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If you find yourself downing bourbon at happy hour in a bar called Bloodhound, then you know your night might be going somewhere interesting. Soon, you will decide to say hello to your boyfriend at his restaurant near your apartment. You may sit at the bar, on the very stool where said boyfriend is threatening to put a plaque in commemoration of your frequent visits. You may engage the gay couple next to you in lively discussion about olives and thoroughly annoy the serving staff by asking them to list their top 3 menu items in reverse alphabetical order. You may annoy your boyfriend by intimating that you would really rather have butter for your bread. Then, during a brief lapse into silence, when you are reading the San Francisco Bay Guardian, you may see that a columnist you like has listed their e-mail address in their byline and decide that it would be neat to email them from your phone right then and there to enthuse that you like their column, and that you should get together for some Vitamin V and discussion of what it’s like to be a hard-nosed journalist, a subject about which you know almost as much about as a cat knows about teamwork.
You may wander outside, and while waiting for boyfriend to come say bye, enter into a heated conversation with the editor of the San Francisco Bay Guardian, who you will feel the need to inform that you too are a hard-nosed journalist deeply interested in his paper’s on-going battle with The SF Weekly. Then you will say, just to be annoying, that you’re on The Weekly’s side. Then he may tell you, just to be annoying, that you have no idea what you are talking about, and may give you his card so he can tell you the real story sometime.
Then your boyfriend may come outside and inform you that he doesn’t like being ordered around in his own establishment, and that the plaque that hasn’t even been put on your stool might now be taken away, and you may feel that wistful kind of sadness, like when you’ve lost something that you never even had in the first place, and it’s the saddest strangest thing in the world.
But then your boyfriend might look at you in that Russian way of his that makes you realize that he still likes you, kind of.