Hear ye, hear ye.

Hi. My name is Kate, and I have a type.

Hi, Kate.

Yah.

So.

I think it's official.

I mean, I thought it might be official several months ago, but now I am above-and-beyond convinced.

I? have a type. I never thought of myself as the "type" kind of person, but, yup, I am.

So, um, yeah. Not that this story is going to make sense to anyone but me (and I may possisbly be oh-so-slightly intoxicated* as I type this, so really, really, I may be the only one who understands it but...)

We were out tonight, drinking, as every good campaign staff should. I almost passed on it, as I still have a lot of website work to catch up on, but whatever, ya gotta accept the social invites when they come along, you know?

The communications director (who was at a dinner event with the candidate) called to let me know that his cousin would be joining us at the bar, please keep him entertained until CD arrived. Ok, no prob. Maybe half an hour later, a guy walks into the bar. I had not been paying attention to most of the other patrons, but him I notice. (And by "notice" I mean, mentally note that, hey, there's someone who's boots I wouldn't mind seeing under my bed. Ahem. Not that I currently have a bed, but whatever. Details!) He keeps walking, so whatever. Several minutes later, he comes up to our table to ask if we're the campaign staff. Ummm, yeah. He's the cousin. And? He looks an awful lot like the communications director. Who looks an awful lot like an ex-boyfriend.

Fuck.

Soooooo, that about settles it, now doesn't it?

In case you're wondering: Brunette. Dark eyes. Slight-to-medium build. Probably Jewish.

Damn.

I should move to New York.

*Three words: Leinie's. ON TAP.