Dear sweet heavenly-descended beings. For the first time since first year my life resembles a soap-opera. And though I am faintly smug about the opportunity to keep up with my far more glamorous hostee, I really don't relish this return to melodrama.

Let's start this from the top, shall we?

Working bar=boring. First element. Second element is the fact that me=honest and open to a bit of fun. In a normal college atmosphere, these elements do not catastrophe make. Normal college atmosphere does not include a table full of first years. This particular table included one fellow wearing a VB T-shirt, who I would later learn was called, I think, Antonio. I kid you not.

Antonio comes up to the bar as I try to figure out the plotline of my latest fic effort, and says that the other guys are daring him to ask me for my number. Like I said, I'm honest and open to fun. I laugh, write it down, and hand it over.

Someone with more experience at being a girl than me tell me: Did I send a false message? Because he came to talk to me again, and knocked on the bar door after closing to ask when I worked there again. I felt uncomfortable. It was all innocuous, though, and no real reason to bust in and say: "Look, buddy, I have a gorgeous, wonderful boyfriend, so you're nice and all, but bugger off."

Of course, I wouldn't actually use the word 'buddy'. I might use 'sweetheart', but there are depths to which even I will not sink.

The Brute Squad are no help at all. They think I should string him along and use him cruelly. All because he lives in Johns, next door. I think I'll just not answer the phone any more. Though that's going to be tricky, considering the Male is back from overseas and wanting to talk to me.

Fuck! (Whimper.) I need a 'taken' stamp. Maybe I should just get married.

That's a bit drastic.