...so essentially, we can never go back there...

Friday night at the Duke of G is a tradition. Now, we can never go back there.

Porque?

In one night (this would be last night) - Deanna was asked out by the bartender, I met the infamous JD and he scared me (go look at the plaque on the wall, he said), Eric the Pool Man wanted to show us his piercings and thankfully we were able to stop him as he reached for his zipper (note to self: ewwwww).

Also, I am a poor and a wretched boy - a chimbley, chimbley sweep.

Earlier that night, in the car on the way to Finch Station, we see Rob, Rachel's manager, on the street corner. So we roll the windows down and Rachel belts it out "Roooobbbb!". He hears us, waves in the general direction of my champagne coloured mini-van, and turns away, having no idea who had called out to him. Rachel was in the back seat after all, tinted windows, and such.

On the subway, she decides the Rolling Stones zip tank I got her isn't going to cut it tonight, and right there starts changing into a white cami. In just a bra, on a rapidly filling up subway, Deanna and I holding our coats around her - in walks Rob the Manager. Of course he does, because this is our lives and this is what happens.

"But this kind of stuff doesn't HAPPEN to me", Rach cries, "it happens to Deanna!".

Damage control must now ensure she doesn't get charged from this job, in which she has had three shifts just.

In a completely unrelated matter, it is over between me and George Clooney. I haven't talked about it in a long while, but we had something going on (mm hmm). Then I saw Intolerable Cruelty again, don't even ask me why, and I decided that even he could not be forgiven such an error in judgement. Despite his pretty brown eyes.

Besides, I am lately more attracted to the punky, piercy, blue eyed boys a la Jacob from Canadian Idol and Sean "too bad I'm 16-almost-17" Newmarket. His last name isn't Newmarket, but he's from there. See?

C'est tout.