MY BIKE IS FREE!

Here's a little story about what a complete fucking idiot I am. Back in October I lost my keys; the apartment keys were easy enough to replace, not so easy to replicate the key that unlocks the chain thing securing my bike.

Since it was starting to get cold out, and I don't ride my bike in the winter, I figured I would cut it loose when the weather got nice, i.e., around this time of the year. And I was avoiding buying a new lock, as in a proper Kryptonite U'Lock.

Last week I pulled the trigger and dropped $40 on said new lock. Next step: have my landlord come over and use bolt cutters to break the old one. He arrived with a tool that was longer than my arm and must have been forged around the time that FDR was in office.

It didn't work. He barely got through the plastic casing, let alone the actually metal part. He suggested I obtain a saw of some sort. Well, today while doing my laundry, I decided to have another look, and after a close inspection I realized something...

I'M A FUCKING MORON.

All that needed to be done was to lift the metal rope lock over the handle bars to free it from the cast iron pole it was attached to. Seriously? I spent all these months thinking that no one but the hardest criminal could steal my wheels, and...yeah, not so much.

Now I'm free to roam around this world on a shitty hand me down bike, whom no one will ever want to steal. It's kind of liberating. And embarrassing. But ultimately...empowering.

I AM MY OWN LAWYER

Yesterday I ventured to the Loop of Chicago, with the intention of paying my DUI court fees/fines. Naively, I thought this would be a simple process, but it was anything but. First obstacle: I had my camera with me in my backpack, which FREAKED security out. I assured them I was not going to shoot pictures inside said facility, and I sought out a storage locker to temporarily dispose of my baby.

Then I went through security again and answered questions about my camera...again even though it wasn't on me. Told the nice lady at the desk that all I wanted to do was give the City $1,532 that I owed, and was then told I would have to wait until 1:15PM, and appear before a judge to do so. What?

4th floor, I'm hanging out and people are asking ME if I'm a lawyer, despite the fact that I'm wearing jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. 3 hours and a stupid trial prosecuted by 2 very green recent law students, my name was called. Went before the judge and "filed a motion to advance" my case. Then had to wait another hour just to hand over my check.

Fuck. This. Shit.

PS - So glad it's done and I don't have to face that judge again!
PPS - And this was only half of the story...I'm sparing you annoying details.

SUSHI, SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND OTHER SHIT

Japanese restaurants have never been my thing; they are inherently expensive, too formal and smell like raw fish. I'm not a fan of any of those things. So, why I thought I could work in a place where I couldn't turn my back on the Head Chef for more than a brief moment...I don't know.

I worked a single shift on Monday night, for 5 hours and it was an experience that utterly bewildered me. Did I mention I don't like sushi? I don't. And I had, at one point try a roll with octopus in it (gagging still). But being the hard working sort I am, and not wanting to let down the friends and family that got me the job, I determined to push on.

After that shift, I went the other location of the bar I have been working at (just around the corner from the sushi place). 2 beers later my new manager shows up, fucking hammered. Telling me how "handsome" I am, and how noticed my flat stomach during the interview and other creepy shit and how much he likes my taste in sneakers (duh, it's impeccable, but WHAT?).

After a few more beers I decided I needed to walk to the corner to jump on a bus, but he insisted I share his cab. Here's where I made a mistake. I agreed. He told the driver NOT to stop where I needed to jump out, and seeing as he was so drunk he was bouncing off walls, I agreed to see him into his apartment. Dumb, I know, but I'm a nice guy like that.

He pours 2 glasses of wine even though I ask him not to, but not wanting to be rude to my NEW BOSS I accept. Here's where things really took a turn for the worst. Mind you, he never forced himself on me, but he might as well have. He begged me to stay the night. Under normal circumstances, I would be flattered. But he's lucky I didn't beat the shit out of him.

Needless to say, this whole experience (many details of which I decided to excise) soured me on fine dining, and yesterday, I called this guy up...and fucking QUIT. My determination to stick it out, and make much needed money and my self respect battled, but ultimately, the latter won out. And I feel good about that.

I feel good.

PS - My Roommate left for a 3 week visit home to Europe. The Man Cave is in full effect. I'm not closing the door when I drop a deuce, wearing nothing but gym shorts and smoking inside. And it's fucking great. Strike that, it's FUCKING AWESOME.

I TOTALLY GOT SOME FROM A WOMAN LAST NIGHT

Anyone who has ever worked at a bar can relate to having to deal with drunk people. Our resident raging alcoholic is named Stacy. She lives just across the street so she's present on a daily basis. We keep an eye on her because although she seems fine when she comes in, she goes from zero to FUCKING HAMMERED in space of an hour.

Last night she seemed cool, was hanging with her friend eating pizza and sucking down Ciroc and soda. Out of no where I hear a BOOM! noise and look over...and Stacy had managed to face plant herself backwards, ass over end when she fell off her bar stool. About this time everyone in the bar decided it was time for her to go home (this was after her 2nd drink).

The bartender I work with, tiny cute girl says she's going to help her friend take Stacy home, but I wasn't about hear that noise, so I volunteered. Stacy's friend and I are trying to carry this lump of drunkenness down the street without her falling over (which she did, twice). I really didn't mind...until she started kissing me.

I mean really? Did she really think we were gonna hook up or something? Worse thing was, I couldn't really stop her because I'm trying to carry her, so I guess she sensed her opportunity and began kissing and licking my neck. Oh and even better, her curious hands wondered amongst Justin Jr. Land. I was not amused.

But we got her home, and I think I said something like "have fun with that" and sprinted back to the bar where I took a whore's bath in the bathroom sink, then without word, poured myself as double shot of Jameson. But the rest of the night went well. I got to play lots of dirty hip hop, hit on cute guys and do more shots with the restaurant crew from the next door.

Oh the charmed life I lead.

EPIC KARAOKE FAIL

It's been said before and I'll say it again, I fucking despise karaoke. Usually it's due to the songs that people choose - like when some poor sap gets up on stage and warbles a lamentable Garth Brooks song (ex. "When the Thunder Rolls") or even worse, someone tries to let out their inner Lady Gaga (ughX10!).

But every once in a great while I actually appreciate it for what it really is, just a cheap form of entertainment that is actually fun provided the right combination of booze and friends is achieved. For instance, just last April I actually "performed" for the first time ever. This was at my friend's bachelorette party and I decided that my gift to her would be me singing (more like screaming) The Doors' "Roadhouse Blues". And I fucking nailed it (or so I'm told).

For whatever reason I was compelled to make a command performance. Which was odd because I was in a lesbian bar and I was with 2 of my straight male friends (?) - but I they were SUPER into it and I had 3 40z's under my belt. So I decided, jokingly, to do Pink Floyd's "Have a Cigar".

After more drinks and a smoke break I had forgotten all about it, however one of my friends did not and actually submitted my not-serious request. So when I heard "OK - next we have Justin, come on up here" I tried to hide, which didn't work. So I said "fuck it", and beer in hand I went over the stage area.

Upon waiting through the 15 fucking minute instrumental opener I had time to realize that this was a terrible choice for a song. I can do a halfway decent Jim Morrison (in his drunk years) but I quickly determined I am no Roger Waters.

The lyric "Come in dear boy have a cigar..." came out sounding more like "ComeintheretoycigarhaveBLAHBLAHBLAH". It was so bad I almost put down the mic to spare the nice women in the bar any further ear/emotional damage. "The band is just fantastic that is really what I think" line elicited howls of laughter from yours truly and I'm certain the person in charge of the machine slowly turned the volume down enough so no one could hear me. Bless her soul.

I think I'll keep future karaoke performance where it belongs - in the shower.

CREEPY GUY

FUCK! The end of July is already approaching. This just occurred to me. For whatever reason (i.e. I know the exact reason, not having a full-time job), I keep losing track of time. Although not nearly as badly as this FUCKING CREEPY GUY that had to deal with while at work last night. First off, he just looked like bad news.

And whenever a stranger starts a conversation with you that begins "I just got out of prison" it's not a good sign. Nor was the second thing he said, which was "...and I really want to beat the fucking shit out of some dude...". Right. The conversation then continued as he asked me what day it was. Since I was working, I was damn sure it was Friday, but he insisted it was Thursday. I assured him he was incorrect, which was a mistake as that seemed to agitate him.

Eventually, he dropped it, but then he began to hit on the woman to my left whom I was speaking with. "Is that your girl?" he asked while trying to paw her hand to look at her ring. Again, not good, I sorta shooed her inside...and then these smoking hot blonds came by. UGH. I didn't even look at their ID's and told them to get into the bar.

Even 2 big dudes smoking out front seemed scared shitless of this creep, but since I'm the Doorman everyone, gently waltzed inside to get away from this dude, and I had to stand there and NOT let him into the bar. UGH. Fun. For readers that don't know, I am not a big guy. I'm about 5'10" and 155lbs soaking wet...so needless to say this guy could have torn me in two. Scary, to say the least. Nice though for 2 of the DJ's to provide me backup, should creepy dude return, although that was after I got him to leave. Thanks guys!

I do not get paid enough to put up with this shit. Such is life.

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).

POPPERS? NO THANKS...

One of the more colorful stories/experiences from this past weekends' jaunt to Fire Island (aka, the gayest place on earth) involved me making out with the oldest, sorry, most "mature" man I have ever taken the pants off of. 

At the start of the night, my friend and I were waiting for a water taxi to take us to the Pines, when I struck up a conversation with a handsome guy, probably in his late 40's/early 50's. Nice guy....we talked about how this was my first time to the island, and the weather and blah, blah, blah. 

After my friend and her friends checked out this cabaret show, we took the last water taxi back to Cherry Grove (where we were staying). Handsome Guy was also waiting for the boat, and inquired about each other's evenings...

While on the rocky boat ride back, he did little things, like touch my thigh to empathize a point he was trying to make. Since I was drunk as hell I didn't mind, and I also, since I was drunk, I was being my charming self. 

Once we got back to the Grove, my friends and her friend went out for (more) drinks. Once they were tired I decided...WELL, WHY THE FUCK NOT? and knocked on Handsome Guy's door [NOTE: I'm not a stalker...earlier in the day I noticed his place was directly across from the place I was staying at]. 

He peeked through the curtains, and looked surprised, to say the least, to see me standing on his porch. Eagerly, he let me in, and after, um, 30 seconds of small talk we were making out on his bed. Pants came off and we were having fun...

...until, that is, he suggested we do some Poppers...to have "more fun". I was having plenty of fun as is, and didn't feel the need to add shady drugs into the mix. But he was insistent, and although drunk as all hell, I held my ground, got up, and put my pants on and walked the fuck out of that scene. 

FUCK THAT NOISE.  

NICE WORK IF YOU CAN GET IT

Last night was my first "official" night working the door at this bar. I'm happy to report that things went smoothly. In fact, it was the easiest $50 I ever made, and I got to drink beer for free too. The only minor problem arouse at the end of the night when we were trying to close up shop.

ME: "Alright, it's time to go people."
DRUNK BIRTHDAY GIRL: (wobbles with drink in hand) "HEEEEYYYY, CAN I TAKETHISWITME?"
ME: "No, you cannot".
DRUNK BIRTHDAY GIRL: "OOOOHH, COMEON IZZZ MYBURFHDAY!"
ME: "Well, happy birthday, but I'm sorry, you cannot take that drink with you".
DRUNK BIRTHDAY GIRL: (wobbles towards the door with drink in hand) "OK! WHATEVER, IZMYBURFDAY!"
ME: (grabs her by the arm) "HEY! YOU. CANNOT. TAKE. THAT. DRINK. WITH. YOU."
DRUNK BIRTHDAY GIRL: "Buut....IZZZZMYBUUUURFHDAY!!!"
ME: "You have two choices, you can pound the rest of your drink, or you can leave it here."
DRUNK BIRTHDAY GIRL: (looks at drink with one eye open) "BUUTT, IFIDODAT, I'D BE WASTED!"
ME: "Well then, you probably don't need to finish that drink then."

Oh SNAP! Not to be a dick, but come on! I don't give a shit if it's your birthday or your family just died, you can't leave a fucking bar with a cocktail in your hand. Retard. Of course, this made me think about all the times I've been the drunk asshole, being a pain in the ass to various bouncers over the years. Karma's a bitch!

PS - And only Sam will give a shit about this, but the dude working the door with me (taking the covers) looked like a hipster version of Tony Stonem!

UGH - SUCH A NASTY BITCH

After successfully avoiding my workplace arch nemesis for this entire week, Susan (the e-mail broadcast QB [Queen Bitch – she actually refers to herself as this, no joke]) enters my cubicle clutching a job jacket.

With all 5’1" of her not so much looming over me, she asks why the estimate I completed exceeds the pre-payment we received for a new client. I knew exactly why and went about supplying the evidence/paperwork.

It probably only took me 15 seconds, but the entire time, which seemed like a minor eternity, I could hear her nostrils flaring. Damn woman, take a fucking Quaalude or something!

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, and unable to find any additional fault with me, she says “well….next time print out ALL the paperwork so I know what the HELL is going on!” then turns and her short, plump frame leaves my field of vision.

What a fucking bitch! Whatever - I can't wait to see Tony tommorrow!

BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD

About 2 weeks ago I wrote the New Guy/Doctor and well, that shit is over with. For the sake of brevity let's focus on a few reasons why this did not work out:

Overuse of the "L" word.

Anyone that says they love me after dating for a week and a half is either incredibly clingy, desperate or diluted in regards to what this word means. The declaration of his "love" for me after such a short period of time would make sense if we were teenagers, but coming from a 29 year old, it seems suspect at best.

I don't know if it results from a yearning to be in a relationship or if he considers me some sort of a trophy, especially after he told me he doesn't date Puerto Ricans (like himself) but only white guys (like me).

Admittedly, I have a thing for Latinos, but I would not ever parade a hot Latino guy around to my friends as I felt he did the last time we hung out. None of them seemed particularly interested in actually talking to me, rather they seemed to wink and smile at me.

Communication Issues

At first I thought his thick accent and curious spelling of various words was cute. But then it became confusing and finally frustrating. Keep in mind I am not some xenophobic asshole that gets annoyed if I have to push #2 for English when I make a customer service call, but when I have no fucking idea what this guy is saying to me or when his syntax is so out of whack that I have to pretend to understand what he is trying to communicate, it gets old. And quick.

Perhaps it would help if we hung out in places other than loud gay bars/clubs, but that's where we always ended up hanging out at, despite my suggestions for dinner or movie or hanging at one of our places.

Does He Even Know My Name?

I cannot think of a single instance, where he used my first name, whether it's on the phone, in person or via text message. Serious. I keep my text trails for a long time and not once did he ever use my name, instead using "Babe", "Homo", "You" or "Love". I am positive of this as I just checked.

W introducing me to his friends he'll introduce me as his "friend" with a not so oblique reference that we are more than friends (as in this is my "friend" said with eyebrows arched or a sly grin).

He has, however, used the term "sweetheart" and maybe I'm jaded, but that reminds me of my Mom (who calls me that) and is not what I want to hear before someone sticks their tongue in my mouth, for obvious reasons. Also, this isn't 1955.

Questionable "Ethics"

Though I am reluctant to deem anyone a racist, he has on more than one occasion used some questionable terms to indicate those with an African American lineage. On our 4th or 5th time hanging out I suggested going to a gay club called Spin, and he dismissed that idea because "that's where dark people go".

That might seem an obvious no-no but at the time I was drunk and figured I misheard him (which happens a lot). What I am sure of is that when he called me one day, I expressed my excitement in regards to Obama's political progress. He referred to him, in a very dismissive tone, as a "monkey". Not fucking cool.

When I got back from LA he really wanted to hang out, but since it was late I didn't return his call, nor have I responded to a slew of ill-formed text messages. I almost feel bad but at the end of the day I really just want nothing to do with this guy.

Maybe that makes me a bad person, but that's the risk one takes when you meet someone in a bar and unintentionally turn them off in ways I have outlined above. There are plenty of guys out there, and I feel no need to waste my time with this one.

THE NEW WHIP!

Now, I know what you're thinking, "Justin, how did you acquire such a fine automobile?" The answer was this lavish Chrysler Pacifica. Yup, I decided that instead of a sleek, low slung sports car, I'd replace it with a Mini-van disguised not so convincingly as a SUV thats really a glorified station wagon.

And in cased it's not painfully evident, it's a piece of shit.

OK - I didn't actually buy it, this my rental for the next few weeks while my Baby is at the body shop. It seems that the Motherfucker that hit my car caused enough damage the body shop estimates it will about 2 weeks before they fix it up.

I naively thought that the damage was mostly cosmetic, but I was wrong. When I drove in to the body shop for an estimate, one of the guys working there pointed out that the rear right wheel that was on an angle. Which means suspension damage. Ugh.

Though annoyed and exhausted, I'm trying to remain in good spirits. After all, no one got hurt (that is until I find the person responsible and rearrange his facial features with a Louisville Slugger). And thus far everything has been a breeze.

The insurance company has been awesome, the body shop guys were empathic and the renting of that God-Awful car/truck thing was painless (with the exception of having to pay $16 a day for the insurance - that's kind of a bitch). Also, my friend lent me his sweet Mini Cooper! I love that car! Thank you friend!

The only static I got was when I filed a police report yesterday. Man, that cop was not so friendly. Because my situation required him to fill out a ton of paperwork, he made no effort whatsoever to mask his complete resentment of my very being. Basically, he was a dick.

But I'm moving on and putting that ugliness behind me. And in the meantime, that Chrysler is going to be driven like the fat bitch she is (apologies to any readers that drive a Pacifica). I want my car back!

FEAR & LOATHING IN BOYSTOWN

The only other gay guy at my friend's birthday party last night and I had fun talking, drinking and making snarky comments. There were about 26 of us in this group, and with the exception of my new Gay Comrade, everyone else was straight or a lesbian and coupled.

Also, apparently no one (including Gay Comrade) had never heard of Grolsche beer (is it really that obscure?) which forced me to repeatedly answer the question "what the fuck are you drinking?"

Anyways, around 12:15AM people were drunk and the party was slowly dissapating. At one point, the birthday girl (totally drunk at this point - she was in fine awesome form - I love her) grabbed both Gay Comrade and Myself and proclaimed that "us homos" should hit up Boystown together, with the intention of being each other's wing men. She didn't mean that very night, but we looked at each other, shrugged and said "why the fuck not"?

Off to Boystown!

Since we both drove to the birthday party, this meant that we both needed to find parking, which under the best of circumstances is not easy, and 12:3-ish AM on a Saturday is about the worst time to try to find parking.

That being said, we managed to accomplish our goal (us homos are a clever sort) and we walked on over to Sidetrack, arriving around 1AM. It was odd to drop our coats off at the coat check when everyone else was picking theirs up, but whatever.

Anyways, we got drinks, which are always strong as hell in this place, and made our rounds to checkout the boys, and in the case of Gay Comrade, hide from one or two ex's (I guess I make a good decoy).

As usual I saw several guys from my gym, none of whom I am attracted to nor compelled to speak to otherwise. This the point when the booze began to take effect and I started wondering if I come off as "standoff-ish", and at least now I think that I do. Dunno.

I've never really felt comfortable in the Boystown bars, and Gay Comrade said much the same. The usual assortment of pretty boys, of which there were many, does little for me. I'm not sure why, but I think it has something to do with what I think is a fact, which is, no one Super Fucking Hot can also be interesting.

I realize this is probably not the case, and something that I need to change within my own mind. Still, I have a hard time going up to and talking to someone simply because I think they are hot. Is that shallow, or the opposite of being shallow? I don't know.

What I did know is that we both needed another round. While waiting for the bartender, I noticed a very cute guy circling near us, one whom I had my eye on for much of the night. The bartender, after finishing making out with a patron (really) came to serve us and said "so girls, what'll it be?" while playfully batting his eyes in my general direction (tip whore).

We got our drinks and I look to my left, past Gay Comrade to see the Cute Guy I Had My Eye On. [for reference purposes, he was short, had dark, closely cropped hair, skater jeans/shoes and slight, though brooding features]

Gay Comrade: (whispering probably too loud not to be overheard) "Switch places with me Justin, talk to him!"
Me: "OK, but I have to be smooth about it"

My idea of being "smooth about it" took the form of me walking away and checking my phone (I notice I do this when I am nervous) and walk back to insert myself between Cute Guy I Had My Eye On and Gay Comrade.

This immediately failed as Cute Guy turned his back and walked off to talk to what I think was a friend of his.

And so it goes...

Again and again we walked around, drank, made bitchy comments and eventually a sense of malaise set in. I think what really did it, was at one point I pointed out this gorgeous Abercrombie-type guy.

When we looked back at him a moment later he made making out with what looked like a 14 year old girl, which was actually a guy, probably 18, but definately not 21 or older. Creepy. Gross. Disturbing. Confusing.

At this point I said aloud "what the fuck am I doing here?", a question which still lingers in my mind.

Really, what did I think this would accomplish? Nothing in terms of "Romance" for sure, and I was NOT looking to bring some random stranger home for sex. Perhaps it was just fun to pal around with another gay guy, an activity in which I rarely am able to engage in.

That being said, I don't think I'll be going back to Boystown any time soon. Keep in mind, I am not putting down anyone who enjoys hanging out there. But for me, it reminds me of high school, in that I feel awkward and out of place. And I sincerely doubt I will ever find anyone to date in such an environment.

The night was summed up when Gay Comrade and I were leaving and walking down Roscoe Street. There was a large group and drunk, gay dudes behind us, put one member of the group, a skinny white guy briskly walked past us, smoking really quickly (puffpuffpuff-style).

He turned to us and said something to the effect of:

"heyguyshowisitgoingdidyouhavefuntonightwhereareyougoing
youshouldgotothisafterparty
itwillbefunyouwanttogoitsrightoverthereanddidimentionitwillbefun"

Thank you, kind, homosexual Meth-head, but it's late...

PLAN B: BOYSTOWN

Last night my plan was to go see a band called Battles play the Metro. I saw them over the Summer at the Pitchfork music festival and their set blew my mind, really. It was one of the Top 5 sets of live music I have ever seen live.

Anyways, I was excited to learn they were coming back to Chicago and fully intended to get my RAWK on. Although the Roomie is little short on funds at the moment, she agreed to come with me, and after eating at a sweet Mexican joint we were on our way to the show.

Walking north on Clark we were asked by a guy on the street if we had any extra tickets for the show. He was pointing his finger in the air for an extra, which you normally only see at big "hippy" shows, such as The Dead, Phish or Widespread Panic. This was not a good sign. I asked him if the show was sold out and he replied that it was. Fuck.

Loaded on Jack Daniels (I bought a half pint to bring into the show but we ended up drinking most of it before we got to the venue) I asked no one in particular what in the hell we were going to do now. Before Roomie could even answer I said "fuck it - let's hit up Boystown! WOOT!" (perhaps a little too loudly as several Hipsters standing around shot me a perplexed look).

Roomie shrugged and said "sure why not..."

And off we went (for those not familiar with Chicago geography the Metro is next to Wrigley Field, which is mere blocks north of Halstead Ave/Boystown). I managed to rouse a friend out of bed and we walked over to Circuit, a popular gay nightclub.

We walked in, got carded and walked towards the back, but they wanted to charge a cover, and since the sound of "crickets" chirping in the background was louder than the music, we opted to go elsewhere.

We met said friend at Hydrate, but the 3 of us were the only people there. Literally. However we stayed for a round of beers because, well, why not?

The hot bartender also encouraged us (me) to stay and I chatted him up. Tall, dark hair, backwards cap and lots of tattoos. Oh - shit and I just remembered the sexy doorman - tall, athletic blond guy also sporting a baseball cap. He probably doesn't know it, but he put dirty thoughts into my mind...

Next stop: Roscoe's. I've said it before and I'll say it again now, this place does nothing for me. I realize it's one of if not the oldest bar/club in Boystown but everyone that works there rubs me the wrong way. Also, there wasn't eye candy worth leering at. So...

...we went to Spin, a place I like since it's usually low key (sometimes a good thing) which was not the scene I was looking for last night. However, we stayed for a pitcher of beer anyways. I awkwardly (drunkenly) shot some pool but since it was getting a little late we decided to go home. Or so I thought.

Dee went home, and Roomie and I decided to hit up Crew (technically it was on the way home). Again, it was dead (where were all the gay men in Chicago last night? Seriously, was there some secret warehouse party that I wasn't aware of?) but we stayed for yet another round.

As the hour approached Midnight, Roomie and I decided we should probably call it a night, especially in light of the fact that I had to wake up in 7 hours or so. Roomie wanted to wait for the bus but I replied "Fuck that [burp] shit, I'm taking a cab" and thus concluded our whirlwind tour of Chicago gay nightlife.

Seriously, where were the boys? Maybe I'll find some tonight...

MIXING BUSINESS WITH BUSINESS

Just about an hour ago I went to use the restroom at work. I saddled up to the empty urinal, standing next to a man to my right, also at a urinal. After about 10 seconds this man says "Well, did Sally make the call?" which prompted me to wonder who Sally was, what call was she supposed to have made...and more importantly, why is this stranger talking to me while I'm taking a piss?

For a moment I was perplexed until I heard the tell tale "Charlie Brown Teacher" sound emanating from his right ear. Yes, he was talking to a business associate through his Bluetooth earpiece while he was pissing. If that wasn't classy enough he also did not flush, nor did he wash his hands. I am guessing he didn't want the person on the other end to know where he was or what he was doing.

Last week I was once again using the restroom at work. I noticed one of the stalls were occupied, went to use another one and heard a man talking, rather loudly about some sort of a report. This guy however, must not have been as concerned about the person on the other line knowing what he was doing because he did flush the toilet, although he did not wash hands - after he has just "dropped the kids off at the pool". Ewww.

Although two instances of "mixing business with business" does not a trend make, it's disturbing nonetheless. I always get annoyed when people are roaming the aisles of Target or the grocery store while yammering away on their earpiece, but I always thought a restroom was a bastion of relative quiet. Perhaps those days are coming to an end. At least in my office building, it seems to have. We are doomed. DOOMED!