I'm looking around the room, avoiding eye contact with him, and sighing loudly: he doesn't need an advanced degree in body language to see that I've checked out of this conversation about three seconds into it when he started talking about how the bass player in his side-project jazz band got him a bong for his birthday last month. Who cares? That's the dumbest story I've ever heard!
Dude, I'm wearing a nice dress: I don't want to talk about either bass players, jazz side-project bands, or bongs right now. What the hell? His stories make no sense and they drag on longer than a Spiderman trilogy marathon. UGH! I have no patience for this sort of thing. Make it stop.