HAPPY 5TH!

This year I celebrated the holiday in a most American way, I worked...all fucking weekend. At first I was pissed about it, and wanted to do nothing more than chill at a friend's BBQ and get ripped on beer and whiskey. But in retrospect, I am glad I avoided the crazy shit going in the streets, parks and backyards of Chicago.

It wasn't a total loss of a weekend though. I cleaned the hell out of my apartment, but more importantly, went on a third date with a special guy that I really like! Actually, it was more of a "let's hang at my place and take each other's pants off" kind of thing, but a date nonetheless, or rather...of sorts. Still, it rocked.

The giant fireworks display so integral to his holiday wasn't part of my agenda, although I did blow off some roman candles with Chef in the alley behind the bar. That was fun. No one lost any fingers or eyes, we all had a few drinks (actually more than a few) and everyone got home safely. I consider that a solid and successful holiday.

Hope yours was too.

HOLY SHIT, I'M TIRED

Worked another double last night; started at 9:15am and ended the night at 11:30pm. Against my better judgement I cabbed it to the my buddy's Halloween party, got super stoned, and waltzed back home. Less I oversleep, my Roomie and her friends decided to prep for some sort of marathom at 6:30am. There are few alarms more effective than a room full of Polish women.

I'm only typing this because I need to stay awake, until it's time to jump on a bus and get right back where I started. At work. By no means am I complaining; but I'm complaining anyways. My body and my mind are tired. [Note to self: never again shall I agree to be a Doorman on Halloween].

This is my life. On the bright side, I DID make out with my guy on the street and I'm sure to see him tonight...that's what's getting my by, the thought of seeing him again. Like tonight. 10 hours from now doesn't seem all that far away. And the annual Boystown Halloween Parade is always a fun time.

But sitting here, with wet hair, fighting the urge to collapse into bed, beating the shit out of my alarm clock...ugh. My knees hurt. A lot. My shoulder? Fucked. But as this job is my sole source of income, I shall keep pressing. And hopefully not bitch too much. Because, overall, it might suck, but there are happier times ahead.

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.

BEER, BEER & MORE BEER. ALSO, KARAOKE

Allow me to apologize in advance for what are sure to be a few grammar/spelling errors. I'm fucking exhausted, but I'm not feeling sorry for myself; there is an envelope sitting on my desk containing $405 in small bills, which dulls the pain inflicted by the numerous kegs of beer I had to heft this weekend. Oh, and I popped my karaoke cheery. For real. Read on...

Friday night I worked my usual doorman/whore shift. It was pretty uneventful and 6 hours spent on my feet passed mercifully fast. The only time it lagged was after I emptied the bar when we closed, and bore witness to a massive BITCH FEST because the bartenders/bar backs felt people screwed them out of tips (which they did).

Saturday was a LONG day/night. The same people that own the bar I work at got the beer concession at a street festival, and they employ the same people to work the 2 beers tents there. I thought I didn't have to work until 6PM, but no, had to work at 4PM. Whatever, I'll take what I can get.

Having said that, I was not prepared to stand for hours in 90 degree heat checking ID's and issuing wrist bands. Man...sweaty drunk people criticizing how tightly I apply a wristband gets old quick! Also, pouring beer after beer after beer, while easy, gets sticky very fast. The only thing I could do was drink beer faster and rub ice cubes on my hands to rid myself of the nasty feeling of having beer soak into my pores. Don't even get me started on the Sangria that nearly ruined my shoes.

Still, it was pretty easy and fun, despite the occasional asshole(s). After that I was ready to go to bed, but the night was not ready for me to be done quite yet...as I had to attend my very first bachelorette party! It wasn't a traditional "girly" type affair, but their were cock shaped everything everywhere (which I guess is but one reason I was invited).

Since my good friend is getting married at the last moment (long story) and I had not been able to afford a proper wedding gift, and since we ended up at a bar with Karaoke...I offered to sing her a song. I have never done it before, and might never again, but I think I made Jim Morrison proud with my rendition of "Roadhouse Blues". Oh, and then I got our group all on stage together for a collective rapeing of "Bohemian Rhapsody". Fuckin' A!

The night was not yet done though; a few of us ended up at a gay country western bar. Yes, you read that right. Clearly we were drunk out of our minds. The place was nasty, although mildly festive (except for the poor fellow visiting from Florida who doesn't drink...he just looked confused/terrified, especially after watching his sister make out with some random dude).

Needless to say I was tired as FUCK on Sunday. Going to bed at 5AM and wakeing up at 10AM makes me tired and feel kinda old. Whatever. I pressed through it with a littlwe help fro my friends (a steak sandwich, several beers and a bowl of hydroponic always helps).

Sunday back at the tent was much more intense then the previous evening. Whereas before ther were 16-18 people casually serving people, this tent had 7-8 people serving at least twice as many people. The good thing was that the time simply vanished. We were so busy I didn't even take a smoke break or take a piss for 4 straight hours. By the end of the night my shoes were squishy with beer and my white T-Shirt covered in Sangria.

I can still smell PBR.

Despite is all...I am SO FUCKING HAPPY that I was allowed to get covered in beer and surrounded by assholes. For 12 hours work I got PAID son! I had so much cash on me last night I could barely fit it in my pockets. Mostly it was single dollar bills, but I still felt rich for a moment.

So when I woke this morning I felt sore, hungover and fatigued. However...a cute boy I met 2 weeks ago wants to hang out. His name? Justin.

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!

GO CUBBIES!

Last week I fucked up plans that I made with my Roomie; I thought be bought tix for Monday, aka, the HOME OPENER. not true, instead he bought us tix for the game on Wednesday. AWESOME, right? The wrench in this plan was my brother, who also bought me a ticket for Wednesday's game.  

I'm actually glad I didn't buy tix for today's game; when I woke up it was 34 degrees and raining. Typical opening day weather. I didn't bother to awake Roomie, but when he did in fact wake up, almost in perfect time with the delayed first pitch at 2:30, I suggested we go to Crew. 

This is usually my favorite place to see a baseball game; maybe it was the weather, but the place was beat. After paying for our first round, we decided to head for greener pastures, and headed down to Wrigleyville.

Minutes after we exited the L station, I was accosted by a DUDE selling tix. At this time it was the top of the 3rd inning, but I acquired a pair of Upper Deck box seats (retail price: $60 each) for $16 and a Camel Light. Fucking A! These were AWESOME SEATS!

It was cold as shit, but I FINALLY broke my opening day cherry! We won too; beat the Rox 4-0. Tomorrow, Hot Roomie wants to hit up the batting cages, and then I got tix for the game on Wednesday w/ my bro! WOOT! It's not even 2 weeks into the season, and I'm already seeing 2 more games then I did last year.

PHISHING-OUT

This morning I awoke to a pleasant susprise: a link to last night's Phish show! A little history, in high school and college I spent un-godly amounts of money following this band all over the place and I'd estimate I've seen them about 40 or so times. Anyways, I swore off Phish in 2002 after a string of shitty shows and haven't even listened to them in years. So I was pleasantly sursprised that after a five year hiatus they seem to be back in top form. That or I'm just really bored since I listened to the entire 4 HOUR CONCERT they plated last night. Man, that must have been fun (see below).

Although the main reason to see a Phish show was for the music (ok let's be honest here kids, the drugs were fun too) I also went for the amzing light show. Case in point, the video below is atply titled "13 Seconds of Insanity":

 

Oh memories...er, acid flash backs. If you're interested in listening to last night's show, go here.

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!

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!

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...

HOMELESS MEN & BOYS IN JOCKSTRAPS

Last night I ended up at a little place I sometimes frequent, Crew. Located in wonderfully faded, yet slowly gentrifying Uptown, near many other fine establishments, in particular, the Riv. Now, when the Riv has concerts it tends to attract the homeless men that live in the area. This is especially true when a hippie-ish jam band like Moe is playing.

So my partner in crime and I were walking to our destination, and I was smoking a Camel Light. Up ahead, under the dilapidated marquee of the Uptown Theater, I could see a congregation of homeless men, one of whom approached me asking me for money.

I won't lie, usually I brush these guys aside - but not out of "disgust" or what have you. More often than not I don't have any cash or change on me. When I do, it's usually 20's, and although I might be a bleeding heart liberal, I am not giving anyone a crisp 20. Sorry, really, but I just won't.

Although I won't give a random homeless man the shirt off my back, I will give one the cigarette out of my mouth - which I did. Really, I don't need it anyways, so it's not like I'm patting myself on the back or anything. The guy seemed satisfied and we moved on...

...to Frat Boy Friday! Only been once before, and PIC had never been, so we decided to check it out. Moments after acquiring a deuce of Red Stripes, we were approached by a young man who identified himself as "Spike". The following conversation (to the best of knowledge) ensued:

SPIKE: "You guys come here often?"
PIC: "..."
ME: "Yeah, sometimes, what's up?"
[random small talk, I won't bore you]
SPIKE: "Well, you guys seem cool, (uh, thanks for the slight flattery) so, you guys have to vote for me in the jockstrap competition. Although you won't be able to see my face, you can identify me by this (pulls up shirt and points to a Gothic crucifix tattoo above his left hip).
PIC: "..."
ME: (nice tramp stamp Spike) "we'll see how you 'stack up' to the other boys".
SPIKE: "fair enough, it was nice to meet you Justin, and...um, I forgot your name...".
PIC: (rolls eyes) "Good luck".
ME: "have fun".

We then sat down and talked and sipped on beers and occasionally watched Spike work the room, repeating the same conversation and tattoo baring song and dance that we were privy to. At first I thought it was amusing, than kinda lame, than just kinda depressing.

As a practical matter, his tactics made sense seeing as he stood to win $300. But it still seemed desperate, as if the possibility of winning would solidify his attractiveness in his own mind. Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but getting up on stage wearing nothing but a jockstrap seems to be the province of those that need their ego stroked.

Anyways, between round 2 and round 3 (what is the difference anyways? 1st Round: "show your ass!" 2nd Round: "shake that ass!" 3rd Round: "shake that ass some more!") I ventured outside for a smoke.

Almost immediately I was approached again by a homeless man, asking for money. The other patron of Crew, on my right, seemed both nervous by this man's presence and also relieved that he was talking to me and not him.

This homeless man didn't seem crazy or drunk or dangerous so it was no big thing to stand there and chat with him for a moment. At one point he thanked me just for acknowledging his presence, and for "treating me like a man". Then he said "ah, so you like this Crew place, eh?". I responded that I do and he told me to have a good night. I gave him the last of my smoke and walked back inside.

Spike didn't win (in fact he came in 4th - the crowd favored a bear in a black leather jock) and the Homeless Man didn't get any money (from me at least), but maybe they both got some much needed human interaction.

Or maybe I am just hung over...

OH, WHAT A NIGHT

Damn, I feel like New Year's Eve went by on fast forward. It was fun though, really fun. The night began how some others end on New Year's Eve, namely, puking. Not because I was drunk (promise!) but because my friends and I decided to shoot a few rounds of Jim Beam (ugh - that idea is making my stomach churn as I write this) and the last shot I did didn't go down well, in fact, it came right back up (gross!).

Ah well, we were ready to go, when someone (not me - I swear!) suggested we grab a few beers "for the road". Since we were walking to our festive destination, and didn't have to take a cab or anything, I agreed. Why not? Shit, in the Summer it's not uncommon to walk down the street with a beer, or maybe even a cocktail in hand (on side streets, that is). What's the worst that could happen, it's not really against the law, right?

Wrong. Friends and I were jovially walking down a side street, but when we got to a main road, Chicago's finest saw us, hit the brakes and proceeded to "pull us over". Fuck! Ah well, as the two female officers approached us, I poured the rest of my beer out. However, one of my other friends asked one of the cops if he should pour his out. She responded "how fast can you drink it?" which he took as his cue to start chugging it.

Not a good idea. The other officer went slightly mental, and started screaming at us, threatening to throw us "in the slammer" (yes, that is a direct quote). Here's another gem, also from my beer chugging friend "uh, don't you have anything better to do tonight?". (Slaps hand to forehead) Doh! I tried not to laugh, but it was impossible. She took our ID's, ran them in the system, then after realizing that we were harmless, let us go with a warning. Thanks!

Our destination was the local German-American Cultural Exchange Center, where a band called the Polka-Holics were set to play (think punk band with an accordian). This, my friends, is how to spend a New Year's Eve in Chicago. Although I didn't really dig it last year, this year I very much enjoyed myself. We drank, spilled beer on each other, bitched about not being able to smoke, and watched other people dance. One of my friends even joined an impromptu conga line. Word!

Right before midnight someone suggested we do more shots of whiskey (OK - I'll admit, it was my idea this time) but to our collective disbelief, they had none. "No whiskey? The fuck?" was my response. However, the bartender suggested an alternative, a personal creation of his called "kill-a-bitch". I shit you not. He claimed there was deer blood in it, by which I think he meant Jaggermeister, and possibly even Rumplemintz. Or maybe really blood. Ugh. Somehow, I kept it down, but it was sick, as you could imagine.

Eventually, after exhausting our drink tickets, we decided to call it, and walked back to my place. On my street, my friend found a $100 bill, while another one stumbled up the stairs, and nearly broke several pictures on my wall. I passed out in my boxer briefs, next to a girl in my bed (a friend - I ain't playing for the other team, haha). All in all, it was a great night - and cheap, somehow I only spent $33.00! Happy New Year!

IT WAS A VERY GOOD YEAR

2007 will go down in my personal history as the year that really came into my own. Don't get me wrong, sometimes I still feel like a puppy with too-big paws, but I feel more like "me" than I have at any time in my life. This is a good thing, and I anticipate continuing on the same upward trajectory in 2008, and beyond.

Though I began the coming out process in mid-2005, this year I finally completed the process; the only people in the dark are my co-workers, and as far as I am concerned they are on a need-to-know-basis, and right now I cannot fathom a compelling reason to tell them, so I won't. Otherwise, my friends and family have completely accepted me, WOOT!

Musically, this was an interesting year for me, in that my audio horizon has expanded considerably; furthermore I experienced more than a few dope shows, including, but not limited to, Talib Kweli, Lupe Fiasco, De La Soul, The Ponys, Clipse, Bloc Party, Andrew Bird, Band of Horses and many, many others that blew my mind. RAWK ON!

Friends and readers have expressed mild astonishment with the situation with my Father, but really, I don't think it's odd at all, and he is visibly more content than at any moment I can remember in my entire life. he always cool, but he truly seems at peace and that just might be the greatest gift I have received all year. HOLLA!

Like every year, this one had it's peaks and valleys. I lost my Grandmother (miss you Franny!). Someone robbed my car (I will get you fuckers!). And I tried and often failed at this thing called "dating" (Tom is a dick!), but that's OK. Life ain't easy, but it's not about the problems/issues thrown at you, it's how you react to, and resolve them. I think it's a process I am getting better at...WORD!

Particular highlights I can think of from the top my head include reconnecting with a group of friends from high school at the Pitchfork Music Festival, having sex with a member of a crew team in my car, seeing not one but two good friends get married, meeting my friend Gloria's baby boy, oh, and seeing K making out with a guy at a bar was pretty memorable too (you go with your bad 'self!). Actually, that entire NYC trip was remarkably memorial, and several "bloggers" become "friends". YOU GUYS ARE THE SHIZZ!

Finally, people always make well intentioned NYE resolutions, and until last year I have resisted making any. But seeing as I was 98% able to keep the one I made last year, I am encouraged to make, not one, but two for 2008: to get a new job and to quit smoking. Neither are easy changes to make, but seeing as both of them are killing me (literally) I intend to devote a considerable amount of effort to both issues. WISH ME LUCK!

OK - one more resolution, LET'S BE THE BEST US WE CAN BE in 2008! Much love for ya' all! PEACE!

BEER + POT + WHISKEY = LBA

That above image is a poor approximation of the evil contraption that got me all kinds of fucked up last night. The Roomie, two friends and I spent last night in the suburbs at a another friend's house for a little get together.

The official reason for the get together was to drink as much beer as possible so that our host could make a Christmas Tree out of empty beer cans. Although I don't recall one actually being constructed, I vaguely remember drinking cans of Heineken like it was going out of style.

Already buzzing strongly from the beer and a few shots of Jim Beam, our host busted out his enormous glass hookah and got everyone insanely high.

Now, back in the day, I used to smoke A LOT of pot but over the last few years I have mostly put the pipe down, mainly because I didn't like feeling like I do right now, which is totally fucking useless. For the last few hours all I have been capable of doing is staring at the pretty snow falling and looking at hot French skateboarders.

This is the worst case of Low Brainwave activity I've had in some time. Shit, I'm struggling to write this modest post. Am I still high? I might just be...UGH!

In other, non-substance abuse news, I met a new "friend" on Thursday night and had a great time. So much so that I took yesterday off of work just to spend more time with this guy. That's all I'm going to say at this point...well, perhaps I'll add that I love the baseball cap. Thanks man!

WEEKEND UPDATE

The Roomie is back in full force! After getting home from work last night we popped a bottle of bubbly and promptly emptied it - in like 45 minutes. Then we consumed some Old Style (classy, I know) along with some Jameson whiskey. Our mutual friend (her best friend from high school) whom I will call Big Pappa was also here, and soon after our other buddy MarK joined us and the four of us proceeded to get lit. Eventually we stumbled over to a bar for pizzas and more beer. By the time we left we were all drunk. There's really not much else to report since most of last night was a blur, but it's good to have the Roomie back!

In other news, I texted this guy, whom I will refer to as Polish guy, on Thursday night, (this is the guy I met over the summer at a concert and we've gone out twice since). I asked him if he had plans for Saturday and he responded that he did not, so I asked him if he wanted to get dinner, to which he responded "sure, what do you have in mind?" Since he came up to my 'hood the last two times, I offered to go somewhere near him. 30 minutes later, after not receiving a response, I sent another message asking if he had any preference on where we go. He never responded back...

Fuck it. Seriously...I cannot deal with flakes. Rather than going out with Polish guy, I am going to Big Pappa's costume party tonight, which should be awesome. My costume? I'm going as a Gangsta Rapper! Roomie and I spent the last 2 hours going to the various $1 stores in my 'hood, and I bought the following items which will constitute my costume:

1. Grillz. Yes, I am wearing fucking Grillz over my teeth, (at least for my grand entrance and for pictures).
2. Do-Rag. If you live in a major city you know exactly what I am referring to.
3. Bling. I have a huge gold necklace with a "$" on it, and also a gold bracelet and various rings.
4. Pager. I don't why I bought this...but it felt right a the time.
5. Gun. I thought it was illegal for stores in the city to sell toy guns, but I found one that did. It's looks like a Glock, therefore, I need to be careful with it when out in public tonight. I thinking of putting in my waist, haha.

In total, I spent a whopping $8 on my get up.

Items I have around the house that will be used to round out my costume include a neck bandanna (and I am going to wear it like the spray paint artists do), a wife beater, my big tough looking boots (they are not Timberlands could pass for them) and my jeans, that Ill wear without a belt so that they sag. Now all I need is a name for my alter ego...I'm thinking "White Out" is fitting.

The best part of my costume? Roomie's huge Russian friend is going to wear shades and a track suit, and be my bodyguard! Oh man, this promises to be a great night. The party is going to be stocked with 30 or so people, lots of food and plenty of drinks.

Hopefully, I will not get arrested tonight.

OH - guess who just responded back to my text from Thursday night? That's right, Polish guy. You know, he could have a valid reason for taking 48 hours to return a text message, and if he had replied back "sorry, my dog died" or "my house burned down" or whatever, but he did not. His message was "hey, what are you up to?"

Fuck that shit.

LAST SATURDAY WAS THE SHIT

Last Saturday morning I dropped off Roomie at O'Hare Airport...she's spending another 7-8 weeks in rural Peru to dig up bones and such. We got a late start, due to us both staying up much to late drinking on Friday night. However, our timing turned out to be fortuitous timing, because as I dropped her off, it was minutes within the time that Jay got his bags and walked out the door. I was glad they got to meet, however briefly.

Jay and I sped off in my car and headed towards the city. I figured since he had never been to Chicago before I would drive down the Kennedy and give us both a nice view of the skyline. The weather was perfect, clear, sunny and in the upper 70's. Not so perfect was the bat-shit insane traffic, which in retrospect should not have been a surprise considering it was Labor Day weekend and people were clamoring to get to Indiana or Michigan.

The weather made showing off Chicago very easy. To me, Chicago looks awesome even in inclement weather, but I could not have asked for better conditions. After a quick bite to eat we hopped on the L and hit up Michigan Avenue. It's rare that I spend any time on that street but I'm glad I did. Hot gay guys were out in force, and it's always fun having another gay guy in tow to comment towards (my straight friends are never as enthusiastic for obvious reasons).

At my suggestion we hit up the Signature Lounge on the 96th floor of the John Hancock Tower. Although two mixed drinks, after tax and tip set us back $27+, the view made it worthwhile. I have been up there before, but never during the day and the view entitled me to a whole other perspective on this fair city that I not previously experienced. Needless to say, Chicago looked damn good from our 1,000+ feet perch in the sky.

After walking around Michigan Avenue for another hour (and after I bought a pink dress shirt) we checked out the River, and finally Millennium Park. Jay seemed impressed with what he saw, and who in their right mind wouldn't be? The Bean, the Jay Pritzker Pavilion and the Crown Fountain are all pretty sweet. Eventually though, hours of walking in a dense urban environment took their toll, and we were exhausted. We headed back to my place to rest.

After a quick dinner with a friend of mine, Jay and I headed out to Boystown for some fun. Though I am not the biggest fan of Boystown, I must say that I enjoy hanging out at Spin from time to time. It's one of the smaller clubs, and the staff is much friendlier than at the other places (i.e. Roscoe's or Sidetracks). Also, the drink specials they offered came in hand for the real reason we were there...to dance!

OK, Jay was there to dance. I generally refrain because I don't want to scare people or hurt myself, but after 4 stiff Rum and Cokes, not to mention much encouragement from Jay, I joined him on the dance floor. You know that old saying "stuck between a rock and a hard place"? Well, let's just say that I quickly found myself stuck between a wall and a 23 year old man of Caribbean decent. That boy can DANCE!

Despite my early protestations, I had a great time. Dee was there too and he also seemed to have himself a great time, even if he never found that elusive guy he was looking for (you'll find him one day). After dancing the three of us relaxed at the bar and someone (not me) noticed it was 2:15AM. Whoa. I had no idea it was that late. Although Dee was up for more fun, Jay and I had had enough fun and headed home.

It was a great day/night in the city of Wind...

On another note...this just so happens to be my 200th post! Whoa! I'm still amazed I've stuck to this for 7 months running. Thanks to all that read and especially those that leave comments. Here's to post #300!!!

GOODBYE 27...HELLO 28!

Mere hours separate Justin V.27 from Justin V.28 so I thought this would be as good as time as any to sit back, blare some music, pour a vodka lemonade and reflect on a few notable events of the prior 12 months of my life, in efficient bullet point detail:

-Last year's celebration of all things ME started and ended at the Green Mill lounge. There are few better places I could think of to spend a birthday than in a 1920's-era vintage jazz club that used to be a Capone-owned speakeasy. I remember drinking Johnny Walker Black, laughing a lot and frankly not much else. I did not puke, always a harbinger of a good year.

-One cold night after running errands in Lakeview I ducked my head into Schubas for a beer. One beer turned into several (and a few shots) courtesy of the guy sitting next to me with a curious Southern accent. "LA" is to this day one of my best friends. Who knew "picking up" a straight guy at a bar would lead to such a long lasting friendship. Word.

-While on vacation in Mexico my Mom asked me if I was gay (I denied being so). The next day I got blatantly hit on my a hot Mexican guy while Mom and I were on a sunset booze cruise.

-Christmas was fun but mostly a blur. I remember getting a lot of clothes from J Crew that I later returned.

-NYE was spent at a local German social club to see a band called the "Polka-holics". The band was awesome and I drank tall steins of Spaten with men dressed in lederhosen who joined me in screaming at the big screen TV as the Chicago Bears lost.

-In January I started this blog with much encouragement from someone named T. Thanks T! You are the shit!

-MySpace actually proved useful and reconnected me with an old friend from high school who used to ask me out/ Several years removed from our respective closets, she and her girlfriend have since included me in many of their "gay outings". I heart my lesbian friends.

-I ditched work on President's Day to hang out with a guy I met on-line that turned out to be the closest thing I have ever had to a boyfriend. We dated on and off for about 2 months and had lots of...fun, both in the dark and in the light.

-My Grandmother passed away in April. She was the only member of my family that has left us since I have been of adult age. It was sad...but allowed my extended family to reconnect for the first time in nearly 10 years.

-Spring also saw me come to my brother, mother and stepfather, all withing the space of approximately one week. It went better than I could have ever hoped to.

-Memorial weekend was rather memorable in that I made out with a hot, random guy at a party, got home at 9AM, slept, went to my brother BBQ, played Baggo, got drunk again, shaved nearly all the hair off my head and woke up the next day and went to a Cubs game. Best. Weekend. Ever.

-Saw 3 sick hip-hop shows: Talib Kweli, Lupe Fiasco & De La Soul.

-Got not one, but two more than decent raises at work. Woot-woot!

-Some fucker stole a wheel off my car. Grrrr, it still pisses me off. In time I will let this loss go.

-Went to my first Pride Parade and Market Days...now I feel like a proper Chicagoan 20-something homo!

-Finally, if you are a regular reader you know about other, ahem, exploits.

I'd like to expand on this list, but I must get ready to go out and spend the remaining hours of my 27th year as a proper Level Four drunk. Don't drink and drive kids!

Happy Labor Day!

Oh, one more thing...with any amount of luck I will NOT be doing my best/worst impersonation of David Hasselhoff drunkenly eating a cheeseburger off a floor in a hotel.

DONE AND DONE

"I've never been lucky in love, never been lucky in love..."
-Patterson Hood/Drive By Truckers

After getting down on myself on Thursday night about JT, I was nothing short of overjoyed when I got a text from him on Friday morning, responding to my phone call. He apologized for being a flake and said he would "hit me up later". Immediately my mood was elevated but I tempered my new found enthusiasm and decided I would NOT wait by the phone.

I made plans to hang with friends and I made my out to a bar to meet up with them after work. While riding the train my friend asked me what was up with JT and I explained that he said he was gonna "hit me up" (I nearly despise that phrase at this point). Friend suggested I should invite him out, which I did. JT responded that he was at a party but would "let me know for sure" whether or not he would meet up or not. Fair enough (or so I thought).

Long story short, he never got back to me. Had he called/texted and said "no, loser, I don't want to hang out with you, fuck off" I would have been able to deal with that. What I can't deal with with is him just ignoring me and not following through. Once again he made the wheels turn in my brain and got me all excited, then flaked out again and disappointed me.

For that, I'm fucking done.

And I'm not even mad at him. I pissed at myself for being so stupid. And for allowing myself to get my hopes up only to have them shattered yet again. This isn't healthy. I want to be optimistic but I just cannot allow myself to be fucked over again and again, no matter his true intentions. I think I deserve better, so I'm moving on.

Despite JT failing me, I had an awesome time last night. Friends and I were denied admission to the place we wanted to go, due to it's overcrowding. But we went to another bar, a little hole in the wall populated with pretty people, great tunes and good beer. It was also fun introducing recent friends with friends from high school. We drank lots and stayed out until 2AM. Good times.

With all that JT bullshit behind me, I'm gonna get ready to meet friends at what figures to be nothing short of an explosion of homo-ness...Market Days is today! That logo kinda freaks me out but I'm still gonna go and have myself a grand ol' gay time. Who knows, maybe my soul mate is there right now, just waiting for me to show up (doubtful).

My spirit is not broken, if anything it's emboldened.

48 HOUR ROUNDUP

This has been another long and exhausting yet thoroughly entertaining weekend in good ol' Chi-Town. Here's a quick blow-by-blow:

THE DATE

My Friday night date went very well, although not exactly according to plan. Since we really could not find a movie that we could both agree on, and since we were starving we opted to go out and have dinner rather than fight the crowds at the multiplex. JT came over and we had a drink than walked through the little downtown section of my neighborhood, with me playing the role of the tour guide pointing out interesting architecture, funky little shops and the bars and restaurants.

Finally we settled on a simple bar/grill were we drank beers, people watched (we got my favorite table which is surrounded by windows and 3 sides) and ate good food. He ordered a cheese steak sandwich, I had the grilled cheese.

Afterwards we walked around some more to burn off our heavy meals. Rather than sit in one of several crowded, noisy bars, we hit up the liquor store and went back to my place. We drank, listened to music and flirted with one another. Eventually we moved into the to the other room and put in a DVD. We settled on "Jarhead" since JT had never seen it (not to mention I will never tire of seeing Jake without his shirt on).

I must say I prefer watching movies at home as opposed to the theater. Whereas the a movie theater has the huge screen, stadium seating and popcorn, I have an acceptable TV, booze and comfy couch to make out on! Towards the end of the movie JT's eyes were getting heavy so I suggested we lay down. It didn't take him long to wake up and we had some "fun" although we kept it PG-13.

Roomie's cat woke me up around 7AM, crying because he was hungry. I reluctantly unwrapped my arms from JT and fed the little fuzzball, than climbed back in bed and went back to sleep for another 3 hours. Upon opening my eyes I was reminded that I am not in fact dreaming and traced my fingers alongside still sleeping JT's back. Eventually he awoke and I gave him a nice good morning kiss. Damn I like this boy! I would have been more than content to lay there all day with him, but alas, he had things to do and so did I. Sigh.

THE NOT SO FUN PART OF THE WEEKEND

Saturday afternoon I (finally) dropped off the rent check, did some shopping and did a ton of laundry at the laundry mat. Ugh, I fucking hate doing laundry with a sincere passion but at I got to watch the Cubs stomp on the Mets (in your face Billy!). The Mets gave up 5 runs in the 3rd inning and I went home grinning ear to ear. We won 6-2. Hells yeah!

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

Saturday evening my buddy MarK picked me up to go to our mutual friend's 30th birthday party. Friend's wife selected a "Sopranos" theme for the party and asked everyone to dress up like characters from the show (birthday boy kinda looks like Tony, only Jewish). Since I don't own a jogging suit and I don't wear suits except for funerals or weddings, I elected to dress up like my normal self, in a t-shirt and jeans.

This was a family/friends affair so I knew very few people. Friend's Mom said hello to me and called me Ryan. "Mom" friend said, "his name is Justin". "Well, I knew it ended with an N" she said. Following this exchange I made a beeline for the beer tub. My newly 30 year old friend has 3 brothers in law who are triplets. I know one of them is gay but I can never tell them apart, however, while I was walking over to the beer tub the gay one, who was laying on a couch spotted me. "Heeeey Justin" said he. "Hey man, whats crackin'?" said I. We chatted for a moment but I spotted another friend who I hadn't spoken to yet and I excused myself.

Although I always feel awkward at these family/friends parties, I must say that I had a great time and ate some terrific Italian food (friend's wife can cook like non other).

We left at 9:30 and headed back to the city.

THE SHOW

The plan for the rest of the night was to head down to Wicker Park and see a free show at the Double Door. MarK is awesome about finding out about these things and last night was no exception. Rhapsody.com was hosting a private post-Lollapalooza gig featuring Ted Leo & the Pharmacists, Chin-Up Chin-Up and the Ponys.

We rushed to get back to his place, had a drink and some smoke then hopped on the Western Ave bus and headed south. It was a bit of walk from the bus stop to the venue and I was worried the place would fill up before we could get there. To get in to this show all one had to do was RSVP on-line (you couldn't buy a ticket even if you wanted to) but it was still first come first serve and we got there at 11PM, an hour after the doors opened.

Not to worry, they found our names on the list and we were rewarded with wrist bands. Said magical wrist bands had 2 little tabs on it labeled "DRINK" which I redeemed for some Red Stripes (free music + free beer = happy me!).

Less than 5 minutes after getting inside Ted Leo and his band stormed the stage and proceeded to RAWK THE FUCK OUT. This was the first time I had ever seen him live and he did not disappoint. It helped that he was playing at one of the best sounding venues in Chicago but dude was amped (coked up?) up and wailed around the stage. Awesome.

During set break I noticed a smokin' hot guy with spiky blond air standing next to me. We started talking about music and Lollapalooza. Turns out dude is some kind of important music industry executive and spent the whole day behind the various stages at Lollapalloza and at various VIP shin-digs. I always thought these types of guys were douche bags but he couldn't be nicer.

While talking he extended his hand introduced himself as "Mike". About once every 5 seconds I had to remind myself that I only have eyes for JT and that Mike was likely straight. Eventually the lights dimmed and the The Ponys came on and started rocking out with furious abandon. Gotta give it up for the local boys!

MarK disappeared while I was talking to Mike (more like screaming in his ear over the loud music) but reappeared with 2 Fat Tire bombers. Pinch me! Needless to say I was drunk off my ass at this point and past the point of caring about the heat in the barely air conditioned place. I wanted to stay and watch the next set and continue talking to Mike but MarK was getting tired (pussy!) and we left around 2AM.

Whew, busy weekend. I need to go the gym and burn some carbs. Hopefully the universe will allow JT to have some time to hang out tonight, but I know he's super busy babysitting (awwww) and he has more family functions later this evening. Sigh. Hope you are all having a great weekend and staying cool. It's hot as shit here in Chicago...

If you're interested in what the hotness that is Ted Leo & The Pharmacists sounds like, click here to see a video of their song "Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone" (I would embed the video but Blogger is in a bitch of a mood).