I GOT TO BE A BOUNCER TODAY

And my God it felt good! And by today, I suppose I mean yesterday. Anyways, it was fucking crazy at work yesterday; not only did the Bulls come back at the last second (YES!!!) we also dealt with a large contingent of rowdy soccer fans. Easily in the top 5 of nuttiest days I've worked ever.

Anyways, I had that floor locked down, but around 3PM, my boss, several customers and myself noticed the pungent smell of strong herb wafting about. Process of determination lead me to the source, which was the hot as FUCK guy I presume either surfs or performs in gay for pay porn in his free time.

Which means he's really hot. And he was. Gorgeous, and I don't use that adjective readily. That being said, God, in his infinite wisdom may have blessed him with beauty, but he forgot to give him a fucking brain, and he thought it would be cool to light up a joint the size of my forearm right in front of the door to the bar.

Here's the approximate conversation that took place:

ME: "YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?

PRESUMABLY RETARDED HOT GUY: "..."

ME: [ANGRY JUSTIN CHICAGO VOICE] "SMOKE THAT FUCKING SHIT ELSEWHERE YOU FUCKING SHITHEAD"

PRESUMABLY RETARDED HOT GUY: [Locks flowing in the breeze] "..."

ME: "YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?

And he ran. I'm not into using my limited authority to invoke involvement of the police, but what a fucking moron. I mean, really. Smoke in the fucking alley if you need to, I don't care. But when you are smoking pot in daylight in full view of literally hundreds of people...use your head (or what's left of it).

SO, long story short, I was THAT guy today, the asshole bouncer, and Goddamn it felt good. Sorry if my recent antidotes stem from work, but it's much better than the sad/awful ones derived from my DUI classes.

That being said I will leave you, dear reader, with one chestnut. This guy claimed that he simply "pushed" his girlfriend. What he left out was that he pushed her from a 3rd story floor...my GOD. It's a fine line, much like the story I presented earlier...so yeah.

HAND JOBS FROM STRANGERS, AND STUFF

After I got my haircut last week (or rather 2 weeks ago...almost) when I alluded to the random hot Latino guy that gave me a hand job while sitting at the bar (for the record, I stopped him, and didn't get off), I thought, "Huh, that was odd" and dismissed it from my mind.

Fast forward a week later, I'm riding the Red Line at 3:10AM, just left work, and I sit down...across from the same guy that wants my shit. Funny thing is, I didn't recognize him at first, I just thought he was another attractive random stranger. Which he was.

But the wheels in my head began to turn and I thought "where do I know this guy from?" He clearly knew me, my occupation, etc. He asked about how my work shift went, and as we neared the Belmont "L" stop, he drew nearer and offered to buy me drinks at some random Boystown bar.

I declined. Though flattered, and tempted, I quickly thought myself, "I really like the guy I'm with". Speaking of, that's not going...PERFECT, but both willing to make the effort to make it work, and apparently spurn the advances of a guy I would bend over my kitchen table.

Am I getting old, mature or both? PS - it's been 5 days since I last kissed my Man, and it feels like forever.

WHO DOES LAUNDRY AT THIS UNGODLY HOUR? ME!

It's been a fucked up week, to say the least, and I think it's manifesting itself in a series of bizarre, strange and terrible "dreams" that have contributed to my latent propensity for insomnia. Here's a quick run-down of the shit I've experienced this week:

-Might have to fly to Phoenix and propose an intervention for my Mom (for drinking like a Rock Star, and not in a good way). My Stepfather is struggling, but being patient, but me being available to chat on the phone is only going so far.

-I got a new (another) job! And almost lost my current one, although I think I saved it. I start tomorrow at a fancy Sushi restaurant (one of the best in the city, I'm told). Did I mention I know nothing about Sushi? Because I don't, but I'll learn.

-The second go around with a guy I dated 2 years ago imploded this week...and out of nowhere the young (24 y/o) bi-guy got back in contact with me. He doesn't want a traditional relationship, just a weekly hook-up type thing. And that's fine by me. I don't have time, nor energy for much else.

-My Roommate nearly burning this apartment building to the ground the other night; she was making bread pudding and left the oven, and a stove top burner on for...oh, 5 hours? I came home and my eyes were on FIRE. I almost passed out from the carbon monoxide present in the air.

-Last night I was at a random party, and was told by a good friend of my elder brother that he's jealous of my hair (?). I haven't gotten a hair cut since March so this shit is shaggy, and curly. But the women love it (like I care, but it is flattering). But if one more person refers to me as Justin Bieber, I might hit them.

-I ate a bunch of 'shrooms last Sunday night, while at work (only had 35 minutes left) and began hallucinating; I was trying to text a friend and the characters (letters/numbers) were swirling off the face of my iPhone. That was...fun? Drank a bunch of whiskey too.

-This might be obvious, but this is the worst Summer ever, weather-wise. It's forecast to be 93, with 87% humidity today. I know it's typical for Chicagoans to be ready for fall around this time of year; I'm ready for fucking January.

-I'm waiting for my laundry to dry as I write this, and having a much deserved (in my opinion) cocktail, and then going into work at 9:30am. If my life gets any more weird...I don't know, guess I'll deal. Got no other choice. Right?

TAKE A NUMBER

This morning I had my follow-up appointment with an Orthopedic specialist. I'm not even sure why I went, and the doctor basically confirmed what I already knew, i.e., my clavicle is fractured. And here's the process I endured to get that bit of non-news:

I awoke at 5:30AM, for my 7:30AM "appointment". I walked 20 minutes across the park, waited 10 minutes for the bus to arrive, humped that bitch for 45 solid minutes down to the county hospital. Although I arrived 35 minutes early, I had to take a number, specially #38. Imagine, if you will, an entire room full of people (at least 60-70) all on crutches or rocking an arm sling (careful observation led me to conclude I'm the only one with a black arm sling - guess I'm that fashion forward!). Another hour passed before they called my number.

When they did, I rushed (as much as I could - while trying to balance my back pack on one arm) to the desk and handed over my ER discharge papers. The thoroughly dis-interested clerk typed shit for 5 minutes, frowned repeatedly at the computer screened, handed me back an even larger stack of papers and told me to go downstairs to another office...

...where I had to stand in line AGAIN. Only to (wait for it) be handed ANOTHER FUCKING NUMBER. 30 minutes later I got face time with ANOTHER dis-interested clerk who...hand me more papers and told me to go back to the same room upstairs from whence I just came. And you know what? Another line! Just to give my papers back to the same person that took them an hour or so prior. And she helpfully told me to sit down and wait for my name to be called.

When it was (28 minutes later, I know this because I timed it on my phone) I was led to ANOTHER FUCKING WAITING ROOM. Thankfully this wait was short. And the doctor was a nice enough guy who I don't think meant to hurt my shoulder/arm more, although he did during the examination process. DICK. He got up and took a look at my CT scan...and confirmed that "yes, indeed, your clavicle is fractured". NO SHIT!

And get this, not only did he not tell me anything new...he scheduled another follow-up visit with a shoulder specialist, so he can give me something called a "Zanca View" scan. Awesome. And this particular sub-specialist is only in the hospital once a week. Not sure what that guy is gonna do for me.

At this point, it's 10AM and all I want to do is wash my hands, take a piss and smoke a cig, in exactly that order. Which I did. Then humped the bus (riding backwards!) 45 minutes north, across the park where I staggered back inside my apartment.

FUCK. I think I need a drink. Or a blow job. Or both!

PS - After venting, I feel a whole hell of a lot better.

PPS - Sorry for the bitch-fest.

PPS X2 - After consuming last week's copy of Roomie's EW magazine whilst waiting, I now know far too much Patrick Swayze.