must. get. haircut.

So here's a story that I'd intended to write a couple of weeks ago. I think that maybe, due to the nature of the events I'm about to recount, I'd subconsciously suppressed the memories of that evening. I have to thank a good friend, the star of the story, for reminding me...

Now, keeping in mind the implicative nature of my story, and the future political aspirations of my good friend, I will avoid using anyone's real names (yes, I'm being over-dramatic, but it's more fun that way). So for the sake of the story, let's call my good friend "Phil", and his long-time girlfriend "Shari". There we have it: Phil & Shari.

A few days after I'd returned to Seattle, Phil, Shari, myself, and another good friend (let's call him... "Sue") went to a concert at a downtown venue called The Showbox. It's a good venue to catch a show... holds about a 1,000 people with a large recessed dance floor in front of the stage where folks cram in to be close to the band and each other. Behind the dance floor, on either side of the main entrance, are two large raised areas, each with bars in the back pouring over-priced drinks. This is where we usually end up standing... close to the drinks, away from the sweaty masses, with an unobstructed view of the band.

The opening act is playing, and the four of us are yelling at each other, barely able to carry on a conversation. I'm talking to Shari who stands to my right, and Phil stands to my left talking to Sue. Shari and I are trying to catch up on the last eight months. Phil and Sue are talking about who-knows-what, and we're all intoxicated by a mixture of booze, youthfulness, freedom, and the company of good friends.

Not turning my way, Phil pats me on the back, and I look over to him thinking, Yeah, it's good to see you too bud. He continues to jaw at Sue, so I turn back to Shari and continue catching up. Phil stops patting me on the back, but his hand remains resting there, in the middle of my back. I think to myself, Hmmm... well, okay... Phil's a pretty affectionate guy. We haven't hungout in 8 months... he must be be happy to see me. I'm happy to see him.

I'm talking again with Shari when Phil's hand slips down to the small of my back. Slightly alarmed, I say to Shari, "hold on a sec," and turn my head, tilt it, and squint at my buddy Phil. He never looks my way... just keeps jawing at Sue. I turn to Shari and say, "You know... I think Phil thinks I'm you." She looks at me quizzically.

Still not looking my way, Phil slides his hand up to the base of my neck and he starts rubbing at the hairline, kind of playing with my hair, and I think... okay, this is too much. "Hey Phil," I say, and he finally turns my way, nonchalantly taking his hand away, "...dude, did you think I was Shari?" I continue.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" he says, turning back to Sue to carry on their conversation.

Shari won't let him off so easily... "OHMYGOD Phil! You did! You thought Tim was me!"

"What are you talking about?" Phil repeats... maintaining an amazing poker face.

"You were totally rubbing Tim's back!" Shari yells/laughs.

"Okay, can we just not talk about this?" says Phil, embarrassed, mortified even. "Tim... I'm... I'm... I..."

"It's alright Phil," I laugh, "I'm almost... flattered? In a creepy sort of way." This is too good, I think to myself.

"Didn't you notice he's wearing a t-shirt? I have a halter-top!" Shari laughs, and patting my back, "Tim's back feels nothing like mine."

"Yeah Phil," I continue (we're ruthless), "didn't you notice... no bra-strap?"

"I mean REALLY... can we NOT talk about this?" Phil yells/whispers.

"Phiii-iil... didn't you notice..." Shari tries to continue the roasting.

"Can we pleeease not talk about this. It's embarrassing enough already."

And so we let it lie. Sue was laughing in the background the entire time, and the rest of the night the four of us take turns suggestively patting and rubbing each other's backs. ahhh, friends.