One Bad Person

Smart Choices

2008-02-06T11:28:00.000-06:00

"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?"

Unclear On the Concept

2007-11-25T02:09:00.000-06:00

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?

Me and Nixon

2007-11-20T21:53:00.000-06:00

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."

All True (Part II)

2007-11-14T11:59:00.000-06:00

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

Bad Day

2007-11-13T12:35:00.000-06:00

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.

Return of the Ralph?

2007-11-11T17:56:00.000-06:00

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.

Run In

2007-11-10T19:23:00.000-06:00

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."

Gone Datin'

2007-11-09T09:02:00.000-06:00

Last night I stopped by Stacy's with a bottle of wine. Now, usually I don't stop by a friends house hoping to get them drunk and fool around, but I was feeling bored and lazy so I figured I'd take an easy target.

When I got to her house I knocked a few times with no answer, so I used my spare key and let myself in.

Stacy wasn't home, but next to her computer I saw a piece of paper. On it was written:

Nov 8, '07

I went on a date with Andrew Shaw to Websters Wine Bar. He's coming to pick me up @ 8pm. His # is 773-xxx-xxxx.

First time meeting him, in case I disappear.

P.S. My cat goes to Stephanie. Her number is 773-xxx-xxxx.

Since last night was the 8th I figured she hadn't disappeared yet. Though I haven't heard from her yet today. Hmmm...

The Fonz Knows

2007-11-08T00:06:00.000-06:00

Stacy called me last night.

"So I made out with my first foreigner yesterday," she tells me. "And?" I ask, "How was he?"

She pauses. "He was really good."

"Well of course he was!" I tell her. "Those foreigners are all the same! They love assimilating to our American ways!"

Stacy thinks about that for a second. "Huh. I guess that's true."

Only kissing is one thing they're never gonna outsource over to India, 'cause America rules at kissing.

To really drive home my point I made up this "Eey! America Rules at Kissing!" photo starring The Fonz. I think it really proves my point.

I rest my case.

Dirty Sexy Money

2007-11-07T08:54:00.000-06:00

So remember the other night when Jenny came over and didn't put out? Right.

Well yesterday, while cleaning up stuff from the night before, I noticed that she had left behind the Jeff Buckley vinyl she had been so excited about. "Original 1994 vinyl release, in perfect condition," I remembered her saying.

I really had no intention of seeing Jenny again, so what's a guy to do with a valuable record? Sell it, of course!

"This is in really good condition," the guy at Reckless said to me, looking over the record. "I know, right?" I seconded. "I'll give you $30 for it," he told me. Sold!

And what did I do with my kinda-sorta-ill gotten gains? I headed up to Cupid's Treasures and picked up some glow in the dark condoms and a bottle of that lube that warms up when you blow on it.

What can I say? I know it's what Jenny would have wanted me to spend the money on.

Now I just hope she doesn't call me asking for her record.

Aborted Lunch

2007-11-06T08:01:00.000-06:00

Yesterday Jake and I were walking down Milwaukee, just south of Division, looking for a place to grab lunch.

"We could always go to Planned Parenthood," Jake joked, pointing out the location on the corner.

I rolled my eyes. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't feel like fetus burgers today," I said.

Last Goodbye

2007-11-05T08:32:00.000-06:00

The other night Jenny came over because she'd thought it'd be "romantic" to make dinner at my place. For a second date? Really?

She set a bag of groceries on my kitchen counter and then reached into her bag, pulling out a record. "Jeff Buckley's Grace," she said, holding the album in front of me. "Original 1994 vinyl release, in perfect condition." I stared at her for a few seconds, wondering how I was supposed to respond to that. Finally, after an odd silence I said, "Awesome. Well, let's put it on."

She put Jeff on the hi-fi, I started emptying out the grocery bag, and suddenly I got a chilled glimpse of domesticated life. *Shudder*

After dinner (she overcooked the pasta), talking (ugh!), and a lot of fooling around (too much tongue), it was already 1:30 in the morning. "It's kinda late," Jenny said. "Do you mind if I just sleep over?" That's code for 'lets have sex' if I ever heard it.

But evidently I hadn't heard it. Because Jenny just wanted to spoon. WTF?

The next morning, desperate to get this prude out of my apartment, I made up some lie about having to meet a friend and rushed out of my apartment, bringing her with me. "Which way are you going?" I asked outside my building. She pointed right. I said I was going left. She waved perkily (not even a kiss goodbye?!) and took off. I watched her round the corner and then walked back inside my apartment and put on Sports Center.

Good riddance.

Too Much Awesome?

2007-11-04T22:25:00.000-06:00

Have you heard of this magazine called Good? It's all about the environment, and politics, and doing smart things. Sheesh! It should be called Whipped by Al Gore Monthly. Not to imply how often Al Gore whips people, but to imply how often each issue comes out. Just to clarify.

Once I come out with my own magazine, THEN you'll see some good reading. I think it'll be called Awesome Weekly and it'll just showcase everything I do every week.

...How will Awesome Weekly be different from this blog? I haven't quite figured that out yet. More awesomeness, perhaps? Just wait and see.

Home Alone

2007-11-03T12:49:00.000-05:00

As an awesome thirty-something living by myself I can't relate to the issues of people who have roommates and savor every moment they have to themselves. I'm able to relate even less to kids who live with their parents and are thrilled with the thought of getting the house to themselves.

That being said, this weekend my mother is in Maryland, and my father is is Washington. That's right, both parents are out of state.

I have the entire state of Illinois all to myself for the weekend! And you know what that means? Par-tay!

Tree Hunter

2007-11-02T23:18:00.000-05:00

Today I'm walking down Halsted when a guy in a blue polo stops me.

Guy in Blue Polo: Do you have a minute for the environment?
Me: No.
GIBP: You don't care about the trees?
Me: (considering for a second) Nope.

The entire transaction inspired me to start a new kind of game hunting. Rather than shooting birds and shit, we're just going to shoot trees. The best part is, they're easier to shoot than animals. You know...not as quick.

I really think this is going to catch on.

Halloween Analogy

2007-11-01T14:42:00.000-05:00

Last night Jake and I ended up at Durkin's for some Halloween pub crawl thing.

"Look at all these slutty hotties," I commented to Jake. Jake gave me a disgusted look and said, "Lately I feel like I have to take a shower after talking to you." "Yeah, a cold shower," I said, nudging him with my elbow. Jake just rolled his eyes.

"Since the SATs are coming up, and since you're a baby, I have an SAT question for you," I said to Jake. "Babies don't take the SATs," Jake said. I pretended I didn't hear him.

"See, the reason children love Halloween so much is because they don't usually get to eat tons of candy, but on this night they do. And the reason Trixies love Halloween so much is because usually they don't get to dress like sluts, but on this night they do."

I continued: "So on Halloween, children are to candy, as women are to..."

"You're a moron!" Jake said.

"Incorrect!" I said. "The correct answer is 'sluts'. What did you get on your SATs anyway? 'Cause I got 1550 on mine."

Stupid ShaNaNa

2007-10-31T08:13:00.000-05:00

My dumbass life coach is making me participate in this thing called NaBloPoMo. I even had to create a stupid profile here.

I've already starting referring to it as:

-CoCoMo (the Beach Boys song)
-DubyaTeeOh (You know...the World Trade Organization)
-ShaNaNa

The whole deal being ShaNaNa is that I have to blog every single day for the entire month of November. WTF?!

I can already see it now:

Sexy Woman #1: My friend and I want you to come home with us for a totally hot threesome!
Sexy Woman #2: Yeah, it's going to be totally hot!
Me: That sounds great, ladies. Really. But unfortunately I have to go home and blog.

See what I mean?! What's wrong that that picture? Only, um, everything!

Too Much?

2007-10-30T20:11:00.001-05:00

So have you heard of this new song by Mya called "My Bra"? I think I heard someone say that it's about breast cancer or awareness or thankfulness or something like that. All I know is it's a song about a woman talking about her bra. I haven't loved a song this much since that song "My Boobs Are Okay" by Lene Alexandra.

Maybe I just love women too much. Is that so wrong?

[Update: My court advocate informed me that, in fact, loving women too much is wrong. And then he pulled all my restraining orders out of his briefcase.]

The SS List

2007-10-28T22:05:00.000-05:00

In my last post I mentioned my StallSex list. This is not code for anything, people. The list is a compilation of all the places I've had sex in the bathroom stalls. The last 10 additions to the StallSex list include:

10/24/07 - Excalibur
9/15/07 - Rockwell Lounge
7/13/07 - Lumen (Friday the 13th! SpookyStallSex!)
4/7/07 - John Barleycorn (the one on Clark)
1/19/07 - The Beaumont
11/25/06 - Cabaret (used the handicapped stall for more room and was able to Bronco her)
7/8/06 - Manor
2/17/06 - Roscoes (she thought I was gay and really wanted to convert me)
12/9/05 - Moda
8/20/05 - Level (she was one of those slutty girls that was dancing on one of the platforms)

Blast From The Past

2007-10-26T21:45:00.001-05:00

The other night I was out at Excalibur and ran into my ex, Harriet.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her, downing the last of my G&T. "It's for an office function," she said, sneering at me.

"And why are you here?" she asked. "The underage chicks," I said, tossing a few of the ice cubes into my mouth in desperation. She nodded, eyeing me suspiciously. "Lucky them," she said.

Just then some punk with slicked back hair and an Express shirt came up, wrapping his arm around Harriet's waist. He whispered something in her ear and she didn't take her eyes off me as she listened to him, laughing at what he said louder than necessary.

"Reggie," she said, "this is Bertrand. Bertrand, Reggie." We shook hands. "You want another drink, babe?" Bertrand asked. Harriet nodded and Berty took off towards the bar.

"So," Harriet asked, "are you still a pathetic, functioning alcoholic?" "Maybe," I replied. "Are you still a cunt with father issues?" Harriet shrugged, then: "I guess so."

Then, if my life were a movie, that would have been the point in the scene when there was a quick cut to Harriet and I falling into a bathroom stall and making out drunkenly. But life is not a movie.

In reality, we fell into the bathroom stall about 2 drinks and 3 shots later.

During the sex (which lasted just over 4 minutes) I imagined she was someone hotter, and when she came she called out Bertrand's name.

...If nothing else I can now add Excalibur to my StallSex list.

A Little Name Recognition Please

2007-10-24T00:28:00.000-05:00

Last night I'm standing at the bar, waiting to pay my tab. I'm a bit tired and drunk, and it's clear that I'm not going home with someone so I'm in a bad mood. Out of nowhere, a woman comes up next to me and looks me over.

"Don't look so sad," she says to me, "at least you don't have cancer!" She pauses for a second, slowly looking me up and down. "What's your name?" she asks.

"Reggie," I tell her. "Well it's nice to meet you Ronnie," she says, "but I gotta go."

Whore.

Just Plain Twisted

2007-10-22T19:12:00.000-05:00

Last weekend Stacey suggested that we take a trip to the Salvation Army. Personally, I balk at the idea of buying something that used to belong to someone else, but I had nothing better to do so I went along with her.

After wandering around for a while I found a few tapes of old Baywatch reruns and considered the trip a success. But then...I found a pair of crutches. First I kinda hobbled around on them, walking down an aisle, trying them out, and I almost ran into a guy. "Sorry," I said. "Oh, it's fine," he said, and then pointed at my crutches. "I went through that too. It's pretty bad." "Oh...yeah." I replied. Hmm...

I immediately purchased the crutches and started crutching around. People were holding open doors for me! People were giving me looks of sympathy! It was fantastic!

I texted Jake to meet up for lunch to spin my tale of woe for him. It was horrible! I said. I fell down stairs! I said. Twisted ankle! I said.

When I finally let Jake in on the gag he was a little pissed, but told me he had some gauze and he helped me wrap up my ankle for the full effect. Not only was I having fun and getting sympathy, using the crutches was totally working my triceps.

At this point Jackie showed up and had the great idea to fake a fight while walking down the street. "You're so slow!" she would yell, pushing me into a bike or a pole, me wobbling on my crutches. "Jeez 'ya cripple!" she'd yell later, grabbing one of my crutches and pushing me down. I'd fake injury and lay on the ground. People would stare on in horror. One woman driving by yelled out of her car, "You need better friends!"

After one such stunt, when Jackie had stormed off with one of my crutches, a hottie walking by noticed me and helped me up. "How'd you do that?" she asked, pointing towards my ankle. "Um..fell down some stairs," I said. She continued to ask me where it hurt, what kind of sound it made, what kind of medication I was on, and what kind of exercises they told me to do to help it heal. I tried my best to make up things and then she said, "Because I'm an Orthopedic and I could show you some exercises on how to help that ankle."

My mind immediately went to fantasies of me laying on her sofa, and her massaging my ankle with exotic massage oils.

"Yeah, if you could show me some exercises that'd be great," I told her, just as a man walked up to her side. "Honey," she said to the man, "this is Reggie. You wouldn't believe how mean his friend was to him."

Honey?! She has a boyfriend?! I didn't feel like dealing with this.

"You know what?" I said, lifting my crutch up and tucking it horizontally under my arm. "My ankle is actually a lot better."

The hottie and her "honey" gave me looks of disbelief, as if I had healed out of nowhere (which, I suppose to them, I had). It was at this point that a second guy walked up, kissed the first guy on the cheek and wrapped his arm around him.

"What's going on?" the new guy asked. "This guy's an asshole," the hottie said, turning and walking off. The two gay guys shrugged, walking off after the hottie.

Damnit! The gay "honey!" And I was so close!

Aww, Snap!

2007-10-19T11:35:00.000-05:00

The other night Zoey and I decide to go to Avenue Tavern for drinks and pumpkin carving.

"Drinking and then using a knife sounds like a horrible idea," I tell her as we're walking there.

"Going on a date with you sounds like a horrible idea too, yet women still continue to do it."

Touché.

Creepy Crawler

2007-10-18T13:13:00.000-05:00

Can you believe I had made it to three dates with a woman? I can't.

Her name is Helen and she's a writer too, though her subject matter is...interesting.

She writes crawl. You know, the words that scroll across the bottom of the screen during the news. Yeah, Helen writes that. She's previously written for Fox News, but she just moved here to take a job for NBC. I don't know if that's an up or down move.

Anyway, everything was going fine until our third date when we were walking down the street. "Do you like your computer bag?" she asked. I eyed my gray Manhattan Portage Westside laptop bag. "Yeah, I like it just fine. Why?"

"I was thinking of buying you one of those Jack Spade laptop bags," Helen replies. "I think you'd look better with one of those."

She was thinking of buying me a present? And we're only on our third date. I don't think so.

"I don't think I could get rid of this bag," I say, hatching a lie. "An ex-girlfriend gave it to me and it always reminds me of her. I just don't think I could part with it." I give her a sweet smile.

That was Monday and I haven't heard from Helen since. I think it's safe to say I nipped that problem in the bud.

Rah Rah!

2007-10-13T13:23:00.001-05:00

This morning, grabbing coffee at Intelligentsia, I run into my friend Zoey. Zoey teaches high school English and, true to form, she's sitting at a table with papers spread out in front of her, spending her Saturday morning grading.

"These papers are...interesting," she informs me.

I grab one off the top of the pile written by a girl named Stephanie. Stephanie's paper is titled "My Own Way" and it talks about her freshman year of high school when she tried out of the basketball team with her friends but didn't make it. Wah wah!

Stephanie writes about how she on went on to try out for cheerleading. High school cheerleading! Finally, my interest was piqued.

Not surprisingly Stephanie made the team, but it was the last paragraph of her paper that I couldn't help but laugh at:

"I MADE IT! At that moment I knew my life had changed. I was no longer a follower. I was achieving my own goals, indicating my own direction, going against the crowd."

Ah, high school mentality! When a girl honestly believes that being a cheerleader is not classified as a "follower" and that she was "going against the crowd." Stephanie, you rebel you!

I casually ask Zoey if Stephanie is legal.

She nods yes but tells me, "She has the body of a fifth grader."

I sigh. What a waste of a cheerleader.

It'd Be the Perfect Out

2007-10-12T19:44:00.000-05:00

"Please do this!" I beg Jake. "I never ask for anything. Please! Just do this one thing for me!"

I'm trying to get out of a date with Kristine, a woman I went out with last week, and I need Jake to call her and tell her a lie.

Jake rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee. "No," he says firmly.

"Pretty please!" I say. "I'll do anything you want. I'll even buy you that quesadilla maker you've been eyeing!"

"No," Jake says again. "You can beg all you want, but I'm not calling Kristine and 'regretfully informing' her that you were the one who died while running in the Chicago marathon last week."

Speak Up

2007-10-04T09:23:00.000-05:00

The other night Samuel dragged me out to a coffee shop. A coffee shop? really? What am I, a beatnik? What is this, 1995? Needless to say, I brought my flask to make things more interesting.

Samuel neglected to tell me that it was open mic night at the coffee shop.

I quickly learned that singers feel the need to talk a little before they play. I can't, for the life of me, figure out why they think this is a good idea.

"The other day I was at a museum," this kid with bedhead and a corduroy jacket said, slumped in a chair holding his guitar. "And, like, there was this whale brain on display, right? And it was huge. And I was thinking, like, why is this whale brain so huge? What do whales think about? And, like, do they do that much more thinking that we do? And, like, do brains even handle our thinking? Or do we just think they do?" A few girls in the audience, presumably stoned, laughed.

The "talker" then proceeded to strum his melancholy heart out, wishing desperately that he was Jeff Buckley. With any luck this guy would try to go swimming later in the night.

After almost an hour of singing/whining (in addition to one particularly bad rendition of Let it Ride, and some misery chick who read, what she called "vignettes" about a teacher living in Kansas), I told Samuel I was taking off.

But, heaven help me, since waking up this morning I've been thinking about showing up at an open mic night sometime with a guitar, and just sitting there talking about bullshit for a while, as if it was the prelude to a song. More and more, the ideal is starting to appeal to me.

"Y'know, sometimes when I'm in the shower I think about the universe," I would say. I would have bought a wig to wear, making me look like a hippie, and during this pause I would tuck my fake long hair behind my ears, soulfully. "And, like, I think about how groovy the universe is," I would continue. "And, like, sometimes, it just makes my nostrils hurt, y'know?"

Morons.

I Can Only Take So Much

2007-10-01T16:06:00.000-05:00

"How was the lame-o wedding last night?" I ask Jake this morning.

"Actually not that bad," he says. "No open bar, but they left bottles of red and white wine at each table."

I nod. "That's pretty primo."

"The weird part," he says, pouring way too much sugar into his coffee, "was that it was like 350 Koreans and me."

Jake knows my huge yellow fever condition, and what he's doing is just cruel. I try to keep my composure. "Oh really?" I ask nonchalantly. He nods. "By the end of the night it was, like, just me on the dance floor with 10 women on me." This means war.

"Well sure," I say. "If their parents only approve them dating Korean men I bet they go nuts when they encounter a real man. Or you." Jake gives me the evil eye.

"I'm kidding," I say, not kidding. "I bet they ate you up with a spoon. Or, y'know, chopsticks."

Cash Bar?

2007-09-30T11:58:00.000-05:00

This morning I called Jake to see if he wanted to head down the driving range and play some golf.

"I can't," he says, "I have to go to a wedding."

"Whatever, loser," I tell him. "Well do a shot for me. It's an open bar, right?"

There's a dead silence. "Actually," Jake says, "it's not."

I shake my head and stare at my cell in disbelief. "My grandfather had a saying, Jake. Listen up, 'cause I'm about to drop some wisdom on your ass."

"I'm listening," Jake says.

"Bars, like relationships, should only be one way: Open."

Musical Talents, Part 1

2007-09-28T19:21:00.000-05:00

The other day I came across a box of old mix-tapes, and they really brought back some memories. I don't know if you were aware of this, but in college I was the king of Power Hour. Power Hour was that drinking game where we'd do a shot of beer a minute for 60 minutes.

"So what?" you're probably saying, "I can drink 60 tiny pussy shots of beer, too!" Well my drinking skills were not what made me a Power Hour god. No. It was my musical skills. And let me tell you, Chachi, those skills paid the bills.

See, to accompany the game, we'd make Power Hour mix-tapes (And in those days, my friend, they were on cassette tapes - DePaul class of '99, baby!), wherein each song would last a minute. This way no one had to be the nerd with the stopwatch telling us when to drink. The music would simply do it for you.

To paraphrase Rob Gordon in High Fidelity, making a mix-tape can be stressful, because you're using someone else's poetry to express how you feel. This is never quite so evident as when you're using said poetry to aid with drinking. Of course I started my Power Hour mix-tape training back in high school so by the time I got to college I was already a pro at it.

Being the magnanimous bastard I am, I'm going to share some of my mix-tape mastery with the kids of today. Because really, who doesn't love the kids (especially when they're legal)?

Now cut me some slack, because when I started making these tapes it was 1994, so we didn't have Justin or Britney or that Rhoda Dakota hottie that you kids today have.

Usually I'd start of with something to get the mood going, like Pump Up the Jam by Technotronic. Then maybe I'd move on to Bust a Move by Young MC. I dated this cheerleader in high school named Becky (What? You're surprised I scored babes back then, too? Please!) and she lent me a lot of the music they performed their cheers to. Just to make Becky happy I'd throw in some jams like Point of No Return by Expose, or 3 a.m. Eternal by KLF. Becky ate that shit up.

And once I had their attention what did I play? Well you'll just have to come back for my next blog where I share more of my mix-tape mastery with you all.

...Or, you know, if anyone wants any of these old mix-tapes, I'm just gonna throw 'em out anyway.

I'm Sure HE Pays Too Much In Rent On His Cardboard Box

2007-09-24T09:41:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I grabbed lunch at Corner Bakery and decided to eat it while walking back to the office.

As I stopped and waited for the crosswalk to change, I noticed a homeless man standing next to me, watching me eat. "That sandwich looks really good," he commented, his eyes fixed on my chicken pesto sandwich.

I shrugged my shoulders in response. "Yeah, it's okay. Corner Bakery's sandwiches are way overpriced, though."

The homeless man looked at me as though he didn't understand. "Seriously," I say, "I paid like seven dollars for this thing. Outrageous."

At that the sign changed to 'Walk', and walk I did.

Loose in the South Loop

2007-09-16T17:52:00.000-05:00

This week Franny got a new laptop.

"I love how fast the thing is," she told me the other day at lunch, "but the keys seem so stiff. I've got to really hit them to type."

"Well your other computer was old. The keys were looser." I pause to work out an analogy in my head. "In that way computer keyboards are like women. The older they get the looser they get."

"I resent that," Franny said. "When men get old they're body gets looser too."

"I'm talking about a woman-specific kind of looseness," I reply, taking a sip of my Diet Coke.

"Eww," Franny says.

"Hey, you're the one whose got one of 'em."

No Question About It

2007-08-31T12:46:00.000-05:00

Today I went back to the doctors to get my STD test results that I couldn't get same-day, when I had gone two weeks ago.

As I'm sitting in the waiting room I glance around thinking, "Wow, there's a lot more hotties here today that there were last time I was here."

And the best part? You know for sure that these girls put out.

Taming of the Shrew

2007-08-25T12:37:00.001-05:00

Thursday night Samuel and I headed over to Durkin's to visit a bartender friend of ours who was quitting. Needless to say, the drinks were cheap.

Also on Thursday was the Post Office. This is a setup where everyone puts a sticker with a number on themselves, and if you want to leave another person an anonymous message - "You're a hottie!" or "I'm in room 312 next door! Come over!" - you write down the number that person is wearing, along with your message, and hand it to the person behind the desk. Then people can come up, see if they have a message waiting on the board, and read your post.

I was in a bored mood and skipped the Post Office, setting out to lie. Lying is always more fun.

"So what do you do?" asked one girl I was chatting with, wearing a big #192 across her chest. "I'm a lion tamer," I responded. "What? For serious?" she asked. I nodded in all seriousness.

"Who do you work for?" #192 asked. "Cirque du Soleil," I said, despite the fact that I don't think they actually include lions in any of their shows. She was still skeptical.

"Well then where's your office?" she said, squinting at me. "I don't have an office," I told her. "It's not as if I need one. I don't have paperwork to file that says, like, 'Tamed'." I mime signing a paper and filing it. "I just go wherever we have a show. Vegas, Los Angeles. Wherever." She nodded at this, slowly accepting me as a lion tamer.

A minute or two later the girl lost interest (evidently adventure and lion taming isn't her thing), going off and talking to some other guy. I realized this night was going to be a bust and told Samuel we should leave. He agreed and we headed towards the door. As we passed by the Post Office I tugged on Samuel's sleeve. "Hold up," I said and grabbed a slip of paper off the table. I scribbled down:

To: #192
Message: You're a whore.

I seem to be all about the anonymous messages lately.

Cure for the Blues?

2007-08-21T20:20:00.000-05:00

Stacy and I were out the other night and she was moping about being dumped by her latest beau.

"I just feel so rejected," she says as we leave Avenue Tavern and start to walk home. "Eh, he was an idiot anyway," I say as consolation.

"Will you walk me home?" Stacy says, pouting slightly. I roll my eyes and sigh. "Do I have to?" Stacy punches me in the arm. "What about that rapist that's still on the loose around here?" she says to me.

It's true. Even as she says this we walk past a storefront displaying a police sketch of the rapist who has terrorized Lincoln Park lately.

"Fine, for your own safety I'll walk you home," I say. "Though just think: If you did get raped then at least you wouldn't feel rejected anymore."

Get Tested

2007-08-20T14:51:00.000-05:00

I've gone on a couple dates with this girl, Susan. Susan is a total health nut. Which of course means she has a great body. But it also means that she wants me to get tested before we sleep together. Some people can just be so uptight about STDs, y'know?

It'd been a while since I'd gone to get tested, and it was depressing to see some of the posters hanging in the waiting room at the clinic. They said things like "My boyfriend gave me AIDS. All I was worried about was getting pregnant." and "Their past could make you history." Bummer, right?

The check-up itself was pretty uneventful. But then as I was walking out I saw a poster for people interested in anonymously informing former partners that they'd given them an STD. The site, at www.inspot.org/chicago, gives you a few choices for the look of the card, a little space for a personal message, and lets you send it anonymously.

Needless to say I immediately went home and logged on, sending out some "Get checked for Chlamydia if you haven't recently" messages to a few choice exes and some guys I don't really like.

There's nothing like making someone else think that they have an STD to make you feel better about yourself. It's true. Try it.

I Don't Think So

2007-08-10T14:31:00.001-05:00

Last week a friend of mine gave me tickets to a Cubs game that he couldn't use. This morning I started writing him a 'thank you' note when I caught myself and realized what I was doing. A 'thank you' note? Really? Since when do I do that? Who knows what other undesirable behavior I could slip into.

Please people, stop me immediately if catch me doing any of the following:

-Wearing socks with sandals.
-Hanging family Christmas "newsletters" up on my fridge.
-Leaving said "newsletters" up yearlong.
-Uttering the phrase "He has good energy."
-Having NPR as a preset on my radio.
-Seeing someone's inner beauty.

At Least She Doesn't Go Through Trash Cans

2007-08-07T14:32:00.000-05:00

"How'd your date go with the jailbait last night?" Franny asks this morning as we're getting coffee. "Damnit," I say. "She turned 18 last month. I told you."

Franny rolls her eyes and hands me a packet of Equal. "She was nice enough," I tell her. "A bit of a raccoon." "Raccoon?" Franny asks.

How can Franny be a woman and not know what a raccoon is? "Y'know," I say, gesturing towards my eyes. "Lots of dark eye makeup. Kinda made her look like a raccoon." Franny nods in understanding. "So, does the raccoon thing translate into other areas? Like...being animalistic?" Franny winks after saying this.

"Oh please," I say. "She's just a child." Franny just stares at me, waiting for me to crack. "Okay, fine. I suppose if raccoons gave hand jobs they might be something like what she did."

Franny makes a disgusted face and says, "Sometimes I feel like you don't know that line between acceptable and unacceptable." She pauses for a moment, then: "Please just tell me you're not into bestiality."

Sport of Champions

2007-08-06T12:51:00.000-05:00

This morning has been soo slow. Everyone in the office is either still recovering from Lollapalooza or they're just old and boring.

Around noon I wandered over to Franny's office. "I'm bored," I said. She closed the browser window on her computer where she was reading Perez Hilton. "What do you wanna do?" she asked. "Tampoony?" I suggested.

Tampoony is a game Franny and I play where we each take one of her tampons, wet it, and throw it up so it sticks to the ceiling. Who ever has their tampon stay up longer is the winner. It really is a game of skill.

I take two of her tampons, go to the bathroom, wet them thoroughly and return. "On the count of three," I say. One. Two. Three. Our tampons hit the ceiling.

"So how was your weekend?" I ask as we stand there, staring up at the ceiling. "I went out with fuckface," Franny replies. Fuckface is Franny's "boyfriend". He's a typical Lincoln Park tool and I don't pay too much attention to anything that she tells me about him. "What about you?" she asks. "I met this girl out at a bar," I say. "We've got a date tonight."

Franny takes her eyes of the ceiling and looks over at me. "Is she legal?" she asks. I laugh.

Just then Franny's tampon drops off the ceiling and lands on her desk in a loud splat. I throw my arms up in the air. "Winner!" I yell and start a victory lap around her office.

After I calm down and catch my breath I notice Franny isn't amused. "Lunch in 15 minutes?" I ask. She nods. "Loser buys," I say as I walk out the door. "Pedophile buys!" she yells out after me.

Whatever. The girl turned 18 last month.

It's Easy Pretending To Be Green

2007-08-03T13:03:00.000-05:00

"Sometimes I feel bad that I don't even give these volunteers the time of day," Jake says as we walk past a punk in a red windbreaker holding a clipboard. "I don't," I say, taking a long drag off my cigarette. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, I went back to smoking. I ran out of the patch and was too lazy to pick some more up. I was not, however, too lazy to buy some cigarettes. But I digress.

"They're just young, idealistic morons who think that standing on a corner getting people to sign stuff is really going to make a difference," I say. Jake gives me a look that says I'm being a bit harsh. "Maybe you should at least see what they're pedaling before you say no," Jake suggests. "Whatever. Save the children, save environment, save the whales, blah, blah, blah."

As we approach the next corner I spot another red windbreaker with its back to us, and I'm readying myself to snub it when the young, idealistic moron turns around to reveal a total sexpot. "Do you two have a minute for the environment?" she asks. "Of course," I say, before Jake can interject.

"Did you know that the earth is at risk of more extreme weather events such as heat waves, droughts and floods than ever before?" I stop myself from asking, Even the heat waves we had millions of years ago when the earth was forming? "Already, the global incidence of drought has doubled over the past 30 years!" she says. "That's fascinating!" I say, faking rapt attention.

Jake rolls his eyes and says, "I'm outta here." "Your friend doesn't seem to care about the environment," the Sexpot says. "Well, he's not a giver the way I am," I tell her. From there I happily fill out her form and sign myself up for donating $100 a month to help "save" the environment. Evidently I guessed right and that was the amount I needed to sign up for in order to get her to grab a drink with me after her "shift" was up.

"So I'll meet you back here at 6?" I asked. She nodded, smiling wide.

Of course I did the usual wining and dining, with a little extra environmental talk thrown it to moisten her up. And, as usual, after her 5th vodka cranberry she was more than happy to take me back to her place.

"Do you have a...y'know?" she asked as we rolled around under her sheets. "Condom?" I asked. She nodded. "I only use lambskin," I said. "It's better for the environment." Of course that only made her more excited.

After we'd raised the temperature in her bedroom (wink wink!), and I was sure she'd passed out, I put on my clothes and walked around her apartment looking for her prized clipboard. I flipped through the contracts she'd collected during the day, plucking mine out of the pile, folding it up and putting it in my pocket. Then I grabbed a pear out of her fridge and let myself out the front door.

I mean, you didn't really think I was going to donate $100 a month just to get laid, did you?

The Baby Killers

2007-08-02T14:23:00.000-05:00

The other day at work I was having trouble with part of a rejection letter. Franny happened to walk past my door at that moment and I yelled out, "Hey! Little help!" She stuck her head around the door frame into my office. "What's the problem?" she asked.

Franny works two offices down from me and whenever I get stuck writing the words that will crush somebody's dreams she's good at helping me out.

She walks around behind my desk, pulls a red pen out of her updone hair and starts slicing and dicing my writing. "Don't cut that part out!" I protest. Franny cocks an eyebrow at me. "Haven't you ever heard of murdering your little darlings?" "Scott Peterson?" I ask. Franny shakes her head no.

"Sure, it may be your favorite part," she says, "but in order for the writing to work you have to murder them." "It still sounds like murdering children because they're not doing well enough," I say.

"If you'd like to think of it like abortion that works too," Franny says, sticking her red pen back into her hair. I tisk and shake my head. "That fetus really wasn't pulling it's weight."

Monkey DNA vs. Danielle DNA

2007-07-29T23:07:00.000-05:00

So I have this fuck buddy, Danielle. She works for this company called Reynolds Accommodations, which basically takes care of making sure bands have all the things they require in their dressing rooms when they're in concert. 24 bottles of Fiji bottled water, 3 bags of M&Ms with the green ones picked out, 2 jars of olives (bleu cheese stuffed). Weird stuff like that. Danielle handles that stuff. And because she does, she gets free tickets to concerts and occasionally she gives me these tickets said concerts. This is why I like Danielle. I haven't quite figured out why Danielle likes me. But she does.

"I really like being with you," she whispers into my ear the other night while we're fooling around in bed. I smile and nod, not replying. "I mean, doesn't being together just feel nice?" she asks. Again, I smile and nod. At this point she shifts around, propping herself up on her forearms and looking me in the eye. "Why don't you want to see me more, Reggie?"

I make an uncomfortable face and avoid her eyes. "It's not that I don't want to see you more..." I begin to say. "Then what?" she asks. "What is it?" I look around the room with uncertainty.

"See," I begin, "I was watching this special on the Discovery Channel the other night and it was about monkeys, and how their DNA is, like, 99% similar to ours. But there's that 1% that's different, right? That 1% that makes the difference between humans and monkeys. Do you see what I'm saying?"

Danielle stares at me for a few seconds. "Are you calling me a monkey?" "No, no!" I respond. "I'm saying I like you 99%, but there's that 1% of...I don't know what, that makes it impossible for us to really be together. You know what I mean?"

Danielle stares at me again for a few seconds. "You're such an asshole," she says, getting up from bed, wrapping her sheets around herself and stomping off to the bathroom. She slams the door behind her.

Still laying in bed, I yell out: "Does this mean I'm not going to get that blowjob you promised?"

All True

2007-07-27T14:35:00.001-05:00

5 Things That Would Make a Chick More Attractive:
-Larger breasts
-The ability to make a really good sandwich
-A predisposition towards casual sex
-Larger breasts
-A trust fund

5 Things That Would Make a Chick Less Attractive:
-Wearing jeans without pockets on the ass
-Telling me she thinks Ryan Seacrest is a "cuttie" and/or a "hottie"
-Opening a pickle jar that I was unable to open
-Quoting Sex and the City
-Stealing my life coach for her own

Especially that last one. Watch out, bitch, I'm on to you.

Fatty Evidence

2007-07-26T12:17:00.001-05:00

I was reading an article this morning about how a new study shows that you're more likely to be fat if you hang out with fat people.

Finally! Now I have scientific proof to back of my reasons for not wanting to date fat chicks.

I can be all, "Sorry baby, you've got too much junk in your trunk," and they'll respond, "You're such a douche," and I can hold up the study and be like, "I'm just looking out for my health, baby!"

Health is totally my number one priority. Well, behind money and being awesome. And mastering that tennis game on my Wii. And maybe scoring the phone number of that yellow tail that works at my dry cleaners. But yeah, I'm all about health.

Bad Parenting

2007-07-25T08:58:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I was riding the bus (also known as slumming it), when I overheard the following conversation between a mother and her young daughter, who kept trying to lift her skirt over her head.

"I know you have beautiful panties on," the mother tells her 3-year-old, "but we need to keep our skirts down, okay sweetie? That's the plan."

A few people around me smiled and giggled, watching this "cute" mother-daughter scene. You know what I think is a cute mother-daughter scene? Chapter 3 in the DVD release of the MILF/DILF porn "Mother May I?" starring Emanuelle Diniz and Cristine Diniz. Yeah.

As for the scene that was playing out in front of me...I, for one, thought the mother was messing the daughter up for life. Maybe I just care about the children too much.

Thanks a Latte

2007-07-24T12:59:00.000-05:00

The other day Jake and I are at Starbucks, getting our latte on. Jake has totally been crushing on a barista there for a few weeks and I'm telling him to ask her out and get it over already.

"What if she says no?" he asks. "I won't be able to show my face in here again." "First of all, there's another Starbucks two blocks away," I tell him. "You'll survive. Secondly, she gave you a free latte last week. You're in like Flint."

Jake takes a big swig of his latte and announces, "I'll ask her out by 12:53." I shake my head at how ridiculous he's being. Having just ordered a grande latte Jake is forced to down his entire drink in seven minutes so that he'll have a reason to go back up to the counter by 12:53. "I can't feel my tongue," he says at 12:49. "That helps me enjoy this even more," I say.

Finally 12:53 rolls around and Jake heads up the counter. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he makes small talk with the barista and then comes back to the table with another latte, a croissant, and a bottle of water.

"So?" I ask. "She has a boyfriend," he says, head hung low.

I squint angerly in her direction. "That free latte giving hussy."

#2 Tip

2007-07-23T08:16:00.000-05:00

"Lately I've been having problems with...number two," Samuel says to me over cocktails the other night. "Jesus, Samuel!" I say, slamming down my G&T, "That is never cocktail talk!" Samuel shrugs, "Sorry." I shake my head disapprovingly.

I pick up my drink and take another sip. "But as long as you've brought it up...if you want to know a surefire tip to keep yourself regular, I'll let you in on a little secret." I lean in close to Samuel for effect. "Olestra."

"That stuff they put in potato chips, like, eight years ago that made everyone poop?" I sigh. "As if it were a new thing? Everyone poops. Look it up."

Samuel looks a bit confused. "But didn't they stop making the stuff? How do I get my hands on some?" Again, I shake my head. "Ebay, man. It's like I'm talking to a caveman here!" "I'm supposed to buy eight-year-old potato chips off ebay?" Samuel says, a hint of incredulousness in his voice.

"Oh, you're right," I say. "I'm sorry. Why don't you just help aid your digestion by eating salads and fiber. Sheesh! This is the last time I give you advice."

The Book of Reggie

2007-07-22T12:39:00.000-05:00

The other night Stacey told me that she had a present for me. I immediately thought, "Hmm, maybe I'll be getting some sex tonight." Turns out she bought me a copy of Mars and Venus on a Date by John Gray. Not even close.

The book has ridiculous chapter titles like "When the Clock Keeps Ticking and He's Not Wearing a Watch" and "Men Are Like Blowtorches, Women Are Like Ovens".

I think I need to write a book called John Gray is Incapable of Writing a Sentence Without Using an Analogy. True story.

The book also outlines the "5 Stages of a Relationship": Attraction, Uncertainty, Exclusivity, Intimacy and Engagement. Of course, if the stages were tailored to me there'd only be 3 and they'd go: Attraction, Sex, Never Calling Her Back.

Personally, I think John Gray is Incapable of Writing a Sentence Without Using an Analogy would be a best-seller. I'm talking Oprah book club.

I'll start writing it tomorrow.

#1 Jewish Procedure

2007-07-19T11:03:00.000-05:00

I ran into my old friend Rebekkah on the street the other night. Usually I'm not into the Jewish girls (I think it has something to do with the overabundance of Barbra Streisand albums my mom played when I was growing up), but I've always liked Rebekkah, and we had a thing for a while in college.

"How's it going?" I ask her as we walk towards each other on the sidewalk. "Busy!" she replies, a crazed look in her eyes. "Thank god I have all of next week off." "What are you doing with a whole week off?" I ask. "Well I have surgery on Monday," she tells me.

Knowing the weakness of every Jewish girl, I nod sympathetically and ask, "Is it for the nose?"

I Don't Bi It

2007-07-16T15:28:00.000-05:00

I went out to Lumen the other night with Samuel. Lumen is one of those Fulton clubs, and I got worried because Samuel was wearing sneakers. "What's wrong with sneakers?" he asks. "It's just not a sneaker place," is all I say. Luckily they let us in despite Samuel's footwear.

Inside there were gaggles of young hotties rubbing up against each other and posing seductively for photos. I had a hunch that this was all for some male attention, but I had to get the scoop for myself.

"Excuse me," I said, walking up to a blond who was leaning against the bar. "My name is Reggie, I'm a writer for CS and I'm writing an article about club culture. What exactly compels women to act like..." "Lesbians?" she says, finishing my sentence. "Right," I say. "Well I'm bi," she says, causing me to immediately lose interest.

Aside from the fact that I don't believe in bisexuality, I already find it annoying enough that I have to compete with all the guys out there - I don't want to have to compete with both guys AND girls. That's just a waste of my energy. The "bi" girl started talking about how much she loves thighs and breasts and curves. Usually that kind of talk gets me hot, but I just wasn't interested in hearing it from this bi idiot. I roll my eyes and walk away.

Then I moved on to another girl and gave her the same story. "Well I just do it because it's fun!" she replied, finishing off her pink drink and flashing me a big smile. She leaned in closer and asked, "So, you work for CS?"

So maybe I didn't get an answer I was hoping for. But I did get a blow job in the bathroom from the girl who thought I worked for CS. All in all it wasn't a bad night.

The Taco Defense

2007-07-14T13:56:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Jake and I were having Mexican. What can I say, sometimes I like to slum it.

"These tacos are so messy," Jake says to me. I roll my eyes at him.

"You clearly don't know how to eat a taco," I tell him. Jake shrugs his shoulders, not understanding. I sigh at him. "Get a broom and dustpan for clean up, Jake, 'cause I'm about to drop some knowledge."

"You see, Jake," I say, "tacos are like women. Sure you can just hold it normal and try and eat it, but then stuff is going to fall out all over the place. Lettuce out the side, sour cream down your hand, guac all over the place. No. No, that simply won't work. You can't expect the taco to adjust to you, you've got to adjust to the taco." I pick up my taco and demonstrate.

"You've got to tilt your head so you can eat the taco from the angle it stays together best. You've got to go to the taco, you can't make the taco come to you. And you've got to be gentle. Don't wrap it too tight. You're not trying to squeeze the contents out." Jake nods, as if he understands. I seriously doubt it.

"Women are the same way. You can't expect them to adjust to you, you've got to adjust to them."

I may have been called a jackass once or twice by a woman (or, okay, 72 times), but I know what I'm doing.

My New Favorite Beatle

2007-07-10T21:27:00.001-05:00

The other night Samuel left the new Paul McCartney CD at my place. Usually I wouldn't listen to such "soft" music, but I thought I'd pop it in and listen.

On track two, My Ever Present Past, Paul starts off by singing, "I've got too much on my plate, don't have no time to be a decent lover."

Maybe Paul is a cooler guy than I thought.

Asian Sensations

2007-07-09T10:07:00.000-05:00

Last night I was having a couple of drinks out with Jake at The Hunt Club. Over his shoulder I watched a group of hot Asian kittens walk in. I elbow Jake. "Check it out," I say, "Phi Delta Dry Cleaners."

Jake rubbernecks, turning to see the chicks walk in. "Phi Delta Dry Cleaners?" he asks. "What? Because they're Asian?"

"Would you prefer something more like Kappa Mani Pedi?" I pause. "Y'know, because they'll probably end up running nail salons."

Abort Operation

2007-07-06T11:03:00.000-05:00

I think I've given up on finding a hottie dog walker to walk my imaginary beagle, Edgar. Things started to unravel after I responded to Lindsey, the gymnastics coach and babysitter by saying, "I think it's great that you have other jobs too, especially great ones like gymnastics coach and babysitter. Being involved with kids is great. Having jobs that make it easy for you to slip into stereotypical male fantasies is even better." Lindsey didn't take too kindly to that.

Then I had a good couple emails with Sarah, the chick I posted a picture of, but I soon found out that when she said, "I have only been a beautiful woman for about 3 years, and it's been so exciting. But people have found me sexy, attractive, and, yes, hot, for much longer than that," she wasn't trying to be funny like I first suspected. It turned out that she used to be a dude and had gotten a sex change operation three years ago. Sure, that's all fine and good, but I think Edgar has a thing against being walked by a post-op.

I got a few other responses, but nothing too exciting. All in all this plan turned out to be a bust. There's got to be a more efficient way to meet chicks. I mean, c'mon!

Where Are They Now?

2007-07-05T19:47:00.000-05:00

The other night while out at a bar I run into a few women I went to high school with. Since I skipped my high school reunion a few years back I ask about the usual suspects from high school.

"What about Cathy?" I ask them. Cathy was this total skank I dated in high school. She had the potential to either turn way hot and be out of my league now, or she could be a total meth addict.

"She's doing good," one of the women informs me. "Her son is almost 11 now."

An 11-year-old?! I like to think that falls somewhere in between 'out of my league' and 'meth addict'. I can live with that.

They Took the Bait

2007-07-03T22:48:00.000-05:00

So I've gotten a couple responses to my ad on Craigslist looking for a hot girl to be my dog walker. Which isn't a euphemism, but it should be one. "She could totally walk my dog anytime." Yeah.

The first one was from a girl named Lindsey who started off her email asking, "Can I ask why you want a hot dog walker?" She lost major points by doing that. But then she mentioned, "I am 26, a gymnastics coach, and I'd say I'm pretty good looking." A gymnastics coach?! Gymnastics chicks are a goldmine! Can you say flexible? She continued with, "I am babysitting during the week but at odd hours. I live in Lakeview and would love to help you out." A gymnast AND a babysitter? I've had wet dreams like this. But then Lindsey rounds up her email with, "But only if you give me a good reason why you want a hot dog walker:)"

No one likes a chick who asks too many questions, Linsdey. I'm no different. Plus, she didn't attach a picture. That's a big negative in my book.

The second email I got was from this chick named Sarah who wrote, "I'm really excited about this job, because it sounds like fun ;)" I'm really excited about Sarah because she sounds like she's easy. After that I think she was attempting to be funny or something because she wrote, "I have only been a beautiful woman for about 3 years, and it's been so exciting. But people have found me sexy, attractive, and, yes, hot, for much longer than that. (I'll be 29 on Friday) So, you will not be disappointed, honey ;)" Don't hot girls know that they shouldn't try and be funny? It's like when Jim Carey tries to be a serious actor. Disaster!

Sarah did send a pic though, which I'm posting below (with a black bar across her eyes, 'cause I'm classy like that).

Unfortunately both girls are only "maybes". Lindsey, because she asks too many questions. Sarah, because she's almost 30. What do I look like, a rest stop for old people?

I'll keep you guys updated.

Walk the Dog

2007-07-02T15:32:00.001-05:00

"I cannot find a dogsitter!" Stacy vented to me the day over lunch. "Why don't you just put an ad on Craigslist?" I asked her, eating my chicken salad sandwich.

"Everytime I put an ad on Craigslist the only responses I get are from dumb college girls who are all, 'Ooh, I used to walk a chiuaua,' or some bullshit like that." At this point it's important for me to mention that Stacy owns two rottweilers. Needless to say, those kind of girls probably couldn't handle Stacy's dogs.

After thinking for a minute I begin to stroke my chin menacingly. "Only responses from dumb college girls, eh?"

Stacy sees where I'm going. "You should set up an interview and then, oops! Rover had an unfortunate accident earlier that morning, and you're a mess and need consoling real bad. No girl is going to leave you in that vulnerable state."

"That's a gold mine!" I announce. "How have I not thought of this before?"

My Craigslist ad is up here.

But in case they take it down, it reads:

Looking for a Hot Dogwalker for My Beagle (Lincoln Park/Lakeview)
Reply to: gigs-365223100@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-02, 4:26PM CDT

I'm searching for a hot girl in her early 20s to walk my beagle in the middle of the day a few days a week. He's a friendly guy and shouldn't be too much trouble.

It'd be really helpful if you attach a pic with your response.

Movin' On Up?

2007-06-30T13:57:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been thinking of moving, as my 2 bedroom, 1.5 bath condo in Lakeview with a view of the park has been feeling a bit, well, cramped.

Some of the new construction in the south loop is pretty nice, so I've been looking at places down there to buy.

"I can't believe you might move to the south loop," Jake says to me. "That's so hip and trendy."

"Yeah," I tell him, "that's me. Hip, trendy, and wanting to aid with with neighborhood gentrification."

The Perks of Being a Male

2007-06-24T11:35:00.000-05:00

The company I work for can be strict about their dress code sometimes (no thanks to a 'mo wearing something with sparkles to work a few years back). One of those rules is no jeans.

The other day Bethany walked into the office wearing jeans. "You're wearing jeans," Alex said, pointing out the obvious. "Stephen [the CEO of our company] said I could," Bethany responded. "Well why do you get to wear jeans?" Alex whined. "Stephen says women can just get away with wearing things men sometimes cant," Bethany replied, shrugging her shoulders and walking off.

Alex turned to me. "She gets to wear jeans, Reggie, just because she's a woman. That's not fair." I hate Alex's wining and I try and think of a way to shut him up. "Look on the bright side," I said, not looking up from browsing The Superficial, "We don't bleed from our crotch once a month, and we know we're guaranteed to make $1 for every 75 cents she makes." I look up at him and smile, "Sounds like a fair trade to me, no?"

Bad Date

2007-06-21T09:12:00.001-05:00

I'm sad to report that my date with Ellie (the most recent girl out of my "How Soon is Now?" box) went less than stellar. Never before has it been so easy to see the line blurred between 'stupid teenager' and 'stupid person'.

I took Ellie down to Carmines over on Rush, and we stopped at the bar for a drink before going to our table. "I want champagne," Ellie pouted to the bartender. "Would you like something sweeter or dryer, miss?" the bartender asked. Ellie stared at him, confused. After debating for a few seconds she said, "I want something in a glass." "Something sweeter will be fine," I told the bartender.

She then laid her head on my shoulder and wined, "I'm hungry. When are we eating?" So that was that for drinks at the bar.

Once we got to the table I ordered us some calamari fritti and told Ellie it was just funny shaped onion rings so that she'd eat it. Nonetheless, even with food in her system, she started complaining again. "When are we leaving?" she asked, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head in her hands. She looked like she was a five-year-old, but at the angle she was leaning I could see down her dress, so I didn't complain. "Leaving?" I asked, "we just got here." "But we've already eaten," she said. I looked at her in disbelief. "Honey, that was an appetiser." She sighed and slumped backwards into her chair.

"Another glass of champagne?" our waiter asked Ellie when he came back to our table. "It was that mixture between dry and sweet," Ellie announced 'helpfully'. "It was the moscato," I told the bartender. I quickly looked through my jacket pockets to see if I had anything left over from Dr. Phil, but with no luck.

By the end of the night Ellie had finished five glasses of champagne and her defenses were low enough for me to get a hand job before I dropped her back off at her parents house. Unfortunately, I got an angry phone call from her father this morning telling me that next time he sees me at the club he's going to "pull my intestines out through my ass" and that I'm a "sick, deprived human being who should be ashamed of myself for taking advantage of a girl twelve years younger than I am." Personally, it sounds to me like Richard is just jealous. I wonder how much Ellie told him.

It also sounds like I should avoid the club for a while.

At Least I've Known Her for 6 Years

2007-06-18T11:51:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow night I have a date with a newly eligible hottie from my "How Soon is Now?" box. Her name is Ellie, and I'm friends with her parents. I've known Ellie since she was about 12.

A few weeks ago I got her 18th birthday invitation in the mail and quickly made a note in my Blackberry that she'd be coming out of the box soon.

"So how does it feel to be 18?" I asked her, sitting on the arm of a sofa at her birthday party this weekend. She shrugged and looked at me a bit like she didn't understand the question. "You feel any older? Any more like an adult?" I asked. She half sneered and said, "It's okay, I guess."

"You'll feel more grown up soon," I told her, rubbing her back reassuringly. No bra strap,I thought. Nice.

"I was thinking maybe I could take you out for a birthday dinner," I continued, moving my hand around a bit on her back, making sure she wasn't wearing one of those new bullshit convertible bras that have an odd configuration of the straps. "Dinner?" she asked, her sneer returning.

"Nothing special," I said, "just some dinner and drinks." Her eyes lit up a bit at this. "Drinks?" she asked. I nodded nonchalantly. "I won't tell if you don't."

SAT Analogy Question: "Taking Candy From" is to "Baby", as "________" is to "Girls Under 21."

The answer? "Giving Alcohol To."

With skills like that it's no surprise I got a 1550 on my SATs.

The Vagina Epilogue

2007-06-15T09:33:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Janice informed me that she hurt her vagina. "Dare I ask how?" I asked, not looking up from my bagel.

"Freak manhole cover accident," she says to me. For your own sake, I won't go into the specifics with you people.

In my head I start to debate which is worse: The image of a vagina that's black and blue (yuck!), or the fact that a lesbian hurt herself on a manhole. Oh, the irony is exhausting!

I Wonder if Jeff Ever Did These Things

2007-06-12T08:34:00.000-05:00

The other night I was flipping around the channels and The Big Chill was on.

"Everyone does everything just to get laid," Jeff Goldblum says at one point, as they're all sitting around. "Who said that? Freud?" JoBeth Williams asks. "No, I did," Jeff corrects.

Oh Jeff, you're so wise.

That being said, a few things I've done in the past week in an attempt to get laid:

-Went back to a convenience store to buy a second newspaper.
-Pretended I spoke French.
-Acted like I didn't know my best friend, who was acting like an idiot.
-Bought a pair of $120 shoes.
-Said the phrase, "You're a Virgo? I'M a Virgo!" (despite the fact that I am not actually a Virgo).
-Attempted to bench press 200 lbs.
-Bought a Meredith Brooks CD.
-Pretended to look busy by texting myself.

Thank God I'm More Evolved

2007-06-11T11:05:00.000-05:00

Last night Stacey called me crying, telling me that Ryan had broken up with her. I didn't particularly care, but I had 15 minutes until the Sopranos came on so I had some time to kill.

"The worst part," she tells me, "is that he dumped me for a midget." "He's dating a midget now?" I ask, incredulously.

"Well she's got midget arms," Stacey clarifies. Midget arms? "What are those?" I ask.

"Like, you know, the short little stubby arms. Midget arms." "Ah," I say, "T-rex arms." That is pretty bad.

The whole conversation made me realize how dumb guys can be, and how they can have so little regard for women's feelings.

Speaking of women, have I told you about the new girl I'm seeing? She's not really anything special, but man, she's got a great rack.

God Didn't Make Cheetos

2007-06-10T13:36:00.000-05:00

While talking with a Janice the other day, she mentions how she doesn't really believe in science.

"What do you mean you don't believe in science?" I ask her. She shrugs and tells me, "I just don't."

"So if you get cancer, praying will take care of it?" I ask. She nods.

I shake my head in disbelief. "How can you say you don't believe in science! You're eating fucking flaming hot Cheetos!"

Patience is a Virtue

2007-06-07T09:50:00.000-05:00

In yesterday's blog I mentioned my "How Soon is Now?" box. Some of you were confused by this, so let me explain.

The box is named after the Smiths song How Soon is Now (duh!), and it's sole purpose is to hold the phone numbers of girls who are not yet of the legal age of consent. Thus, the box asks the question, how soon is now?

It's simple, really. That hottie I met at Starbucks who is only 16? Her phone number goes in the "How Soon is Now?" box. My second-cousin Alecia who developed really early and is turning 18 next year? Her number goes in the "How Soon is Now?" box.

Then, when these girls DO turn 18, soon becomes now and their phone number comes out of the box.

Obviously it'd be wrong to do anything with these women now (I'm a law abiding citizen, people!), but once they're legal? Ah, the "How Soon is Now?" box is one of my favorite things. A close second to the hidden camera website run by my friend Garrett who just happens to be a janitor at the Ballys gym on Clark.

I'm Helpful

2007-06-06T17:16:00.001-05:00

Today while walking in the Loop I saw a woman with her young daughter. "Yay!" the little girl yelled, "Pigeons!"

I clapped my hands and joined her excitement. "Yay!" I exclaimed, "They're like rats with wings!"

The mother scowled at me but I just smiled back politely. Years from now that little girl will thank me. Preferably when she's of the legal age of consent (wink wink). She definitely goes in my "How Soon is Now?" box.

China Girl

2007-06-05T21:58:00.000-05:00

Earlier tonight I was in the grocery store. More specifically the "ethnic foods" aisle. I was buying Thai noodles and peanut sauce, and evidently I don't buy peanut sauce often because I was surprised by all the peanut sauce choices. Are there really this many kinds of peanut sauce? I wondered to myself.

As I stood there, staring dumbly at all the peanut sauces that sat before me, an Asian woman walked past me in the aisle. "Excuse me," I said, grabbing some peanut sauce off the shelf and turning towards her. "Can you recommend what a good brand of peanut sauce is?"

She looked me up and down and gave me a disgusted look. "What, because I'm Chinese?" she asked.

I thought for a moment. "Well, yeah."

"You're an asshole," she said, turning on her heels and walking off.

For the record, if someone asked me what brand of Awesome I would recommend I wouldn't be offended. "What, because I'm Awesome?" I would ask. "Yes," they would reply. "Well thank you," I would say, "Thank you very much."

See how easy that is?

Stalkr

2007-06-04T19:40:00.000-05:00

So you know the photo sharing site Flickr? Yeah, that's so last year. I'm part of this photo sharing site called Stalkr.

Basically it's a website for stalkers who want to share pictures of the people they're stalking. Like my stalkee, Jenny.

Oh, if only Jenny knew some of the pictures I had of her. Unfortunately Stalkr is G rated. Oh well.

I'm Practically Albert Schweitzer

2007-06-03T20:36:00.000-05:00

The other day Josh, my "always helpful" lifecoach suggested I sponsor a child from a third-world country. I put "always helpful" in quotes because he's actually a pain in my ass. But the community service is going slower than I thought it would, so time off for good behavior is all I can think of right now. Imagine, Paris Hilton and I have something in common.

I set about Googling "sponsor third-world child" and found a little guy named Desiderio at www.worldvision.org. I got a picture of him, and in return he got a chunk of my hard earned money. The website suggests that you write a letter to the kid you're sponsoring so I'm working on a draft. Any feedback would be welcome. The letter goes:

"Dear Desi,

You got some splainin' to do! HAHA! Just kidding! That's from an old TV show called I Love Lucy. Do you have a television? What shows do you like to watch? I'm really into that show My Super Sweet 16 on MTV. Man, there are some babes on that show. I did some research and the legal age of consent is 16 in Iowa, Ohio, Kentucky, and a few other hick states. Do you know what a hick is? So the other night I went out to dinner with my friend Samuel. We both got lobster and they were so huge we couldn't eat all of it so we got doggy bags for the leftovers. But then we forgot the bags at the restaurant. Oh well, I guess they just had to throw our food out. Anyway, I'm including a sack of rice for you to share with your family. I hope you like it. I gotta go now, the pizza delivery guy is here. Hey, his name is Desi too!"

What do you think? Too much heart?

My Zen Place is Overrated

2007-05-29T10:00:00.001-05:00

The other night I had to meet some friends downtown at Cru for a little late-night wine and food.

I get there and know most of the people, with the exception of this sneering bitch named Ashli (Yes, spelled just like that). Somehow I end up sitting next to Ashli and I reluctantly start talking with her. Then, after a few minutes of conversation she asks, "So you're gay, right?"

I give her the same disgusted look I gave the "genius" at the Apple store when I said I wanted an iPod and they assumed I meant an iPod mini.

"No," I told her. "I'm not gay. At all." She looked confused. "Oh. Sorry."

I tried to not let the fact that this woman assumed I was a little 'mo bother me, and continued on with the conversation. Only after a few more minutes she nonchalantly reached for my glass of fume blanc and took a sip. "Oh, help yourself," I offered as she was in mid-sip.

She looked back at me apologetically, as if she didn't realize what she had just done. "I'm sorry," she offered, "you don't have AIDS or anything, do you?"

That was it. She had stepped on my last nerve. I was about to go off on her when I looked across the table and noticed a pleading look from Jenny, a friend of hers who was normal and who I desperately wanted to sleep with. So I took a deep breath and replied. "No. No I don't have AIDS."

See? I was capable of using my words in a civilized way.

But just when I had reached my zen place I remembered what I had left in my jacket pocket. When she turned her head (probably to insult the person on the other side of her), I swiftly reached into my jacket pocket, gave the bag a look over for good measure, and quickly dumped the contents into her wine glass.

By the time I left Cru a half hour later she had already passed out. "She must just be tired," a friend offered. And while I'm sure if they had bothered to check her pulse they would have come up with a different diagnosis, who was I to correct them?

Dr. Phil (my drug dealer, not the TV therapist) was right; everyone could use some G.

At First Sight

2007-05-28T10:21:00.000-05:00

Today I think I found my dream girl on Craigslist.

semi-cute, partial sense of humor, complete jerk - 25
Reply to: pers-339647757@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-05-28, 1:16AM CDT

I'm cute 50% of the time, I have a sense of humor 50% of the time, and I'm a jerk 100% of the time; however, I'm not a no-talent-ass-clown. I like scrawny, NOT short, pretentious republican foodies. If you're looking for a good time, I'm not it.

Holy crap! Love match? I think so.

Drug Deal

2007-05-23T10:48:00.000-05:00

My drug dealer is a cabbie named Dr. Phil (no relation to the TV host). When I asked him why he deals drugs and drives a cab he told me that driving makes it easier for him to get to his clients. His efficiency immediatly made me like him.

The other night Dr. Phil tells me he'll be in front of my house in 5 and to meet him downstairs. When he pulls up to my building I get into the back of his cab and he starts circling the block.

"I've got some good shit for you," he says. "Plus I've got some G I'm throwing in, half off." I tell him that's sweet of him, but I don't need any GHB. "Everyone could use some G," Dr. Phil tells me. I shake my head and refuse to take it.

"Jesus," Dr. Phil says. "Here, just take this little bit on the house. It's a deal." Unfortunately it's a deal I don't need.

I instantly think of Samuel, and the few times I've gone grocery shopping with him. "Look at this two-for-one deal!" he'll trumpet. "But you don't even eat that kind of cereal," I'll remind him. That's not important to him. The great deal is.

Now, siting in the back of Dr. Phil's cab, I'm in a similar situation. I reluctantly take the tiny bag of GHB in powder form and stick it into my inside jacket pocket. I pull out my money and hand it to him and he pulls back up in front of my building.

"Trust me," Dr. Phil urges, "you'll use it."

What the hell am I supposed to do with G?

I Use Cricket and Tennis

2007-05-12T12:39:00.000-05:00

Last night may have been the first time in history that a person became less attractive as the night went on and I drank more. Usually it's the other way around, no?

Jill was cute enough when I first met her out, with a kind of sarcastic Tina Fey look to her. But I don't have to tell you how deceiving bar lighting and sitting down can be.

You see, when talking about women most men operate on the base system (first base, second base, etc). I Operate on both tennis scoring and cricket scoring. Tennis scoring comes into play when talking about my feelings for the girl. Do I like her 15? Do I like her 30? Do I like her 40? Or do I feel Love about her? Of course, as any tennis player will tell you, Love equals 0 points. Needless to say, my shrink is a busy guy.

The cricket scoring comes into play when I'm fooling around with someone (here, in lieu of the base system). Let's just say that last night with Jill I ran between the wickets.

This morning I woke up before she did, helped myself to a slice of the pizza she had drunkenly ordered last night when we got back to her place, and slipped out the front door. To borrow another cricket term, that would be called a run out.

The Patch: Day 3

2007-05-09T01:25:00.000-05:00

With the smoking ban looming in Chicago (about 7 months left) I figure now is as good a time as any to quit. This is the logic that led me to purchase The Patch three days ago.

"I've got money on how long it'll be 'til you break down and have a cigarette," Janice tells me. Janice is a surly lesbian co-worker of mine. The kind of lesbian who you suspect became a lesbian simply because she couldn't get a man. "Oh really?" I ask her.

She nods. "Yup. Plus you're going to get fat now that you've quit," she adds.

I shrug. "I may gain a few pounds," I tell her, "but I'm secure knowing that at least there's no way I'll get to the weight that you're at.

Buy a Map

2007-05-07T08:24:00.000-05:00

The other day I'm taking the Brown Line up to Lincoln Square to grab Thai with Samuel. Somewhere just north of the Loop two women who wreak of the suburbs (seriously, you could smell it on them) board the train.

They use words such as "like", "totally" and "loves it" as though they own stock in the words. They begin gushing how much fun the Cubs game is going to be, and I feel a bit of relief knowing that they'll transfer to the Red Line soon and I won't have to listen to them for much longer.

Only they don't transfer at Fullerton. And they don't transfer at Belmont. And then it slowly dawns on me: Oh! They think Wrigley Field is at the Brown Line Addison stop, not the Red Line Addison stop. For those of you unfamiliar with Chicago transit, I tell you now that Wrigley Field is not at the Red Line stop. Not even close, really.

Watching them excitedly get off at the wrong train stop several minutes later almost made all those "like"s, "totally"s and "loves it"s worth it. Almost.

Eavesdropper

2007-05-05T15:08:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I wrote about how Harriet called me with news of marriage. As I was on the phone with her having that conversation the woman on the train sitting next to me couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"I couldn't help but overhear," she said, "but your ex is getting married?"

I nod. "It's very odd. The good news is, it's an open bar and I get to bring a date." The woman raises an eyebrow and asks, "Oh really?"

I didn't lie when I told Harriet I was single. Ironically, her calling me on the phone got me a date.

Here Comes the Bride

2007-05-04T14:46:00.000-05:00

So my ex, Harriet, calls me the other day. "I'm getting married," she announces. I try not to act like I'm phased and ask, "And who is the young man?"

She tells me his name, and I congratulate her. Then: "So A)Will there be an open bar, and B) Can I bring a date?"

"Sure," she says. "I know you're probably dating someone."

"I'm not dating anyone," I tell her. "I am, however, still a big drinker. So how about that bar?"

Thanks, But No Thanks

2007-05-03T14:50:00.000-05:00

The other day I was talking to Jenny.

"I'm totally going to take this weekend to catch up the latest episodes of Lost she tells me excitedly. "Where at you at right now?" I ask.

"That woman has just landed on the island and said Desmond's name," she says. "So wait," I say, "then have you gotten to the part where she tells them that flight 815 was found and there were no survivors?"

Jenny stares at me hard and scowls. "No! Thanks a lot!" she says and storms off.

Something tells me that her "thank you" wasn't genuine.

Parents Are So Ungrateful

2007-05-02T14:52:00.000-05:00

Last weekend my mother drags me to visit uncle Sal in a nursing home.

"I remember when you were little," she tells me, "you used to say that you would put me in a nice nursing home when I got old." She pauses. "One with a pool."

I nod and smile at her. "Don't worry mom, I'll still make good on that," I tell her.

She should be grateful. She doesn't have a pool where she lives now. It'd be a step up, no?

Going Up

2007-05-01T14:51:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I get into my elevator and press "8".

As the doors start to close I see someone walking across the lobby, towards the elevator.

I do not reach for the "Hold Door" button.