Café Ruba, on Newport Boulevard, is my emergency backup coffeehouse. Like the 17th St. Diedrich it has a large open patio. Unlike the Diedrich it also has a pool table, lots of televisions, some couches, a variety of energy drinks and cigarettes for sale, much later hours, Orangina, and Costa Mesa’s demimonde. Okay, that last one is an oxymoron. The people at Café Ruba are one of:
- High school misfits with adjustment problems
- Twenty-something misfits with nasty drug problems
- Thirty-something misfits with nasty drug problems and criminal records
- Forty plus misfits with nasty drug problems, criminal records, and an unhealthy interest in high school misfits
- People of all ages and backgrounds who are just barely outpatients
- Unsuccessful serial killers
- About five people I know and like.
imnottravis, the_silent_one, the Mascot and I went there tonight because D’s closed and we weren’t done. Jared and the mascot played pool with Clayton, who is one of the five people. I talked with some people but mostly people-watched. I counted four Inappropriate Geek Fedoras. While listening to the worst hard rock of the 80s, I saw one of the worst haircuts of the 80s come in attached somehow to a 17 year old girl. I had a breve. I only have a breve at Ruba, which is good because I don’t go there often and it’s not smart to drink 16 ounces of half and half.
I was very happy for the_silent_one for having the best two days in forever. She deserves that.
There’s a couple that comes to Diedrich a lot and just sits there and smokes and talks. At least I think they’re a couple; they’ve never been physically affectionate in any way. They never interact with anyone else if they don’t have to, but they’re polite. She’s a pretty East Asian woman with a knockout body and a tramp stamp; he’s a very well-groomed quiet white guy with a unibrow. Tonight I found out that they come to Ruba too; there, they play the same video game for two straight hours, also without interacting with anyone else or being physically close. They really intrigue me and I want to know their story. I keep spying on them to figure out their lives: Hmm, they’re studying for the LSAT. Hmm, he’s complaining about his job but I can’t hear details. Hmm, hmm.
And now, I hereby invoke rule #6. I’m having inappropriate feelings but I will not say about what. Boo-yaa!
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