"A co-worker of mine invited me over to her place to work on a project tonight," I tell Samuel as we're having lunch yesterday. "So?" he asked. "She said she'd pick up a bottle of wine," I say. "That means something right?"

Samuel shrugged. "It's probably nothing. Either way, you're usually smart about not doing stuff with co-workers."

I roll my eyes so far back I hurt myself. "Sure," I say, "Like how I slept with Amy, Kim, Jill and Susan at Intersport, and then I had that on-again off-again thing for two years with Diane while I was working over at Campbell & Company. Yeah, I'm amazing at not doing stuff with co-workers."

Samuel chews on a piece of steak. Then: "How the hell did you manage to stay at Campbell & Company for two years?"

On Friday I went out with a woman named Ann.

"Y'know Reggie," she said, "you're kinda edgy." She laughed a bit to herself.

"Thanks," I said, courtesy laughing at her joke. "Nice rhyme."

She nodded. "Better than Reggie and 'rugged'." I looked at her a bit confused. "Well that's cause Reggie and rugged don't rhyme," I said to her.

"They kinda rhyme," she told me. I shook my head and explained: "No, that'd be like if I tried to rhyme your name with 'and'. Ann and and - that doesn't work."

"Sure it does," she said. "A bad rhyme would be more like Ann and Can."

"No, actually, that's a perfect rhyme." Ann looked at me confused.

How do I keep ending up with women like this?

The other day I was hanging out with my friend Zoey, the high school English teacher.

"You wouldn't believe some of the stupid things these kids do because it'll look good on their college applications," she tells me.

I take a big gulp of my coffee. "I ran for class president for that very reason," I admit to her. "For your college application?" she asks.

I nod. "In fact," I tell her, "my campaign slogan was 'Vote for Reggie DeWitt! It'll look good on his college application!'"

She shakes her head in disappointment. Then I tell her: "The worst of it was, I won." "No you didn't," she says.

"It's true," I say. "But I didn't actually want to be class president so I never went to meetings or did anything. They ended up impeaching me after 2 months."

Zoey eyes me suspiciously. "I'm almost tempted to have you come in and speak to my students," she says. "Almost."

You may remember my previous list of things that make a chick more or less attractive.

A new batch:

5 Things That Would Make a Chick More Attractive:
-Not dressing weather-appropriate in the winter
-Welcoming me home with the words "I made sloppy joes for dinner!" (not that I would ever condone a woman having access to my place when I wasn't there)
-Wearing shiny clothing
-If her parents were deceased
-One word: Commando

5 Things That Would Make a Chick Less Attractive:
-Cooing over a baby and saying, "Oh, he's SO cute!"
-Being a vegetarian
-Not answering the phone, then texting me 5 minutes later with, "Can't talk now. Grey's Anatomy is on. Will call later."
-Big feet
-When they like dudes with long hair

I didn't blog yesterday, and supposedly I have to blog everyday because of this NaBlahBlah thing. My dumbass life coach is probably going to be mad at me.

But it's not my fault. I swear.

Have you ever woken up, looked up at the ceiling, and thought, "Um, that's not my ceiling. Where am I?" That's what happened this morning.

I'm not going to bore you people with all the grisly details that led up to that point, but let me just say that they include a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a UPS uniform, two tickets to Foxy Boxing, some E from Dr. Phil, my dealer, and a run-in with Stedman.

Ugh. And I still smell like Stedman.

Last night I got a phone call from 773-489-2410. I didn't recognize the number so I didn't pick up. And whoever it was didn't leave a message.

I decided to Google the number and discovered that it belongs to a Mexican restaurant on Armitage named El Sabroso.

I've never heard of El Sabroso, but if I had to guess I'd say that my old bookie Ralph is back in town and trying to get a hold of me.

The relationship between Ralph and I reached it's peak back in 1998 when I was in my junior year in college and desperately needed some extra cash. "No way Bulls are gonna pull a second three-peat," Ralph assured me. "Put your money on the Jazz." I listened to Ralph, and we all know what happened with the Bulls.

After that I gave up gambling for a while (at least until I had an income with some room to move), and shortly thereafter I heard a rumor that Ralph moved to Texas. But now...I have the uneasy feeling that Ralph is back in town.

I ran into Harriet at the Starbucks on North and Wells this afternoon.

"You look good," I said, giving her the up-down.

She returned the up-down to me, pausing. "When did you start wearing those shoes?" she said.

I sneered at her. "Around the same time you gained 10 pounds."