I got a new bracelet last night.

The bracelet is the one piece of memorabilia I kept from open mic last night, where I was targetted for love and affection by the Crazy Hippy Coffee Shop Groupie(tm). She is young, cute, totally insane and also possibly a pathological liar to boot.

When she saw me enter the coffee shop, she squealed with delight and ran up and threw her arms around me, where she proceeded to stay for five minutes, until I finally found a crowbar to pry her off. She then gave me a ring, a small silver piece of jewelry which was terrifying to the touch. I decided that that was enough of that, and I thanked her and gave it back to her. This prompted her to begin her favorite past-time, which is to sit next to men who have spurned her advances and cry crocodile tears which seem to stop flowing the moment your attention is somewhere else. The only possible way to deal with this is to ignore her and find a woman to talk to. Most of the other women seem quite annoyed by her, but she hates all women, so she’ll avoid you (she sees a group of men, on the other hand, as a gathering of potential attention sources).

At this point, I’m pretty experienced with dealing with the Crazy Hippy Coffee Shop Groupie(tm). I have statements of her undying love in my song notebook, which she wrote in there the first time she met me (apparently, I made a very good first impression). I loaned her said notebook because when I asked her what she did, she said, “I’m an artist.” The statements of love are accompanied by stick figures and stars that are, to say the least, juvenile in quality.

I will grant its nice to make a good impression, although apparently I’m not unique. You see, when I say ‘Coffee Shop Groupie’, what I mean is that she is the groupie for every male that frequents the coffee shop. Her affections are now so legendary that one of the patrons of the coffee shop in question now greets her with, “Why, hello, you crazy, lying little coffee shop cocktease.”

Anyway, I got a bracelet, which she wove on the spot out of some colored yarn. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the sort of arts and crafts taught in the resident asylum. Most every male in the coffee has one by now.