NEW YORK, NEW YORK, BITCHES

At 6AM I'll hit up a bus, then a train, then a plane to get the FUCK OUT OF DODGE! "Dodge" not really meaning Chicago, but more my apartment; after months of dealing with shit upon shit, this mini-break should be a welcome diversion. 

Catch ya'll in a week!

YESTERDAY AT THE LIBRARY

Whoa! 3rd post of the day! You must be sick of me by now, but whatever. I have this one quick story to tell about the FUCKING PRICK that works at the library near me. 

Earlier, I had picked up a pass to go to the Art Institute (attention Chicagoan's: if you just get off your ass and visit your local library you can get a pass to see almost any museum for FREE - YAY for culture!).

Although I didn't have to return the pass until next Wednesday, I thought I would be a nice guy and drop it off after I used the it so that someone else can enjoy it.

While standing in line I struck up a conversation with the woman in line behind me. Having noticed she was struggling to carry the mountain of books in her arms, I offered her my place in line. She was thankful...and then the library clerk LOST HIS SHIT. (BTW - I'm only mildly exaggerating when I say he looked like the Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons...) 

Here's what happened next: 

COMIC BOOK GUY: "NEXT!"

WOMEN WHO I GAVE MY PLACE IN LINE TO: "Hello-(abruptly cut off by COMIC BOOK GUY)".

COMIC BOOK GUY: [Looking in my general direction]: "Sir, please step up to the counter."

ME: "Oh, it's OK, I told this woman that she could go ahead of me and-(abruptly cut off by COMIC BOOK GUY)".

COMIC BOOK GUY: "You were next in line."

ME: "Right, but...she has a lot of books and...um..."

COMIC BOOK GUY: "YOU were next in line."

WOMEN WHO I GAVE MY PLACE IN LINE TO: "..."

ME: "..."

COMIC BOOK GUY: "SIR! Please step up and(abruptly cut off by ME)".

ME: "So what, take care of her first, really, I don't mind."

COMIC BOOK GUY: [sweating profusely] "That's NOT how I run things around here!!!"

WOMEN WHO I GAVE MY PLACE IN LINE TO: "..."

ME: "You're kidding right?"

COMIC BOOK GUY: "..."

ME: "Well OK then! I guess you run a pretty tight ship around here. You must be proud of yourself. [INNER THOUGHT: "You fucking failure of a fucking human being"]".

This guy was something else. I wouldn't even say he was a tool. No. He's the fucking metal box on wheels that mechanics use to store their tools. DICK. 

Had I not had to piss so badly I would have thrown that "dick" boomerang right back in his face and asked to speak with his manager. Next time, I'll piss first, instigate a fight and then call him on his bullshit. 

HAPPY 'TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY 2008'!

Ahoy! Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day! Tis' a fine time to share some Grog with ye Mates...and um, OK, I suck at talking like a pirate. But I will be drinking like a Pirate at my buddies Pirate Party tonight.

I'm told I will be denied entry if I'm not dressed appropriately, however since I have not the proper attire, I figure I can get with dressing like I always do, with the excuse that, well, I am a Butt Pirate.

Ever wondered what your Pirate name is? Neither did I, but apparently it's "Dry Bone Bronson". I beg to differ on the "Dry" part of this name, but I am not going to fight with a Pirate. If you want to know what your Pirate name is, go here.

It's not enough to talk like a pirate today, you also need to know how to pick one up. Therefore, I present to thee, the Top 10 Pirate Pickup Lines:

Top Ten Pickup lines for use on International Talk Like a Pirate Day

10 . Avast, me proud beauty! Wanna know why my Roger is so Jolly?

9. Have ya ever met a man with a real yardarm?

8. Come on up and see me urchins.

7. Yes, that is a hornpipe in my pocket and I am happy to see you.

6. I'd love to drop anchor in your lagoon.

5. Pardon me, but would ya mind if fired me cannon through your porthole?

4. How'd you like to scrape the barnacles off of me rudder?

3. Ya know, darlin’, I’m 97 percent chum free.

2. Well blow me down?

1. Prepare to be boarded.

I plan on using all, or some combination of these lines with Joey the next time we have sex, especially #9 and #5. Classy.

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.

PSSSSSSSH-FUCK THE SOX!

Perhaps some expect me to brag/boast about the Cubs total AWESOME FUCKING SWEEP OF THE SOX this past weekend...but I'll take the classy route and say, "nice games gents...you got beat like a red-headed step child" but didn't complain nearly as much as your fans. Bravo!

Now, onto the deets (that I can recall) from Saturday Night spent in the West Loop RAWKIN' to the Drive-By-Truckers. In the interest of brevity, I'll dial it down to 3 incidents that are either A) unique to living in Chicago, and/or B) a sign I need to accept the fact that I am not as young as thought/think I was/am.

MarK and I arrived via bus at 6Pm or so and immediately sought out beers. In our travels we ran into a mutual friend from high school who by his own admission "drank at least 10 beers already".

Fuck. I should have abandoned his drunk ass but being a Virgo I decided to "babysit" (stupid sense of duty!) this 29 year old man so he didn't get arrested or beat up. And he did everything he could to do both.

Sensing the inevitable I decided to take him on a mini field trip to find me a flask of whiskey (this is my little tradition when I see the Drive-By-Truckers live).

A security guard pointed me in the direction of a bar off Lake Street. OMG - this bar was a fucking time capsule from the 1960's. Vintage Al Green was rocking from the speakers and the bartender (gorgeous woman) said:

Bartender: "What can I get you honey?"
Me: "...uh...(blushing) that flask of Jim Beam..."
Bartender: "...'dat all you want want...?
Me: "..."
Bartender: [swaying to old Stevie Wonder]: "..."
Me: "yes. Thanks...I need to tend to my drunk friend"

My dumb/drunk friend decided to hi-five EVERY girl on the way back, including a bunch of Chicago Cops (against my will/protestations). An hour later the Truckers took the stage and opened with "Let There Be Rock". I called it! Woot!

But after drinking a lot more beer (my friend MarK scored VIP access/unlimited beers) we left just before the Truckers exited stage left. Since neither of us drove, we took the Madison/#20 bus to Western Ave, meaning to get on the #49 bus. Which we did. But we got on the Southbound bus. UGH.

While MarK macked on some random girl I rested my eyes and was awaken approximately 30 minutes later by the automated CTA bus voice: [BING] "33rd and Western".

Me: "FUCK!"

We got off at 35th/Western/Pershing...AKA McKinley Park, which is not the best place to find yourself stranded at 2AM...especially if you're donning a Cubs hat.

Somehow, I managed to not get shot/stabbed/robbed which might suggest I can hold my own in rough hoods, or, more likely, the random gang-bangers that were present left me alone for whatever reason.

Finally, MarK and I caught a northbound bus around 3AM, got back to his place around 4AM, and had a smoke. We both passed out in various chairs...but an hour or so later I was awoken by the presence of another person.

Mark's Roomie let some drunk friend of his in and when I awoke about 6AM...dude wanted to drink and smoke a joint! The Fuck! I declined both offers, but I watched an episode of "Curb" and "Sopranos" with this stranger.

And we laughed, like the drunk fuckers we were/are...

I'M NOT WEARING ANY PANTS

On Sunday the illustrious Roomie departed for another week of work back east, which means my apartment has officially become a Pants Free Zone.

After I come home from work tonight, I did as my Father always did and cracked a beer (I learned it from you Dad!) with every intention of doing some laundry.

Well, the Universe had other plans in mind, and another neighbor was using the single washing machine that all 13 apartments in my building use. Dang!

So, like any reasonable person, I decided to smoke some incredibly strong Shit and use the internet for the same reason that 98% of internet users use it for. This of coarse required mandatory removal of my pants.

2 hours have since passed and yet I remain sans pants, probably to the discomfort of people walking on the street 2 1/2 floors below. Fuck 'em, it's warm and my windows are open!

Also, I'm wearing boxers, so those people can get over it.

I WANT A CAMARO!

TO: SANTA CLAUS
FROM: JUSTIN (THE ONE IN CHICAGO)
SUBJECT: Hey Fat Ass - Buy Me a Fucking Camaro!

Hey Santa,

I fully realize you just made your rounds and all that; however, I figured I would be proactive and try to level with you. So here's the deal...if I promise to say "fuck" once every 10 minutes instead of every 5 AND only masturbate with my left hand...can I have a new Camaro?

I'll even volunteer at a soup kitchen if that's what it takes. And recycle. Oh...and plant some trees, and, um, how else can I offset my potential carbon footprint? Fuck it, I'll fill the bitch with E85 until that shit runs out.

Soooo, Santa, let's talk how you're going to trick out "Gloria"...

First, the paint job. Matte black with silver skunk stripes. Non of that glossy stuff. Flat. Black. Paint. With the aforementioned stripes on the hood and trunk only...

A tight ride needs hot skates...so, since I like those rims let's keep 'em, but can you put 19's on the front and 20's on the back? Yes? Word! You better be writing this down...

Those tiny mirrors have got to go. I'd never be able to parallel park with those Chiclet's. I'm all for bringing the sexy back, but come on, we got to be practical!

Ohhh, my favorite design feature, frame-less doors sans B-pillars. So hot on a hot summer night. Also, great for throwing garbage cans at mailboxes...

Ahh, the lovely interior that I plan on destroying with cigarettes, cheap cans of beer and sex with strangers. Santa, if you really love me you'll install both a broken 8-track that only plays Lynard Skinner and an MP3 line for my Nano.

Oh, one more thing...8-ball knob on the shifter? Word!

Promise to do my best (worse) but let's let the carrot lead the, uh...horse.

Love ya Santa,

Justin (let's do this!)

PS - The first 2 pics were taken by yours truly at the 2008 North American Auto Show.

JAMES LIPTON, EAT YOUR HEART OUT

Honestly, I don't know what possessed me to decide to try and take the old Actor's Studio survey, but here are the results. This was actually harder to answer than I would have thought, hence the multiple answers to some of the questions.

1. What is your favorite word?

Fuck - the most versatile word ever!

2. What is your least favorite word?

No!

3. What turns you on?

The architecture of Louis Sullivan, black and white photography (35mm, not digital) and skater jeans.

4. What turns you off?

Cinnamon, Republicans and Segregation.

5. What sound or noise do you love?

Tom Waits voice, a Porsche Boxster's (mid-mounted flat 6) engine and my Father's laughter.

6. What sound or noise do you hate?

My alarm clock, Liza Minelli and young children crying/screeching.

7. What is your favorite curse word?

Fucking Shit, Pig-fucker OR Ssshhhiiiiittt (depends on my mood - and if you know the proper enunciation to the 3rd one - you probably know who Clay Davis is, haha).

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Architect, pilot or race car driver.

9. What profession would you not like to do?

Lawyer, Politician or Surgeon.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

"What took you so long?"

Happy Monday! I've decided the cure for the Monday Blues is to go and see a violent movie, in this case "There Will be Blood", a film which I have been anticipated seeing for at least 2 years. I've already decided it's going to be the most amazing series of images ever printed on celluloid. I hope I'm right...