Bad Ass Coffee, 3:48 p.m. – Oh baby, bat those eyelashes in my direction!

We’re coming at you live – well, semi-live from downtown’s hot new controversy – Bad Ass Coffee.

Named for the “mythical beasts of burden” – the donkeys that hauled heavy loads of coffee beans down the mountains of Hawaii – Bad Ass Coffee purports to brew the finest cup of coffee this side of the Kona Highlands.

Whatever.

This bunch of high-school-age brats doesn’t know an espresso shot from a tequila shot.

My iced mocha tastes like a cup of decaf that someone dumped some chocolate into, squirted some whipped cream on top and shoved it over the bar. For this and a muffin, I paid the princely sum of $8.

On the other hand, the WiFi is free. So I suppose I’ll be down here a lot – especially since I’ve nearly arrived at the decision to abandon the cold bed of Comcast for warmer pastures elsewhere.

Anyway. This is basically a Starbucks without the intense Starbucks-themed branding campaign. Instead, I’m being treated to a theme similar to what you’d imagine if a pair of Hawaiian shorts mated with a Starbucks.

There are life-size fake palm trees, a grouping hideously ugly rattan furniture with ghastly tropical palm cushions and posters all over the place screaming TROPICS TROPICS TROPICS. Get real people. It's a coffee shop with a cute name! Not the second coming of the Godchild!

There is a sad old granola WOACA in here, out for her daily bike ride or something. She’s got on an urban camo top in gray and yellow and black cargo shorts that are splattered with paint. Her hair is twisted up on top of her head in that careless “I’m worth more than you’ll ever make” way. And she’s sweaty as all get out and pawing through the T-shirts and tumblers like no one’s business. “WHAT A COOL PLACE!” she announces to the room at large. NEWSFLASH! We don’t really care.

Bored teenage tourists are the same the world over. A pack of Dutch tourists just walked in. Either Dutch or Swedish. The mother is yelling into a super-modern cellphone at the top of her lungs in some language and the Dad is digging money out of his fanny pack.

Swedish I think. Their clothes have a certain Ikea-ish style and their hair is kind of blonde and blocky. But the teenager with them just looks so perpetually bored by his parents that I truly do feel for them. His poor father is trying to engage him in conversation and the kid is just leaning against the condiment bar and twirling his sunglasses. They’re gone now.

There is a summit meeting happening over to my right. There’s an older bald man and his twenty-something girlfriend. They just wanted to sit on the rattan “couch” and catch their breath. Then this idiot in cutoff khakis and a sleeveless cutoff tee plopped himself down and started a discourse based on the headlines flashing by on CNN Headline News. “Bush is innocent in the Valerie Plame thing! It is all a Democrat smear job.”

They don’t really want to talk to him, but I guess they think it would be rude to just get up and walk away. They’re both giving one-word answers and hope he will shut up, but he’s leaning back (oh my Kali, a forest of armpit hair) and settling in for a debate.

Cute boy alert. He must work in one of the shops or offices around here. Grey pants and a red shirt. Hair cut very short. Hmm. His ears are kind of big though. He’s very polite to the “baristas.” (Are they called baristas anywhere but at Starbucks?) And he pays with cash. I need a man with cash. And he has pretty eyelashes. Sigh

This man talking about Barack Obama and how he’s an idiot who doesn’t know anything about politics needs to shut up. I personally don’t plan to vote for Obama, but Obama did change the game as far as online political organizing goes.

Tourists. Swimsuits and flip-flops belong at the beach. Please, please, please put some clothes on your child before you bring them into an eating establishment. In fact, put some clothes on YOURSELF. Some sand crabs might drop out or something.

OMG. OMG. OMG. PrettyEyelashes just sat down at the table right across from me. He’s checking his text messages.

Look at me bitch. I’m smiling at you.

Seriously dude. This man yakking on and on and on about politics NEEDS to go die in a fire. Now he’s quoting Ann Coulter. Seriously. Ann Coulter.

PrettyEyelashes kind of looks like Orlando Bloom – although his eyeBROWS need a serious plucking. Caterpillars come to mind. And he’s totally not looking in my direction anymore. You little shit. Am I not cute enough for you?

And he’s leaving. Well. On that note, I guess I better pack up my stuff and go stalk him.

If there’s no update tomorrow, send bail money.