THAT WAS SO FUN!

I'm not big on birthdays, and turning 32 isn't exactly a milestone, but HOLY SHIT I had a blast last night. At first I felt a bit odd throwing a party for myself, but in retrospect, it was really a gathering of the people I love, respect and admire.

A month ago I reserved the "party room" at the bar I work at, but at the last minute it got re-upped by a bunch of people who were tasting various pies paired with specific beers (gross) but it worked out in the end; the weather was so nice my friends and I commanded the patio instead.

Around 9 or 10 o'clock the left over pies were served to us (Elvis Pie = Chocolate/Caramel/Banana/Pretzel Crust) and my official birthday cake took the form of a meatpie, with 3 candles paired with a shot of Jameson. It was beyond ideal.

Also ideal was just hanging out with my brother, his wife, their friends, my pseudo-ex Jake (whom I don't think I will be ever over) and friends, both new and old. The highlight/cringe inducing moment was having everyone, even a few strangers sang me "Happy Birthday".

Even Alpha Bro made an appearance. Friends...thank YOU :)

JUST WHAT JUSTIN NEEDED

No, not THAT (although I do). I spent my Labor Day weekend amongst the rolling hills of Galena, IL, the occasion for which was the wedding of an old, dear friend of mine from high school. A person whom I don't see often (enough), but whom I can always pick right up where we left off.

It had been almost a year and a half since I've been this far from Chicago proper, and although I get nervous when I leave densely populated urban environments, it was really nice to be out in the "country", miles from, well, anything.

The Eagle Ridge Resort is massive; 4 golf courses, a hotel/lodge and rental properties scattered over what seemed liked forever. My home for the weekend was appropriately named The Mansion. Holy Shit, this place was dope!

12 bedrooms, each with a marble lined bathroom complete with it's own each jacuzzi tub, and a giant walk in shower. There was a pool table, air hockey, an outdoor hot tub, a full bar and other awesome shit. I flet like I was on an episode of MTV's Cribs.

And me and 50+ people, all heavily consuming alcohol under this roof. Crazy. The rehearsal dinner took place here too and about, oh, 90 people attended. So imagine my shock/horror/surprise that before that began, it was announced by the Bride, that "we have another celebration today", meaning the birthday of yours truly!

I'm not a big birthday guy, and I HATE being the center of attention, especially in front of so many strangers, but they all sung me Happy Birthday, and I even got my very own cake! It was pretty amazing.

Afterward, we all PAR-TAY-ED! Seriously, you couldn't keep me out of that hot tub if you tried. I simply jumped in wear almost only my birthday suit, and was promptly joined by several attractive, topless women. It was P-I-M-P. And...we danced! On the bar...

A good night was had by all. The next day people were pretty hungover, but in good spirits. And the actual ceremony was beautiful. It was outdoors under a tent overlooking a lake and surrounded by a forest. I have some idea what this must have cost, and my God, the Bride's Father probably could have bought himself a nice, if slightly used Aston Martin.

My friend, the Bride, looked stunning. I even cried a little bit during the speeches (I'm such a pussy when it comes to heartfelt expressions of love). And although I only knew 3 or 4 people, I left with a raft of new friends, several of whom have told me anytime I'm in San Fransisco, Seattle or Portland, I have a place to stay.

Overall, this was a great, Great, GREAT weekend. A good way to turn 31 years YOUNG and see off a person whom I lovely deeply. Congratulations, Mrs. A. F.! And to the groom, Mr. P.W.! Cheers!

SHOW ME SHIT!

Perhaps it's because it's spring, or maybe because I'm impossibly horny but one thing is for sure: I'm no LONGER hibernating and as a result, I fear I'm leaning too much on my friends for support. Case in point was this brief conversation with Neil today:

ME: "Hey dude, what's up?"

NEIL: [ordering a beer] "Nothing...you?"

ME: "Um, I'll make this quick, I need you to come over, take your pants off and learn me Photoshop."

NEIL: "OK."

I've been so fucking unproductive that all this energy within me is about to blow like that volcano. The lack of actually doing something other than cleaning and working and working and cleaning has made me an un-happy boy.

But the solution(s) is/are clear: I need to get off my lazy ASS and do some shit for myself. But I need a few helping hands. Luckily I have awesome, capable friends that love compliments. Plus, I re-pay them in beer and weed. And perhaps hand jobs [the emotional kind]. Kidding. Sort of.

FALLING IN LOVE WITH THE WORLD (AGAIN)

Last night my good friend posed a question to me, which was "hey, I've never taken X before, and my dealer just gifted me 2 pills, you want to try it with me?" to which I responded, FUCK YES!

It's been years [um, months actually] since I've rolled my nuts off, and last night seemed like a perfect time to reacquaint myself with that particular chemical high. My friend had never done it before and when he asked me what it's like, I invented the title of this post; it really is like falling in love all over again....WITH EVERYTHING.

This picture below is of my living room; the image on the TV is of some random glacier and you can't tell, but my stereo was bumping some serious fucking Mos Def (you probably cannot smell the stench of high grade herb either). This is what I kept referring to as my Happy Place.

And happy it was. A great time was made even better with the arrival of my red-headed female friend (she was a bit tipsy) and at one point last night, I felt so fucking... satisfied, for the first time in a long time! Really, I know conventional "wisdom" suggests that chemically-induced happiness is somehow less than "real" or whatever, but HOLY SHIT, I've been in such a rut that eating that tiny pill allowed me to releases so much pent-up bullshit.

You feed me drugs and booze and I'll talk a fucking blue streak, from everything about why Obama sucks to how Hyundai has improved the quality of their cars. Be prepared, haha! Still, it worked out well last night, so much so that I fell asleep and dreamt about last night. How fucking "meta" is that?

So yeah, about that title of this post...I really needed a kick in the ass which was provided and Goddamn, really, I feel re-newed, like falling in love all over again WITH EVERYTHING. Music, friends, art, whiskey, my leather couch, it all made so much more sense that I'm completely failing at describing my thoughts right now.

But yet here I am, at 7:30AM, burning Nag Champa and sipping on Orange Juice, happy as a fucking clam could ever be, and mostly sober-ish! If you're feeling down or depressed, Dr. Justin highly recommends rolling your fucking nuts off. It'll turn shit around right quick, yo.

HAPPY 2010!

Dear 2010,

Listen up, bud, I got some news for you, it's a simple, though extremely important message - DON'T FUCKING FUCK WITH ME! Remember your friend 2009? I killed his bitch ass last night and dumped it's body in the south branch of the Chicago River. Near Bubbly Creek (because I can be a vindictive dick like that).

If you think that the force of time is greater than that of yours truly, I got news for you, it's NOT because I'll be here long, long after you are gone. So let's makes this easy on both us, don't fuck with me and I'll make some vague fucking resolution like using the word "fuck" less often. Cool?

Now that we got bit of business out of the way, I must tell you, I have been awaiting your arrival for quite some time. You're arrival was shared with many, though surely not all of my great friends where there was much drinking, eating to listening to old Motown records. It pretty much kicked ass. Oh! And there was even some hot ass eye candy for me! I mean, whoa, I could see the veins in his arms underneath his fucking (oops! sorry!) shirt! I couldn't have asked for more. Well, maybe a blowjob from the hot ass piece of eye candy, but I digress.

So, cheers 2010! Let's make this the best and least awkward start to the new decade.

Respectfully Yours,

Justin

PS - I got you a gift. It's a "rap" video produced by Christian teens expounding the virtue of the Christian Side Hug. Enjoy.

OVERWHELMED

Fucking shit, the wake I went to today was so very sad (obviously). But it was so much more than that. It was also an impromptu grade & high school reunion. And everyone looked like shit because everyone could NOT hold back their tears. We also all have aged over the years.

The line to pass the (thankfully) closed casket snaked out the back of the door, and it took about an hour to reach...Mikey. FUCK, his family placed blown up pictures of him (he was really, really good looking) along the way, which just screwed with my head. I did all I could to support my good friend Sue, and be her "husband" (he couldn't fly back from Alaska) and be strong as fuck.

Mostly, I held it together, but when Mikey's Mom told me "we had him for 29 wonderful years" I fucking completely lost it. I dashed to the coat room, grabbed my jacket, and smoked 2 cigs back to back while bawling my eyes out.

I got my shit together enough to engage in random conversations with people I haven't seen in 15, maybe even 20 years. One girl in particular, I used to have an innocent crush on in the 5th grade. We briefly re-connected, embraced and she totally fucking lost it, weeping on my (mostly healed) shoulder.

Everywhere I looked, I saw red, moist eyes, 15-20 years removed from what I last saw. FUCK. If you saw me in the line to pay respects, you'd figure me as an asshole, since I tried my best to tell jokes and laugh and shit, which was my defense, and my way of acting strong for those around me.

It's the hardest fucking thing I've ever been through.

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.

THIS SHOULD NOT BE SO DIFFICULT

Earlier this afternoon I headed over to my buddy's place, so that I could give him and another of our buddies a ride to the airport (they're going to Vegas...assholes!). Any who, they were both equally disheveled from the prior evening's activities as well as the excitement that comes with the attendant nervous anticipation that you are about to have a fucking crazy weekend in Vegas.

Anyways...we were getting ready to depart when the following conversation took place:

ME: "So...which way should we take to O'Hare? The Kennedy or Northwest highway?"

FRIEND #1: "Oh, well, I can drive us there."

ME: "OK...I just thought I was driving you guys..."

FRIEND #1: "No, it's cool, I'll drive, unless you really want to drive."

ME: "I don't give a shit if I drive or not. You can drive, it's your car anyways."

FRIEND #1: "Yeah, no I'll drive. It's all good. [LONG PAUSE] Although I have been drinking Greyhounds for 2 hours."

ME: "I'll drive. It's not a problem."

FRIEND #1: "You sure...I mean, I can drive."

ME: "I'LL FUCKING DRIVE!"

FRIEND #2: (exists bathroom) "What the fuck are you 2 fucking idiots talking about?"

ME & FRIEND #1: (at the same time) "DRIVING!"

Oh, man. When the three of us get together, we become some sort of half baked characters from a shitty Harold Ramis movie. Perhaps to counter program against the awfulness of NYC Prep, I'll pitch the WB a reality show called "CHI-TOWN Morons".

YEAH, I'M FUCKING GAY

Facebook and I have a love/hate relationship. On the one hand, it's great (usually) to reconnect with old friends. Example: this afternoon a girl that I crushed on in the 5th grade just found me on that site; she even reminded me that I was the first boy to ever go out of my way to call her...

...which might explain why she thought me listing that I was into men on Facebook was a joke. In fact, I get this a lot, especially from people I haven't seen nor heard from in years (mostly people from grade school/high school). 

According to them, it's comes as a total fucking shock I'm a homo, but to me it's like, DUH motherfuckers! I mean, if an old friend from back in the day came out to me, I wouldn't ask them if they were joking. I'd take it seriously and give them the benefit of the doubt.   

Whatever, I'm not pissed or anything, but I am getting kinda tired of having to "prove" that I'm gay. What's it gonna take? A YouTube video of me blowing some twink? Not gonna happen! Y'all are just gonna have to take my word for it. 

RE-CONNECTION

Most of my bestest friends are from high school; although I have formed strong relationships with other friends that I haven't known as long, there is a special bond that exists with those from that period of time. In particular, I formed serious bonds with a group of female friends that I internally refer to as "my girls" (you know who you are - and how awesome you all are). 

However, there is one girl from this group that I lost touch with over the last few years, a fact that has been a constant source of confusion, stress and regret. None of these women live in Chicago anymore, but despite the distance between us, we have managed to keep in touch on a regular basis. Perhaps it's because this one woman in particular lives all the way in Alaska, we have not been in such constant contact. Although that's not the only reason.

One day, years ago I got a panicky phone call from this one woman's sister, saying there had been an "accident". Naturally, I freaked the FUCK right out, but I was assured that everything would be OK. Here's a bit of background.

My friend, let's call her Pam (Note to Gloria, was that an odd choice?) had been living in Alaska for a few years. Her older brother (who in fact is a good friend of my older brother) got a job captaining a whale watching boat for the summer, delivering a slice of "authentic" wilderness to rich tourists. He hired his little sister Pam as a deckhand on his boat...

One day, they were in the process of docking said boat; one of Pam's duties was to throw the lines to anchor the boat to the pier. On this fateful day the waters were a bit rough, and well, Pam fell and got pinned between the hull of the boat and a pylon. I'll spare you the HORRIFIC fucking details and the extent of her injuries, but they were serious, as I am sure you can imagine. 

Thank God she wasn't paralyzed or worse; still, this unfortunate accident precipitated a slow decline in her mental state of mind, and being 8 million miles from home, in a land where the sun barely comes up for months and months at a time...well, I think she handled it better than I would have.

Still, after the accident she seemed to cut herself off from her friends, myself included. Calls and e-mails went ignored and it seemed that no one had any idea how she was doing. I wasn't alone in stopping after months and months of trying to communicate with Pam, but I didn't give up hope. 

[Ed note: Here's the happy ending to this story] A few weeks ago I was speaking with a mutual friend of Pam's and mine. On a lark I asked this friend if she still had a phone number for Pam. She did, and as soon as we hung up, I took a deep breath and dialed her up, not thinking anything would come of it...well, on the second ring she picked up! 

Oh man, that's THE phone call of the year for me. Not only was it so GREAT to hear her voice, I heard another voice, in the form of her newborn daughter sitting in her lap as we spoke. Any awkwardness of us not having spoke in years was quickly dissipated by our mutual happiness just be talking again and to be able to catch up. 

Oh, and a great thing about having a friend living that far out west, is that I can drunk dial her at 2AM, like I did last night, and be able to talk with her about nothing in particular. Just shoot the shit for a awhile. And then today I got an e-mail from Pam with this line "I miss you Justin, I almost called you right back after we hung up just to tell you how happy I was to talk to you."

AWWWW! Man, I miss the shit out of her right now. Had I the means to buy an insanely expensive airline ticket, I'd have already made plans to be in Juneau in 2 months time. As it stands, she'll be back in Chicago by July, with her husband and daughter in tow. I can't wait.

PS - To my other GIRLS - I can't wait to see you all soon, one in particular next week!

THE DIRTY LOU

My St. Louis journey officially began last Friday night when I packed a bag and left for work. Since I usually don't get off until 2:30AM or so (no - not like that!) I knew my 7AM morning call would come early, so I crashed at my buddy/travel companion's place. The Mighty Mohawk and myself would be embarking on our first road trip together!

MY CHARIOT AWAITS!

That's a picture of my whip parked at a truck stop somewhere in the middle of God-knows-where-Illinois. Despite hearing horror stories about Megabus, I was pleasantly surprised. The bus was clean, comfortable and the fare was a modest $15 in each direction. Considering gas would have cost at least $100 round trip, this was a steal!

Once Mohawk and I arrived we walked across downtown St. Louis to meet up with my friends/hosts at their hotel. After many, many, many HUGS the 4 of us made out way down to the Soulard 'hood. Along the way we encountered an ass load of people that had clearly decided to start drinking EARLY. At 3PM people were staggering drunk, and literally falling down in the street.

"SHOW US YOUR TITS!"  

While stumbling about we encountered this scene in which guys were yelling at the women in those windows to show us their "girls". When said women wouldn't comply, or took too long to do so, several of the drunk assholes int he crowd expressed their frustrations by throwing full cans of beer at them and calling them "BITCHES". Classy. 

Regardless of the presence of a few fucking 'tards, the HUGE crowd was generally well behaved, even if they couldn't walk a straight line to save their lives. Either way, I didn't care because I was with Mohawk, Cloudy (sorry - lame pseudonym babe!) and her hubby Army Man (ditto). 

ARMY MAN & CLOUDLY

After we consumed several of those 48oz pitchers we sought refuge in a bar since it was colder than Ann Coulter's heart. Last time Cloudy and I hung went carousing in St. Louis we hit up Clemintine's, which is apparently the oldest gay bar in St. Louis. The line was long as hell but the people around us in it were super funny and made the time fly. 

Just after we got in I got a text from Cockbag LLC. It's always great to meet fellow bloggers in person and he was no exception. Actually, almost all the people I had direct with were super nice. Especially, 2 particular guys I ended up making out with...at the same time. Lord knows how I pulled that off but the shots we shot seemed to help. 

The night devolved from there. Mohawk tried to pick up this girl but puked on the street, and at my suggestion that we should "FUCKING GAMBLE!!!" we walked the 80,000 blocks north to the Lumiere Place Casino. Though I quickly blew through my whopping gaming budget of $10, I really enjoyed walking around the casino. I don't know what is, but I really enjoy the atmosphere of a smokey casino...

Since Mohawk got locked out of the our hotel room, I opted to go back and let him in. He needed to clean up and wanted to smoke a joint. On my way up to the room I shared the elevator with 2 random DRUNK girls. In my infinite drunken wisdom, I decided that Mohawk might want to meet with these ladies, and they were game for smoking up. 

Again, my drunken "wisdom" allowed me to suggest that the 4 of us try to gain access to the roof of the hotel (this actually isn't as crazy as it sounds - as I've done it before in other hotels) to smoke. The waiter to spoke to (more like slurred my words to) in the restaurant on the 30th floor thought I was fucking crazy but quickly wrote me off as a Mardi Gras "casualty". 

We did eventually smoke in a parking lot of some sort if memory serves (it probably doesn't) and I soon after realized I needed to go to sleep, much to the chagrin of Cloudy & Army Man. The morning after they gifted me a new nickname: "Cuddle Monkey". The lesson? If you're a happily married couple that seeks a pleasant night of sleep, DO NOT LET ME SHARE THE BED WITH YOU. You *might* just wake up with me rubbing your husband's pecs...I'm just saying.

HEY NEIGHBOR!

So last night I was standing out in front of my building, having a smoke and watching the snow when a short girls stops in front of me and says "Justin?"

Holy shit! This girl, whom I'll call Becca, is an old friend of mine from high school. I've known her for, I dunno, 12 years or so. She dated 2 of my best mates (jeez, I think I watched too much BBC yesterday) and "starred" in my first student film. I haven't seen her in over 8 years. And get this...she's been living in my apartment building for 6 months! RANDOM!

Long time readers will know Becca as "Female Friend With Really Long Hair" from this post. Yeah, THAT GIRL that practically outed me to a roomful of people. If you have no idea what I'm referring to and you want to read some classic Guy From Chicago, click here.

Oh man, do we have some catching up to do!

IT'S NOT CHRISTMAS UNTIL SOMEONE TAKES THEIR BALLS OUT

Ah yes, the holidays. That lovely time of year when everyone revels in friends, family, food, and frivolous consumption of alcohol.

This Christmas was fairly tame compared to most, certainly much more tame than the "Golden Years" when my Mom's family still lived here. Those people know how to fucking DRINK.

Past incidents included fistfights amongst Uncles and another Uncle (who used to be a Sheriff) playfully aiming his service revolver at his head. Oh, and there was time when my Grandma (God rest her soul) took all of her clothes of and walked around my Aunt's home like nothing was amiss.

Sigh, those were the days.

Without little fan fare the holidays soldiered on this year with only my Dad, my Bro and his GF. Fair enough, sometimes simple celebrations are the best way to go, and with the bat-shit insane weather [if I have to dig my car out one more fucking time!] we've had this week, it's especially practical. None of us even exchanged gifts since we're all hurting for cash. So be it.

It was still a nice Christmas, and I hope yours was too.

THE X-MAS AFTER PARTY

All of the above shouldn't imply that this year's Jesus Birthday wouldn't go out with a bang. After I dropped my Dad off at O'hare, I collapsed on the couch and watched (I can't believe I'm admitting this) 5 hours of "The Real Housewives of Orange County". Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned. Also, I am totally addicted to the trashy BBC soap "Skins". I have no shame. None.

Thankfully I have 3 people friends to RAWK OUT with last night that also seem not be worried about shameless acts. In fact we almost all tried to out-shame one another last night with wildly inappropriate religious jokes, humorous attempts at parallel parking on ice, and physicals acts such as:

[ED: I should note that this one guy "Nick" is an old high school crush]

A. Nick taking his pants off giving us lap-dances.

B. Nick goading me into Bitch Slapping him, which I did with enough force to make his neck hurt.

C. Nick whipping out his balls, which, I was surprised to find out are totally shaved.

D. Oh we drank. Nick, Mark, this girl and I consumed 2 cases of Miller Lite, a half bottle of Jack (thanks Dad!) and a Sixer of PBR.

All in all, a swell time was had by all.

No, that's a waste of sweet, delicious PBR!

My failed attempt to get a shot of Nick's balls.

COMPROMISED

"Regret is a wasted motion"
-Unknown

A few days ago a friend asked me why I haven't been blogging as much as of late. Part of the reason is that, well, my life is pretty fucking boring as of late. I could relate my daily activities, which would probably go something like this:

"This morning I woke up at 7AM, took a piss, got some water and went back to sleep for another 4 hours. Then I woke up, made "breakfast", read the paper, took a shower, watched 3 hours of Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares, starting drinking at 4PM, watched the same episode of Top Gear for the 4th time, dropped a deuce, applied to a few jobs I won't get a response to, then jerked off, etc, etc."

Exciting shit, I know. There is yet another reason though for my lack of blogging quantity. After my friend asked me the earlier question, she had mentioned that her BF reads my blog. This surprised me, and made me think about the fact that the vast majority of my friends my read my blog.

Not that it matters. In fact, I feel almost flattered that my friends regularly tune in to read what's going on in "Justin's world". Then again, this knowledge almost makes me hesitant to the extent that feel I have to censor myself so as not to offend certain constituencies.

I'd never write something that I don't mean, but then again it's all about context, and it's all too easy to take certain things the wrong way. No one has ever called my on any supposed bullshit, but I still have that little editor in the back of my head that says "Hey! Great idea! Just don't write about it unless you want to piss people close to you off!".

When I first started writing int his forum I had no such qualms. But over time it just made sense to acknowledge the existence of this blog. For example, when I went to New York City last year it probably seemed strange to my Father that I had a handful of friends to hang out with (i.e. blogger friends).

Not that I admitted the existence of this blog to my Father (dear Gawd no!) but it made sense to explain to my friends that I met several other bloggers. From there it just snowballed and one friend would tell another, then another and so on. I don't regret it, nor does it bother me. But it has altered what I write and how.

Instead of thinking of this as a bad thing, I've almost come to embrace it, to the extent that I sometimes place certain "in-jokes" within my prose (whoa! that sounds pretentious as hell!). Still, in some instances, the knowledge of my audience almost hinders my writing.

In time, I hope to bridge the gap; until then, please bare with me...

G-L-O-R-I-A!

Here and there I've referenced my friend "Gloria". Although I have many close friends, she is the one that I have known the longest that I still keep in contact with on a regular basis. We first met during my sophomore year of high school in a theater arts class. She can dispute this, but I am sure that the teacher paired us up because I would have never choose her as a partner, because, well, I thought she was a total fucking bitch.

The reason? Well, during my freshman year I started dating a girl that lived near me (and Gloria) therefore we all rode the same bus. My GF at the time and I would make out on the bus (seriously) and Gloria took it upon herself to point and laugh. Although it made me very self-conscious at the time, I can look back and laugh about it now.

Anyways, so Gloria and I got paired up along with another friend of mine. The three of us were assigned to perform a short scene, the details of which elude me at this point. But I do remember the three of us cruising around the Lake County suburbs in her white Chevy Blazer, getting insanely high, eating Burger King and not practicing our lines.

From that inglorious beginning, a relationship bloomed that I share with few other, if any people, on earth. Although I have several GREAT friends in my life, Gloria is a force unique to herself. She moved away after high school, but I visited her in places stretching from Montana to Washington, D.C and many places in between. And when she comes into town, as she did on Monday, people flock to her as if she was shitting gold coins.

This particular visit included copious amounts of laughter, whiskey (she literally mixed a cocktail in my car on our way to the Loop last night), ass slapping, nipple twisting, various other illicit substances which I won't specifically mention and some crying mixed in for good measure. Oh, and she kicked my ass in a bar on Monday Night (for real, she pushed me backwards and I toppled several chairs and landed on my back).

And this was a relatively quiet visit...

LOVE YA BABE!

HE'S A BRAVE MAN

The New Roomie has arrived! Initial thoughts...he seems cool, laid back and perhaps a little bit in awe of living in Da Big City. When he first stepped in my place last night, he was looking around, all wide eyed and said "wow, I've never not lived on the 1st floor before!"

He split soon after, and hung out in Wrigleyville with his local friend, and I met my friends at a bar for dinner. After dinner, my friends and I decided to come back to my place to "party with our Canadian friend" as my friend so eloquently refers to as getting high (I have no idea why he says this, but he was probably really high the first time he did).

Anyways, we were drinking and smoking when New Roomie came home with an air bed he's borrowing from someone. I wasn't sure how he would react to my friends. I mean, "C" is a big, intimidating hulk of a man with a Mohawk and "Tex" has a thick Texarcana drawl and sideburns that fat Elvis would have killed for.

And then my "sorta kinda guy" (a guy I've been seeing very casually for a few weeks, we like having "sleepovers") texts me and wants to stop by. Well, why the hell not? I figure New Roomie needs to meet him at some point anyways.

So "Nipple Rings" (my not so creative or subtle name for this guy) walks in. He's skinny, a bit shorter than me, adorable black kid (he's only 22, thus still a kid in my mind) walks in and we embrace, me drunkly planting a kiss on his neck.

Welcome to living with me! To New Roomie's credit, he took it all in stride, and didn't mind that Nipple Rings stayed the night. So far, so good.

I THINK I DESERVE A BLOWJOB

I don't even know where to begin. It's been a long and exhausting last 6 or 7 days, so let's just go down the list in chronological order...

Last Wednesday I woke up for work, and didn't feel so good. When I got out of bed, I nearly fell over. Then I quickly realized I had to puke, thus very awkward stumble to the bathroom began, and ended with me passed out on the cold tile floor. Sometime later I decided to try and take a shower, but gave up for fear that I would fall and hit my head on the tub. None of the was fun. Or pretty.

My now naked, wet, shivering excuse for a body crawled back to bed, and there it stayed, until 3PM. Needless to say, I didn't go to work that day. However, I did throw up again (this was the mother load) and slowly felt a little bit better. Thursday morning I still felt like shit, but I made myself go to work, and by the end of the day I felt almost like myself.

This was a good thing because I had tickets to see Bon Iver later that night. I met up with my friend at a cozy little lesbian bar called the Closet, had a drink, then walked a few blocks down to the Lakeshore Theater. Nice place. The opening band was terrible, but when Justin Vernon got up on stage, everyone got very quiet. In fact, the audience was nearly silent the whole time, and Justin's amazing voice filled the room.

Seriously. Awesome. Shit.

Friday I heard from my insurance company. The total for the damage to my car? Oh, let's round slightly up: $6,000. And since my car is no longer in Production, and it was built in Japan (and where all the parts must come from), the body shop thinks it might be ready by May 4. FUCK!

After I hung up with them I immediately called Enterprise Rent-A-Car and told them there is no way in hell I am driving a fucking Chrysler Pacifica for another 3+ weeks. 4 days of tooling around the city in that Mommy-Mobile was more than enough for me. So instead they gave me a silver Pontiac G6. With chrome wheels. Argh. Not a great car, but an improvement no less.

I decided I was going to stay in on Friday Night and do shit around the apartment. Roomie was set to move out on Saturday and the place was a mess, and nearly all my clothes were dirty. I must say, spending a Friday Night at the laundry mat is depressing, but at least it was quiet. Around 11PM my Bro's Ex-GF invited me out to meet her and her friends out for drinks. I agreed, but reluctantly on account of the rain.

The L got to me to Lakeview just shy of Midnight and I made my way to the Mexican place they were hanging out at. Of coarse when I get there, no one is there and the place is about to close for the night. Damnnit. Had Bro's Ex-GF had the decency to answer her phone I would have known that they were at a bar across the street.

Since I was not-really-dressed-up-with-no-where-to-go I called a friend that lives in Boystown, and walked over there to get a drink. Not a huge fan of Sidetrack, but what the hell, why not go and check out some boys. I find my friend got a drink when someone grabbed my shoulder, and it was my friend that went with me to the concert on Thursday Night!

I think I stayed there until about 2AM-ish and I was planning on going home but my friend had other ideas. Since I had several rum and cokes in my bloodstream he convinced me to go the late night club, Charlie's. Never been there before and didn't really want to, as it always struck me as being very seedy.

Regardless, I went and managed to have a good time. There were lots of drugged out homo's, some drunks, some seriously hot guys and then there was me. Since I don't dance I mainly hung out on the sidelines and got drunk and eye fucked people like the whore I secretly am.

Eventually, and I'm not sure how, I ended up on the...dance floor (GASP) and into a what can only be described as a homosexual mosh pit of sorts. People were kinda dancing but defiantly grabbing one another and I ended up making out with some random guy I thought was hot (and my friend later confirmed this). Pretty sure he was tall with dark hair and nice lips. I have no idea what his name is and I am sure I will never see him again.

I'm told I also kissed another guy, but alas my memory fails me. I guess I am a whore after all. We closed out the club around 4AM and took a cab home, and got home around 4:45AM. Long night that was.

And then Roomie woke me up at 9AM (argh!) to start moving her furniture out. She thoughtfully bought breakfast for her crew which consisted of her BF, our friend and me. After we ate I made us all screwdrivers (yum!) and we got high. At 10:30AM. Jesus...

At least her stuff was light and all her small things were already moved out. The highlight of that move was when I was carring a really fucking heavy box of books, and smashed my left hand in a door frame. "Ouch" I thought to myself but only later did I look down to see the blood pouring out of my hand, which is when I noticed the trail of blood behind me. Fun!

Then since I hadn't had my fill of moving I took the cargo van and drove 35 miles north of Chicago to clearout 1 of my Dad's storage lockers. His furniture was not as light as Roomies. In fact, it was Really Fucking Heavy.

Thankfully my friend Bear offered to help me out, and since he was going to a show in the city later that night, he offered to come back to my place and move the new shit in. We finally got done around 7PM, and although most sane people would have called it a day, I decided to join Bear at the show.

The Boweevils used to be one of the greatest Chicago Punk Rock bands in the late 90's, and I used LOVE seeing them live. After the lead singer quit the band to attend Med School (seriously) the band broke up, but every so often they get back together for show or 2.

Man, drinking cans of shitty beer and having losing more of my hearing is a hell of a lot of fun. The show was at the Double Door which totally kicks ass - easily one of the best venues in Chicago. The place was packed which all sorts of people, including some really hot guys. You know, Chicago needs some sort of a gay punk bar...sigh.

That was another late night, and Bear and I didn't get back to my place until 3AM. Whew! All of Sunday was spent moving stuff around and cleaning my place. You have no idea how much cat hair I found hiding behind the furniture; I'm talking softball sized hair balls!

Despite how sore I am (pretty sure I did something really bad to my left shoulder as even typing hurts) it's totally worth it. Roomie has an awesome new place around the corner from me, and I get to walk around without wearing any pants. WOOT!

THINGS TO DO IN DENVER WHEN YOU'RE DRUNK

Since I got back from Denver, I've been asked the same question several times, "did you go skiing?" or "how was the snow?" Frankly, I wouldn't know. The weekend was spent drinking heavily in many of the bars that Denver has to offer.

Now, that may sound like a wasted trip, but seeing as the purpose of the trip was to hang out with my bestest high school friend, I must declare "mission accomplished".

My friend Gloria picked me up from the airport and said "let's do some damage to our livers this weekend!" You see, she had a kid about 2 1/2 years ago (awesome kid, BTW), and since she's married (awesome husband too) she doesn't get out like she used to. Me being in town for the weekend was an excuse to party, and party we did...

We had lunch and made a bee line for the liquor store, and within 2 hours of being on the ground I had already consumed 2 stiff Rum and Cokes. The afternoon was spent drinking on the porch, looking at the tip-top of the Front Range and basking in what felt to me like Spring (it was sunny and probably in the mid-40's). Awesome.

We had been tossing ideas around on how best to spend Friday night. Gay bars were an obvious option, but my friend really wanted to see a rapper named "Brother Ali". Upon learning that this guy was an albino, Muslim from Minneapolis, I was sold. Who could pass that up? And we continue drinking...

....which necessitated a stop at the corner 7-11 for a fountain drink (to mix the rum with). What's the point of public transport if you don't have a cocktail in your hand, right? Right! The Light Rail Line dropped us off in the middle of Downtown, and we rode a cab all the way over to the Bluebird Theater. Just before we got dropped off, Gloria says to me "I hope the show doesn't sell out".

When we exit the cab several hippie dudes ask us "heeeeeeey guuuuuuys, got annnnnny extras?" DOH! We retreated to the bar across the street to regroup (also, we wanted to continue drinking). Plan B was set into effect; with the aid of my iPhone we plotted out all the gay bars in the vicinity. Several beers a a few shots later, we were off...

...to a bar called Charlie's. Upon entering, I immediately knew we had made a mistake. The place was dead. You ever see 3 people on a dance floor, and none of them are dancing with or near one another? Yeah, it was like that. However, Gloria needed to use the little girl's room, so I ordered us a pair of Heineken's. Then I started talking to a kinda hot guy about "THE" place to be on a Friday Night...

...which brings us to The Compound. This place was bumpin'! Boys, boys and more boys were awaiting us behind the ominous looking exterior. In one room there was a very busy bar, and yet somehow it was never a problem getting drinks. We roamed about and into the other room, which was a large dance floor. Now, usually DJ's at gay bars play shit that makes my ears bleed, but this place was spinning some good shit...

Around this time I openly asked "why am I so fucking drunk?" which was answered by Gloria "it's the altitude Dip-Shit". Oh, right, the thin air! Dang! Oh well, while Gloria was cutting up a rug with some homos (except for the one she gave her number to, which, as it turns out was NOT a homo) I wandered around talking to people, totally shit faced.

When I went to get another drink I opened my wallet but only found 3 dollars staring back at me. "It's a cash only bar back here" said the bartender. Fuck! So I went and found the ATM, intending to only take out $20, but I hit the wrong button and wound up with $80. Double-fuck. I got my drink and joined Gloria, as well as some boys on the dance floor. Good, blurry times were had.

Eventually, we decided to seek out another fine establishment. Someone suggested a neighborhood/gay/dive bar called (creatively) Boyz Town. From the outside it looked like a quiet, chill bar that would afford us a brief respite from the prior venue. That was not the case. Upon opening the door and walking in we saw...

STRIPPERS! Gloria and I turned to each other and exclaimed "AWESOME!". See, we always "joke" about going to Titty Bars, but this was WAY better. As she put it "this is the ultimate Win-Win situation". Indeed.

These boys were fuckin' H-A-W-T, and although most of them were probably straight, that did little to nothing to dampen my enthusiasm. Somehow, I got a second wind. Hot, nearly naked boys apparently have that effect on me.

Saturday was spent hung-the-fuck-over and sleeping and reading. Also, I became "Uncle Justin" and looked after Gloria's son. This kid is beyond awesome. We played catch, I pushed him around in his little wagon thing and such. I might never be a Father, but I'll always be a damn good Uncle!

Saturday Night...we went to a place called Cervantes Masterpiece Ballroom, which is a total hippie joint, and quite a fun one at that. There were 2 rooms, the main one (below) and another side room.

The main act was a band called The Motet, and in the other room there some "hippie techno" by a group called EOTO going on. That might sound terrible, but in reality it was fucking off-da-hook.

There is something about gay bars and hippie bars that make drinks really, really strong and soon enough I was feeling really good once again...which was around the time I ran into Pete. This is an old friend from high school that I always run into when in Denver, and always when I'm fucked up.

This was no exception, and at first I was confused why this hot guy (he looks kinda like Owen Wilson but without the jacked nose) knew my name, but after a few seconds I exclaimed "PETE!". He bought us some shots and we caught up before he disappeared into the crowd, probably to chase after some cute hippie girls.

Which brings me to another observation; Denver is FULL of beautiful people. When you think "hippie" you might think of hairy people wearing ill fitted clothing. Not the case. There were smokin' hot guys and very pretty woman everyone one looked.

Gloria, her friends and I had a blast that night. The next morning I was afraid to look at the receipt from my bar tab...but it was only $5. Not sure that happened, but I'm not complaining (I'm told this place is notorious for forgetting to put drinks on your tab). Also, somehow I got blue paint on my coat. Hmmmm...

Needless to say, I had a blast in the Mile High City. It was great to hang with an old friend and also some new ones...thanks Denver!

GO WEST, YOUNG MAN

How things do change.

My general state of mind was flying high for some time.

Then, not so much.

This might sound dramatic, but this current Winter season is easily the worst I have ever experienced in all my years.

Therefore, I have decided to fly to Denver next week; and as a confirmed airplane dork, I'm happy to say I choose a flight on no less a bird than a mighty Boeing 777.

This is akin to driving a Ford F-350 around the block for a gallon of milk.

Fuck if I care.

Outside of aircraft selections, I am looking forward to hanging with a dear, old friend and snapping out of my general sense of malaise.

I need a break from my life...and feel the awesomeness that is L-I-F-E once again.

Plus, 2 consecutive four-day work weeks sounds nice...

HOW I SPENT MY V-DAY

Valentine's Day, that wonderful day of the year in which I find myself alone, horny and invariably drunk. For 15 consecutive years it's been more or less the same story...the only action I get is from my Right Hand Man (Baby - you were amazing last night, really, WOW! Also, thanks for the Roses!).

The night started with me getting my cardio on at the gym. It had been 5 days since the last time I worked out, and I was feeling fat. You know when you drive a car with a tight suspension over potholes and yawning expansion gaps in the pavement and part of your body jiggles? No? Well, I do.

To the gym I went and was throughly eye-fucked by a guy on the elliptical next to mine. Later, when I was changing post-workout, he afforded me the courtesy of staring at me while leaning against a wall, arms crossed, loosely wearing a towel and a desperate "please, fuck me, I'll even pretend to lose your number the next day". How romantic!

Once home I showered then made a stiff Bacardi & Coke Zero and smoked some Camels. One of my hetero buddies called and asked me what I was doing. I responded, "Wrapping your Valentine's Day present, silly". When asked what it was I replied "you'll have to come over and unzip my jeans with your teeth if you want to find out". Again, how romantic!

After more bullshitting we got done to the business of which bar we would get shit faced at. We settled on a lovely place called the Wild Goose, not for the ambiance, but rather because on Thursday nights they sling domestic bottles of domestic beer for $1. Yes, were are whores. Drunk ones at that (or would soon be).

Hetero friend #1 would pick me up in 20 minutes, and then we would pick up Hetero Friend #2 and #3 (they are Roomies) - and #2 informed us that Hetero Friend's #4 & #5 would be meeting us at said location. If last night was an action movie, it could have been titled "5 Dudes and Homo - On a Mission To Get Drunk" (is that too wordy?).

Approximately 25 minutes after arriving, our table (which we were lucky to obtain - last one there) looked like this:

Let's not even discuss the $3 landfill-esque pile of nachos I silently devoured while watching the Bulls game...

Other than drinking, eating and talking shit, the 6 of us took turns shooting pool. Now, I fucking rock the billiards....or at least I used to.

There was a time when all I needed to do was splay my cock on the table and the outcome of the game would be decided. But my game has grown rusty over the least year. I still won the first 3 games I played, but my victories lacked the "in your fucking face bitch" variety that I had become accustomed to.

Alas, I journeyed outdoors for a smoke. The night was bitterly cold, but my friends were being telling funny beer-fueled jokes/stories, and it felt good to "be with the guys" and all that.

Later in the night I noticed a guy sitting at the bar who looked just like Ziggy from Season 2 of The Wire (please tell me someone reading this knows who I am referring to). He looked like this, but skinnier and more cracked out:

Somehow he ended up shooting pool with Hetero Friend #2, whom he handily defeated. I was called upon to challenge the newcomer. Now, usually when random men shoot pool in a bar, it's customary to at the least shake hands and/or introduce on another.

But "Ziggy" would have none of the friendly banter so typical to such a scenario. He coolly racked the balls and implored me to break. I produced a loud "TWACK!" but failed to drop anything. I blamed it all on the pencil-eraser head tip on the tree branch that posed as a pool cue, and will continue to do so for the time being.

When we were shooting I observed additional "Ziggy-like" behavior, such as staring a inanimate objects, furiously chewing gum while drinking beer and going to the bathroom more often than necessary, even for someone drinking shitty beer. What he was on still eludes me, but the details were not of particular import.

While I was trying, in vain, to show off, a fratty type dude rocking a Vincent Price 'stache and a scarf asked if he could play winner. Zig confidently answered YES, as if him winning was a foregone conclusion. Well guess what Zig - you done got SERVED!

Still, at this point continuing to prove a useless point was of little concern to me, and I joined my friends in their beer drinking antics. You know that line from the film Magnolia, "you might be done with the past but the past isn't done with you?".

This was represented in the appearance of the Vincent Price and his 2 fratty friends, who looked like less attractive versions of this:

Note to straight boys on the prowl in a bar on Valentine's Day: wearing baggy sweatpants and ripped hoodies, no matter how color coordinated with your dirty sneakers, will not get you laid. Nor will it encourage me to shoot pool with you. That being said, a conversation not unlike this one soon took place:

FRATTY #1: "Who am I playing?"
ZIGGY: (pointing towards me): "He won - it's his table to lose".
ME: "I'm good, you guys have fun".
FRATTY #1: "Naw, it's cool man, let's shoot. Me and my friend against you and your friend (meaning Ziggy)".
ME: "I'm, good, thanks".
ZIGGY: (suddenly animate): "but it's your table man!".
ME: "I'm good, you guys have fun".
FRATTY #1: "dude. let's. shoot. pool".
ME: "I'M GOOD YOU GUYS HAVE FUN".

Despite my slight ability to protest my fate, I relented, and with Zig as my partner, we took on the young guns/fratty ill dressed boys. Zig's high must have faded; he missed several shots he should have made and the task of learnin' these kids fall upon my shoulders. I knocked out 5 shots in quick succession, but missed the last solid, leaving a juicy corner shot un-did.

Fratty #2 missed and I assumed Zig would clean it up; alas, he did not. He looked uninterested in his game, and as such, the fratty kids beat us like red headed step children. This was a cruel defeat, one that reminded me of not only my age, but my place in a shitty bar, "alone" on a Greeting Card Holiday, and one that should not have occurred.

I consoled myself with a shot of Jameson, as did Hetero Friend #1 in an act of solidarity. As it was nearing Midnight, we asked for the tab for the table; $56 and change. Though no math scholar I quickly surmised the number of $1 beers that had been emptied in little more than 2 1/2 hours.

Goddamn. It was time to retire...