U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

MEMO: To my loyal readers that reside in England

RE: Suck it bitches!

OK - I'm just kidding. Mostly. We sure did NOT kick your ass in Round 1 of the World Cup, however, you didn't beat ours either, and from what little knowledge I know of soccer, that apparently was a shocker [PS - I really don't care either way. Mostly.]

You know who did get their ass kicked? My co-workers at the bar, and I was not an exception. Holy Fucking Bullshit on a Tightrope. It didn't help that after working a very hard shift the day before, I came home, poured a few stiff ones, and then (insert [heh] your own "stiff" metaphor here) had sex in the shower with the guy I'm seeing, then wisely got 3 hours of fitful sleep.

Morning of the 12th, here I am walking down a deserted street at 5:00AM; in the distance I can see the faint light of the bar...illuminating 20-25 Koreans waiting impatiently to gain entry to my place of employment; the game was an hour away.

Doors opened promptly at 6AM, and by 6:04AM, I shit you not, we're over capacity. 85% Koreans, the rest got their THAT EARLY to secure a table, seat or some sort of vantage point for the USA-England game in 7 and 1/2 HOURS later!!!

Did I mention the Koreans all brought Thundersticks? Ugh. Between that, the Vuvvuzela's blaring from a sound system that was originally in a nightclub (my old place of employment) and the hangover I had, I thought I was going to die.

And that's basically how the next 10 and 1/2 hours of work went. Jose Cuervo Girl's wearing cheerleader outfits were giving out free shots when they weren't on top of the bar, a la Coyote Ugly, all the American's lost their damn minds whenever this Dodge commercial came on, one of the bartender's girlfriend's got into a fight with a drunk patron, we ran out of ice, ESPN showed up with 2 former USA National team members...you get the point, it was fucking insanity.

And you know what? The money I made, which was more than ample, was exceeded by simply being able to experience a spectacle of Nationalistic Pride, naked and ugly as it was at times...was on a scale I had never before seen. And on a lesser note, it felt really, REALLY good to know just how far I could push myself, both mentally and physically.

So, 5 days in I'm still alive...but I will NEVER drink another fucking Carlsberg.

A TALE OF 2 FOUL MOUTHED LESBIANS

So far my new career, ugh, I mean job is going pretty well, although it hasn't been without a few hiccups (who knew there was a right and a wrong way to slice limes?). Since the bar is also a restaurant we serve brunch on weekends. This means there are children present. Which means the owners have told us boys to watch our language (lots and Lots and LOTS of dick jokes).

To help us curb our creative and judicious use of the work "FUCK" we instituted a swear jar. Every time one of us drops an F-Bomb we place a quarter in said jar. It's actually effective. However, we cannot exactly police the words that exit the mouth of our inebriated patrons.

On Saturday a pair of stunning women entered the bar with a HUGE fucking suitcase. These lovely ladies explained to us that it was their 1 year anniversary of marriage (I think they got hitched in Canada) and they were on their way to the Park Hyatt for a romantic night of, um...whatever was in the huge suitcase (the mind shutters).

Anyways, they stopped in because one of the women needed to use the restroom, and since they were already there, they decided to have a round of beers. Fast forward to 3 hours later and they are fucking smashed. Not drooling drunk, but thoroughly buzzed. Which is when one of the owners, his wife and their young children showed up for dinner.

Keep in mind that the 2 parties were seated about 6 feet from one another. It's safe to say the owners children are now privy to the concept of vibrators, fisting and bondage. These ladies left it ALL on the table and then some. And the public display of affection! Holy shit, they were going at it like horny high school kids. It was sweet. I can't wait until I can get lit with my husband and sloppily make out in public.

PS - The presence of the lesbian couple prompted a conversation between one of the bartenders and myself about gay marriage, which prompted him to tell me about when his sister came out, which then lead me to come out to the bartender. His response: "I didn't know you are gay" to which I said "well, why would you?".

A FIRE SALE OF FUN

Right before I sat down to write this, the above title magically popped into my head. Which is notable because, it's a more than apt definition of the 2 Night Party to Wrap My 20's, and also because I'm surprised I can even string a sentence together after all the brain cells I carelessly expended through a combination of various controlled substances, copious amounts of booze and beer. Oh, and my ears have returned to normal, so there's always that!

First, let's begin with the venue. The entire structure is temporary; the stage, seating, concessions and the even the bathrooms look like they can all be removed in a matter of hours. Or if tornado came through, it would probably deposit the whole fucking place right into Lake Michigan. But the view! Holy Shit it was AWESOME! Here's a crappy cell phone picture taken from the very last row:

Although my buddy that bought the tickets paid more for floor seats (good ones too, near the stage) we/I opted to spend the majority of both nights way the hell in the back (I think he may have been a little pissed about that) but the view was so much better. See the crappy cell phone picture below for proof.

It also sounded better in the back, not too mention there actually more than 5" of space in which to boogie. AND - we had a big group of us all together. Friends old and new, we owned a decent piece of real estate and no one fucked with us (you could also smoke with abandon up there), which was a good thing because...

...both nights I tripped my nuts off. Oh mushrooms, how I love thee. Yes, they taste like shit, because, you know, THEY ARE GROWN IN SHIT. However, dear, sweet Gloria somehow got her hands on Mushroom Chocolates, which masked the shit taste rather well. Thankfully, she stopped me right as I was going to put a way-too-big-piece in my mouth, and she suggested I break it in half. Had I eaten the whole thing, I would probably be in a psych ward.

I guess now is as good as time as any to thank Gloria, not just for the 'Shrooms, but also for the enormous hickey she implemented on my neck. She gave me a mild one on Tuesday, which was sore the next day, but didn't leave a mark.

When I informed her of this on Wednesday night, she was determined to correct that oversight. I should kept my mouth shut. See, she's bigger than me, probably stronger too, and when she wrapped her arms around me and bite into my neck, I couldn't let go. Maybe it's because I struggled a bit, or maybe she's part vampire, but this second hickey BROKE THE SKIN prompting me to bleed on the collar of my mostly white shirt. Thanks babe!

Now let's move onto the GIRL THAT WANTED MY NUTS. Cate is a friend of Gloria. When I arrived on Wednesday, Cate practically jumped into my arms and landed a big wet one, right on the kisser. Mind you, we have never met before this evening. As the night wore on, she kept it up, and at one point said "you're so pretty!" Now, I've been called a lot of things, but never that, so I'm going to chalk it up to the drugs in her system. Don't get me wrong, she was totally adorable and sweet; generous too.

At one point, ate shoves her empty hand in my face and says "take this". Take what? I look closer and she that the first knuckle of her index finger is caked in white powder. "It's good Molly [MDMA]!" So I did as instructed and...yeah...sucked on her finger, thus delivering another substance into my bloodstream. Whew-boy!

Oh, and I have a standing invitation to visit her and her friends in Alabama for more Widespread Panic concerts next month. A weekend in a beach house on the Gulf coast seems super dope and all, but I won't be going. Either she didn't understand me telling her I'm into dudes, or she didn't care. Either way...Cate rawks! As do the other 10 or so people I met and partied with. Gotta love those hippie's!

The music was most excellent as well. The Allman Brothers, while consummate musicians, didn't really light a fire under my ass, at least not like Widespread Panic still can. At some during Panic's set on Tuesday night, I was peaking from the 'Shrooms and it felt like the band was INSIDE my fucking head. I was also told at one point to "let JB (their lead singer) handle the vocal duties". Good. Damn. RAWK.

So - now that I have mostly recovered, and shed the official age of 29 - it's time to ring in YEAR 3-0 with my buddies tonight! Hope you all have a fun, rawkin' and safe Labor Day weekend! Cheers.

WAS THERE A FUCKING FULL MOON LAST NIGHT?

People always use the "full moon" explanation to excuse all sorts of fucked up behavior, but in the case of last night, that's the only plausible reason I can think of to describe the actions of those I encountered.

Being a Doorman/Bouncer/Babysitter can be both extremely tedious, and also randomly hilarious (and slightly dangerous when dealing with drunk, pissed of guys twice my size). By far the worst though, is when it's some one's BIRTHDAY!

These assholes, and their fucking friends are always a problem. See, in addition to patrolling the door, I also take the money for covers. Last night it was $8. Not too steep for a big city, especially when one considers that the promoters flew in DJ's from LA and Miami.

So last night, 5 people showed up and balked at paying the $8 cover. I offered to let them all in for $25, not bad right? NOT GOOD ENOUGH! They stated that they also had "20-ish" more people about to show up for this dude's birthday bash. To their credit, it was a large crowd, so I offered to let them all in for $80. Guess what...NOT GOOD ENOUGH! Fuckers could barely scrape together $52 in crumpled, sweaty, drug imbued bills. Fine. Fuck it. I let them in.

Eventually it dawned on me that this group of people were ROLLING THEIR NUTS OFF on some high grade ecstasy. I'm not one to judge. That shit is awesome fun. Really. But when I peer outside and the birthday boy is laying down on the sidewalk next to MY door, sweating profusely, it brings out my latent "Mommy" gene.

I asked him if he was OK, and if maybe he needed some water. He eyes fell toward my shoes, and widened, then he said "I LOVE YOUR SHOES, WANNA TRADE THOSE FOR MINE?" Um...I declined politely as possible. Then he realized I was the Doorman and pleaded with me not to kick him out. He was totally wasted but not really a problem. This shit is usual. Or maybe I'm the WORLD'S NICEST DOORMAN/BOUNCER (can I get a coffee mug that says that?). Dunno. They were cool though. And no one puked.

So, the bar I work at on Fridays is kind of a bitch to get to/back from. I have no problem using public transportation, but when the CTA decides to close down a major rail line on the weekend, and the logical alternative bus routes don't run after 3AM, when I leave work, well, shit it can be a challenge.

After I shewed away the trendy drunks and locked the door, I was lamenting my transportation issues with my manager. To my complete and total fucking surprise, he offered to drive me half way home, to a bus route I could catch. This was mildly shocking since he never once offered this favor in the 8+ months I've worked there. I took him up on his offer...

"We just need to make a quick stop first" he said as soon as I got into his car. The "quick stop" was a Punk Rock Dive Bar in the opposite direction from where I needed to get getting to. The reason for said stop was so he could score some blow. Again, I'm not one to judge.

That whole process was fascinating, to say the least. he bought 2 drinks for us, for $60. The bartender gave the money to the bar back, then passed it off to someone else, and after 15 minutes of watching old-school porn on the TV's, we were off. Except, he wanted to get high before we left.

I'll be honest, I like cocaine. Really. As Rick James would say, "it's a hell of a drug" but it's something I do on a VERY rare occasion. I've never snorted that shit from the tip of an extremely sharp hunting knife in a parked car in an industrial neighborhood with my employer, but hey, fuck it.

Said employer insisted he drive me all the way home. I weakly protested, then went on a futile search for an supplemental seat belt, as he zoomed up the on ramp for the Kennedy expressway. I know this sounds all kinds of stupid crazy, but it really wasn't. His driving wasn't what scared me...it was how he explained how easy it is to rob a fucking bank.

JESUS C!

So that was my night. When I arrived home (safely) I couldn't sleep and decided to ride my bike around to burn off some of that crazy drug induced energy. It worked. And somehow I awoke this afternoon feeling totally good. No hangover. So, there's always that. I blame the Moon, and the CTA for my actions.

A MONDAY LIKE NONE OTHER

Yesterday, one of my bestest/awesomest/greatest friends was in town, and despite the fact that she just went to both Phish shows up at Alpine Valley, we FUCKING RAGED last night (as a pre-condition to stay at my place, I stated she had better still be wearing her party hat once she got here).

The night began innocuously enough; a few beers in my hot-as-shit apartment (seriously, it's dark right now and still 90 degrees) and off to a local Mexican restaurant for dinner. And drinks. Lots of them. In fact, we decided to split a pitcher of margaritas, which came with 2 glasses already filled.

Needless to say, on the walk back to my place [ED NOTE: I was wearing Jorts] I stated my intention to puke in my kitchen sink. Thankfully, that did not happen. And I put on a proper pair of jeans, and off we went to seek trouble...

...which we almost ensured after ingesting some pure MDMA (aka "Molly"). Guh. I have not done hard drugs in some time. Oh man, if you got a random text from me last night saying "IM ROLLIN MY NUTS OFF", well, now you know why.

Our second destination of the night, was, regrettably Hydrate. This is the kind of $1 drink/smoke machine/2 guys blowing each other in the bathroom kind of place. In my/our defense, we were so fucked up when we choose this place. However, it was fun. For a bit.

[Side note: within 5 minutes of being there, my friend found located the textbook definition of a twink, whose name I asked, and responded by dry humping me at the bar and sticking his tongue in my mouth. That's Klassy. With a K!]

But the DJ's were horrible and despite my increasingly drug addled state, I found the drinks to be weak. We left soon thereafter, although, not before consuming more MDMA in the alley. My. God.

[If you're getting tired of these side notes, sorry. But I should mention that although I was hesitant to do poppers with a stranger a few weeks ago, I was with a friend that has never steered me wrong/given me bad shit. Plus...drugs are fun! Sometimes!]

We end up at the most baddest ass place to RAWK with one's Cock out in Chicago on a Monday night, Boom Boom Room. Holy shit. I doubted stories I've heard about this place in the past, but they have posthumously gained credibility.

Despite it being a mixed club (by that I mean it attracts nearly equal numbers of straight and gay people) I felt like I was trapped in an episode of Queer as Folk. Go-Go-Dancer Boys, Lasers trying to kill me, and such.

Oh, speaking of those lasers, around 2am I peaked and while staring at said lasers, I tried to explain to anyone that would listen, how "I CAN SEE THE LIGHT(S)!" Which meant I could literally see tiny pulses of light particles emanating from said lasers. Seriously. Like, for real.

After getting some much needed air/a smoke, I got a drink at the bar and felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, thinking it was my friend dancing, but in fact, it was a Go-Go-Boy who thought it a good idea to wrap his legs around my arms. FUCK! It kinda freaked me out, to say the least.

Soon thereafter, we closed the place out, and mercifully got a cab to take our wasted asses home. End of story!

PS - I lied. I awoke this morning totally naked, clothes all over the damn place...and decided to eat leftover deep dish pizza (with a few beers).

PPS - This might be further evidence that humans are indeed quite resilient (I actually feel great right now).

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.

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.

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!

HAPPY MONDAY!

It's no secret that people HATE Mondays. Of course, since I don't currently have a job, everyday is pretty much the same. Kind of like that movie "Groundhog Day". So this post is dedicated to you hard working, industrious people out there.

I know video posts are lazy and only take about 30 seconds to put together, but this one is seriously worth 8 minutes of your life. "But Justin, this is probably just some lame ass music video!" Right, well, this should be an easy sell. I even made a handy equation:

HAWT Rugby Players + Copious Amounts of Alcohol = Guys getting naked/Kissing each together (with tongue)/Nipple Biting/Simulated Fellatio/Mutual masturbation. IN A BAR!

Although it's not a porno (seriously, it's a documentary) it's REALLY NSFW! Enjoy!

Generation Xcess Documentary
by biako06

MISSION FUCKING ACCOMPLISHED

A few weeks ago I posted about "re-meeting" this guy that used to work at my gym, and just so happens to be friends with a friend of my brother's (and no one commented...bitches! haha).

Well, just to reiterate, "Joey" used to work at my gym for about 6 months, and for that exact period of time I would fantasize about this boy, as I became quite...fond of him.

And then he vanished, presumably for a better job. Then he showed up randomly at a bar I was at to celebrate my bro's birthday, thus how me "re-met".

Fast forward to yesterday morning. I'm all hungover and shit, listening to NIN on my headphones, sitting in my boxers, when I get a text from Joey: "hey justin want to go to hollywood beach today?".

H'Wood Beach is the "gay" beach in Chicago, It's not a nude beach or anything (although it's damn close with all the dudes sporting tiny thongs or just utilizing designer undies as swimsuits).

Obviously, I jumped at the invite, and even offered to pick him up despite the fact that it's totally out of my way.

Dude walks out wearing cute boardies and a tight t-shirt. Damn, he looked hot. Usually baggy shorts aren't flattering on guy's asses, but somehow they were on him. Hot.

So I sped down Lake Shore Drive, rocking some GZA, looking all awesome with my dumb $8 Target sunglasses with a hottie in the passenger seat. This would have been enough to make for a great day, but it was only the beginning.

Our day did not proceed as we had hoped though. Upon entering the beach, I noticed the Red Flag which means you can't swim in the lake because there is literally too much shit in the water.

No problem though, we laid out, smoked cigs, talked and sipped on the vodka/whatever juice thing he brought with. It was cool.

But then some big nasty rainclouds decided to show up, and it rained on our collective gay parade. I suggested that we go to a bar to wait out the storm, and next thing I know we're on our 4th round.

"I love drinking in the afternoon" he says and I wholeheartedly agreed. When he came back from the bathroom, he playfully rubbed the top of my freshly buzzed head. At that point, I knew this shit was ON.

We got the tab and headed back to his place. I thought I was just going to drop him off (he had a co-worker's birthday party to attend later that evening) but he wanted to chill. YES!

OK, dude has a fucking baby grand piano in his apartment. And stacks upon stacks of books, like everywhere. I liked very much what I saw.

We sit down on the couch, sip on some white wine (he was out of any decent sort of booze) and watched some stupid Cops-like show on Spike TV. During this time we made the slow "sitting next to a hot guy you want to fuck on a couch thing" and eventually, starting making out.

This quickly moved into the bedroom, and jesushchristonapopsiclestick, he gives amazing fucking head. I should probably spare the nitty gritty details, but we had a lot of fun...I also seem to have given him a massive hickey on his neck.

Oh, and he is like addicted to my tattoo and wouldn't stop touching/licking/kissing it. Gawd, this shit is the best $150 I ever done spent. I need to get another on my hip or something...

Not to be crude (but why not be) but I'm getting all hard just thinking about hanging out with him again. I feel like I hit the motherfucking gay lottery jackpot.

SEX AND THE OLYMPIC CITY

I'm not really into the Olympics, and therefore don't watch them. But still, it's obviously impossible to avoid them, and in the case of the swimmers (like everyone else) I'm glad I don't (goddamn, why didn't I join the swim team in high school? Oh right, I hate swimming).

Anyways, I don't know when I thought about this...but I was thinking about all the hot studs, all living in close proximity together. And I concluded that towards the end of the Olympics, when the competitions are over, that Olympic Village has got to be the hottest, sexiest place on Planet Earth.

Now, I usually only read the Times for Jeremy Clarkson's columns, but this headline caught my eye today, "Sex and the Olympic City", which basically confirms my suspicions, that towards the end of the games, the Village, is indeed, a total Fuck Fest. Here's a few choice quotes:

"There is a famous story from Seoul in 1988 that there were so many used condoms on the roof terrace of the British team's residential block the night after the swimming concluded that the British Olympic Association sent out an edict banning outdoor sex."

"It is a common sight to see recently knocked-out athletes gorging on Magnums and McDonald's, swilling alcohol and, of course, shagging like crazy. Sometimes all three at the same time."

“It is unbelievable in there; everyone is totally crazy once they are out of their competitions. God knows what it is going to be like this weekend. It is like a world within a world.”

Read all the hot, sordid details here: Sex and the Olympic City. Can we got NBC to cover some of this action?

WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO ON A DATE? WELL, YES, YES I WOULD

Seeing as I have 5 precious days of freedom before New Roomie moves in, I thought I would take this last, gorgeous Sunday and devote it to myself. I'm taking myself out on a date, in my own apartment.

Within these four walls of mine are the following:

-Whiskey

-Budweiser

-My "friend from Canada" who smells good :)

-Cold pizza from Chicago's Pizza (best thin crust in the city)

-Season 6 of Curb Your Enthusiasm

-Cable TV

-Lupe Fiasco on my headphones

I'm not going anywhere that requires wearing pants, which mostly restricts me to my apartment, and that's totally fine with me. I'm completely going to take advantage of myself today.

SO MUCH FOR A QUIET WEEKEND

Change every reference from women to men in this monologue, and you'll see right through me...

P.S. - If the boyfriend of the guy I fooled around with tonight finds a pair of Prada glasses...um, those are mine. Can I have them back?

P.P.S. - I parallel parked sans glasses/corrective lenses tonight. Fuck!

THERE'S FIREWORKS...AND THEN THERE'S FIREWORKS

This past weekend was another epic weekend of fun, sun and um..."naughtiness". Friday was spent at a BBQ with a few old friends and many new ones. We ate pork, drank Red Stripe and got bombed on some amazing herb (gawd, I love smoking joints while walking down alleys in the Chicago, it's a special kind of awesome surpassed only by smoking joints with gutter punks in Vancouver).

The ride home consisted of walking at least 2 miles to Western Ave and then waiting, and waiting...then waiting some more for a 49 CTA bus. While on said bus I was bored and looked through the contacts on my phone. One in particular, "Jason" didn't ring a bell at first, but then I remembered he was a twinky Asian guy I met in a bar one night months ago.

Turns out he lives near me, and since he had nothing going on he came over with the intention of watching the amateur fireworks display that takes place in the park near me every year. Well, I was kinda drunk, but I swear I didn't make the first move. But before I knew it my pants were on the floor...as were his.

When we were making out in my bed I kept having to remind him NOT to touch my fresh ink, which reminded me of the Puerto Rican guy from last summer (i.e. the "don't touch my corn rows" guy). I had no intention of taking things to the proverbial "next level" but when someone squeezes my dick and begs me to fuck them...well, it's ON.

After rolling over and grabbing a Mag we went to town. Never before have I had sex with anyone that so loud. He was all "OOOOHHHHHBAAAABBBYYYGIIVVEEITTTOOOMEEEEYESYEEEESSS". At one point I wondered if he was faking it. My next thought was "fuck my neighbors can totally hear us fucking".

And get this, towards the end of our rendezvous, the fireworks from the park down the street started going off like crazy. Honestly, I had to stifle my laughter at the ridiculous situation, but I still stayed focused on the task at hand, and goddamn if we didn't make some REAL fireworks of our own. And that's the t-r-u-t-h!

When we were done he took a shower and I drank a can of Old Style and smoked a cig while listening to the Allman Brother's "Melissa". I've never felt so patriotic...

SUMMER IN DA CITY

Ahhhh, the first to official day of Summer. Has a certain ring to it, no? Here in Chicago, we tend to compress 12 months of life into 3 short months when it's not fucking freezing. From now until September there will innumerable street festivals, concerts, parades, baseball - all that shit. So let's get this party started...shall we? We shall!

First up, the infamous Crosstown Classic. This is a very special time of year in year the phrase "go back to Berwyn you white trash pigfucker" enters my vernacular. But please remember, it's nothing personal. Oh, and that thing I said about your Mom? I was only half joking! Last year was blow-out and if memory serves, we won the series 5-1. Both the Cubs and the Sox are in first place, which should lead to even more inventive, crass wordplay.

Music! Ever since I stole my brother's copy of Dilated Peoples "The Platform" waaaay back in the day I wanted to see these cats live. Tonight shall be that night and HOLYSHITAMIEXCITED! I don't even give a shit that I'm going alone, all I know is that I'll in the same room as Evidence, and frankly, the mere thought leaves me slightly tumescent.



More music! Tomorrow night the mothahfuckin' Drive By Truckers are going to RAWK the fuck out at the Taste of Randolph street fest. The last time I saw them I snuck a flask of bottle in ex-Roomie's bra. Seeing as everyone will be drunk in public, I shouldn't have to be nearly as covert. I am so getting Patterson Hood to sign my flask!



HOMOSEXUALS! Next weekend is the Pride Parade. If this year is anything like last year I'll get crunk with my lesbian friends and end up with an architect from Bogota in my bed, or something to that effect. Regardless, it should be a staggering display of debauchery. And this year I'm bringing extra batteries for my camera.