I have a monopoly on feeling crappy right now

It's 12:30am and I've been at work for 3 1/2 hours and I have 6 1/2 to go. I've been up since about noon yesterday. I have a headache, upset stomach and body aches. Unfortunately I think this is more due to drinking like an idiot yesterday than anything else. I am tired as hell and time is moving slower than molasses in January.

The Matador had a baby today. His initials are BJ. I'm sure he'll love that in high school.


Ate some good food last night. Sai Cafe. At Armitage and Sheffield. High end sushi at moderate prices. I highly recommend sitting at the sushi bar, the chefs are friendly and make great recommendations about food and sake. Try the creamy octopus. Tastes way better than it sounds.

Time to get back to work

Good Night and Good Luck

Fear and loathing in every corner of my life

Things really aren't that bad, there are women who like me and want to spend more time with me but I don't pursue them the way I should and don't know why.

What I do know is that I'm angry all the time. Angry at traffic, angry at traffic tickets, angry at people who say LOL out loud. If you are talking you are not laughing so shut the fuck up. Angry at people who want the government to buy their Motrin for them. Angry at the people who text due when they mean do. Angry at my ex-wife who is once again going on vacation with my daughter over Christmas break. Taking her to Italy. And apparently if they don't go during that time frame the trip doesn't happen and my daughter misses the opportunity to travel to one of the most beautiful and historic countries in the world on someone else's dime. So rather than be an asshole and say no I'm the asshole who has to spend Christmas with out the one person on this planet I do not hate.

Yes, I hate people. All people. My loathing of the human race has reached an all time high. I can't stand that as a society we have lost the knowledge of how to treat a fever without a trip to the ER. That every time your child hits it's head hard enough to leave a bump we have to irradiate his/her head in a CT scanner, just so we can sleep better. Yeah, you'll sleep better when your child is getting chemo for brain cancer or is developmentally delayed because you fried his/her damn brain.

And why can't we speak English? I may have to move to Oxford and sweep floors for a living just so I can here people speak the Queen's.

The abbreviations and shortcuts that we have created are destroying us. People wonder if we will end up making androids and machines that will take over the world. We already have. They are called cell phones, computers, DVD player's. When was the last time you read a damn book. When was the last time I finished a book. I have more unfinished books in my house than the average teenager, who throws down the assigned book after two chapters, if not two pages, in search of the Cliff notes or the DVD. Americans used to aspire to be better than the last generation, now we aspire to be lazier. How can I get more, oh yes we still want more, while doing less. Everybody looks for the shortcut. If you learned anything from childhood it should be that shortcuts only get you muddy shoes and ripped jeans.

The shame now is that our kids don't even play outside. They don't run through the neighbor's yard, or climb that tree they aren't supposed to, or play kick the can in the alley. They don't play. Only inside. Only on their computers. And only when they get bored with Facebook and Youtube.

Get your kids off the fucking couch.

Now I know why I need a fucking credit card

Fuck! Fuckity Fuck Fuck! I am forever lamenting on my bad luck and I finally get some good luck and it comes all wrapped in Fuck-you-you-can't-have-it-after-all Irony. Fuck you bad luck. Fuck you bad timing. Fuck you bad decisions. Fuck me why can't I catch a break.

OK, I feel better now. No, not really but I will stop bitching for about six seconds here.

Those of you who know me or have seen this blog before, know I am HUGE Cubs fan. HUGE.

I have been a Cubs fan since Nineteen Seventy ummummmeruh yeah anyway, a long fucking time. I'll admit that I kinda lost interest between the late eighties and the late nineties, because of marriage, a kid, and they well, sucked. But I came back way before the 2003 playoff run, and briefly considered suicide after last year's playoff debacle but the hot barmaid I was talking to immediately after Game 3 wouldn't have sex with me before I stabbed my self in the heart, so I decided to delay my life ending plans and go drinking instead.

What most people don't know is that my expletive deleted ex-wife left me with $36,000 in credit card debt. Less than $4000 of that had anything to do with me, and there was even a card in my name that I never applied for. That's illegal or something, I'm sure. A party foul at the very least. So, because of this I have adopted the philosophy that credit cards are evil, and there is even some documented proof to this effect I am sure. And since the advent of Debit Cards I longer look at credit cards as that piece of pie I want but can't have. But more like that fruit cake that you can never figure out who brought to the party but keep 'til February just in case someone asks if you liked so you could look at it and give some close to reality description of what flavors it may have tasted like if you took the Fear Factor plunge and ate a piece of the maggot infested, er, candied fruit filled bundle of what the fuck. Who invented that shit anyway?

But I digress. Credit Cards are evil. I don't want anything to do with them.

Until now.

The brief glimpse of good luck I received was in an email from cubs.com saying that because I was willing to be #12488888999234 on the waiting list for Cubs season tickets I am eligible to buy tickets for 9 games. NOW! Right now! Before they go on sale which would be great seeing as my ass may be in Vegas when they go on sale. So I click on the button that allows me to sit in a waiting room that refreshes every 15 seconds. I liked it better when it refreshes every 60 seconds. At least then you can get over the no one will take you to prom disappointment of finding out you have to spend another 60 seconds in waiting room hell. Over and over and over. Until cutting off your balls to bounce them off the wall just seems like something to do. But no, for this event it is 15 seconds. So you can countdown 10,9,8...3,2,1 and before you can finish being pissed off that you are still in the waiting room you are counting down 10, 9, 8, ad infinitum. Then what, what is this? Something I have never seen before.... A pick your game screen. An actual you can buy tickets screen. And I am overjoyed. Happiness fills the room. Until...

Until I remember that my bank account looks like Comiskey Park did three years ago. Empty. MT. Capital letters. Not a dime. Certainly not the $600 or so it would cost me to buy 2 tickets to each of 9 games and we won't even try to discuss 4 tickets per game. Or bleacher seats. Or any seats for that matter. Because I can't go. After taking monkey to Florida and spending who the fuck knows how much on Christmas presents, I am flat mother fucking broke. I mean my rent is paid, and I didn't bounce the child support check, by the skin of my teeth but still, It cleared. So while I wait for my next paycheck a scalper or some trustfund baby who doesn't even watch the games or own a Cubs shirt is buying my seats so he can sell them or impress some blond bimbo that he has bleacher seats. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

Fuck. And even if there are still seats in 3 days when I get paid that money is already spoken for. Because instead of passing my hard earned cash to greedy corporate giants in Chicago I will be passing it to greedy corporate giants in Vegas. Woo Hoo at least there is some light at the end of the tunnel. I hope I get laid because going to Vegas is way better than going to a Cubs game but 9 Cubs games that's a close call. Oh wait the strippers at the Cubs games don't take off their clothes they just try and scam you for drinks and Skybox seats.

Yep, Vegas way better.

But I am still getting a damn credit card.

The Day in Review

Woke up late.

Had to borrow money, because I apparently have a harder time holding on to it than a fuckwad with a $300 a day coke habit.

Found out that my daughter's 15 year old friend drives a BMW Z4

Saw my mom and she is doing great after Knee replacement surgery. Best part of my day.

Accidentally ran a red light because I wasn't paying attention and it changed on me, only to see all sorts of flashing lights as the hidden cameras took pictures of my dumb ass blowing through the red light. That's ok I love giving $90 to the city.

Got into an argument with my daughter because she knows everything and I'm a doofus.

Left my living room light on so my stalker neighbor could call and say What are you doing, don't you miss me, Come ooooooover.

Saw The Machinist. Definitely worth watching.

Have insomnia and no fucking food in my house. I think it may be another Cinnamon Life and Miller Lite Night.

Some one tell me to go to bed before it is time to get up.

I must have pissed off the alcohol gods

Because I have a class V hangover right now and rather than being able to lay on the couch and watch the last three episodes of LOST Season 3, I have to go to my mom's to move shit and then go bowling with my daughter. I am sure that the balls are going to feel like a hundred pounds the way my head does but it is not Monkey's fault that I tried to consume a bar's worth of alcohol in 5 hours. I then took the Matador's car keys because he was slurring his words and I wasn't. I'm sure the officer would have liked that logic. And of course we were at a bar that I didn't know how to get back from so his drunk ass was giving me directions. Talk about the blind leading the blind. I did somehow manage to get to Matador's place without stopping for food.



Speaking of bowling, Wii bowling is a dangerous sport. I have seen not one but two patients who have been injured playing that game. The first had muscle spasms in her neck and the second was a 70+ year old woman who lost her balance and fell while playing. And I heard about a kid who fell while trying to kick a field goal playing Wii Football.

Good Times.

The Rest of the Story

Have you ever had to go to 2 holiday parties in the same day. 12 hours apart. That 12 hours really doesn't give you the recovery time you would think it would.

The first party was for the night shift at work, mostly put together by the nurses but there were techs, registration people, myself, and the doc that was on shift that night. I was scheduled to get off at 6am the nurses at 7am. They made it there before I did. We had a semi-decent night until Joliet IL decided to vomit on us at about 430am. I finished up at 830, and was quite ready for a drink by that time.

About 10 of us showed up, Me, Matador, Mama Goose, Rondog, Danimal, Jaybird, Kathy, H, Blake, Natalia, and The Songster. All ready for a good drink, and good food. And we got both. Writing this I realize I could of taken way more pictures than I did. Of people and of the spread. Matador brought two pans full of roast beef and one of turkey, and rolls for sammiches. I had two beef sandwiches, potato salad and quiche and said I would have turkey sammich on the second round. Matador gave me a quizzical look and said dude, pointing at the sandwich in my hand, that is round two. "No it's not," I say "I didn't stop eating." "If you keep going without a break it is still the same round" "Kinda like with sex"

In addition to the eating drinking and joking around, we played Left, Right, Center.

To start the game, you need three LCR cubes, at least three players, and three chips for each player. Coins can be used in place of chips for additional players. After determining which player starts the game, the first player rolls three cubes. The number of L's, C's or Dots rolled dictate where the player's chips go.

* The number of L's indicates the amount of chips to be passed to the player on the left.
* The number of R's indicates the amount of chips to be passed to the player on the right.
* The number of C's indicates the amount of chips to be passed to the center or "pot".
* The DOTS are neutral and players neither pass nor place chips in the pot for any DOTS rolled.

When a player has only 1 or 2 chips, he rolls only 1 or 2 cubes. If a player has no chips, he is still in the game, but passes the cubes to the next player. The last player with chips is the winner, does not roll the cubes and wins the center "pot".

Those are the official rules. We follow those rules with two exceptions. 1- We play with dollar bills instead of the provided chips. 2-We require that the last person with money rolls a dot to win. If he/she rolls an L or R the money moves around the table. If he/she rolls a C the money goes into the pot and everyone re-antes and we start over until someone wins getting the money from the new pot being added to the old pot. This can make for some interesting games.

Speaking of interesting games. A month or two ago Matador, Mama Goose and Rondog decided to up the ante given they were playing with only three people. First with five dollar bills, then twenties, making the pot $90 each round. Well as fate would have it the pot rolled over twice and Mama Goose went home with $360. Nice work, eh?

Well, yesterday Paulie, the owner of the bar, was suggesting playing LRC with Benajamins. Needless to say, no one took him up on it. What we did settle on was LRC with Fives. With 8 people. That's $120 floating around in the pot. Paulie almost took it but Jaybird pulled out the win. The lost of $15 a piece in a matter of 5-8 minutes dulled everyone's appetite for LRC so we moved down to Ones and played several rounds with 8 people. Hilarity ensued. In one game the last dollar went to the left four times before coming back right once and landing on Mama Goose. Who managed to win 4 pots in a row. Then we took a break to concentrate on drinking. Which we did as some of the less hard core drinkers and those with responsibilities slowly left the premises leave me, Matador, Mama Goose Jaybird and Caveman to keep the faith and drink for the cause. Another Co-worker PornStar showed up to give us an influx of new blood. Which spurred a round of phone calls by the Matador to try and increase the size of the party. Which lead us to the discovery that his ears get quite red when is talking to a girl he likes.

It was about this time (11a or noon, I think) that one of the bartender's mentioned that we weren't drinking at our usual breakneck pace. There is nothing like inspirational words to get you back on your game. Matador and I commenced drinking like it was our job. Matador claimed that he was drinking fast the whole time but I am pretty sure we were at the same pace the whole time.

Have you ever noticed that the amount of money you put in the Juke Box is directly proportional to the number of drinks in your system. I bet the Jaybird dropped a good twenty playing songs. But his selection was good so no complaints.

Influenced by a good soundtrack and increased alcohol levels we played a few more rounds of Left Right Center. More laughter. More won rounds by Mama Goose. Mamy more drinks and more checking of the watch by me. In addition to the Night Shift Christmas Party, the physician group I work for was having it's Holiday Dinner last night. Actually they had it two nights so everyone could go. I was planning on leaving but everyone kept buying me more drinks and then after about 8 or so rounds of LRC, I won one and feeling bad about taking money and leaving I played another round. Which I won. Sometimes you can't win for losing. I had another drink on the table due to the apparent universal urge to buy everyone another round. And at $2.50 u-call-it's it wasn't hard to do. At one point in the day Mama Goose bought the entire bar a drink and it only cost her $20. Not being one to leave a man behind I pick up my drink and begin to pound it when my eyes almost popped of my head. I made a face and said wow. Caveman with a big smirk on his face asks You like that? Fucking Bastard. You bought that round? He laughs. Caveman has gotten in to the habit of only ordering me triples whenever he orders me a drink. I choke down the drink. With my head now spinning I jump into my car and head back to the call room at the hospital.

Matador wearing his new Christmas Present

Mama Goose and her winnings

Danimal

Natalia

Mama Goose and more Winnings

Us


I shower and change in my suit which I luckily had the forethought to bring with me the night before. Somehow while showering I managed to get plenty of water on the floor soaking the only pair of socks I had with me. I remembered a change of underwear, but not a change of socks. Now in a suit and dress shoes sans socks I head out of the building stopping the the doctor's lounge to google map directions to the restaurant. So I am sitting in there. loaded and sockless, surrounded by attending physicians. I have never wanted gum or sock so much in my entire life. I scooted forward under the desk as much as possible to hide my hillbilly dress code. I got directions and bolted. Not having my ID I had to walk the long way out of the hospital. Past the ER. Not my preferred move. I of course end up seeing people I work with. Luckily when people who only see you in pajamas see you in a suit, they aren't looking at your feet. I get my ass into the car and make a beeline for Wal-Mart which is only a mile away. My parking karma was still intact and I got a parking space only 3-4 spaces away from the door. And promptly fell asleep. I think I even laid the seat back. Why I don't know. The emergency nap light must have gone off in my head.

To update you on the time line, I was up from about noon on Tuesday started work at 9pm, worked 11 1/2 hours. And then went drinking.

I had left the bar between 5-5:30 and got out of the hospital about 6 or so. Was supposed to be at the dinner at 6:30

I woke up at 7. Now with a sense of panic and confusion, I really don't remember going to sleep, I go tearing into Wal-Mart in search of socks. I now know why I usually pay a lot for socks. The cheap socks suck ass. Major ass. I get back out to the parking lot and somehow remember where it was I parked my damn car. I head toward Naperville thinking about whether I should even bother at this point, being on pace to show up about 1 1/2 hours late. But that really isn't anything new for me. Luckily the alcohol in my system allowed me to shout down the logic in my system and I continued on my way. I arrive at Sullivan's at 8pm. As it turned out the restaurant was really busy and they had only say down 10-15 minutes before my arrival. The main disadvantage to arriving late to this type of function is you don't get to chose your seat. The only seat available was at the head of the table and next to the boss' wife. Oh, Joy. I have only met her a few times before and have never said anything other than hello to her. Mainly because she always seems to have quite the sour disposition. I was not expecting a great time and vowed to keep my intoxicated mouth shut. I sat I ordered a drink and promptly moved to the other end of the table to tak to people worth talking to. Luckily the other end of the table was quite far as there were about 25 people in our group.

The way cute waitress found me with my drink and as she presented it to me said "The bartender poured it a little strong so if you want me to make it a tall I will. My look must have said something to the effect of "You gotta be fucking kidding me" because she said "or you could just thank me" "Or I could give you a kiss on each cheek" She laughed an oh so cute laugh and moved on. Can you tell I was completely enamored. Actually all our waitresses were hot, Chelsea not the hottest of the group but definitely the best personality and smile. I go back my seat make small talk with Boss' wife and Sir Lancelot's wife when Major Dan (not to be confused with Danimal) asks me about my car keys. This is a good story. Just one of many good stories that seems not to make it to my blog. I move over to him and his wife to regale them with the part of the story they were unaware of. Just as I was finishing the story our waitress kicked me out of that area because I was standing between the wall and the table which is their only route to serve that side of the table. About this time she asks me how I like my drink. I tell her it is good but not strong. She gives me a look. Dinner comes. It is delicious. 12 oz of perfectly cooked cow carcass. Covered in Gorgonzola cheese (a first for me, I definitely recommend it) and garlic butter which is by far one of the greatest inventions of man. I drool, I eat. I start talking about one of my greatest regrets. About 6 months ago I was at this same restaurant for a dinner sponsored by a pharmaceutical company, read free. The special on that particular night was a 16 oz filet covered with all kinds of fatty goodness that I can't remember at that moment but I remember that the description not only made me drool but my stomach growl. Until I heard the price. $65. For a steak. I am not sure why I cared when big business was picking up the tab. But Sixty Five Dollars. For a steak. It is this point into the story that I say For sixty five dollars it should be brought to me by a naked woman. At which Boss' wife gives me a look and Sir Lancelot's wife says "That's disgusting" I'm sorry did I say that out loud. I quickly finish the steak story and change the subject to something less visual and less offensive. Who brought me to a family restaurant? My other folly was discussing alcohol in front of boss' wife. When the waitress, my future wife, brings me my second drink, I take a sip and say now that's a drink. Chelsea, I sure that's her name, said I ordered a SoCo rocks with a splash of coke because that apparently how you like it. I go on to talk about how I have too many bartender friends and the best and worst thing about having friends who are bartenders.

They pour really strong drinks. Chelsea brought me several last night.

I manage to have a very pleasant conversation with Boss's wife about her son. I am now his biggest fan at this point. She told me at least two really cool stories about him that I will skip because it is 2:47am, I have been typing for over and hour, and I have to be up at 7am for a funeral. Why do they always make funerals so early in the morning. Is is so the rest of us wish we were dead?

The only time I drop the F bomb or any swear word at all was the Boss' fault. He mentioned Fukudome, the Cubs newest player. Why the the Cubs would acquire a player whose name phonetically is Fuck-You-Do-Me I will never know. And I said so. I think my profanity was excused by the women. Both the Boss and wife repeated my pronunciation. The boss with more enthusiasm and sense of humor than his wife.

Soon after dinner was over those with children and no stamina started to get up to leave. There was Iceberg and his wife, Songster and his wife, Clark Kent and his wife- who is a hottie by the way, Major Dan, Sir Lancelot and their wives also left. Which left us with Boss, Boss' wife, ChrisSand, Tammaaaaaaaaay and her husband, and creepy doc. We consolidated and talked for a little longer and then Boss, wife and creepy doc left and the rest of us went to the bar where we were told we could smoke cigars but it was last call so we could only get one drink in.

We found more accomodating facilities at Features around the corner. Where it was both open and cigar friendly. In more way than one. Not only do they allow cigars, they have 14 foot ceiling and I wasn't able to smell the vile thing from only 5 feet away. I hate cigars but hate that the government can tell you where you can and cannot smoke. I hope this law that is going into effect Jan 1 gets repealed. I don't have any true hope for that though because now that it is law it would be political suicide for any politician to try to oppose it.

Anyway the husband's of the two women who I wanted to talk to the least turned out to be quite pleasant to talk to. Luckily the ladies sat by themselves while the men sat it the comfy chairs smoking and drinking. As it should be. So after yet three more drinks, I was able to not only find my car but the expressway and my house. I think I was way more tired than drunk at this point pace having slowed considerably.

As soon as I arrived home I stripped off my suit and did a face plant into my bed.

And that my dears, is the rest of the story.

Mmmmmm.....Pizza

Just woke up at 8pm. Which is what happens when you work nights. It sucks because I don't work tonight. It doesn't suck because I was awakened by a call from the The Matador who is dragging his ass to the city, so drunkenness if not hilarity will ensue. And most likely drunken hilarity which is the best kind. So if you are one of my two readers and you know where the best drink specials are in Chicago tonight you will have to let me know. We will probably start at Piece, which is the coolest pizza place in town if not the best. Garlic chicken pizza. Mmmmmmmmmm. Tastes way better than it sounds. I am normally a classic red sauce and meat pizza kind of guy buy this is good eatin'. And they brew their own beer if you're into that kind of thing.

The only thing I managed to accomplish today is to wake up for and stay awake long enough for the cable guy to show up and install my very own cable internet. Yay! About fucking time I stopped freeloading and paying my own way on this ride we call the internet. The guy showed up only an hour into the 4 hour window which was nice, and seemed to be an earnest hardworking fellow instead of the normal creepy guys they send to put in your cable. All seemed to going well, he figured out where he was going to put the cable and then proceeded to drill in to my wall and was moving the drill in and out presumably to make the hole bigger when the drill got stuck. Stuck. In my wall. He tried to move it forward and back, the motor whining it's high pitched what the fuck are you doing to me whine until smoke started to come out of the drill. He gave it a 3 second rest and tried again. More smoke. Luckily the window was open in the room so the smoke could get out of the room so as not to kill us with noxious fumes. I asked if he could disconnect the bit from the drill. He paused and said oh then I could knock it through with a hammer. I am glad we are thinking. I regret leaving the room because I didn't see how he finally got it out but needless to say I have cable internet and am free to roam and scour porn to my heart's delight. Because as we all know the Internet is for Porn.

Second call from Matador. He is 30 minutes out, time to call for pizza. We are eating here because it is Karaoke night at Piece, and I'd rather poke my eyes out than listen to karaoke.

Thanks for playing.

Just another day

I slept for about twelve hours and am still procrastinating about getting stuff out of the basement. I am feeling quasi energized while writing so if I don’t lay down when I am finished with this I may actually get shit out of the basement so Philarican and her Momma don’t kick my ass. I have a blog post I have wanted to put up for a week but the weak inter5net has been fucking with me. I Go Live in 2 days with my very own cable internet. I am happy about that. Thursday is going to be a full on suck ass day. I work on Wed night until 6am then have to be in a dentist’s chair by 11:30am. Then have to be home by 1p to wait for the fucking cable guy. They gave me a 1p-5p window which I suppose is better than an all day window but still will suck. As soon as the anesthetic from the dentist wears off I will order Jimmy John’s and possible pour an alcoholic beverage if I can remember to buy some damn SoCo. Maybe I have some in the basement. I thought of that yesterday but was too damn lazy to check, so I drank Miller Lite instead. While watching The Break Up/. If you haven’t seen it, don’t. My brother said he liked it. He must be getting soft. It wasn’t’ necessarily a bad movie, it just wasn’t good.

It can always be worse

The only thing worse than going into kitchen to pour a drink and finding you have no mixers is going into your kitchen to pour a drink and finding you have no alcohol.

Can you please tell me why I answer the phone.

Can you please tell me why I can't say no to friends.

Can you please tell me why when someone call you with a request for help. That they can't even show up to help them.

Why when I change plans to help someone else I am the one that gets burned. Yes I was a little put out when I had to change to plans to hang out with friends I haven't seen in a week to try help a friend I haven't seen in two months stay out of trouble, whne i know he is going to get back into trouble later. I felt guilty for not wanting to help, but I didn't not hesitate in saying yes. I couldn't meet with him as soon as he wanted but logistics dictated that I stay where I was at until after rush hour. So I get up off my bar stool after dinner and multiple diet cokes when I wanted them to be filled with SoCo and drive an hour to get home to find that my "friend" who needs someone to hang with is nowhere to to be fucking found. He could at least call me back but Nooooooooooo. I get fucked for being a nice guy once again. Maybe I am not nice because I am pissed. Or maybe I am not nice becasue I am not driving around the city trying to find which bar he is drinking himself to death in. Maybe I am not nice because I think he has burned too many bridges and he needs to languish alone. When does being a friend and helping out turn into enabling? I don't know but I actually have similar situations with two friends I don't know what the right thing to do is.

On a lighter note and one of the few positive notes of my day, I beat the Matador at Scrabble.`

What is this world coming to?

I have been trying to write a post about the events of May 2 for a week and a half now. Mostly on my PDA. Those mini keyboards really do become a huge pain in the ass if you are typing more that a quick text message. I finally moved the file onto my computer and started working on it, in attempt to finally get it posted so I can start work on my post about May 9th which is legendary. Seriously. But the events of last night have suddenly become more interesting and much more funny.

Yesterday was Shaft's Co-Dependant Girlfriend's birthday. So he took her out to dinner and invited a bunch of friends. Including me. But of course my jackass shows up late but this time on purpose. I had been previously invited to a dinner lecture at the restaurant Tru. Look up Tru in Chicago. And if you have a recockulous amount of money to throw away, eat there. The food is Amazing. The service exceeds all expectations. And I got to eat there for free. I didn't even have to pay for Valet parking. I would go through the whole menu and experience but I really do want to make this a short post. Short for me anyway.

Fast forward to 9:45pm last night. I am leaving Tru and heading to Buona Terra for the birthday party and my second dinner of the night. I am approx. 7-8 drinks in to the evening. I find them in the restaurant and luckily CDGF is sitting with her back to me and I able to sneak up behind her and kiss her on the cheek and wish her Happy Birthday. Unfortunately my unprepared ass doesn't have a present or even a card with me.

There are approx 7 people at the table. Clockwise from the head, CDGF, a frat bro of Shaft's, his wife, Shaft, Monica , a hot polish girl at the other end of the table with a cute accent who came with, Horse Cock who is a friend of David's who I have met a couple of times, another Frat bro, A girl who came with, yet another frat bro. I have met these guys once or twice but never remember their names.

I end up sitting between Shaft and Polish Girl. Sweet. I order. Everyone else has ordered but has not received their food. I order a drink. Imagine that. The food comes shortly followed by mine. I am impressed by the speed. And the salmon wasn't bad either. Would definitely go back. Shaft and CDGF come here all the time.

I will have to diverge from the story a little bit to explain Horse Cock. No I have never seen it. HC is a friend of Shaft's and Rico's from high school or possibly shortly after that. He is not butt ugly but he is not really an attractive guy kind of greasy and according to the boys treats women like shit but gets some of the hottest women. Which they could never understand. So they surmised that he must have a cock like a horse. And the name stuck. I don't think HC himself even knows the exeistence of the name but because I like to protect the anonymity of the idiots in blog, Horse Cock it is.

HC, Shaft and I are talking about Miami, other stories and other comments that probably shouldn't be said in mixed company. And we are having a blast. Every 60 seconds or so our end of the table erupts in laughter. CDGF says what kind of party is going on at that end. We are just toasting to you and how beautiful you are. She smiles. She knows bullshit when she hears it. A few minutes later we erupt in laughter again and she says are you having your own party down there? Can I join? I say absolutely come and sit on my lap. She says Really? Just what I wanted for my birthday. WE finish eating have a couple more drinks, birthday cake and another drink. And I ask my ever present question. Adonde proximo? Where next?

Where next is Clybar. Cool place. Relatively empty. Two girls sitting further down the bar. I have too many drinks in me to sound intelligent to strangers so I don't even try. Instead, I order more drinks. Including shots. We all then telling stories. Mine apparently all too long for CDGF who frequently tells me to stay on track and finish the damn story. Which I eventually do. Shaft tells a couple of stories. Horse cock tells a few stories. If there was anyone left in the bar they would have though we were either crazy or hilarious. Or both. We were loud and laughing continuously. Horse cock told a couple of stories about Shaft then told us that he is dating a 21 year old girl whose birthday was the day before and he gave her a Movado watch. To which she says Oh thank you and he gets a little kiss on the cheek. For a Movado watch! Later she is on the phone with her friend and says yeah he gave me a watch. Horse Cock says "I am returning that. How can you not appreciate that. For some people that is there dream watch." Hell when I was 21 that WAS my dream watch. I got one from the Ex as a wedding present. I still have it.

For those of you who don't care about watches HC probably dropped about $600-$1000 on that watch.

Back to the story. The whole time we are telling stories Polish Girl is sitting there smiling politely. I got the impression as the night wore on that her English vocabulary is not as broad as I initially assumed. Btu every time he turns to talk to her she seems happy and is content to sit there and listen and smile. At one point I was going to go over and talk to her to keep her involved but who am I to cock block. Even though this is a first date and as Horse Cock was walking into the restaurant Shaft saw Horse Cock lean over and say what is your name again? Classic.

So we eventually leave. HC with his girl in his Porsche. 911. Carrera. Convertible. I tell him he is a cock for owning my dream car, and he tells me I can borrow it when he is out of town. I love him.

I go to Betty's to see Z, a bartender I have a crush on who recently broke up with her boyfriend and got back together with him. She pours me a drink and proceeds to tell this long drama filled story. I loose my desire to stay, and leave 2/3 of my drink on the bar. You know you are drunk when you are willing to leave a man behind.

I get home. I wake up today with my alarm at 8am for the love of god Why. It takes me 1/2 hour to get the strength to get up and shut it off. I mainly get up because I need water. Lots of water. I get up pull a bottle of water out of the fridge adn walk towards the living room and my suit from the night before is strew around the apartment. Pants in the living room. Shirt in the middle of the dining room and the jacket in the far corner. On the floor. In my defense it looks like I may hay tried to lay it on another object before it hit the floor. You know you had to much drink when your clothes from last night are thrown everywhere and you weren't trying to get them off to have sex. I can understand the line of clothes from the front door to the bedroom. But all over willy nilly. That is kind of funny but I would have been happier if there were female clothes accompany them.

Anyway I call call Horse Cock today because he may have Cubs Sox tickets for tomorrow. He calls back. He says do you remember that girl from last night? I say yeah. He then tells me the punch line. I will make you sit through the whole story. He drive her back to his building where her car is. Her car is in his parking space in the building because there is no good street parking. They get back and he asks her to move her car. She apparently wanted to stay with this jerk who ignored her all night and spent half the night talking about other women because she says "are you kicking me out?" "I am not kicking you out but you can't stay." "I am tired, I'm drunk, I don't feel good and I have to work in the morning." They get out of the car she is standing on the passenger side and looks him right in the eye, takes her key and runs it down the entire passenger side. From the door all the way to the back of the car. She keyed his car! She keyed his Porsche! His dream car. My dream car. My response was She got pissed because you didn't fuck her? Usually they get pissed because you do.

He calls the police and has her arrested. She apparently got out at 8am this morning. He is bragging about Traveler's insurance though. He called today and there was an adjuster at his house in an hour and then then gave him the name of the place to get it fixed and wired them a check immediately. Wow.

Poor Porsche though.

Can't win for losing

Okay the band-aid is still on, but I am more determined than ever to get it off. I met indian Girl at the bar last night adn we barely spoke for the first hour. We were playing pool, so it wasn't like we were just sitting and staring at each other. But we really didn't have anything to say. She had 3 drinks and was playing pool with the door man before I got there. I needed at least three drinks to relax and loosen up and start talking. What did she want to talk about?

"I'm saving up to take us to Vegas" she says. I think I did a good job at hiding my disbelief, but maybe she was just too drunk to notice.

In the can't win for losing category......We were at the bar that I took Red to on Monday. And guess what? Same bartender. So what you say? Red and I were making out half the time we were there. Now the bartender was as drunk as we were on Monday so maybe she truly didn't recognize me, or maybe she didn't think it was her place to say anything but she was pretty friendly with Indian Girl. Part of me wishes she would have said something to Indian Girl. Now Indian Girl knows I am dating other people and has known from the get go. But I thought that if she would hear about it she would get upset, sulk, get super quiet, which would lead to the what' wrong conversation, which would lead to a discussion on how I am not able to fufill her needs and that she should move on. No such luck.

Then to drive me crazy she got even drunker and asked me every 3 min during whatever story she just couldn't stop telling, if I wanted to go to Vegas with her and didn't that sound like fun.

Loads.

Indian Girl is a leaver

Not meaning that she likes to leave, because if it were up to her I don't think she ever would. She would stay forever making sure she was here when I woke up, got home from work etc.

What she does do is leave her stuff behind. Every damn time.

Once a couple of years ago I was helping my dad clean out his office at home. He was getting new furniture I believe or something like that. Anyway we cleaned out the whole room. Everything out. And after moving everything I found a pair of earrings on the floor. Jokingly I said, "I hope those are mom's". He laughed and said " I have a theory about that" What. "That no jewelery is ever left behind, on accident." I thought about that and realized that almost if not every woman who has left a watch or earrings behind, wanted a reason to come back. So know I am even more acutely aware of this.

The first time Indian Girl was here she didn't leave anything physical but did make my bed and sprayed my pillows with her cherry blossom body spray. Thanks. The second time she left a toothbrush. When she came the third time she brought another toothbrush I asked why and she said she didn't know if I would still have it. Like I would throw out her toothbrush but still invite her back.

Since then she has left a hair clip, and a pair of pink panties. That I didn't find for 2 days. At least my daughter didn't find them. And I think she left something else too, but I dont' remember what it is. In 3 weeks. It has been only 3 weeks. I have been seeing Red for 3 months and she left behind a t-shirt once and asked me about it the next day.

Another Day, another $1100

Staring at a blank page trying to fill it with some enthusiasm. Gumby is sitting here with his everpresent smile making things a little easier. And it is sunny outside. Very sunny. In March in Chicago and that makes me happy. I think it is still a little cold outside but one thing at a time. I wonder if the car wash is open on Sunday. How sweet would that be.

Speaking of sweet, Monkey and I baked an Angel Food cake yesterday. We haven’t tasted it yet so I guess I should check to see if it tastes like ass before I get all excited about it. Monkey is excited though. We have been cooking together more these days, and it is kind of nice.

Nice to meet you. The Ass was out on St. Patrick’s day with this hottie from his kick boxing class. I was quite impressed and at least a little jealous. I wrote a post about Friday, copied it but then word froze up before I could paste it and then accidently closed the browser. I would tell you I am going to recreate that post but I’d probably be lying.

OK maybe not. Let’s get this over with. You will have to hope and pray that I go back and do the rest of the week, but for what it is worth here’s Friday.

I woke up on Friday at about 9 am with Little Indian Girl in my bed. I know I have only briefly mentioned her and haven’t used this name. I didn’t want to do it but it is the only nickname that fits. She is half Irish and half Native American. She has the Irish skin but Indian facial features and she is fairly cute. We wake up she wants to sleep in. There is a couple of rounds of fooling around split up by naps. I start talking about food at about 11am, she gives me an Uuuh you are always hungry. She is surprised? Finally I get her to agree to lunch at 1pm. There may have been more fooling around. I finally get out of bed at about 2 or 2:30p At three o’clock she is still in bed and not in the shower. At 3:30 I go out to her car to bring in some CDs she brought for me to burn, and to move her car because parking on my side of the street is illegal between 4p-6p. So I move her car around the corner, grab the CD case and head back to my car. As I get closer to it I notice this bright orange piece of paper on my winshield. Too big for a ticket I think. Too bright orange for a bar flyer. I get closer trying to figure it out when I am suddenly distracted by the big yellow…..mother fucking Denver Boot on my goddamn front tire. Fuck me in the ass with a running chainsaw. Why me lord, Why me? I usually don’t ask that question because I know the answer. I am a procrastinating, hard drinking, fornicating heathen who claims to be a Christian. And that is the answer today, but what I really want to know is why today.

I have a parking spot behind my house that I somehow refuse to use as often as I should. That is one of the reasons I have all these outstanding parking tickets in the first place. And I knew I had outstanding parking tickets, but I still left my car out in the open.

Because I am a Moron, with a capital M.

So now I am in panic mode. Fuck. I think I actually said that out loud and Indian Girl (IG) asked what’s wrong. I’m a moron I replied. I explained what had happed and then called the city’s parking hotline. That is how ruthless they are with tickets and towing here. They need a hotline so you can find your car after you walk out side and it is gone. I think everywhere else in the world people, upon discovering their car is missing, think Fuck my car has been stolen. In Chicago, we think Damn, I just got towed. It is slightly better now than it was twenty years ago when the Lincoln Park Pirates ruled the street. Oops I mean Lincoln Towing. Lincoln Towing used to have an exclusive contract with the city and would tow you whether you were parked illegally or not. Now they have inforced so many regulations that there is a sign every 15 feet telling you under what conditions you can park there.

Anyway I call 1-800-WEGOTYOURCAR and find out that I owed. Drumroll please. $2000 in parking tickets. How does anyone amass $2000 in parking tickets I just don’t know. But they did tell me I would have to pay at least half plus the $60 boot fee to get my damn car unbooted. If I was on public assistance I would have only had to pay ¼ plus the boot fee. If you are on public assistance should you be able to afford a car? I can barely afford mine. That was a rhetorical and sarcastic question so the liberals can refrain from flaming me in the comments.

So now the dilemma is how do I come up with $1100. I have got about $200 in the bank. Rico already owes me money and is avoiding me because of it. I don’t get paid till Monday, but I need the car now because I am due to pick up monkey in a few hours. Indian Girl offers to let me use her car. But that means I have to drive her all the way home and I will need the car for the full weekend which gives me two full days to get into a wreck, which you know will happen because I am living proof that Murphy’s law is alive and well. She then asks if they take credit cards and I say they do, but it does me no good because I don’t own one. I refuse. They are evil. Why, is another post altogether. She says you can use mine. I think two things simultaneously. One, wow she is super nice I can believe she is offering that. Two, oh, my god she is a psycho chick. Yes she has known me for about seven years but until a week and a half ago I hadn’t seen her in five years. People who give that much of themselves that soon always scare me. I know you are going to tell me she is just very nice and I know this but there are other psycho chick signs that I will go into in a later post.

She calls her credit card company and her bank while I am calling my nowhere to be found friends, and she comes back and tells me that she can put $500 on her card and give me $200 cash. Her $700 plus my $200 still leaves me $200 short. I am going through my phone book when I notice a test message from The Ass that I had ignored earlier. Basketball games. Joes on weed street. Get here. I was in bed with a naked woman at the time I received that and even basketball, beer, and bullshit doesn’t outrank that. But now. Now that I am in a crisis, the message meant something else. It meant that a friend with liquid cash, free time, and a bizarre sense of loyalty was available for contact. I reached out. He answered and after telling him my dilemma he said that sucks and followed it shortly afterwards with how much? I tell him I am short $200 but if he can come up with $700 I will be less indebted to this woman. He understands. He says give me a few minutes and meet me at Lincoln Station. This is why I like him. He may be an ass and bust my balls endlessly but he has always got my back. I wait what seems like and endless period of time for Indian Girl to put her face on and fix her hair. Even the most girly girl would be shocked at how long this girl takes to get ready. Right before leaving the house The Ass calls me to tell what a hug e sacrifice he is making. He apparently was talking to a cute girl at the bar who he left with True Dog. I say no problem True Dog is married and won’t hit on her and he is fairly entertaining when he is drinking. He says that’s the problem. He isn’t drinking. Oh, I say. You’re screwed, she’s gonna leave. I believe he then made some threats or cursed at me in several languages or something like that.

We get to Lincoln Station and can’t find him so I call him. IG goes to the bathroom. He tells me where to look and sure enough he is right behind me. I must have walked past him twice and looked at him three times. He is sitting with a girl and SHE IS CUTE. Way cute. We say hello and she compliments my shirt. I am wearing a Fun Lovin’ Criminals shirt, a small band that opened for U2 once almost 10 years ago. I am wearing it because it is green. I realize later that I didn’t say thank you and pretty much blew off her comment altogether, because I was distracted. Foti (ok this is where it gets confusing, although I have a friend I call Foti they are part of of a group that calls each other Foti, so for the record here I am talking about the Ass) makes the handoff I say thanks and IG returns from the bathroom. We make introductions. Foti asks if I am drinking I say I gotta go. Then I ask him why after drinking for 6 hours he is not loaded. He say he is in for the long haul. I tell him he can get buzzed and still hang for 12 hours. I tell him next time I have time I will show him how it is done. He says I am sure you could. We bolt because it is 6pm and the Dept of Revenue office closes at 6:30p. We arrive at 6:22p. The security guard sees us through the window and shakes her head. I walk up anyway and check the door. Locked. Bastards. Like I expected anything less from city employees. I should have stayed at the bar. IG and I drive to Wrigleyville to get dinner. No go. It is dark now and the St. Patty’s day revelers are out in force. It isn’t that we can’t get a seat. It is that we can’t even get a parking space. We drive to a bar and grill not too far away that I know has a parking lot. Full. We find a space 1 ½ blocks away. It is packed and an hour wait for a table. Now for those of you have been paying attention you know that I have not eaten since the previous day. And those of you who know me know that I eat every 2 hours and if I go more than 4 hours without eating you better lock up the sharp objects and stay out of my way.

Luckily there is one open bar stool. IG sits down and I order drinks and a food menu. Mmmm…….food. I suck down my drink like it is my first drink of water after traversing the Sahara. Even though I know it might be my last because the amount of money in my pocket won’t sustain a prolonged drinking binge, or even a few drinks for that matter. I order a Philly Cheesesteak. She orders Spinach Artichoke dip. For dinner. Now I have nothing against appetizers. I love appetizers. I am the King of appetizers. I like to order 2 or 3 at a time. But they should be followed…..by a meal. Women drive me crazy when they do that. Now I know if they eat like I do they would weigh as much as I do, but what they don’t understand is that I don’t care if they don’t finish it all, order all you want just take home and actually eat what is left over or give it to me for god’s sake. I have been to dinner twice with IG and both times she didn’t finish her meal and both times she didn’t offer me any and didn’t take it home. And I was still hungry both times. Actually the second time I took the second half of her steak because I wasn’t going to let a good filet go to waste but by the time I got to it, it was cold and although I will eat almost anything at room temperature steak is not one of them. Not that I haven’t I just don’t like to. So we finish our food. We finally get a second seat and IG has opened up a tab and has started feeding me drinks, something she seems fond of doing, seems strange to me but I haven’t complained yet. The Ass has moved up to a bar in Wrigleyville and the place we are at is not that entertaining. The only attractive women in the entire place are sitting on either side of me, and the one not with me has been under siege by a guy who wouldn’t stop talking about himself and looked like an ugly version of Bluto from Animal House. This guy just kept talking about himself and how cool he was and just as I was thinking could this guy be anymore full of himself, he says, outloud, “I love myself, I really do”. No shit jackass. He made the mistake of walking away for a few minutes and when he came back she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. So he closed his tab and left. Thank god. A few minutes later the women get up to leave and ask for their tab, and ask if they had the right tab and Bartender says yeah, I put all your other drinks on that guy’s tab. They say no wonder he was pissed. Seems about right though. He should have to pay something for making that woman listen to his drunken narcissism.

We head for Wrigleyville with the agreement that if we can’t find parking we will head for home. With food and drink in my belly I am a little more patient and actually make two passes and find a space about a block away, and in Chicago anything within a block is rock star parking. Bernie’s like every other bar in the city is packed. But I find the Ass and Cutie Pie pretty easily. Cutie Pie has a friend not as cute not as engaging. IG does not seem to be entertained. We order drinks and more drinks and she still won’t talk to anyone but me. I talk to everyone because that is what I do. Cutie Pie asked me how many outstanding tickets I had. I said lots. She said were you on the boot list. Apparently, eh. She said she is worried because she is on the boot list. I ask how many tickets she has. Five. Five, I say you are small potatoes I was like on the Ten Most Wanted List. She say it is more like…. And puts up all ten fingers. I laugh and say we are talking about parking tickets not past lovers. S he laughs. You can say the real number, but about that other thing you should stick with five.

IG has to work in the morning so she needs to leave, but has conveniently left stuff at my apartment so I have to leave with her. She pays her tab. I say good bye to Ass, Cutie Pie and her friends more of which had shown up in the mean time. Cutie Pie gives me a kiss on the cheek. IG walks out apparently saying good bye to no one. She later tells me she said goodbye. I have my doubts.

We talk to That Drunk Girl on the phone on the way back home TDG has met IG in the past and is asking me questions about IG and if I slept with her and is wondering why I am being so vague with my answers so I say she wants to say Hi, and hand over the phone. When I get the phone back she starts laughing and says why the fuck you didn’t tell me she was in the car. We laugh some more because that is what we do. I hang up.

We get back to the apartment and IG immediately pours me a drink (see what I mean) I have better ideas of what to do with our remaining time. So I say good bye to her. For about a half an hour or so. It takes her another 30 min or so to get her shit together. That girl kills me.

I call Ass back and he has left the bar and has dropped Cutie Pie off. He makes sure to mention that he made out with her for a while. Gotta be happy for him.

It is not really too late to go out at this point but I don’t know where anyone else is and am not energized enough to find out. But I can’t sleep. I fall asleep at 6am and wake up at ten and go to try to get my car out of hock. I call my bank and my paycheck has gone through a day early. Go me! Which turns out to be a good thing because it turns out I owe $2200 not just $2000. So I would have been a $100 short. I takes about 30 min for paper work and such, and when the lady calls to have the crew unboot my car they tell her that they were on the way to tow my car. Bastards. I am glad she made the call before we were done with the payment and paperwork because I would have been doomed.

She tells me it will be a few hours to get the boot off. Fuck. I have to be at Monkey’s house in an two hours and she has a band competition in 3 hours.

It takes me 20 minutes to get home by bus and miraculously the boot is already off. Praise Paperweight Jesus! (I’ll explain later) But as I get closer, I see what? A ticket hanging off my side window. Bastards ticketed me for being in a rush hour zone during rush hour, even though it was quite obvious that I was completely incapable of moving the vehicle. I so need to move to Zimbabwe.

Anyway, I make it to get monkey by noon, and all goes well. This post took 3 hours of writing time, 7 days of real time and has made me late once again.

Blog-o-matic

I am TIRED. So tired in fact that you are only getting this small half-assed shitty post. I went full on drinking on sunday and if you remind me about it I may tell you about it.

But right now I am going to tell you what an ass I am. A week or so ago I told you about how I met tony at a buzznet meetup here in Chicago. I believe I told you how cool he was and that I thought he was the definition of L A I D B A C K because he gave me a copy of Stiff and just said paypal me later. Sweet.

Here comes the me being an ass part. I forgot. I thought about it the next day but was running late and........ And nothing I forgot. For over a week. I am such an ass. But all is well. I emailed an apology and paypaled the twenty five dolla american money. So now he owes me an autograph. I will so have to get it before I start drinking next time. Good luck, right.

Well folks it is 6:41am in good ole chicago land and I am getting my tired ass to bed. Enjoy your day. Hell, enjoy someone else's day. You know they are either wasting it or taking it for granted anyway.

BUZZNET

The hardest thing about writing a journal is the fucking writing. You actually need to sit down, stop reading everyone else crap and get down to writing yours.

BUZZNET! Saturday night I dropped off my daughter at her friend’s house for a sleep over. She was even more happy than I was. I was happy only because her well timed request to sleep over at her friend’s house coincided with the Buzznet meet up staring none other than tony pierce. I was running late because running late is what I do. I had to stop at my brother’s house to borrow some loot and I got hijacked into a Thanksgiving Dinner Reprise. Thanks brother the food was good. He also lent me the fifth season of The Sopranos on DVD of which I was only 3 episodes short of completing. Then I had to jump into my oh so illegally parked car which amazingly did not have a ticket on it and sped down to Uncommon Ground which I was initially afraid only served coffee but turned out to be a pretty cool bar. The lack of Southern Comfort and above mediocre service may keep me from returning but a cool place nonetheless. I arrived and tony was in his signature hat wearing it in signature style. (I will not capitalize his name out of respect for his refusal to do the same) He was sitting at the bar with Bobby D and two other people whose names I instantly forgot and never heard again as they didn’t join us before they left. It wasn’t until after we moved from the bar and away from Bobby did we learn that he was a childhood friend of tony’s. After that it seemed too hard and too rude to go over the bar and tell Bobby that I was going to ignore the person I came to see in order to pimp him for cool (read embarrassing) stories about tony p, so I didn’t. What I did do was sit and listen to one of the most interesting and funny story tellers I have met. Tony is able to talk like he writes, or write like he talks. Chicken or the egg you tell me. The other people in attendance in order of arrival were Byron, Chris, Brian, Diana, and Alex. Sorry tony for linking people to their blogs when available and not their Buzznet pages but people will find them I am sure.



There were many conversations at once and involved so many things. tony’s amazing ability to post twice every single damn day. Going to school in Chicago, living in CA, going to a cubs game for $3 back when the beer vendors would have sold to the underage because it is hard to make a quota when there are only 13,000 people in the stands, and drugs. That was tony’s convo. tony couldn’t believe that Alex and Diana don’t smoke pot and neither could I. They are musicians for goodness sake, classical musicians but musicians none the less. I think I read somewhere that Diana is an opera singer. I would hate to be her neighbor. Although to their defense I believe what they said was that they don’t smoke pot in their dorm rooms. On scholarships and all. Pot is not really my thing. Alcohol is my drug and it has been enough. Pot used to be tony’s drug but a little wouldn’t do it so a little got more and more and then more and more wouldn’t do it so he just gave it up. Put it aside more in circulation for the younger crowd. Then tony said drugs are what college is for. Experiment. Be all hallucinogens make you think you can be. But do it in the woods. Nature is your friend, he says. Nature knows you’re high and is nice to you. The stars are brighter, the grass is greener and the trees just say Duuude. Never really tried that stuff. Made an attempt once at age eighteen to do shrooms but could find any. Turns out watching Pink Floyd’s The Wall on shrooms is a bad idea according to tony. Nature. Nature is where it’s at.



Gave tony a big kiss on the cheek from Whatsername. No pics of that though. Might end up on the internet, you know. Bought him a shot. Two I believe. One of Bicardi, because they weren’t selling Cuban. But he sipped it neat like a Cuban. Props for that. And a red headed slut. I usually save that for later in the night but I left early as you will soon read. And I bought a round or two for Alex and Diana our two underage attendees. tony noticed them fidgeting first and ask if they wanted a drink. They were debating whether or not to use their fakes. I said all you have to do is ask. If the overage invite you out they expect you to drink and they expect to help the cause. Diana asked how much they owed for the drinks and I gave her a you gotta be kidding me look and said I was always willing to contribute to the delinquency of a minor. I feel that within reason it is not only your privilege but a duty to provide alcohol for the underage. It is like paying it forward. Someone bought for you, you should buy for someone else. Keeps the world going around.



Kind of like blogging does. We talked about blogging some, not as much as we should have being in the prescence of the blogfather, but he is pretty much able to and happy to talk about any topic presented. Before going to uncommon ground I had a conversation with Brother about blogging. Mainly about how I write too much on mine and if Monkey ever sees it I will so not be able to afford all the therapy she is going to need. He doesn’t read tony, which I find surprising but he is in IT and reads informational blogs. Blogs that link to places that tell you what happened and what is important. I think to think that this is important and what is happening. I think the busblog is the essential blog, and it should be as tony wrote the book.



Why did I miss the last 5 hours of drunken nonsense and hot dogs at 4am? I so do love hot dogs at 4am. And cheese fries. Didn’t anyone get the cheese fries?

Why did I plan 2 cool things on the same night? Part of the definition of a cool thing is that it is something you want to keep doing until someone makes you stop. So why stop voluntary? Because she is cute. Cuter than tony. Maybe not smarter, funnier or more prolific than tony but definitely cute.



Speaking of books. I bought a copy of Stiff. The one with the staircase on it. That one speaks to me I still don’t know why. And the coolest thing about the coolest dude is that he said paypal me later. Not now. Not you can’t leave the premises with out paying buster. Later. I had no real American currency and he didn’t have his xbi credit card reader. Later. How cool is that. I thought about taking advantage of the priceline type Stiff sale that he has going on but I thought fuck an autographed copy is worth $25. I’ll pay $25. The problem with the previous sentence isn’t the $25, it is the autographed. I went all the way down there to meet the man himself and get an autographed copy of Stiff. He dug around in his bag for the cover I was looking for and handed it over with a big smile on his face and my big dorkness forgot to have him sign it. Tony you are still getting $25 because I still want that autograph and your sense of duty will then force you to get to Chicago when it is not asscold out side and sign my book before going to a game. We will have to put the book in my car before going in ‘cause there is no way I am getting mustard all over a genuine tony p autograph. And we can’t do it after the game ‘cause there is no way in heck that anyone is remembering anything after all that Old Style. But I am drinking Bud Light because I will drink crap beer at a game but it’s at least gotta be a crap beer that I can pretend tastes good.



I live for Cub’s games in the summertime. Only hit six or seven this year but hope for a better record next year. Both mine and the Cubs.

Speaking of missing things at the Buzznet party. I missed OakParkMastermind and ElginRoots. Why is that it takes someone to come almost 3000 miles to almost meet someone who lives ten miles away.

She is Latina. I told a friend last Wednesday I was going to meet a girl, and when we got to the Latin club where she was he said what does she look like I said she is Latina. He said, curvy with nice hair. I said, you’ve met. That really is the best description of Latinas I have heard yet. I am going to call her Smiley because she is and so far she makes me smile. With Saturday being one of the few Saturdays that I was not working and Monkeyless I made plans with her. I was supposed to meet her between 9-9:30. I left Uncommon Ground when I overheard someone say it is 11:30. I left so quick that I was a good twenty yards down the road before I realized that I didn’t close my tab even though I had asked the waitress for it. But she also forgot one of the drinks in the two drink order so I should of asked again for the tab. At least I wasn’t in my car 20 minutes down the road. I got back in closed my tab and I don’t think any of the buzznetters saw me so I don’t think I looked like a dork.



I pick up Rico. As I am getting close to the bar he is in I call and say where are you and he says he is on the street corner smoking a joint. I laugh, see him in the street and promptly try and run him over. Sure enough he was actually standing on the corner smoking a joint. And he doesn’t even smoke. And he aint supposed to be drinking either, but he had three before I picked him up. Which probably means five. Then he drags me to a small taco stand for tacos with the strongest onions known to man. A piece of gum and a few drinks later Smiley was still giving me shit for my onion breath. Rico you bastard. Smiley ended up leaving the bar she was at to go down town to Nacional 27 and Restaurant club that plays Salsa on weekends. Most nights I believe. We (including Rico) had a few more drinks and then we ended up at Betty’s a place I should just let die already, but it is familiar and so close to home. At the end of the night I snagged a piece of gum from the bartender to try and finally kill the onion breath and I asked Smiley to wait as I paid my tab but the bartenders were doing shots so I got put on hold and when I got out side the Latinas were G O N E gone. I checked my phone no calls. Bastards. Without even saying goodbye. No kiss goodnight. I was a little pissed. I didn’t call her I thought she should call me. This morning I saw my phone and I had three missed text messages. Three, all from smiley. I guess I am the asshole. Rico agreed I am the asshole.

I was going to write this as soon as I got home but Rico stayed at my place so we sat and watched Sopranos on DVD, on my computer because my regular DVD player is dead. I watched all three episodes I needed to finish the season. Up till 8am I was and slept till only 10:45am because I had to go pick up monkey. I dropped her back off at 3:30pm and then took a well deserved well needed four hour nap. I then took Smiley to a movie. It was good. You may or may not see a post on that.

Blog Like It's Hot

I am going to blog like it’s en fuego was the first thing I thought this morning. I feel INSPIRED. Hot Canadian chicks are good like that. I think Smelly with be my muse the way Raymi is Tony’s muse. Although Tony has got more muses than I have pairs of underwear, and I keep my drawer stocked. Pretty women inspire everything. Even each other. My stereo alarm was going off for 45 minutes before I got my sad ass out of bed to turn it off. I shut that bitch up and turned right around and slid right back into bed. I determined that I would not sleep away my morning but there was some morning bidness that had to be taken care of before I could get up. But before I could finish my door bell started ringing like the world was on fire. Fuck who could that be. Another round of manic ringing and I got up and put on my pants and trudged off toward the front windows. I thought it’s not the 1st so it isn’t the landlord. I have killed anyone in a while so it isn’t the police. Can’t see who is there from the window. It’s a man but standing to close to the building for a proper ID. I amble down the stairs pulling on my shirt. There is only one other person who rings my bell like that. . Shaft. Shaft himself graced my presence. Unannounced. As usual.

He is doing well. Clean and sober. We went to lunch at the best hole-in-the wall Cuban place in Chicago. Pancho’s. If you are ever in Chicago look it up. He has being chillin’ with the girl friend and is going to buy a house with her. A big ass $550,000 house in Oak Park. That’s what not spending $1000 a month on alcohol will do for you. There are going to rent out their current places. He mentioned the M word. Shaft, the M word. Who woulda thunk it. He said it is time to settle down. Settle down is a phrase that is even more unsettling than the M word. I wish him luck.

He told me that he saw my ex-girlfriend Blondie 3 times over the summer. 3 times. Bastard never told me. Her and her sister apparently play softball on a team that played against Shaft’s girlfriend’s team for the championship. He only talked to them once. Shaft briefly dated Blondie’s twin sister (also dubbed Blondie, yes it gets confusing) but that was a mess for another day. Blondie. I miss her still. After 2 ½ years. I don’t know if it is just because I got dumped or because I was in love. I always thought she had long term potential. My problem was I didn’t act like it. She was the only woman since the divorce that I considered having something long-term or permanent with. Bad timing. Bad attitude on my part. I was fully steeped in the Vortex at that point, and when hanging out with Romans you tend to do as Romans do. Read as Eat, Drink, and Do Mary. Maybe someday you will get the whole Blondie story. Maybe even a new Blondie story. We shall see.

Time to be productive. Might go out tonight. Can’t afford it but I have no will power.

Friday Night Was Made For Fighting

Or for drinking, or making an ass out of your self or whatever.

I met the Trixies at Sushi Samba Rio about 30 minutes late. Of course. I thought I was doing OK because I hadn’t gotten a where the fuck are you phone call. Turns out my phone was just fucking with me because I called them at about 8:25 to make sure they were there and they were like yeah where the fuck are you we are waiting to order, and as soon as I hung up my phone showed the missed phone calls from 30 minutes prior. I arrived and it was The Blonde One, Ballbreaker, Trixie and Hippie Chick.

Prior to dinner Trixie and Hippie Chick didn’t have nicknames prior to dinner but they evolved as the evening proceeded.

Trixie receives her name by default. She really has no other distinguishing characteristic other than being a trixie which of course is the defining characteristic of a trixie. She is a trixie wanna be. The Blonde One is a trixie because her beliefs and actions put her in that category but I believe Trixie forms her beliefs and actions so as to be a trixie. She was wearing a top that could be easily mistaken for a piece of lingerie. Ballbreaker called it her pajamas, although not to her face. I however made it a point later in the evening to tell Trixie that it looked like lingerie. Trixie never seemed to add much to the conversation. I asked her at one point what she did for a living and she said Finance. I guess that is a legitimate answer but you would think she could be more specific. Are you a back teller? Are you selling your ass on the street? What the fuck does finance mean. Jesus.

Hippie Chick is definitely not a trixie. She is not blonde and isn’t ashamed of the fact. She seemed down to earth and pleasant, but didn’t really say much until she had had a couple of drinks but left soon after that. The name hippie chick may not really apply and I will have to re-evaluate the moniker if I ever meet her again and/or have any type of meaningful conversation with her. The name came about because her blouse had this small flowery pattern, and she just seemed to have a more laidback holistic view She was nicely dressed but nothing you would go “ooooh where’d yo get that” or mistake it for a major label, but nice. . She wasn’t carrying a hemp purse or wearing Birkenstocks but when laid upon the canvas that is the trixies the contrast is startling.

Upon arriving the waitress chastised me for make for attractive ladies wait. She said I will give you a moment to look over the drink men- SoCo Coke ok I’ll be right back. Drink menu my ass. People who can’t figure out what they want to drink drive me nuts. You must have some idea of what you like. Especially the people who claim to be big drinkers and then when you ask them what they want they are all um, er, ah. Drink already and shut the hell up.

Ballbreaker looked classy as always. The Blonde One, blonde. The small talk before dinner was just that, small. Dinner was mediocre for the prices set. The ambiance was very cool and the people were good looking and trendy but probably not worth the cost. I vaguely remember some slightly interesting conversation at dinner but nothing I can remember. The Blonde One’s friend Matt (not unique enough for a nickname) joined us as we finished dinner. After dinner we went upstairs to the rooftop lounge which was cool but more crowded than a Wrigley field men’s room after a long top of the 7th. We got up there and found a place to stand where we wouldn’t be trampled or bumped into every ten minutes and they were just standing around and I could quite here what they were saying so I asked “Are we staying?” which seemed to puzzle them and they said “it is way more crowded than earlier” to which I replied “Are we staying or going somewhere else?” and they couldn’t quite figure out that I was asking why we were standing there without drinks and no one was making any attempt to get closer to the bar and the alcohol. So I took drink orders and BB followed me up to the bar knowing that it would be too much to carry. This is my down fall. I am not going to sit around waiting for someone else to take charge and I am usually the first to finish my drink and I am not going to be an ass and go up and get my own drink without offering one to the others in the group and I therefore always end up buying more rounds than everyone else, especially when in a group of women. Ball Breaker ordered a Ketel One Cosmo because who wants well Vodka, right? So it shows up and there are these little things floating in her drink. I have had whole slices of fruit in my drink and not noticed until the glass was empty. To her credit, rather than start yelling or complaining she asked what they were, thinking it may be parsley or something else added into the drink on purpose. Turned out it was mint from the last mojito the bartender made in the same shaker. The bartender apologized profusely (not needed) and made another one. I ended taking all the drinks back anyway while BB waited for her drink. I of course finished my drink before the girly girls, but waited until The Blonde one and Matt were almost ready for a drink before I went and got a second round. Yes I got the second round too. Hippie Chick waved off another drink saying that she had to work and was already pretty buzzed. She had had only two. Trixie wasn’t even half way into her drink. BB was more than half done so in my mind she was ready for another one. I ordered the round and had received two of the four drinks and was watching the bartender make the Cosmo when I saw her mouth the word “fuck” and then dump the Cosmo. When she got closer I asked her what happened. “More mint” She had to dump the Cosmo, rinse out the shaker and start all over. Fuck. I would have been kinda pissed off too. It was pretty busy in there and to have to remake drinks must be a pain in the ass.




Hippie Chick was gone by the time I got back with the round. There was a guy behind us wearing this pretty ugly loud shirt. He started talking to us because he heard me talking about working in the ER and he said he was a Cardiologist. (The girls were doubtful but they way he talked made him seem possible ligit) We talked little bit, then I asked him if he was drunk when he put the shirt on. He laughed and said you better talk to my wife, she dressed me. I personally would say I got dressed drunk before I would ever admit that my wife dressed me. He went over and told his friends what I had said and they laughed. Then he told the wife. She didn’t appear amused.





I hadn't even realized I had gotten a picture of the shirt until I went to post this picture.


Me, Ball Breaker

Some guys near us left and we got to sit down. That is when I whipped out the camera again. The girls were sitting down and BB grabbed Trixie’s leg and pulled it across her lap. Giving us what Trixie later called


The Beaver Shot (l-r The Blonde One, Ball Breaker, and Trixie)

I told her that I would have never noticed if she hadn’t pointed it out and to stop complaining, she wasn’t wearin’ a skirt or nothin’. Whiny bitch. I did tell her I thought it was cool that a woman called it a Beaver Shot, then she told me Ball Breaker had dubbed it that. Extra Points. BB continues to impress me.


Trixie

Trixie kept whining for me to delete the beaver shot so I took this one of BB to even things out.


After one more drink for me and Matt we all went to Mystic Celt to meet

The Flake. The Flake is another non-trixish member of the trixies. She is a girly girl and loves accessories and all that crap but is laid back and doesn’t spend a lot on clothes and such and is pretty granola bar. If she wasn’t such a flake her name would be hippie chick. She is the kind of girl who makes plans with you and then forgets the entire conversation ever occurred. She once told us a bunch of stories from when she was younger. Brother was there and asked how when the story took place. College. I think he spit out his drink. “I thought you were going to say high school, or when I was fourteen. College. Nice.” She pretty much had Brother rolling the entire time. She is fun to hang out with sometimes and is truly a nice person (something hard to say about the other trixies) but That Drunk Girl and I would just have to look at each other and shake our heads. And other times avoid each other’s gaze in fear of busting out laughing. Once on The Ass’ Birthday he was making sarcastic comments and she was getting completely offended and for once he wasn’t trying to be offensive and I had to translate what he said into what he meant. The Ass just looked and at me and said “Yeah, that’s it.” I think it was one of the only few times I have impressed him. She still didn’t get it. But you gotta keep some nice people around even if they are flaky. And flaky people can be entertaining.

I some how didn’t get a pic of The Flake, but I got a couple pictures at Mystic Celt.


Group Hug


I like this one

Not only did I not get pics of The Flake I also failed to photograph sad excuses of masculinity that accompanied her. Bald Guy, some people can pull off bald, he could not. And Dorky Guy. I mean full on dorky guy. I fully admit that I am a tall dorky white guy but I am beginning to realize that in that category I am the cream of the crop. It is not hard to look like Indiana Jones when you are surrounded by the cast of I am Sam. I teased Trixie asking her if she got dorky guy’s number and she almost spit out her drink. She said he kept touching her back while he talked to her, and there was no where for her to move so he couldn’t touch her back. I laughed but later thought she was being a little prissy. I will touch a woman’s back while talking to her in a bar. But not during the first 3 minutes. Dorky guy needs to work on his timing. And get the women drunker first. Like buy her four shots, then start talking to her. I so wish I had pictures.

We went to a third bar and there is more story but it is 4:30 in the AM and if I don't post this now you won't get it until Wednesday. But I will tell you


Ballbreaker got drunk

PS- If Trixie was upset about the Beaver shot then it is a good thing she didn't see the cleavage in the group hug shot.

Where do we go now.

I had a couple of blog ideas while at work today but they are gone from the head now. Possibly never to return. And I have been caffiene free all day so the thoughts are not flowing as rapidly as usual. I will try to turn on the ADD and see what comes out.

I spoke to That Drunk Girl last week and found out that the first week in August will not be as good as originally thought, so I will have to change my flight to Hawaii to later in the month. I called ATA and found out that I can switch it for $50, which is cheaper than most of the airlines, as far as I know. But that $50 bumps us up to $471 which is still good but not the supper exciting far of $421. If I move the dates to later in the month I will be able to see the two Cubs games I have tickets for at the beginning of the month as well as the U2 concert on the 20th of Sept. I will however not make the last Cubs game of the season. Which of course of course always has the potential to be the day they clinch the wild card.

The ADD is not kicking so much. Must. Have. Caffiene.

Oh my God! James Doohan died yesterday. Sad day. Sad day. That's Scotty. Montgomery Scott. From Star Trek. Please tell me you know what I am talking about. Kids today. And speaking of kids. Dear old James Doohan had his youngest child 5 years ago. When he was 80! He married is third wife when he was 55 and she was 19. And he still managed to live another 30 years. Good for him. I think the kids kept him young. Because dealing with adults will kill you. I feel myself die a little every time I need to deal with morons masqerading as adults. I would rather be a kid. Forever.

Forever is a long damn time. Forever is tomorrow plus more days than you can count. Most days tomorrow is more days than I want to deal with.

I am truly tired now so I think I will try Amber's method of falling asleep and hope it work's better for me that it did for her.

Good Night and Good Luck.

Shocking News

More shocking than the news of the past few days. You should sit. You may not be able to handle it. Put pillows and blanket around you in case you pass out and hit the floor.





I did my DAMN laundry.



About damn time too. I was down to the santa boxers. You know you waited to long to do laundry if you have gone through most of the holiday undies. St. Paddy's Day, Father's Day, Fourth of July, Halloween, and Christmas. I went to the ghetto Bubbleland. I guess that's redundant as all Bubbleland's are pretty ghetto. Even the one's in semi-decent neighborhood's. But they are 24 hours. They are a little more expensive and a little further away than the true ghetto laundrymat but they are usually not very crowded so I am not fighting people for the dryers. People get crazy over that shit. Crazy, I say, CRAZY.


"IM GOING TO BLOG LIKE ITS EN FUEGO" has been running through my head lately. It's stolen of course. I'm not going to use it for much except to pimp out that blog and it's author. She changed her blog layout today. I didn't know it until after I decided to link there. I went there to copy the URL, and wa-la chango presto. Black instead of white, and she changed the name. The title was the above quote. I kinda liked the old color and layout, but what does that matter. My opinion should never stifle someone else's creativity. I mean, have you seen my blog. She gets waaaaaay more style points than I.

Do you know what the best thing about leftovers is? There is food. Left. Over. In YOUR fridge. It's the coolest thing. Especially when you forgot it was in there, and you walk to the fridge dejected and depressed knowing you are not going to find anything in there but open it anyway, and BAM! Food you forgot about. Now I don't mean moldy oldy forgot about it. I mean fresh enough to eat forgot about it. For me that means ordering a pizza at 5:30p eating it at 6p, putting it in the fridge at 7:30p and at 12midnight while sitting in the Burger King drive thru line remember that your silly ass put Pizza in the fridge less than five hours ago. BONUS. I pulled out of that drive thru line so fast I left light trails. I unfortunately I had already ordered, so BK is going to have to eat the cost of two Whoppers with cheese. Oh, well. I don't have stock in them.

I wanted to talk about blogging and where I want my blog to go but I was supposed to be at a friend's house 10 minutes ago, so you will have to wait until tomorrow night.

I am off to watch a subtitiled Chinese movie that I have never heard of.

Why ask Why? Drink Bud Dry.