“It Sounds Dumb To Say It, But He Actually Gets Me”

Corporate-Casual’s crafted some lovely hipster erotica:

The other day I made my daily pilgrimage to Cup of Life, the local Free Trade coffee shop that bravely struggles to show these sheep that there are alternatives to the exploitative monster that is Starfucks. I ordered my cup of “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go Blend” Honduran Green Mountain, when I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Let me get this.” A man in a baseball cap stepped forward and said, “Make that two.” Oh. My. God. Sufjan Stevens just bought my coffee. I didn’t know what to do. He turned and smiled at me. “Want to get a table?” he asked. “Better yet, want to go back to your place?” I was shaking as Janice, who does a pretty amazing burlesque act that totally reappropriates homonoramtive ideas about sexuality and femininty, handed me my cup of coffee and shrugged.

Sufjan Stevens and I sat on the edge of my bed and talked for hours about everything. It sounds dumb to say it, but he actually gets me. He said that I was one of the most genuine people he’d ever met, and that I was actually cool, not like one of those people who obviously wants to be cool, but who just is, like a coolness that comes from deep within and is as much a refutation of cool as an embrace of it. We held hands and talked about the future, and about how Teddy Geiger is a corporate construct, and about animatronic puppets at Disneyworld taking over the planet. Sufjan Stevens has the most amazing eyes. Then Sufjan Stevens pulled out his guitar and played a song that he’d written just for me. It was called “Amanda Knows What No One Else Knows She Has the Most Beautiful Nose! Eureeka!” When he’d finished the song he wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, and told me that my outfit was amazing. “I would never have thought to put that top with those trousers,” (he used the word trousers! so cute!), “but it totally works. And I see a lot of outfits when I’m out on tour. Speaking of, would you like to go on tour with me?”

Then, slowly, Sufjan Stevens pulled down my sweat shop-free American Apparel boys’ shorts and slid one, two, then three fingers into my vagina.

Fun! Anyone wanna take a stab at Colin Meloy? Jenny Lewis?