CAR + MOTORCYCLE = ARIEL ATOM

Yesterday I was filling the tiny tank of my car and I started thinking about how insane gas prices are. This week a report was released that declared the most expensive gasoline in the US was sold right here in Chicago, averaging north of $4 a gallon.

Though my car specifies premium fuel I compromise and use mid-grade which means that to fill 3/4 of my tank costs about $42.00 - money that could be better spent on clothes, booze or concert tickets. But I digress.

This got me thinking about different transportation alternatives. My lease is up in 12 months and I've been pondering it's eventual replacement. I could go the hybrid route and opt for a Prius, or perhaps purchase an economical diesel, such as a VW Golf TDI.

But frankly, I'd rather die than drive a jelly bean shaped hybrid or another VW (I've had 2 thus far, and although I liked both, the new ones are overweight, overpriced and over-ugly).

So what then? A motorcycle is an interesting alternative, one that would use little gasoline and would afford me the speed which I have become accustomed to. Problem is, bikes scare the living shit out of me, especially driving in Chicago traffic.

What I've found is in my mind the perfect "hybrid". A vehicle with 4 wheels with the speed and efficiency of a motorbike...ladies and gentlemen, behold, the mighty ARIEL ATOM!

Powered by a Honda KOA2 engine of which I have become familiar (the same mill found in my current ride), supercharged it so it develops 300HP and bolt it to a chassis that doubles as an exoskeleton weighing a total of 1,400LB, and you have a whip capable of going rocketing you to 60MPH in 2.9 seconds. Gah-Damn!

The only car faster is the mighty (and insanely expensive) Bugatti Veyron. For about E43,000 (as in Euro) you can obtain a fuel slipping time machine that may lack doors, windows or a roof, but will instill fear in anything you are likely to encounter on a public roadway.

Of course getting valid plates can be an issue, but nothing this AWESOME should come easy. Some production bikes may be faster in a straight-away, but the most fun one can have on four wheels comes when one defies physics and can pull mad G's in turns.

Need proof? Watch this video of Top Gear's Jeremy Clarkson at the 3 minute mark when his face is literally peeled back from the rush provided courtesy of the Atom. This thing is fucking SICK!

ROCKIN' WEEKEND

Oh man, this weekend was so much fun! I think some of it has to with the fact that the nice weather seems to be here to stay, but hanging out with old friends, seeing a bunch music and lots of hot guys certainly made their contributions as well.

Let's start with Thursday Night, when I finally got to see Helio Sequence at the Empty Bottle. I bought tickets over 2 months ago and keep checking my calender leading up to the show, and they did NOT let me down.

Seeing a Rock Show at 11PM on a "school night" is not the best idea, but hell if I cared. And this venue is one of my favorite places to see a show. It's tiny, has great sound and cheap beer. The bathroom, however is disgusting and I do my best not to touch anything in it. Lot of cute guys in attendance too...

Friday Night I went to Boystown by myself but within minutes of walking down Halstead Ave I heard someone call my name, it was my buddy/wingman D.

He was in Mini Bar with a friend of his. While standing at the bar this English cougar that looked like Simon Le Bon started buying me drinks and introducing me to his smokin' hot co-worker. Kid was tall with spiky black hair and had a body which I found difficult keeping my hands off (eventually I stopped trying, he didn't seem to mind).

These guys were eager to see the other bars on the strip so D and I took them over to Sidetrack. Unfortunately hot co-worker guy left to presumably hook up with another hot guy (man, they were out in full force this weekend) leaving me alone with the cougar. He was cool to talk to but I could feel he wanted to get in my pants so I excused myself to smoke outside.

Once I came back in the bar I walked up this other hot guy and used the "excuse me, but would you mind talking to me, I'm trying to hide from that guy over there" line. It worked like a charm although I forgot to get his number. Oh well.

From there the night got messy and D and I went to 3 other bars before I had had enough fun for one night and crashed at his place. Thanks D!

On Saturday afternoon I went over to the gay sports bar for a AIDS fundraiser/beer bust. Apart from the group of sweaty softball players (all wearing matching Under Amour gear) the place was pretty quiet and I mostly chatted with my 2nd favorite bartender (who has gorgeous blue eyes) and watched baseball.

Drinking in the afternoon tends to make me sleepy and I went home to watch a movie ("The Graffiti Artist", which I highly recommend) and took a nap.

"Rupture" from The Grafitti Artist

I awoke at 10:30PM (some nap) and 2 of my buddies had left me several drunken messages requesting my presence at the Mutiny, a divey hole in the wall (home to "the world's greatest urinal") hosts punk shows on it's tiny stage. Bear, MA and Jo are all good friends of mine from high school were well on their way to Drunk Town.

This was like a reunion of sorts, but even more so because the legend himself (at least in Chicago punk rock circles) Todd Pot was in attendance who would later play with a band called the Traitors ("Beer + No Talent + Homosexual tension + Beer + Violence = Traitors").

At one point I turned to Jo and said "this is better than high school since we're all of drinking age now" who deadpanned "yeah, but we can't smoke!"

My buddies had made friends with the opening band from Minneapolis called Amen and the Hell Yeahs. Really cool guys, but I must say I was most drawn to the drummer Tyler. I think you can figure out why (oh and he gave me a button - how sweet).

Tyler from Amen and the Hell Yeahs

They were loud, rough and sloppy and I loved every minute of their set, especially when Tyler took his shirt off (but less so when Josh took off his jeans, revealing a pair of bikini briefs). We were all drinking this insanely heavy glass stiens of PBR and it wasn't long before I caught up with my buddies and was feeling good.

The main attraction, though was clearly the self proclaimed "most hated band in Chicago", the Traitors. These guys put on crazy fucked up shows and the singer, Todd Pot did not disappoint. I've seen Todd light himself on fire before on-stage during a New Year's Eve show with his old band Apocalypse Hoboken (another legendary hard-core Chicago band) .

This night he donned what looked like a white haz-mat suit, which made sense when he started throwing fake blood at the mosh pit I got stuck in. Bear's cardigan sweater looked like a used tampon by the end of the night (mental note, must do laundry tonight).

The night was far from done however. MA really wanted to get high so he called some hippi kid that lives in Logan Square and we made our way to his place. He seemed to be having a party of some sort, with a bunch of kids in their early 20's. Several of whom, you guessed it, were cute but everyone was really cool and laid back.

Having said that they made no attempt to hide the fact they were disgusted by the smell of Jo's feet. Can't say I wasn't either, really, they fucking stank.

So we got out of there and went back to my place. It was 5AM at this point but we stayed up, got insanely high and watched "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas". At 7AM MA and I walked to McDonald's for breakfast. Ugh.

It was a good weekend, however I wish that my sleep pattern wasn't so erratic, which would explain why I woke up at 5AM this morning and decided to type this up. Damn, it was worth it though.

BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD

About 2 weeks ago I wrote the New Guy/Doctor and well, that shit is over with. For the sake of brevity let's focus on a few reasons why this did not work out:

Overuse of the "L" word.

Anyone that says they love me after dating for a week and a half is either incredibly clingy, desperate or diluted in regards to what this word means. The declaration of his "love" for me after such a short period of time would make sense if we were teenagers, but coming from a 29 year old, it seems suspect at best.

I don't know if it results from a yearning to be in a relationship or if he considers me some sort of a trophy, especially after he told me he doesn't date Puerto Ricans (like himself) but only white guys (like me).

Admittedly, I have a thing for Latinos, but I would not ever parade a hot Latino guy around to my friends as I felt he did the last time we hung out. None of them seemed particularly interested in actually talking to me, rather they seemed to wink and smile at me.

Communication Issues

At first I thought his thick accent and curious spelling of various words was cute. But then it became confusing and finally frustrating. Keep in mind I am not some xenophobic asshole that gets annoyed if I have to push #2 for English when I make a customer service call, but when I have no fucking idea what this guy is saying to me or when his syntax is so out of whack that I have to pretend to understand what he is trying to communicate, it gets old. And quick.

Perhaps it would help if we hung out in places other than loud gay bars/clubs, but that's where we always ended up hanging out at, despite my suggestions for dinner or movie or hanging at one of our places.

Does He Even Know My Name?

I cannot think of a single instance, where he used my first name, whether it's on the phone, in person or via text message. Serious. I keep my text trails for a long time and not once did he ever use my name, instead using "Babe", "Homo", "You" or "Love". I am positive of this as I just checked.

W introducing me to his friends he'll introduce me as his "friend" with a not so oblique reference that we are more than friends (as in this is my "friend" said with eyebrows arched or a sly grin).

He has, however, used the term "sweetheart" and maybe I'm jaded, but that reminds me of my Mom (who calls me that) and is not what I want to hear before someone sticks their tongue in my mouth, for obvious reasons. Also, this isn't 1955.

Questionable "Ethics"

Though I am reluctant to deem anyone a racist, he has on more than one occasion used some questionable terms to indicate those with an African American lineage. On our 4th or 5th time hanging out I suggested going to a gay club called Spin, and he dismissed that idea because "that's where dark people go".

That might seem an obvious no-no but at the time I was drunk and figured I misheard him (which happens a lot). What I am sure of is that when he called me one day, I expressed my excitement in regards to Obama's political progress. He referred to him, in a very dismissive tone, as a "monkey". Not fucking cool.

When I got back from LA he really wanted to hang out, but since it was late I didn't return his call, nor have I responded to a slew of ill-formed text messages. I almost feel bad but at the end of the day I really just want nothing to do with this guy.

Maybe that makes me a bad person, but that's the risk one takes when you meet someone in a bar and unintentionally turn them off in ways I have outlined above. There are plenty of guys out there, and I feel no need to waste my time with this one.

I LIKE LA!

There, I admit it...I like LA. A lot. Not as much as NYC and I don't love it like a certain city on the shore of Lake Michigan, but LA is damn cool. Now that that's out of the way, let's get down to the details!

[shitty iPhone pic of the Hollywood sign from the roof of Ralph's on La Brea]

At a quarter past 2AM on Friday morning I announced to the Doctor and his friends that I needed to leave the club and go home so I could finish packing. He kept me talking until 2:45AM until I announced that I really, really needed to get going.

Throwing a bunch of shit into my bag while calling various cab companies, I drained another cocktail just before my ride arrived around 3:30AM. Once in the serpentine line at O'Hare's Terminal 1 I realized that I was technically drunk and proceeded to chew even more gum. Shoes, coat and belt off I navigated the stupid TSA procedures and trudged to my gate.

Once there, I was immediately smitten by a smokin' hot Latino rockin' a murdered out 59Fifty White Sox lid. Does anyone else check out hot guys before getting on a plane with the hope that you'll be sitting in the same row? Well, it's a pastime of mine and once on the plane, the hottie was seated right behind me (so close yet so far!).

Even better, I got an entire row of seats to myself. How awesome is that? My drunk ass snoozed all the way to the left coast and awoke when we landed at LAX. Word!

After consuming a much needed cig I climbed aboard an empty shuttle van piloted by a foul mouthed Eastern European man who drove like a total asshole - my kind of driver - through the various side streets towards West Hollywood.

The destination was fellow blogger JR's pad where I shadily waited in front of for him to arrive. This is when I remembered that people passing you on the street in LA do not say hello or even notice you, which always take this Midwestern boy by surprise.

While reading the Chicago Tribune on my iPhone a slight figure emerged out of the corner of my right eye...JR! It's always odd meeting someone in person that you've talked to for a long time, and seen pictures of because the physical presence of someone never squares with the idea you have in mind, which, for me at least, immediately disappears.

My gracious host needed to return to work and left em to my own devices. I took a nap on his sofa while watching the 2nd half of The Last Mogul. How fitting...

Once I awoke I did what so few people in LA seem to do...I took a walk to see the place I rented in the Summer of 2003. Walking down Santa Monica Blvd. I felt like I was in some sort of weird dream. There's the place I used to get my old VW washed! There's the burger joint I ate at! There's the place where I bought beer! There's the place(s) I drank beer at!

I will always have a soft spot for the Formosa Cafe and upon seeing it and old Warner Bros. lot next store, my soul involuntarily swooned. I am a sucker for old Hollywood nostalgia.

Gardner St. was my old street and walking up it I remembered the random details of the old houses and apartment buildings, including my old place, just south of Sunset Blvd. I love this section of Sunset.

It's populated by tattoo parlors, liquor stores, guitar stores and car repair joints. Just seedy enough to remind me of certain parts of Chicago. Of course, the Hollywood Hills remind you that this is NOT Chicago, as does the odd smell that my olfactory sense recognized. Home...of sorts.

Eventually I made my way south to Melrose Ave. of which I am a huge fan. I didn't buy a thing but I looked around in all the random little stores, had a few beers in a bar and then I had my one and only celebrity siting during this trip...

SNOOP aka Felicia Pearson from The Wire! How awesome is that shit? She was driving down Melrose in a blue SUV rockin' chrome 22's blaring some rap. It might not have been here but it sure as shit looked like her. Regardless, it was cool.

When JR got off work he urgently needed to buy a new pair of sneaks so we returned to Melrose and perused the amazing selection of sneaks at Sportie LA. I summoned my reserve of restraint and miraculously managed not to splurge on yet more shoes that I don't need (that restraint was absent last night when I found myself in Foot Locker and bought a pair of Adidas Supermod's).

We found ourselves in a Mexican restaurant/Sports bar where everyone was wildly cheering on the Lakers, which was fun. Also fun was scoping out the assortment of HOT GUYS. In particular the four boys wearing checkered western shirts and drinking beer at the bar.

We surmised that they MUST be gay as straight dudes usually don't take pictures of one another while watching basketball games at bars, nor do they usually indulge in the flagrant display of physical contact that these guys did. Maybe is an LA thing. Whatever, shit was hot!

As night fell we returned to base camp to get ready for a night of hopefully gay debauchery in the WeHo bars. Joining us was Closeted, a blogger whom I was not too familiar with, but who I instantly clicked with. He seemed to enjoy my sarcastic comments I kept making about how long JR took to get ready (I told you your hair looked good JR!).

So there I found myself with 2 cute guys walking done Santa Monica Blvd. on a Friday Night with the lights in the houses in the Hills all lit up. I thought to myself that this is exactly where I wanted to be...

Motherlode was our first bar. Before we walked in JR told me "you'll like this place, the drinks are strong and cheap". While I don't consider 3 drinks that cost $27 as cheap, they certainly were strong.

Instantly I went into Hot Guy Eye Fuck Mode, on this one hot skater-ish dude wearing an annoying Yankees hat (seriously, WTF is with everyone wearing Yankees hats? This is LA...get a fucking Dodgers cap!).

Soon any thoughts I had about approaching this hottie were erased by the presence of 2 middle-ages guys that were NOT hot. Not even a little. And they both had their fat palms all over my boy. UGH. Every time I looked in their direction I threw up in my mouth (figuratively).

Out on the smoking area some guy asked me to pretend I was his old friend so that he could get away from some creepy guy. Then some other guy, perhaps fresh from the bathroom where he probably blew a bunch of lines grabbed me and said "did you see those pictures of Angelina Jolie in the Enquirer?" and then followed that conversation starter with "what's your sign?". Are you fucking kidding me?

We walked over to the Abbey, which is huge, gorgeous and filled with straight women. Seriously, I don't mind the presence of straight women in gay bars at all, but there were so many that it simply confused me. Is this an LA thing?

Whatever, we got drinks from the bar and I was astonished that a mixed drink costs $12. Fuck me! Being the classy gay man that I am I ordered a Budweiser and a shot of Jim Beam. The price? $16! Double Fuck! Cash issues aside I had a blast hanging out with the boys, although I must say that I found it challenging talking to these LA gays, and my LA cherry remained intact.

Saturday Night was JR Night all the way. It was my friend's birthday party and I got to meet his brother, sister, his best friend from high school and his girlfriend, all from Texas. There seems to be a common thread of friendliness shared between Texans and Midwesterners and I immediately felt comfortable in their presence.

Oh, and I smoked some insanely awesome medicinal herb courtesy of one of the guests. Damn that shit is good! It was also cool to be asked to play some of the Chicago hip-hop on my iPod, especially after I noticed several heads rockin' to the Kidz in the Hall and the Cool Kids. It was an awesome party and I must say I am grateful that I was in attendance.

Around 1PM on Sunday I awoke from the floor and was aghast upon realizing that my flight home left at 4PM. This meant that while a bunch of people were headed to Santa Monica beach, JR had to drive me to LAX. I really wish I could have stayed for longer, as there was much I still wanted to do/see/experience. But I guess I can always go back...

There was another motive I had to check out LA again, other than hanging out with awesome people in interesting places.

Occasionally I will get the desire to move out to LA and work in the Biz. That was always what I had expected to do after graduating, and yet I stayed put in Chicago. This trip really made me think hard about relocating, and there will always be a part of me that wants to return for good.

But a funny thing happened after I rode the L from O'Hare and got off at the Jefferson Park station. My friend who was supposed to pick me up wasn't there, and rather than stand out in the cold with my dick in the wind, I saw the following image emanating from across the street, and walked towards it...

This place was one of those little hole in the wall joints with a classic "Old Style" beer sign above it. It was dark, mirrored and dominated by a huge television.

The bartender, a skinny woman named Agnes who moved to Chicago from Poland 3 years ago cheerfully served me several $2 beers and I talked to an older drunk guy about sports while getting eye fucked by a girl who took her Mom to this bar for Mother's Day.

I was home in the city that I love, and shall remain for the indefinite future.

LA...HERE I GOES!

It's just after 10:30PM and I'm rocking the new Roots record "Rising Down" on my cans and waiting for my laundry to be done. After I fold my whites and pack my bag and take a shower, I'm meeting up with the Doc and his Puerto Rican friends at a club in Boystown, then coming home and presumably "sleeping" before I wake up at 3:30AM-ish to ride a bus and then the L to O'Hare where I'll board a 6AM flight LAX.

Fuck. Just typing that sentence makes me tired. But as I've been recently reminded, I'm young and single, so FUCK IT!

This shit is ON like...um....whatever, shit is Mother-Fuckin' ON! WOOOOOOOOT!

It's been 5 years since I briefly lived in the City of Angels and I'm super pumped to spend some time there and hit my old haunts and some new ones, in particular the homo WeHo bars that I was too afraid of venturing into when I was still in the closet.

Oh, and the weather looks like it should be nice too, unlike this cold/rainy shit predicted for the weekend here in Chicago. Beyond that, I am beyond excited to meet a good friend in the flesh after being "virtual" friends since last Summer.

Cheers!

IT WILL NEVER BE DONE

After I got off work on Monday I had the following conversation with the check out girl at the liquor store (whom I have a platonic crush on) and some random guy in line behind me:

Cute Girl: "How was your weekend?"
Me: "OK, busy, I got a lot of work done on my place"
Cute Girl: "Oh, so are you done now?"
Me: "I fucking wish..."
Guy Behind Me In Line: (in a raspy 3 pack a day for 30+ years voice) "HAHA - I've been there...IT WILL NEVER BE DONE!"

Sadly, I think the Guy Behind Me In Line might be right. I embarked on this mini-renovation of my place about 3 weeks ago, and just when I think one task has been completed, something else crops up and robs me of yet more precious time.

Not that I mind; I enjoy working with my hands and could easily see myself as a "handy-man" of sorts. Not that I'm good at such things, but I enjoy the trial and error of such processes. Example #1 is my medicine cabinet.

The intent was to clean the accumulated crud off the glass shelves in said medicine cabinet. But then I decided I was disgusted by the rust particles that clinged to the bottom of various containers.

Soon after, I discovered a can of rust primer/sealant and a spray paint can of flat black paint. So I taped it up, and went to town. The fumes left me light headed, but I like the end result. That bitch is "murdered out"!

After I painted my Back Room/Dining Room I decided that my tiny kitchen needed some love. Red/Orange paint would have looked nice, but after the first application it looked like fucking shit. I don't know when the last time this space was painted, but I suspect it was during the Ford administration.

Needless to say, the paint would not adhere in a uniform fashion. The next day I decided to paint everything with "high hiding white" paint but you could still see the red/orange paint. UGH. To make matters worse I smoked a huge bowl of hydro and dripped paint all over the tile walls. Stupid me.

It could countless hours of scraping and much exposure to paint thinner to correct this mistake, not to mention another layer of the "high hiding white" paint, which has a texture similar to that of molasses. Whatever, it's done. Note my signed picture of 2 time PBR Champ Mike Lee on the wall (it reads "Justin - God loves you - Mike Lee").

Thankfully the yellow room is pretty much complete, save hanging more art work and actually hanging up some clothes, but really, I use this table as my general dumping ground for anything in my pockets and/or what take off after I get home.

Ahhh, my sanctuary...the Green Room/Front Room. I scrubbed this space within an inch of it's life and yet I am compelled to do more. When it's day light out it looks even more green, thanks to the huge elms blooming outside the window. Also, I just got that new rug and I love, love, love the colors in it.

My To Do List includes varnishing the old oak doors and the window sills, replacing those blinds (they are really dirt and gross up close) touching up the walls, hanging more art work, painting my TV stand and perhaps commissioning a friend to paint a mural on a wall. It's a work in process, but it's also a labor of love. This place just turned 81 years young!

THE NEW GUY

Meeting guys in gay bars while intoxicated is always a dicey proposition; while I've been lucky thus far in that I haven't met/kissed/made out/had sex with anyone that I really regret (well, except this fucking asshole) I have usually had the benefit of a friend in which to vet the guys I met, and so far it's been "thumbs up".

However, on Sunday Night I was at a particular Boystown establishment, this guy struck up a conversation with me.

The friend I met at the bar was off somewhere talking to some guy and I was enjoying a drink (one that I did not need at that point) and watching a few geeked out homos gyrate on the dance floor.

The guy standing next to me starting talking to me and the first thing I thought was, DAMN, this boy is fine. The second thing that struck me was his accent whose origin I couldn't trace. Russian? Italian? Latino? Mind you, I'm not so good at pinpointing such things, but it was also loud as hell.

Anyways, we talk and talk (and I ask and ask him to repeat himself) and I tip back yet another drink. Finally, I realized it was way past my bed time and decided to leave, as did he and since he lived nearby I offered to walk him home.

Once I got him out in the streetlight I thought once again, DAMN, this boy is fine! He kind of (and I stress kind of) looks like a smaller version of LA Dodger Nomar Garciaparra. When he arrive at his place we exchange phone numbers and at that point I realize I forgot his name (fuck) so I labeled his # as "Hot Guy". Then we made out.

Really, I was expecting him to be like so many other gay guys you meet in bars who seem cool but ultimately turn out to be flakes. But on my ride home from work on Monday the iPone goes ring-ring and up pops "Hot Guy" on the display. Word!

He said he wanted to see me again and I told him where to find me, but alas he never showed. I figured this would be the end of this potential relationship, but lo and behold he texts me on my lunch break on Tuesday asking me what I am doing later that night.

Now, I must admit that his text messages totally confused me. Example:

Him: "Holo"
Me: "Hey man, what's up?"
Him: "A hospero work"
Me: "What are you doing around 9PM?"
Him: "A Homo you Goot A bar"

[I have since realized that he seems to text phonetically...if you read those sentence fragments aloud it sounds like how he talks, Dayum!, his accent turns me on]

Since the texting made little to no sense I called him when I got home and we made plans to meet up where we first met on Sunday Night. I got there before he did and with every passing minute I got more and more nervous. Would I recognize him? Would I recoil in horror? Would he recognize me? Would HE recoil in horror?

Finally, after 20 minutes of this thought process I look over and notice a hot guy with spikey jet black hair, olive skin and a nice ass. It was him. We locked eyes, he did the head nod and soon after we embraced. WOOT!

That night we watched the highly entertaining Drag Queen show, got to know one another more and the as time t I the "holy shit why is he talking to me" thing faded and I felt really comfortable around him.

Although I there were a lot of things he said that I didn't quite get (lots of "oh really" on my behalf - again it was really loud in there) I stole furtive glances at subtle things like how the muscles in his neck looked when we turned his head, or how when he laughed he would drag his tongue stud against his lower lip.

That night I drove him home and parked in front of his place that he sometimes shares with his gay father (sound familiar?) which is a gorgeous vintage gray stone apartment building overlooking Lake Michigan.

We talked for close to a 1/2 hour, then made out for almost as long. Mmmmmm, I love kissing boys in parked cars, especially mine! Eventually he left,, which is a good idea seeing as he had to report for work at 3AM.

Who works such insane hours? People that work at hospitals. He had gone into great (and for me far too) detailed explanation about the process of birth. Here I'm thinking he's a nurse or maybe even a resident.

But then we met up again the next night and after he introduced me to his friend that works at the same hospital I realized this was not the case. Said friend asked me "oh, are you a doctor too?". Holy shit, he's a fucking doctor!

If you cannot tell, my head is spun around this guy. I'm about to meet him again tonight and I can't wait to kiss that hot studded tongue again. Or feel his sleek body. Or have him evoke my name breathlessly. Or smell his cologne...OK, I'll stop now!

But before I do, let's get an update on my hair...which just got cut about an hour ago (gotta look sharp for this guy!).

Although I choose option #1 (no big surprise there) but when I sat down in the barber chair today, my trusty Syrian barber asked "#2 blade all over?" and I said "no, let's go shorter, how about a #1 3/4 blade?" but he insisted on using the #1 1/2 blade.

My hair has never been this short. Any shorter and it would be gone, but I really like how it looks and my barber enthusiastically agreed saying "is good blade, nice length for you" while rubbing my head a bit longer than necessary. That's a good sign, right?

FINALLY...GRADY RETURNS THE LOVE!

Having spent years fantasizing about having Grady Sizemore's baby(ies) it seems the inevitable has occurred and he has sort of publicly acknowledged our steamy Bro-Mance. It's about time you sexy bitch!

Thanks Neil!

I GOT HOMOHAWK'S DIGITS!

So, one of the 2 guys I mentioned in this post with the "HomoHawk" (cheers to Cooper on that term) works at this gay bar. I saw him on Monday and thought, damn, I'd like to get all up on that. Last night I had some time to kill while I was waiting for my buddy to get ready, so I went back to the gay bar for some beers and to watch the rest of the Cubs game.

I was standing in the busy bar, staring at the plasma TV, beer in hand when someone taps me on the shoulder. It was the cute guy with the HomoHawk, and he said "hey man, did you go to [blank] High School?" to which I responded that I did. Then he asked me if I graduated in 1998, and again, I responded that I did. So did he! Holy Shit!

Eventually I remembered who he was (my high school was huge, and there were over 900 people in my graduating class) and DAMN, boy looks nothing like he did back in the day. He's all built, pierced and tattooed up. Anyways, we chatted randomly while he was working and when it got time for me to go, we exchanged digits. I'm assuming this is just a friend type thing, but WOW! How random!

WOOT! MY CAR IS FIXED!

After getting my hopes up several times, today's call from the body shop was not a pointless update ("sir, you're car is still being repaired, no, we don't know when it will be done", etc). Instead they told me that my car was fixed and ready to go home!

I left work early and drove over the body shop, where my no longer fucked up baby was glinting the sun. Sigh, I fell in love all over again...

It's in better shape then now then before it sideswiped, seeing as the that rim is new (and free of any road rash) and is the rear bumper (which had all sorts of dings from parallel parking) not to mention the rear quarter panel, door, mirror, window and most of the rear suspension.

The final total was $7,333.02, of which I had to charge $500 to my plastic, which totally sucks but hey, that federal rebate check will cover that and leave me with some money to blow on shoes, clothes or maybe even a tattoo.

After signing the paperwork and doing an inspection (they left wax in a few places, you think I'm not going to notice that shit?) and I got in, started her up and forgot how sensitive the gas pedal can be and nearly peeled out of the garage into traffic. Oops.

On the short drive home I decided to BUMP the speakers with a The Rapture's "House of Jealous Lovers". It's Friday, I got a drink in my hand and the Cubs are playing. I need to get my ass to a bar. But before I do (or before you do) enjoy some music!