Saturday, July 22, 2006

I told him not to bother.

Me: "So, what's the deal with your cute friend in the red and white dress?"

Buddy: "You mean, so-and-so?"

Me: "Yeah, her — oh, wait. Wait just a second. This is me we're talking about here. Whenever I'm in this situation, successfully chatting up a fine lady, she has got to be one of two things: taken or gay. So, actually, man... don't bother. It's alright. Have a good night, dude, and get home safe."

Buddy: "I hear ya, man."

It's times like that where I wonder why I even try.

Other than that, the evening was superb: tasty pasta was eaten in Little Italy, the Radical Dudez whipped out their ukulele, and Khaki Snack rocked Lee's Palace the only way they know how: with disgusting humour, pleas for the Lebanese, and Chris sitting out the first song to re-inflate the palm tree on stage. ("Chris' job in the band is to play the novelties," Derek mused. "It's the most important position in the band, really.")

No comments: