This weekend has been one of the best weekends in a very long time. I had the pleasure of frying twinkies for my co-workers, I attended a beer tasting at Cellar Rat, had some great spicy tuna rolls at Nara, saw David Sedaris at the Uptown, saw The Decemberists at the Uptown, chilled at Harry's Country Club and hung out with friends. All in all, not too bad if you ask me.
Be the icing on the cake was something I was alerted to on Friday night. A co-worker and I were just getting out of the Sedaris show and I received a text message from Bruno:
DUDE WE RE AT THE CASHEW CALL ME.
Yes, it was in all caps. And when a message is in all caps, it usually means one of two things – someone's pissed off or something is very important. I assumed it was the later and made contact with him. Text messaging about this wasn't going to work, so he calls me up.
Bruno: So we're at the Cashew and you're never going to believe who's here.
Seth: (racking my brain) Uh, I dunno, who?
Bruno: Think blond.
Seth: Blond? Hmmm... NO WAY!
Bruno: Yeah! You gotta come.
Seth: We're on our way!
If you're thinking what I originally thought, there was some blond-haired chick there. But that wasn't the case. When Bruno said “think blond,” he really meant “think Blonde,” the very pretentious snobby upscale bar shit hole night club in Kansas City. The very place I met Toolman.
Now do you see the urgency in which we fled to the Cashew?
We arrived and quickly found Bruno and company out on the patio, so we joined them. We ordered drinks and Bruno filled me in on the haps. To see if he was right – to really be sure Toolman was in the house – I had to go see for myself. I ventured upstairs and poked my head around the filled tables. Sure enough, rocking a track jacket and talking to nobody in particular, was Toolman.
I giggled. Was this really happening? It must have been, because he was standing right there. I wanted to talk to him, but I had no gameplan...so I ran away, back to our table and told the original story to Toolman rookies. Naturally, they couldn't believe that this guy was that bad, that my story was true. So I was issued a bet that if he came downstairs, I would go talk to him. Stupid bets, I love 'em all.
Sure enough, about five minutes later, Toolman came downstairs and I got up to go win my bet. I caught him before he went into the bathroom (I wasn't about to have another initial conversation with him in a restroom):
Me: Hey man! What's up?
Toolman: Yeah, hey.
[ He completely doesn't recognize me! This could be good. ]
Me: Remember me? We met up at Blonde a few months ago?
Toolman: Uhhh... wait, yeah! We were there for that event thing.
Me: That's right!
Toolman: Yeah, yeah... It was December 8th.
[ WTF? He remembered the date? ]
Me: Uh, right. That's kinda creepy.
Toolman: Yeah I remember because my ex-girlfriend was there that night and it was her birthday.
Me: Ohhhh, that's right!
Toolman: Yeah, pssh, whatever.
Me: Truth. Well, me and some friends are out on the patio if you want to come have a drink with us.
Toolman: Cool man, we'll see.
Me: Awesome, see you later.
The bet was won. I strode back over to the table and informed everyone of not only the conversation, but that he remembered the DAY we met. They thought it was weird, too. And then I told them that we were probably going to have a guest join us. Sure enough, barely two minutes later, Toolman and Partner-in-Crime (PC) show up. Sadly, so much happened in the next 15 minutes, or so, that there's no way I can do a play-by-play.
Toolman and PC introduced themselves to the table – some of which gave them false names. It was fairly obvious that Toolman and PC were lit, or well on their way, but that didn't deter us. We talked about a whole variety of topics. Toolman explained that he was once an intern for a Congressman and that he had been in the Oval Office “like five times, or something.” He also offered up that if ANYONE in the White House didn't know Bill Clinton was having sex with an intern, they were idiots. I then made the point that he was the damn President and that he could have sex with anyone that he wanted to. Toolman agreed.
Soon after, Toolman realized that one of the girls sitting at the table was a teacher. Love was in the air after he asked her name, received a fake one (again) and told her, “that's a lovely name... but I'm not trying to get in your pants, or anything.” Classy. If he actually had any chance whatsoever, that immediately left when he told the teacher that she taught in a shitty district and that he needs to come teach where he's at.
We then discussed the Kansas City School District and what sad state its in. I said that the new superintendant should help get things back on track. Toolman disagreed and said, “he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.” Granted Mr. Amato led a major turnaround in New York schools, but apparently that doesn't matter here.
I then tried to ruffle his feathers by saying NY had more culture than Europe. Toolman just scoffed it off. So I asked him if he'd ever been to NY. “Dude, are you trying to tell me that I've never been to NY?” No, I wasn't... if you recall, I asked him. “I fuckin' grew up in Vermont.” That means yes, he's been to NY.
Then Toolman asked if me and the co-worker were on a date. We said no. “Daaaaaamn... I was gonna say nice!” So he had now essentially hit on two of the girls at the table. We could only laugh. He then managed to piss off the only German at the table by butchering the German language, and shortly after that, no one was paying attention to him.
He and PC took off, stumbled to Toolman's car and drove away. Smart.
Like I said before, it was a good weekend.