Yesterday afternoon I visited a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf at the corner of Beverly Blvd. and Robertson Blvd. and ordered my usual no-frills black coffee. I sat two tables away from a couple of 20something women — Gabourey Sidibe‘s sister and a tallish brunette thoroughbred — who weren’t chatting as much as aggressively networking each other like crazy. They were trying to out-intensify each other. Everything they said had to be astonishing or funny or outrageous or an OMG. They were, like, so getting off on each other’s wit and energy.

After a while I started getting a fucking headache. I tried not listening, believe me, but it found it exhausting to even attempt this.

If I’d been rude enough I would’ve walked over and said to them, “Excuse me, guys….I know this is none of my business so please forgive me in advance, but did you know that sometimes you can just say this or that to each other without, you know, the intent or expectation of your words being anything special? You don’t have to be funny or outrageous or OMG…you can just settle into your souls and say what you really think, and it’s okay if it’s slightly boring or whatever. You can turn it down and it’ll all be good….I promise.

“I know…you’re asking yourself ‘why doesn’t this dickass just keep to himself?’ I get it. I’d be saying the exact same thing if I were you. But the reason I’m standing here is because my head is about to explode from listening to you. Seriously, I’m the bald guy in the suit with the glasses in Scanners.”