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I See You Baby
November 28, 2003, 2:09 a.m. So I went out with that girl from work again tonight. She needs a name. Hmm . . . the Individual Formerly Known As That Girl From Work, for all thy service to the Empire of Liadlaith, We hereby dub thee . . . Gnocchi. Arise, Lady Gnocchi, and go forth and be chivalrous. Anyway, so I went out with Gnocchi and a few of her friends, to see a band called Gersey (pronounced jersey - I think they just wanted to be different). They’re from Melbourne, I think, and they’ve been getting a bit of play recently with their new single Roll Out the Heartbreakers. They were good, very mellow and melodic, but not so mellow that they didn’t have the occasional ‘rock-out’ moment. I liked them. I even danced. I never dance. Well, I don’t know if you could call what I was doing dancing, as such, more ‘upright car-dancing’. But it was movement inspired by music, and I’m not usually having a good enough time to do that in front of other people. I’m going out tomorrow, to a friend’s going away cocktail party, and then again on Saturday night, to see Bluebottle Kiss, another band, this one from Sydney. I actually shared a seafood pizza with one of their ex-band-members this evening. He now sings for the band Ultrasuite, in which Gnocchi has a number of friends. I think I’ll be going to their next gig too. I feel a bit bad, because I passed up the birthday party of one of Ellie’s friends to go see Gersey, and she had asked me first, and I had said yes. In my defence, I’d forgotten all about and accepted Gnocchi’s invite without thinking, but I could have declined once I realised I was double booked. Oh well, what’s done is done I guess. I don’t really feel I know Ellie’s friend enough to feel obligated to attend her party . . . though she did come to mine. Agh! It’s so confusing – where’s Miss Manners when you need her? Hmph. Nevermind. I think I’m okay, but I could have been clearer about things with Ellie. I shall apologise profusely tomorrow : ) I hope she’s still driving me to that cocktail party . . .
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