I WANNA SUCK YOUR NUTS

The title of this post is a direct quote, from a regular, female bar patron that I have served, many, many times in the past. She is a lightweight, in that she drinks a Carlsburg and a Buttery Nipple (a disgusting shot of liquor that people that can't handle their liquor seem to prefer) and hits on not only me, but all the other guys that I work with.

Anyways, she came in DRUNK AS FUCK on Tuesday night around Midnight and said the following:

"Hey Jake (she forgot my name) let's DO SOME SHOTS".

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"I've been wanting to suck your nuts for months".

After explaining to her how "flattered" I was at her drunken advances, the "gay" conversation took place, and she thought I was being rude and/or insulting. She is attractive, for sure but we all know how I roll, but STILL I have to convince people how I do.

So after reassuring her that she is a catch, and having to convince her that I would simply tell her to FUCK OFF if I wasn't interested in what she's got going on...she comes around behind the bar (GET OUT OF MY SERVICE AREA - huge pet peeve of mine) she fucking grabs my junk.

And wouldn't let go. Now, keep in mind that in my previous occupation as a bouncer/doorman, I've had to drag 2 women kicking and screaming to the curb. So, I think I exhibited admirable restraint in gently, yet firmly removing this drunk woman's death grip from my testicles.

If it was a guy, I would have knocked him out cold. OR at least tried to. Sigh.

It's really hard sometimes...convincing people I am being honest when I explain which team I play for, and not crossing the line when maybe it needs to be done. BUT since I do not advocate any form of violence towards women, it's a GODDAMN pain in the ass.

Oh, and I have a major boner for her brother-in-law, who she thinks is gay (as do I) but that's another story...

AFTER SCHOOL SPECIAL

IT'S been a fucking awful week in so many ways, but let's start with the thing I did after my DUI class on Tuesday (which was tough enough): the Victim Impact Panel. This is a court mandated experience, and one that I was least looking forward to.

What happens, is that 250+ people that recently got a DUI gather in a stuffy room in a courthouse and listen to several speakers. Thankfully, I recognized a guy from the classes/therapy I'm taking, which made it a bit easier to deal with. But barely.

I'm sitting down and wondering why this women is blowing up and affixing balloons to the podium in front of us. Also trying to help the old man with a brain injury next to me from falling over (poor guy) and scoping out the room, wondering if I belong with such a motley crew (I do and did).

Here's the short story from the first speaker, and the one that matters, because I had an awful nightmare as a result.

On the day I attended this event, it would have been the 18th birthday of Mikela, she died 3 years prior as the result of a drunk driver hitting her as she crossed the street; 19 and drunk, driving an SUV, with buddies also full of booze, as was the truck.

Awful shit.

But if that wasn't enough my stupid brain decided to reiterate that lesson in the form of a nightmare, which cast me in the role of a not so innocent bystander, in the backseat of that truck that hit the aforementioned girl. In this scenario, I even helped the asshole drunk driver hide his booze.

More detail, we drove out onto a frozen lake, hole in the windshield dripping with blood and hair. Breaking holes in the ice to cover our tracks, as if that would make a difference. Around this time the fine people at Discover Card showed up and I was tasked with hiding the credit cards from minors seeking our illicit booze.

Weird shit.

I thought all this other bullshit I've had to do would teach me NEVER to drink and drive again, but all in all, this one particular 24 period of unconscious self-loathing/scaring myself straight did the trick. Or so I hope.

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

This evening I experienced a moment of domestic bliss, triggered by a combination of rum, Coke, Mad Men, and my Roommate cooking up a storm in the kitchen. I know this *might* sound misogynistic, but really it's not (I'll explain). Besides, she's not cooking for me, she's making dinner for her friends (plus I already ate tacos).

Referring back to Mad Men, there is this particular scene that brought back to huge flood of memories, specifically about how a form of media can act not as "a space shuttle, it's a time machine". In this case the show acted in this manner (which it is very effective at) and the sound of my Roomie cooking the kitchen, just that sound of dishes clanking and spoons stirring...and the smell of freshly made food...brought me back to age 13 or so.

I remember coming from school/friend's house/basketball practice and walking through the door. The first thing I remember about those times was the sound of ABC 7 News (John Drury anyone?) blaring through the door; also the faint smell of chicken cooking. I'd open the door and my Mom would be standing next to the kitchen counter, chatting on the phone, smoking a Marlboro Light and sipping chardonnay.

After I went up to my bedroom and put down my backpack and changed clothes and rocked the fuck out to Pearl Jam or something, she would call up the stairs, telling me that dinner was ready. I recall the particular tone of voice that meant dinner was ready, although she would say do, simply "JUSTIN!".

Even if it was just the 2 of us, she would make the table all nice, candles even and we would discuss our days with the TV still on in the background. This was specifically around the time right after my parents split and my brother went off to college. Somehow 4 became 2 in a short period of time, and I like to think that although it wasn't what I wanted to have happened, it made our relationship more strong.

And although that was actually, somehow a highlight on my timeline, I don't want to go back to how things were. I like being an adult (plus, really, who the fuck wants to live in Buffalo Grove, IL?). Naw, that isn't the point, what my recollection made me realize how those little, seemingly common scenes I now appreciate.

Jesus, I have GOT to lay off the pot.

THE LAST 24 HOURS...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MIDNIGHT RIDER

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

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

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

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

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

How fucking cool is that?

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

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

YOU'RE KIDDING ME RIGHT? NO? FUCK!

So, yeah, my life fucking sucks. Know how much it sucks? Read on...

Yesterday I intended to hit up the post office, and also Blockbuster (I recently tried, and subsequently canceled my membership - NetFlix is so, so, so, much better). Since I still have/had use of my brother's girlfriend's awesomely awful Saturn, I thought "hey me, this will be a piece of cake"!

Well, the stupid car had a flat. And I couldn't change it with only my left arm. So I did what I could and walked to the post office...and once there was reminded it was FUCKING COLUMBUS DAY. They still "celebrate" that? Like, really?

I could have left the POS Saturn on the street as it were...but they are cleaning the streets today, so not to incur a parking ticket, the car had to be moved. Thankfully, my buddy came over to help out. But when we went to pull the spare out of the trunk, we found, and I'm NOT joking, 40-45 empty bottles of beer.

These were not mine (I prefer cans of shitty beer to glass bottle of micro brews). Three times over, I thought I removed all of them, but again, and again, and yet again, my buddy kept finding more. Just for fuck's sake, I texted my bro's girlfriend/the owner of the car and said bottles, she claimed she was intending to recycle them. Like, really? I hardly doubt that excuse would work out if I had been pulled over by the police.

Not as a direct result, but overall, I'm honestly considering moving the FUCK out of Chicago. I've way exceeded my threshold for fucking bullshit. Although, having said that, I fear more bullshit will be waiting for me wherever I might relocate.