New wave of mid-20s crisis

W says there's no such thing as a mid-20s crisis - do (straight) men just not have them? He says he never feels old, never thinks of himself that way, and that there's no such thing as "too old to have fun". I hate him.

Work today was interesting, from the broken-bag-of-used-cat-litter I found in a cart at the beginning of my shift, to the sorry excuse for a conversation I had with Irish at the end of it.

I feel like the flirting is so childish - a sarcastic comment here, a stuck-out tongue there - and obvious - because I don't treat anyone else that way, don't smile at anyone else that way - and nearing desperate - like I want so badly to have a friend. So even though in retrospect we had a totally normal conversation while he walked me out of the store: he'd gone to a brewery with his roommate last night and spent $250 on beer for the two of them, so I told him I'd have to start going out with him if he was buying; he was talking about his hangover (duh?) and saying how he looked like shit, and I refrained from telling him I thought he looked good by saying instead that I thought he looked the same as he always looks, and that he could take that however he wanted to; he mentioned how the girl who's now his roommate was once the person whose house he'd crash at when he went drinking after work and couldn't drive home, so I reminded him that I walk to and from work every day, and that therefore I'm someone he wants to be friends with - he made some comment about how he has to suck up to me now; we compared schedules for tomorrow (not the same shift, but we'll cross paths for a few hours), and I went home.

I really wanted to invite him over, or out, or something. But I knew that by the time he got off work, I'd be wearing my glasses, and my shorty pajamas with the little pink bunnies on them, and probably a towel on my head. And also, asking him to hang out feels too much like asking him out out: I mean, what if he said no? Again, I feel so desperate.

I came home and had a back-and-forth complaining session with C-List, which made me feel a little better (read: slightly less like a total moron). Then Lui got home and kept telling me I was sweaty, so I yelled at him and went to take a shower, with the bathroom door locked so he couldn't come in and try to give me kisses through the shower curtain.