The California Roll that is my Heart

So I think I'm in love with the girl who takes my order at the sushi restaurant by my office.

Okay, maybe not real love, she is a girl after all, which presents some serious issues, but something like a facsimile of love. Love-ish. Faux-Love. Love-Lite. All I know is that she can recognize my voice in a second over the phone and knows my order by heart, despite my going there only about once a month. And whenever I go to pick up the order, we have a round what I would normally call flirting but is actually closer to what Bring It On would refer to as Cheer Sex. (Sushi Sex? That just sounds really gross. And our love is so pure, it seems crass to nickname it.)

And okay, I don't necessarily want to lead anyone on. That's not how I roll, I'm all about full disclosure. But there's already something of a language barrier going on. When I can't exactly explain the concept of "I work in the building next to yours, setting up mortgages" without getting some important verbs lost in translation, I think it would a really bad idea to try and present the concept of "While I do dig you, I sort of like kissing boys more." I think there are several layers of intimacy being skipped there, and there's really no clean way of expressing the term "big old homo" in easy-to-understand game-of-charades-terms, without me getting punched in the face, and possibly attacked with a sushi knife.

In any case, seriously, she is so cute, and she makes these little jokes about how I always get the same, really safe, thing and one time she fed me a sample of something that was very raw and sort of bluish and actually pretty tasty.

So we live in this weird little limbo, of jokes and smiles and the very meaningful passing of sushi plates between us. It's not necessarily bad, but the simple fact that I have a crush on the sushi girl is just so sad. I am a disgrace to my people. They're gonna make me turn in my membership card.

Oh well. Anyone up for some edemame? I know a great place.