R.I.P. MIKEY

Today has NOT been a good day. First thing I woke up to today was a call from a dear friend, informing me that our mutual friend, a guy I've known since high school, very suddenly passed away yesterday.

Mikey and I were by no means "best" friends, but we've been in each other's orbits for at least 15+ years. We're the same age. We graduated together. He dated one of my best friends. But more importantly, he was on overall great, great guy.

And now he's gone.

The reason why is that he had a heart condition; years ago he had open heart surgery to correct it. During that time was when one of my best friends was dating him - and she helped nurse him back to health.

Their romantic relationship didn't last more than a year, but still - and I'm NOT feeling sorry for myself, but I had to break the news to her about Mikey's death today...I'm really torn up. To say nothing of her reaction.

Here's how I'd like to remember him, which is also one of the most fun times I had hanging with him. Back when I used to live at my Dad's place, north burbs, in a fucking gated community, Mikey, a group of his friends and my bud's all went back to my place to continue drinking.

Problem was, I either forgot the gate clicker or it ran out of juice. Either way, Mikey wedged the Chevy Suburban he was driving, around the exit gate (with me holding the fucking thing up for added clearance) and we then all had a FUCKING PARTY.

Out of respect for him and his family, I'll elect not to go into greater detail about what happened, but I will say: he IS an awesome guy who I'll miss very, very, very much. Just writing this has made me bawl my eyes out.

Sorry for the morose tone before the holidays, but I had to write something.

WHAT UP WITH THAT, PART 2

This just makes me so irrationally happy.

SLIDE-SHOW TIME!

Although I feel compelled to post something today, I don't feel particularly clever. Perhaps it's because I'm freaking exhausted from work late, late last night, and also finding out the bar I'm working is closing, but then also being offered a part-time manager position at the new bar, or freaking out about the FUCKED up picture I got texted from Pablo last night, in which he posed the question "like my new shoes?" and said picture was of his hard cock residing within a 3" lace strewn heel shoe thing, OMG fucking UGH.

Whew. So yeah, I figured a fun post with pictures is in order, especially since reader Alex requested it.

Seriously, OK - Wilco puts on a GREAT show. Really, they are all accomplished musicians and ROCK the FUCK out live. But if you ever chance to see them, 2 weeks after you've broken you're collarbone, DO NOT GO! Holy Shit, these middle aged women go fucking nuts. I almost left early because so many of these drunk suburban ladies kept banging into to me, which is why/how I ended up at this particular vantage point (far, far away of the angry swarm of horny ladies - I had no idea Jeff Tweedy has this effect on people).

THIS, my friends, is an actual totally vintage 1955 Porsche 550 Spyder, the very same, and extremely rare model that ended none other than James Dean's life. This particular example spent 3 hours outside of the bar I work at, with me hovering over/breathing on it. I'll be blunt: this car gives me a boner - and I'm more than willing to part with a testicle to obtain it.

This here is my buddy's dog Blackjack. And yes, he's wearing underwear, specifically MINE. Why might a dog be wearing a pair of my boxer briefs? Glad you asked! This was from an afternoon when I took my laundry over to said buddy's house (Ex-Roomie was an accomplish, and somehow, probably after smoking too much pot) we decided the dog needed to "cover up" his junk. Needless to say, this particular garment was promptly disposed of 5 minutes after this picture was taken.

WHOA dude? Smoke much? My other good buddy decided to create the longest cigarette the world has ever seen, by combining a rolled Bali Shag along with a fucking Camel Light. I'm still not sure why, or why and how he smoked the entire thing. It seriously took about 15 minutes to get through, which should be more nicotine than anything living thing should ever consume in one sitting.

You might have to squint to see it, but the name of the random corner store is called "Santa Fe Sup", which I somehow interpreted as "Santa Face-Up", which lead to 10 minutes of lame and very immature sexual jokes. It's my go-to-thing when I'm stuck in traffic. Being slightly idiotic, that is.

GRAVEYARD! I recently spent a lovely fall afternoon (dare I say, it was CRISP!") in Rosehill cemetery. Peaceful? You bet! Kinda way too quiet and fearing a random Zombie attack? Bah-leave-dat! Seriously though, this is one of my favorite places in Chicago, and one in particular that I feel at peace at.

What the WHAT? Walking down Montrose avenue one afternoon, I peeped this in a store front window of a dollar store. I regret having NOT bought it. Props to the submissive ring bearing pigeon - I should have bought that shit too.

Sometimes when I'm leaving work at night, the CTA demands that I do the equivalent of bending over and grabbing my ankles, or more commonly known as having to wait 30+ fucking minutes for the train to show up. To pass the time, I take pictures, which probably places me on some sort of a terrorist watch list. Whatever.

More train pictures! I can't get enough of them. And it's like the easiest thing ever to photograph, especially when you have the Toy Camera app on an iPhone. Instant nostalgia! I swear, just looking at that picture, I'm tele-ported back to some sort of imaginary childhood that resembles a Norman Rockwell painting.

Yeah, I know, another fucking train/lame photo effect picture. Sometimes I just can't help myself. The colors are just so cool though! It's funny though, that had this picture been taken with an Kodak 35mm in the 1950's, the saturated color's, to say nothing of the actual physical environment would not be different. At least not much.

MY NEW NEW OLD WHIP

Yeah, a 1992 Chevy S-10 Blazer is my new whip, although the term "hooptie" comes to mind. It's actually battleship grey, with HUGE gaping rust holes and an exhaust, or lack thereof that announces my eventual arrival within a 6 block radius.

And guess what? It's FUCKING DYNO-MITE! So the deal is, I'm paying my buddy (it's really his ride) the equivalent of what I would pay to use public transportation to get back/forth on the weekends. It's SO much faster.

Added bonus: not having to nervously wait for untold periods of time on a street corner near a not-so-good area at 4AM/avoiding being beaten, robbed, shot and/or stabbed (as a side note - 2 people in my neighborhood have been murdered leaving their bar jobs late at night, and my 'hood is considered one of the safest).

And get this: it's somewhat of a pussy magnet. Seriously. Last weekend I was driving to work, stuck at a stoplight in Lakeview, and these 2 girls totally hit on me, like, 3 times. Like what? Who is attracted to scrawny white guys smoking and listening to R.L. Burnside in a rusty Chevy truck?

Move along ladies! Maybe some cute boys will dig it. Probably not.

PS - It's SO much better than my future sister-in-law's Saturn.

PPS - It's mechanically similar to my awesomely trashy "dream car".

THE LAST 24 HOURS...

...were unique for a wide variety of reason. I'll attempt to approximate all the crazy shit that just went down!

First and most importantly I GOT A FUCKING JOB! [Cue balloon drop] HOLY SHIT! I was nervous when I went in to the bar to take this "beer quiz". Example question: "Can you explain what makes a Trappist ale? Also, can you name the 7 Trappists?" Like - you're fucking joking right? My understanding of being a Bar Back is being able to clear tables, stock beer, wash glasses and take out the trash. Pretty simple, and shouldn't require a doctorate in snobbery.

Although it is at a new, gleaming bar next to a college on the North Side. When I was told "hey Justin, we would really like you to work at our new bar" I practically pissed myself. This news was delivered to me via cell phone, while I was smoking outside a Chuck-E-Cheese in fucking Gurnee, IL.

Why in the hell was I in a place built for 5 year old boys? Good question. My ol' friend Gloria was visiting her sister, who just had a baby (cutest kid ever!) and we were tasked with keeping the older, 5 year old son busy. DUDE - I'm not lying, this kid handed my ass to me playing Skee-Ball, Mario Cart and some game that involves a faux sub machine gun used to blow up Spiders.

Also, I deputized Gloria as a "Cheerleader Champion", according to the photo booth we pumped way too many tokens into. Note to self: DON'T EVER GO BACK THERE WHILE STONED. Also, buy hand sanitizer - that place is a fucking petri dish for developing new strains of swine flu.

So that guy I've been seeing/fucking? PART-TIME TRANNY! Ugh, seriously, how this has never come up in the past is beyond my comprehension. And he performs. That's right. [SLAPS FOREHEAD] Can you spell D-E-A-L-B-R-E-A-K-E-R? Nothing personal against Tranny's, I think they're fun and awesome and everyone should feel free to pursue whatever the fuck it is that makes them happy. But I don't have to date one. And I won't. Back to the drawing board!

Speaking of finding myself in weird, fucked up places, this morning I was in Zion, IL, a town founded by prohibitionists who in addition to being awesome at sucking at life, also decided to name each of their streets after Biblical figures. Ezekiel Avenue anyone? How about Abel Lane?

And to make the town even more horrible, they decided to erect Northern Illionis' sole Nuclear Power Plant. And get this: it's decommissioned! Tons of radioactive material is stored within a stone's throw from one of the WORLD'S GREATEST SOURCE OF FRESH WATER! This place has disaster written all over it. Dresden, Germany circa 1943 was a more "fun" place to be.

If it's not already obvious, I'm fucking ELATED to be home, back in Chicago. Literally as the train approached the city, the sky cleared up and walking home I passed by a guy in full Scottish kilt dress/regalia playing a bagpipe. I'm never leaving the city ever again.

I REALLY LIKE MIDDLE-OF-THE-NIGHT SEX

I know there are a plethora of people out there like claim to prefer morning sex, or afternoon sex, or hate sex or whatever-the-fuck-else sex: but let me be clear: I'm very much a fan of Middle-Of-The-Night sex.

Last night Pablo was over and we did our business fairly early (twice in fact - this guy can keep up!) and promptly passed out. Sometime around 3AM I awoke to shift (my arm is still fucked up and locks up when I sleep) which awoke Pablo.

I apologized, which turned into cuddling, which turn into making out...which...you get the idea. We probably didn't spend that much time - but enough time was spent in which I was briefly self-conscious and worried my Roomie might hear us, but whatever.

The thought process, which by the way is completely initiated by my libido, is as follows: Hey! Justin! Wake the fuck up! There's a still an attractive guy sleeping next to you! Do something about it!

And thus sweet, sweaty man-on-man love making commences. It's just so simple and inevitable. I've quizzed straight friends of mine, if this is the same case with them and their significant others, I can't trace anything resembling a consensus. So...I'm curious, anyone else know what I mean?

HAPPY PLANT!

A certain sharp eyed reader from Canada should recognize the thing there on the lower right, one night when we got LIT the fuck up. For those of you that does not apply to, it's a creepy dog/wind-mill thing, and although it scares me, it's now a member of my household.

Speaking of members of my household, that plant pictured above has followed me around for the better part of 5+ years. I almost tossed it out the other day, but was reminded by a friend of mine of said plant's history*.

It's been slowly dying (no thanks to me - or maybe because of me) and a friend suggested I re-pot it. So much so, that he drove me to the nearest Home Depot this very afternoon, and... VIOLA(sp?)! A new plant is born!

*This plant was originally bought by my Dad, for his old place in the Chicago burbs.

MIDNIGHT RIDER

The following is one of the most fascinating stories I've heard in a long, long time. And it's totally true.

SO! One of my favorite characters that frequent the bar I work at, is a 35 year old black guy with dreads, tall as hell; he spins records too (it's it his hobby - defiantly not your usual 18-wheeled trucker).

Here's the story he related to me and the bar staff early last night...

8-9 Truckers are killed in accidents on American Highways each and every week. To commemorate their fallen comrades, it's something of a tradition on Thursday's to play "Midnight Rider" by the Allman Brothers via CB radio.

And get THIS - they all sing along...together. And as I was told, CB radios have an average range of 5 miles, and as such, the truckers who are closer to you, as in on the same highway, they are WAY louder than the ones a few miles distant.

How fucking cool is that?

Consider my romance with random Americana re-ignited. For. Sure!

PS - He also grabbed my ass twice and my left nipple once, but I'm pretty sure he was just joking around.

FACEBOOK IS GETTING ON MY NERVES

I'm assuming most people out there have long since migrated from MySpace (what a piece of shit) to Facebook (a slightly less piece of shit). It's cool though, and it's allowed me to reconnect with many people I haven't heard from in years. That's the positive aspect...

On the flip side though...I REALLY don't need to know about every little detail about people's day. This trend is especially apparent with couples. It's annoying enough to have to watch an "oh so cute!" couple in person, who can't keep their hands off each other. To replicate this digitally makes me slightly more than slightly nauseous.

Please don't think I'm being a joy-kill or anything; I'm totally down with couples being in love/lust or whatever. I just don't need to fucking read about it. Every. Time. I. Log. On.

The other thing that annoys me too is how sarcasm apparently does NOT travel via Facebook status updates. I'll write something stupid, such as my current "update:" Hmmm...nothing left to clean in my apartment...what to do? Oh! Cemetery walk! WOOT! People I have friended on their from grade school, or [God forbid] Mom's of my friend's probably read that and think I'm fucking crazy.

Oh, and I used to think no one paid attention to what I wrote since I never got any replies or thumbs up or whatever the fuck people do on that site - WRONG! I guess people who are actually gainfully employed spend an inordinate amount of time reading that shit at work. GET TO WORK PEOPLE! Haha, like I give a shit.

WIND AT MY BACK

For the first time in a long fucking time, really too long, I finally feel like there are some positive developments in my life. If this trend continues, my blog may become a bit dull, as I tend to write best when I'm full of piss and vinegar, but if that's the trade off - so be it.

First off, The Boy! People that know me know about my lust for Latino boys, and that he surely is. And unlike the other Latino guys I've been with, he doesn't appear to be totally fucking crazy. So there's always that. And he stayed the night on Tuesday, marking 3 consecutive nights of naked fun/cuddling. I have NO idea where this is going, but we both seem to understand that this a casual thing for now. And it's done wonders for my confidence.

Secondly, The Arm! Holy Shit it feels so MUCH FUCKING BETTER. I was actually able to shoot pool on Wednesday for the first time in almost 7 weeks. I took it easy, and didn't use the cue to rape the balls (like I usually do) and instead, gently massaged said balls - and still held my own against a formidable opponent. I can even operate a mop again! Although I'm not out of the woods, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel - and I cannot wait until I can resume going to the gym.

Thirdly, Work! I'm lucky that I have not one, but two job prospects at the moment. Of course, neither of them are confirmed, and both could evaporate, but I have a good feeling about both. One would be a natural extension of my Moonlighting Doorman gig the other is a bit more...potentially lucrative but would involve relocating. Which I am loathe to do, but at the same time I'll do what I need to do to survive in this fucking awful excuse for an economy.

I think that's a pretty good progress for one weeks time - and more encouraging news than I've gotten in a last few months combined. To that I say: WOOOOOOOOOOOOT! Happy weekend everyone.