sensory overload

There must be a full moon...

I came to the Starbucks for a low key night... I hadn't necessarily planned on a low key night. I had actually been invited out for drinks with friends, but they cancelled... which, I have to say, I felt wasn't going to happen. Did you ever have one of those invitations that you knew right when it was extended, whatever was proposed just wasn't going to happen? For some reason or another, you just knew the activity was going to fall through? Something in my gut told me that the suggested drinks wouldn't happen. And, my gut was right-- as guts typically are.

But, since I was dressed too cute to not be seen in public, I came to my favorite Starbucks to enjoy a caffinated night cap, write a blog that would neither make me money or change the world and keep myself from celebrating Valentine's Day by staying on the couch and drinking and crying while I watch Love Actually (but, looking at the time, I might be able to have the best of both worlds...).

And, then, "they" entered. THE LOUDEST PEOPLE ON EARTH. I'm sure you can hear them where you are now.

There is a party of 30 or so Spanish speaking people who have gathered by the fireplace of the Starbucks. I'm not sure if this is a birthday party, a wedding reception or a going away party or what, but they have taken over and found my very last nerve. They have not only found it, they have found it, hit it, jumped on it, knocked it down, killed it, gave it mouth to mouth, revived it and beat it to death again.

All I've been able to put together at this point is they are playing some sort of slap game... they are slapping the hands of the person sitting next to them and when that part of the game ends, it turns into something like "truth or dare" or "name that tune" or something. They've sung 3 groups songs and then one girl has done a Spanish opera piece. Three tables next to me have left and the ones that remain merely stayed behind to give them dirty looks... although I think I'm doing the best of it.

I'm all for having fun, enjoying group time and cultural events. But, party games at Starbucks? No. No, no, no, nooooooo. Out of line. There are certain things that are meant for the living room at home... I don't come here, get in my boxers, watch Lost and fart a lot... don't come here and play party games that have 25 people singing the Marcarena.

But, in the long run, it's probably good that they are here... at least for the guy dressed like some character from A Christmas Carol. With a red velvet jacket with gold accented buttons and nickers and tights to match, he's sitting there talking to a goth-girl. The girl who is dressed in black and sporting impressive cleavage and long black gloves doesn't seem to mind that his bushy sideburns grow into and eventually connect with his equally bushy mustache. With the Spanish sing-along going on, no one is noticing Bob Cratchit and Elvira on a date.

I don't even remember what I was originally going to blog about. It's like the space-time continuum has completely gone wacky. A Dickens character flirting with a Goth Girl... La fiesta con musica a mi derecha... and now a straight guy just walked in wearing a sparkly Texas Rangers baseball cap...

I need to go home before the Cat in the Hat walks in. This is too much for me to take.