Wanna know the best panacea for the winter blues? I shall prescribe one for you. Get thee a juicy burger, a frosty glass of brown ale, and a plate of warm donuts. Oh, and share this with great company!

Vidya and I went to my favorite new bar (well, it’s actually a restaurant but I always end up sitting at the bar!) last night. She had a Manhattan and I started off with beer. I figure it’s not a sage decision to be drinking bourbon on an empty stomach.

I finally saw my hot bartender but, alas, dear readers, he was not behind the bar this time but serving tables instead. The universe is teasing me. And what was I gonna do–pull his sleeve as he walked by and say, hey remember me, I’m the girl stalking you??

But Vidya agreed with me that he looked deceivingly older. See–I’m not a cougar! Not yet anyway! And she noted that he was very much the Jinius type. Tall, dark, hizzot, generous with donuts, broad shoulders,er…ummmm…what was the question?

I have a school girl’s crush. And, sadly, my experience with crushes has not changed since high school because I still have the same laments like, “He doesn’t even know I’m alive!” I guess it doesn’t help that he is a total stranger. Most people have crushes on people they actually know. I cultivate crushes on people in the service industry.

Vid asked if I harbor this crush because I like to place expectations or fantasies on someone I don’t know and I can make up what he’s like in real life. Ummm, most of my expectations and fantasies occur in the bedroom. So I’m not sure if this is a real crush or just my own hot fantasy.

Either way, I can’t help but act all Waynes Worldy, and think “He will be mine. Oh, yes. He will be mine.”

MUAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Gee, if I put the same amount of energy that I devote to crushes into things that actually matter then I could probably explain the whole subprime mortgage debacle, figure out the mess in the Pakistani elections, find Osama bin Laden, and solve string theory.

Lets hear it for feminism!

Anyhoo, we polished off our juicy burgers and left a pool of blood on our plates. Our plates looked like we had just murdered someone. Put them in a bun. And ate them.

The bartender serving us asked if we wanted dessert. We declined. We were stuffed with meat and fries. So we just asked for the check. But just when we thought that our evening would end with us in our respective beds eating cookies while watching TBS, another bartender walked over and bestowed upon us a glorious plate of WARM! FRESH! DONUTS!

This is why I develop crushes on bartenders. They know how I like it. Tee-hee.

Then the owner came over and said he recognized us from the week before. “I remember you and your friends were laughing alot.”

Yup, that would be us. We ARE the peanut gallery.

Anyway, it’s nice to finally find a place in the neighborhood where you feel like you are chilling at a friend’s house. A friend’s house with hot bartenders and an endless supply of warm donuts.