” – but it’s cozy and crowded and sometimes he even smiles.

14. The theatre actor I’ve seen in parts as diverse as George Bailey, Louis Ironson, and Ebenezer Scrooge. His diction is impeccable. He’s a flamboyant, articulate dream. I saw a play once where he paraded up and down the boards performing a half-hour-long monologue in the middle of act one, and I wanted to stand up and scream at the rest of the audience, “Do you even realize how amazing this is?!”

15. The soft-spoken sushi server who brings me tofu and edamame before my meal. I have ordered the same exact lunch from him dozens of times and he still pretends (?) he doesn’t know what I’m going to ask for. Reserved shyness exudes from his very pores.

16. The no-nonsense bartender at the queer bookstore, who pours me my double whiskey and then hands it to me while entangling her deep brown eyes with mine. One time I saw her on the subway and her biceps were bulging out of her tank top. I wondered if handling big bottles of booze all day makes you strong.

17. The chatty LCBO clerk who reminds me of Fred Armisen, only older and, you know, probably not an abuser. He always seems to love his job, and when I pop in to buy whiskey or wine, he makes a big show of checking my ID because of how young I supposedly look, in a way that seems just the slightest bit flirty.

18. In its entirety, the longform improv troupe that always makes me remember why longform improv is my favorite. The stories they weave are as complex and absurd as their brains, individually and collectively. Once, I matched with one of them on a dating site, and he promptly unmatched me when I gushed that I was a fan. I only slightly regret this.

19. The beautiful brunette barista who always calls me “sweetie” and upgrades my drink size for no reason. We barely know each other, but somehow her conviction that I always need more caffeine feels like a deep, searching knowledge of my soul.

20. The androgynous server at the Mexican restaurant, punctuating her uniform with a backwards baseball cap. She brought me and my boyfriend perfect margaritas, sat almost uncomfortably close to me on the arm of my chair, chatted with us about our plans for the rest of the night, and then asked, inexplicably, “Are you guys chefs?” After she left, we looked at each other in bewilderment for a beat, before my boyfriend asked: “Did she smell good?”

Who are your local crushes?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.