It's Time

April was a looooooong time ago.  Here's a quick list of things I've done over the last eight (8!) months: drank a bunch (including this Captain and Coke I'm currently drinking), celebrated an extended Memorial Day weekend in South Dakota where I drank a bunch, enjoyed the shit out of summer with quite a few drinks, tailgated 7 home games for the Browns which, shockingly, included all kinds of drinking.  In between, I helped celebrate my dad's 60th(!) birthday, was a groomsman at a good friend's wedding, went cabrewing (canoeing with coolers) with about 8 college friends, went to the Pitchfork Music Fest, saw Neil Young and Crazy Horse, accidentally stole some poor girl's keys from the bar, and even managed to keep my job. 

There's not a chance I could recount all of these magical memories, and I won't even try.  Mostly because there are a LOT of fuzzy details.  And also because that would be very boring to read:
"In the third week of April, I did this.  The next week I went here.  Then I did this."

See?  Not exciting.  But you know what is exciting?  Stories about my friends.
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I went to a college party my first night freshman year and one of the many people I was introduced to was a guy named Reggie.  Only his actual name wasn't Reggie, it was Garrett.   Reggie was from Brooklyn and in school for some sort of music bullshit.  He talked about Sisqo a lot and I just assumed he was a big Dru Hill and/or "Thong Song" fan.  Who amongst us isn't?  Well it turns out he was actually talking about the other, less known Sisqo, spelled Cisco.  Which apparently is some computer program.  Or company.  Regardless, Reggie liked to get smashed and well, so did I. 

Reggie was a member of the fraternity that I ended up joining, so we spent a lot of time together. I ended up moving into the fraternity house my second year and managed to move right next door to him.  Things were looking up!  He was two years older, so he could buy booze, which was helpful.  We got along so great that year.  The next year (my third, his fourth-ish), we again lived next door to each other.  It was around this time that we'd get into playful shouting matches, or he'd pretend to be mad and punch things.  Anyways, we also cooled off by playing music really loud for each other.  This was always Reg's fave:   

By this time, the nickname Reggie had worn off and several names were throw around for him: Garrett morphed into Dale Jarrett (based off former NASCARist of the same name), which led to Dale Garrett, which led to just Dale, which then led to longer names like Dale Ass Garrett, and even to Dale Ass Bitch Ass Garrett.  He also went by Karl for a few weeks, although sadly, that one didn't stick.  I can't really explain why Reg went through so many nicknames.  (It's also worth noting that one of my sisters even gave him a nickname: Reggie Redbird, after the Illinois St. mascot of the same name.  Dude was a magnet for nicknames.)  Was Garrett not good enough for us?  I like to think it was too good for us, that we weren't worthy enough to use it and thus had to improvise.  

By this point, I was a senior and still living next door to Dale (which is my preferred name for him).  It should be pointed out again, Dale is two years older and thus he was on his fifth and a half year.  When asked about that, he always liked to say "why leave the party at 10pm when you can stay an extra year and a half to rack up debt?"  He was just good with quotes like that. 

Sadly, Dale finally got up the courage to graduate and leave me behind.  I'll never forget him walking out the house his last day with tears in his eyes.  I think it was because he was going to miss me.  Ask him though, he'll probably tell you it was the final low blow I delivered as he walked out.  Best buds til the end, always joking. 

Dale eventually found a job and moved to the zoo.  Not an actual zoo (though he could probably fit in!!) but to Kalamazoo.  Again, everything associated with Reg has a nickname.  He lived in the Zoo for a few years, toiling away for the government.  Typical hardworking Dale.  We managed to see each other every so often: he visited my parent's place in Chicago once, I managed to make the trek to the Zoo, plus it helped that he always came back to Ohio to get his haircut.  Someone with the hairstyles of Dale doesn't let just any Hair Cuttery/Super Cuts/Super Hair Cuttery touch his locks.  Understandable too.

I eventually moved away from home while Dale was still in the Zoo.  We were thousands of miles and one time zone apart, but we still managed to make time.  There was the time he and a  few of his entourage came down to Austin to visit me.  Just some great bonding time.  The story can be revisited here. 

I eventually made my way back to the Midwest and was closer to Dale again!  In the almost year I've been in Cleveland, I bet he's gotten at least 20 haircuts.  Chuck (his barber) must be a modern day Edward Scissorhands!!  And yes, that's his barber's real name.  Best buds reveal details like that. 

But sadly, Dale is no longer with us.  Wait, he's still alive.  That could've been worded better.  He's just no longer in this country.  Big Dale Ass Garret, who went to college 40 minutes from home, who moved three and a half hours away to Michigan, who DROVE THREE AND A HALF HOURS BACK HOME TO GET HIS HAIRCUT, has moved to the Doucheland.  Or Deutschland, same thing.  The kid who, when sent to his room by his dad, would open the window and scream with all his might, "SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE, THEY LOCKED ME IN MY ROOM."  The same dude who tolerated more jokes, more low blows, more chairs stacked up against his door, more playings of this, was peer pressured into buying more rounds, had more nicknames than ANYONE I've ever known.  THAT guy is now on a different continent, six hours ahead.  (He's basically living in the future!)  I'm not going to miss Dale.  Or Karl.  Or Gabe (called him that for a night or two).  Or Dale Ass.  Or even Reggie Redbird.  I'm going to miss Garrett.  Ha, just kidding, he'll always be Dale Ass Bitch Ass Garrett to me.  Jokesters til the end!!

Never forget where you came from DABAG.  And if you do happen to forget, I've got a song that might help you remember....

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I'm sorry if you didn't find that exciting.  Maybe next time I really will just recount my last 8 months.  In a quick moment of fun though, here's a list of phrases I Googled for this post: laissez faire, bourgeois, Sisqo, deutschland, welcome to the black parade, toby keith.  Some of them I obviously used.  Others though, I wanted to fit in but couldn't find a good place. 
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If you come back, I'll come back.

Mailbag!!

In my month and a half absence, quite a few of you have sent emails asking some normal and some personal questions.  I'm going to take this time to publicly answer those.  First time ever doing this, but I apologize for nothing. 

What do you think about that Kony guy?
It's about this time that I should mention some of these questions are a bit older than others.  With that being said, I might be one of only a handful of people who never actually watched the Kony video, which basically owned the Internet for about 48 hours a few months back.  Mostly because I don't want to watch anything on the Internet that is longer than 3-4 minutes, tops.  Funny 45 second video of an elephant smacking a dumbass with it's trunk?  Definitely recommend.  Back on topic though, I have no thoughts. 

Is it true you were out at the bars until 2am on Easter Sunday?

Word travels quickly I see.  This is correct.  My parents and oldest sister Katie came out to visit over the Easter weekend.  All four of us stayed in my one bedroom apartment.  Nothing makes a family closer than being forced to be together.  Over three days, we went to eight different bars.  Friday night, we started off at a Belgian bar, the Beir Markt.  Belgian bars have lots of beers that are high in alcohol content.  My dad, who generally drinks MGD, ended up getting pretty smashed off 8 and 10% beers.  Throughout the night we also ventured to the Great Lakes Brewery and the Market Garden Brewery, which also have high alcohol content beers.  The beers we had were much higher alcohol than what any of us would normally drink.  It just happened to hit my dad harder than any of us. 

The four of us eventually returned to my apartment that night, yet Katie and I decided we would walk to a few bars near my place.  Drunk as he was, my dad also decided to join.  I have seen my dad drunk many times throughout the years.  But it's usually been at home and not at a bar.  The three of us walk the six blocks to the bar and it was evident that he needed to be carefully looked after, for fear of wandering into the street.  Mind you, this isn't a busy street or anything, but still an active street nonetheless.  We ended up having one beer there before walking back.  Pretty solid first night. 

Saturday was very touristy.  We stopped by the Westside Market, which sells a bunch of fresh shit.  Like a flea market, but for food.  We bought chocolate covered pretzels and pizza bagels.  Who says the O'Ds aren't sophisticated?  Well the next stop was at the Cleveland Museum of Art.  Luckily it was only open for another hour after got there, because I was not into looking at antique furniture and frescoes all day.  Later that night, Kate and I did the usual bar crawl through my neighborhood, this time without pops.  I don't think he had another beer all weekend after Friday night.  Poor guy.

Sunday was Easter and as an Irish Catholic family, we celebrated accordingly: with mimosas.  As the day wore on, the drinking continued.  Again, for just Katie and I as dad was tuckered out after day one.  The four of us eventually made our way to some neighborhood bars.  After a beer or two, it was at this point that I had to make a decision: either go home with my parents and be functioning for work on Monday, or continue on.  That decision came and went real quick.  Katie and I persisted on, going on a semi-bar crawl through Tremont. 

We ended up at the Flying Monkey which just happened to have Sunday karaoke going on.  We sat and sang along (at least I did) for a solid hour.  The DJ did his best to try and get us to sign up but neither of us were having it.  I love to sing, but I had only done actual karaoke one time in my life.  It was a Tom Petty song at a renovated pool hall in Oak Lawn, Illinois, back when I was in college and home on break.  Not my finest moment but definitely broke my cherry.  It was at this time during the night that the time honored tradition of Katie and I doing carbombs started to begin.

Proof

 

 

When it was Katie's turn for a round, she came back and told me she had signed me up for karaoke.  I of course assumed she was lying.  She's a pretty bad liar.  But she didn't do her usual give-away smile.  And then the DJ called out for "John doing Journey" a few times and I knew she wasn't lying.  I got up there and belted the shit out of "Don't Stop Believing."  In my mind, I was basically Steve Perry up there.  Pretty glad I didn't hear any audience member's perspectives.  If you do karaoke and don't think you nailed it, why bother doing karaoke?  Who gives a shit about other people.  Mark that down kids, that's inspirational.

So to get back to the actual question, yes we were out until 2am.  My alarm goes off at 7:18am.  Monday was a fucking awful day at work.  But totally worth it.  Jesus himself would have been proud.

What are your plans for this Saturday?

I have three options:a college friend's birthday gathering down in Akron (where I just was this past weekend), a friend's dog's birthday party, and roller derby.  Sorry Zitko, the other two are closer and asked first.  Plus we just got Zeused multiple times this past weekend. 

What did you do at work on Wednesday?

Went to a meeting at a minimum security female prison, why do you ask?  And to the honeys getting out in 2-5 years, call me!!

As someone who's half Irish, how was your St. Patrick's Day? 

Glad you asked, mystery person.  I happened to be at home in Chicago for this past St. Patty's Day.  The main reason for being home was to see my uncle in from Arizona.  The other reason was to attend my sister Keri's wedding.  I had taken that Friday and Monday off work.  I knew I was going to need time to recover.  The wedding did not disappoint.  It had a Blues Brothers theme, for the groomsmen at least.  We had the black skinny ties, the hats, and everyone had the black sunglasses which were quite the hit. 

When I go to weddings, I tend to take the open bar as a challenge, which sometimes has lead to less than positive results.  So my goal for this wedding was to remember it and not make an ass out of myself or anyone else.  Considering my track record, this would not be so easy.  But I decided I would drink only beer instead of doing my usual, double fisting two 7 and 7s.  This proved to be a great idea as I remember a lot of the night and didn't end up attempting to walk home 3 miles.  Winner all around. 

Shout out to my 16 year old cousin who asked me to get him a Jack and Coke from the bar.  Stupid cousin.  Had you asked for a beer, I would have gladly gotten you one or four.  But to go directly to Jack?  That's just being greedy.  And stupid.  Let's not forget that Jack is stupid and awful and should only be taken under extreme supervision and peer pressure. 

There were obviously a thousand pictures taken during the wedding, but I only want to share two, so bear with me. 

You can kind of see the Blues Brothers theme here.  My finger in the air is a patented dance move I do, so please do not steal it.  It is especially useful when you have drinks in your hand.  It only requires you to alternate pointing index fingers in the air and moving your shoulders.  Even I can do this dance.  My aforementioned parents in the background. 

Weddings are pretty fun.

My aforementioned sisters on either side.  Not exactly sure what is going on here, but I'll attempt to break it down.  You can see a mixed drink in my right hand and a beer in my left.  This tells me that it was towards the end of the night, as I had a self imposed embargo on mixed drinks.  You know, the whole "hoping to remember this night" thing.  So that means it was close to bar closing time.  Keri, the bride on the left, appears to be not only drinking a High Life, but also sending a Mortal Kombat fireball in Katie's direction.  Or doing the robot, which is TOTALLY feasible.  The robot is generally the go-to dance for Keri and I, when I'm not doing to the two index finger jive.  Katie, on the right, seems to have been hit by something.  Or smells something.  Which is also totally feasible.   

Pretty fucking fun.

Weddings are pretty fun.  Even more so when you remember them.  If anyone needs seat fillers at a wedding reception (I cannot stress how much I do not need to be at the ceremony), please feel free to contact me.  I promise to make great conversation with other table guests, not get terribly smashed, and to tear up the dance floor.  Seriously, call me. 

What kind of music are you listening to lately?
Excellent question as I am a huge music fan.  Obsessions as of late include: Alabama Shakes, Avicii, and Neon Trees.  Lollapalooza happens in Chicago each August and the lineups were just released earlier this week.  I would very much like to attend all three days.  The only problem? Three days passes are sold out and individual tickets are $95 per fucking day.  So either need to bite the bullet and get all three days, whittle my choices down to a day or two, or win some kind of pot of money.  I'm banking on options one and three. 

Last and final question of the night:
Were any of these questions real and from actual readers? 
No, no they weren't.  That was just my way of steering the conversation. 

Thursday, Going on Friday

Jumped in the shower before work this past morning.  As I'm going about my business, I notice a small trail of blood flowing down my chest.  I followed it up to a pin sized cut on my neck.  No idea how it happened or why it started to bleed midway through my shower.  Obviously it stopped and I didn't think anything of it. 

Fast forward about four or five hours.  I'm sitting at my desk at work, actually being productive.  All of a sudden, it feels like my chest is wet.  Like I'm sweating.  I may be out of shape and lazy, but I do not sweat sitting at a computer.  Unless the URL begins with por and ends in nhub.com.  I reach down my shirt and my hand makes it look like I've been stabbed.  I immediately freak out and see blood all over my collar, undershirt, and leaking down my chest again.  I have no idea how long I had been bleeding.  Judging by the stains, it was a good five minutes or more. 

I checked my surroundings, made sure no one was around, and bolted for the bathroom.  I get in there and see this tiny ass pinhole leaking blood like the faucet was left on.  Not gushing or anything, but a solid stream.  Another guy from my floor walked in and noticed I had a paper towel on my neck and asked if I was bleeding.  Told him I had cut myself shaving.  Solid lie right on the spot.  I wish it had been a shaving cut, at least then I could blame something.    

I cleaned myself up.  It was a good thing I was wearing a sweater over my button up shirt that day.  I rarely do this but it came in clutch.  It pretty much hid the blood stain.  For the rest of the day, a solid four hours still, I was paranoid the leak would happen again.  It must have been every three minutes I touched my neck to see if the blood was trickling again.  It hasn't happened since, for which I am grateful. 

This is me at work.  I sent this pic to a few friends, including one "doctor" to see if they could diagnose me.  No such luck. 

Dapper

And this was when I got home and was able to see the extent of the damage.  It soaked through this shirt and stained my undershirt as well.  I just did laundry tonight and by no means did this stain go away.  Either I need to come up with a good story about meeting a girl or I need to take it home and have my mom clean it for me. 

Stupid mystery wound

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Speaking of moms, I have one.  I can't speak for all moms (except YOUR mom) but mine liked to save the environment.  She would yell at people who threw garbage out their cars.  Obviously the other driver could never hear her, but it's the thought.  She would pick up strewn cans in the park.  And she would save and reuse the shit out of things.  I've come to realize there is no doubt it my mind that I am related to her. 

She used save all of the plastic bags she got from the grocery store.  (I say used to because she now brings her own bags)  Didn't matter that there was no way in hell we could ever use all of those bags, she saved them.  What do you know, I do the same damn thing.  If I had even less of a life than I do now, I would go and count how many plastic bags I have.  But I'll spare you.  Just know, I still have some bags from Texas.  Meaning yes, I thought enough about them to pack them away and drive 1200 miles with them.  Definitely have some Pammy in me.

Growing up, she wanted me to reuse the brown bag I would bring my lunch in.  As a kid, this was embarrassing because, well kids get embarrassed for stupid shit like this.  Fifteen years later, I can relate.  My friend's mom made me some chocolate covered pretzels, must have put 30 into a giant Ziploc bag for me.  When I finished those bastards a month later, I did what came natural.  I saved that bag.  No idea if I'll ever use it, but I have it still and Pammy would be proud. 

What does a person usually do when the hand soap runs out in their bathroom or kitchen?  Simple answer would be to refill it with soap or buy another.  Not my mom though.  She will take that last remaining soap that is not thick enough to be sucked up into the straw and add water to it.  Boom, instant soap.  My bathroom hand soap ran out the other day.  (At least it means I'm using it.) I immediately grabbed it and filled it with water.  Hell, the hand soap in my kitchen ran out a few months back while still in Austin.  I filled it with water then.  That soap is currently sitting on my kitchen sink, water still (barely) intact.  

Life lesson: my mom (and I) care more about the environment than you.  Probably.
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I live in a big ol' fucking barn.  Not an actual barn, but close enough.  Old barn-like house means drafty windows.  Which means I went all Bob Villa on them the first week I lived here and sealed them with plastic.  Bought a hair dryer to shrink the plastic and all, the works.  Four of my five windows have been sealed off for at least two months.  Now I don't know how these bastards got in there, and apparently neither do they.  Those are three dead flies.  There's a fourth one too but I couldn't get them all in the same pic.   

God I have such a shitty life.

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Two coworkers and I had a pretty intense conversation the other day.  It centered on something near and dear to all of us born in the late 80s.  We were reliving the glory days of AOL Instant Messenger which was Facebook before there was Facebook, Twitter before Twitter, etc. 

I remember making my screen name in seventh grade.  It was named after my favorite wrestler and my favorite number.  My screen name became such second nature to me that to this day, I regularly use it as my login for shit like the websites for my cable, electric, etc.  I have a Yahoo! email address at my screen name.  

I used to spend hours on AIM, compiling away messages and waiting for people to talk to me.  AIM was the greatest thing ever for about 8-10 years.  I used it throughout high school up until about junior year of college.  America Online used to have the world by the balls.  Then it just ended one day.  I don't know if you can completely blame Facebook, but I'm sure that was the beginning of the end for AIM. 

AIM was the shit.  I am quite tempted to download the program and see if any of my former AIM pals are on.  I bet fiothegeo is. 
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Going down to Columbus for the Columbus Shuffle tomorrow for the weekend.  I have three friends who have birthdays within the next week or so and a bunch of us are going down to celebrate.  No idea what to expect besides lots of booze.  

The next weekend is my sister's wedding.  On St. Patrick's Day no less.  If my family is nothing else, at least we're cliche.  So that means I'll be heading to sweet home Chicago next Thursday.  I've taken that Friday and the following Monday off so I can celebrate accordingly. 

My parent's have a two story house and a basement.  There are three beds in their house, counting their own. My mom's family is coming in from Arizona.  The number of people sleeping in the house that weekend far exceeds the number of beds or couches.  There will be my whole family (5), four from Tucson, AZ, four from Flagstaff, AZ, and three or four of my sister's friends.  Sounds like I may be adding a new room to my sleep list.  I only need the laundry room, middle and upstairs bathrooms.  Cross all your fingers.   
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Southside Irish Parade is this weekend back home.  Bummed to be missing it's glorious return.  The last year I was there was 2009, which also happened to be the last year it was held.  My neighborhood and those surrounding tend to be Irish Catholic so this is a huge deal for a lot of people.  It was usually a massively drunken shit show by 300,000+ people.  This year, there is supposedly a zero tolerance on alcohol.  No idea what that means besides that I'm pissed to be missing it.  Good luck and godspeed to all you parade goers out there.    
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 Sláinte.
.


 

A Few Things

Windshield wipers are a bitch.  I have two thoughts about them and each depends on where I'm sitting in the car.  First of all, I didn't get my own car until I was out of college so naturally I rode shotgun in a lot of cars.  In college most of my friends just assumed I didn't know how to drive because literally no one had ever seen me drive.  (Side notes: five friends and I drove to Panama City, FL for Spring Break one year.  The drive was 17 hours each way.  Every one else in the car took at least one turn driving.  Except me.  People were honestly leery of me driving.  While I didn't end up driving for a second, I did occupy the co-pilot's seat for a solid 2/3 of the entire drive.  Best co-pilot this side of the Might Mississip.  Also, I would also like to point out that I drove my sister Katie, two years older than me, to the DMV to get her license.  Proving that I can drive and learned to at an early age.) 

Anyways, I spent a lot of time getting driven around and thus a lot of time judging people's driving habits.  If there is a need for the wipers to be on while I am a passenger, I always tend to judge the driver based on how infrequently the wipers were turned on.  Most people I ride in the car with (not counting parents) tend to turn the wipers on and off each time, as opposed to setting them to go off at a certain interval.  If I'm a passenger and I see someone only turn them on when they absolutely need to, it annoys the fuck out of me.  They are programmed to go off every few seconds for a reason, yet most of my drivers completely ignored this fact.  The timed intervals enable the driver to focus more on the road than trying to fiddle with the knobs.  (Fiddle and knobs were two words I did not expect to type tonight.)  So, if I'm a passenger in your car: 1) you live a sad life and 2) turn the fucking wipers on and leave them on. 

Now, if there is a need to have the wipers on and I am driving, I like to turn the wipers ...on and off each time.  I don't like for them to have a set interval to go off.  Most of the time this is because there isn't a need for constant wiping.  Maybe I just have a dirty windshield (on the inside) or shitty wipers, but I try to use them as least often as possible. And yes, I realize this is me being a total hypocrite.  But at least I can admit it. 

So to recap, people driving me should leave their wipers on a constant interval.  I think that when they aren't wiping, I (as passenger) begin to fear the windshield is becoming too clustered with rain or snow, regardless of what the driver feels.  While I am driving, I will turn on the wipers as I very damn well please.  I also never like to turn them on full blast.  I like knowing that no matter how hard it is precipitating (fancy word), I always have another notch I can turn it up to.  It's like a wildcard in my back pocket.  I only pull it out when absolutely needed.  Like that expired condom in your drawer.  Emergencies only.
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I found out the hard way that I bought the wrong kind of deodorant.  And I made the discovery at the worst possible moment: while rolling it on my ugly ass pits.  Let's get some facts straight right away: spray deodorant ( a la Axe) is not for regular guys.  It is for bros and brahs.  For guys who take pictures of themselves in the mirror.  And they also generally have some sort of product on their body, whether it be hair gel, face cream, moisturizer, or just man cream.  And yes, that was a semen joke.  Gel deodorant is just weird.  It always makes me feel like my pits are constantly wet and/or sweating.  It's kind of sticky too and it doesn't tend to work as well.  For my pits, the only way to go is the white roll on shit.  I don't even know what else to call it.  The absolute worst part about realizing I had bought gel deodorant is realizing that I bought two sticks of gel deodorant.  It was two sticks packaged together which was the reason I didn't open them at the store and realize my giant mistake.  Ladies, if you're out there, I have about six months of gel deodorant on my horizon.  Get me while I'm still available.  Which will probably last all six months, if not more. 
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I'm sure I'm not the first person to bitch about this (but what if I am?) but buying tickets online buh-lows.  I have four, possibly five (make it happen PollKat), friends coming to visit me the first weekend of March.  Our goal is to see the Bulls-Cavs game.  I looked at the Cavs website tonight and could have bought six $26 tickets for $195, including fees.  Simple math tells you that six multiplied by 26 is 156.  The tickets themselves are worth $156 which, I believe, is a reasonable price.  But then here comes the fees.  Thirty nine fucking dollars in fees, $36 of which is for a CONVENIENCE fee?  How in the fucking word do they have the balls to call that a convenience fee.  I know everybody hates fees and I'm probably the fourth or fifth person to ever bring this up, but it really chaps my ass.  It's to the point that I am willing to give up my lunch hour at work, walk about six blocks to the stadium, and buy them directly from the box office.  After re-reading that, I am more than willing.  Screw you "convenience" fee.  I'll save my $40 and buy five beers with it.
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I participated in the Mantua Country Bar Crawl a few weeks back with Farmer.  Crawl is used loosely here, but not for lack of trying.  We began at the local (read: 35 minutes away) Bdubdub for a layer of fried wings and beers.  We then headed to the next local bar (read: another 30 minutes away) where they had, no joke, a noose hanging from the ceiling.  It's not like you can misinterpret the meaning or reason behind a hanging noose.  We left that place rather quickly and headed off to the next bar (read: right across the street, so we actually semi-crawled after all.)  This bar was more welcoming than the last and thus was packed.  We ended up staying there till close.  Every time we went up for drinks, we also did shots.  With that being said, I woke up on a bed at about noon the next morning.  I have a vague recollection of stopping at McDonalds in between.  Suffice to stay, decent bar crawl. 

Best part was milking a cow for the first time ever.  (Farmer lives and works on a dairy farm.)  Contrary to popular belief, you can't just tug on an udder a la the Shake Weight.  Because when I instinctively made this motion (which I guess just came naturally.  Jokes on so many levels here, hope you can keep up), nothing came out.  I was informed that you basically need to grab the udder with your thumb and index finger at the top of it then roll you fingers downward, thus expelling the milk from the teet.  The actual motion is pretty much impossible to describe in writing so just look at my picture.  This is the cow I jerk...er, it's the cow I milked. 

We later got a room and had a magical night.

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 Four is a few right?
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Come back, wont'cha?

Life (Back) in the Midwest

For those wondering, I finally did get the gas turned on and thus have been taking normal showers for about two weeks now.  Although I did have to wait another week after the original no-show by them.  Pricks.  You never realize how much you take hot water for granted until the gas company fucks you and you're stuck heating up water on a heating plate.  Now the worst part about my shower?  The hot water only lasts like 20 minutes.  Which blows. 
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I've been in Cleveland for about a month now so I feel like I am qualified to bitch about things that were better in Austin:

I already mentioned the state of the roads so I won't go in depth again.  But the crazy thing is that the city fills in the pot holes pretty regularly.  Meaning that I will drive into work having to dodge craters, then drive home and see the same potholes filled with new asphalt.  And the next day, most of that asphalt is usually on the street surrounding the crater because cars continue to run it over and ruin the filljob.  (Filljob might not be a word, but it totally could be).  Thus the vicious cycle continues. 

I have a terrible feeling that Austin may have ruined my appetite.  For a full year, I gorged on amazing Mexican food, the finest BBQ meats, and gourmet meals.  Well, at least the first two.  Now that I live only hours from the Canadian border as opposed to the Mexican border, I just can't get my fill.  I have been to the store a few times and haven't even been able to find ground turkey to make tacos.  The tortillas are in the dairy coolers as opposed to being made fresh in the store.  They only sell mild and medium salsa.  It drives me fucking crazy.  I was never one for hot stuff.  And now that I grow accustomed to the hot shit, I can't find it?  Life really is unfair sometimes. 

I used to have a dresser drawer filled with nothing but shorts.  Basketball, plaid, cargo, cammo (not that anyone could tell), etc.  That same exact drawer is now filled with sweatshirts and sweatpants.  Now I am in no way discrediting sweatpants/sweatshirts.  Some of my finest articles of clothing start with the prefix sweat. 

I mean, I knew what I was getting myself back into, I just wasn't prepared for it all so quickly. 
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Good deed of the day: just saw a commercial for Burger King.  They are offering buy one, get on free chicken sandwiches.  Limited time offer so go stock up.  And don't say I never did anything for you. 
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There is a local furniture store in Cleveland called Norton Furniture.  They have locations in and around the city.  The greatest thing about these stores is the commercials.  They always star the owner Marc Brown who has, literally, the creepiest, raspiest voice in the country.  The commercials are basically handmade videos with awful acting, terrible lighting, and of course they star Marc.  I offer you the following commersh with no additional commentary.  Youtube has plenty more, if you are so inclined:

Pretty badass that Google owns both Blogger and Youtube so I can just upload any Youtube video.  May have to take care of that more often. 
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Going to the Cavs-Heat game on Friday night.  Can't wait to get bombed and yell things at Lebron from the cheap seats.  Definitely going to be worth the $50 tickets.  Going to a minor league hockey game on Saturday night.  Can't wait to get bombed and yell things at the guy sitting next to me.  Hope he takes a puck to the dome.  Definitely going to be worth the $7 tickets.
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I'll end with two pictures.

The same day I bought my hot plate from Walmart, I also saw this item.  Sadly, I don't remember what it was anymore as this was taken more than a month ago.  Again, presented without further commentary:

Wouldn't want to sleep next to that thing. 

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And lastly, my nephew Paddy:

Kind of want to know what he's looking at. 

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Please come back now.  (Texan accent has given way to that Midwestern kindness)

Fill in the Blanks

Just took another hobo shower.  I guess that's what happens when you get excited and "brag" about things before they happen.  No call, no show from Dominion Gas.  I called their office around 12:30 and the automated message said if I had any customer service questions, to call back when the office is open.  This more than likely means another week of hobo showers because their service appoints are either 8am-noon, noon-4pm, or never. 

So F you Dominion Gas.  F you right in your A with no C and no L. 

Getting real drunk tonight at the Mantua Country Bar Crawl with Farmer, from the Austin Rapture fame.  Hopefully the country folk don't mind a man who does a quick hobo shower. 

Mistake on the Lake

Austin came and went way too quickly.  Pammy and I left January 2nd and we arrived in Cleveland on the fourth.  We had driven close to 1,500 miles over two and a half days.  Let me clarify, I drove about 1,350 miles and Pammy drove for about 47 minutes.  The trip was interesting, to say the least.  Now let me preface this: I love my mom.  I really do.  It's just sometimes.....let's just say that radio and speakers got a hell of a workout.  
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I moved into the first apartment we looked at.  I do not regret this decision as I hate shopping.  Looking for apartments counts as shopping.  While we're on the topic, my new apartment is roughly three blocks from the house where the movie A Christmas Story was filmed.  And yes, the leg lamp is in the window.
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Since I wasn't slated to start work until the 23rd, I went home to Chicago for about ten days.  And let me tell you, it's really a good thing I no longer live at home.  Christ.  Home for ten nights, was at the bar for about 7 or 8 of those nights.  Really should have bought stock in BDubDub too, because I swear my sisters, our friends, and I together kept the Chicago Ridge BDubDub in the black for the month of January.  Even if I did have a New Years resolution, there's no way I could have kept it while at home.  

I also happened to celebrate my 25th birthday while home.  Never in my wildest childhood dreams did I ever imagine I would be in my mid-twenties.  You think about being older (18-21) and real old (70+), but never about the in between.  Let me tell you, we did not skimp on the birthday celebraish.  The night before and the night of, I was out until 4:30am.  Twenty-five has definitely picked up where 24 left off. 
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Austin definitely spoiled me and it's probably not for the obvious reasons: the weather, the food, the music scene, the hot chicks, the weather, the sun, the food.  No, what spoiled me in Austin was the roads.  Seeing as the weather rarely gets below freezing, the asphalt roads rarely crack.  Since they rarely crack, there isn't a chance for water to get in there to freeze.  And since the water doesn't freeze and expand, there are no potholes.  Literally.  Of course I didn't realize this until I left and made my way back to a place that does get below freezing.  And water does freeze in the cracks and expand.  And thus there are a ton of fucking potholes.  I swear three or four times a day, I run one over and get that feeling that I have just shattered one of my tires.  Brutal fucking roads.  So people in Austin and other warm-temperatured/less trafficy areas, be grateful for the smooth roads.  You probably have no idea how good you have it.  
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So Dr. Pepper 10 is the first food/drink product that specifically caters to one sex, right?  I'm no marketing expert but it just doesn't make much sense to flat out tell half the world's population "Hey you got tits and a slit XX chromosomes?  Ya, this drink isn't for you.  Better use your hard earned money, which you probably earned on a street corner, and spend it on Coke Zero.  Or Pepsi Zero.  Or Diet Diet Rite."  Logical, right?
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I finally returned to Cleveland on the 17th.  I am writing this on the 26th and still do not have the gas turned on.  When signing the lease and whatnot, the landlord had mentioned that I should call the gas company and get an appointment set up with them because he knew it would be a few days before they could get out here.  The genius I am, I didn't call until the next day I got back, which was the 18th.  The gas company told me they couldn't be here until the morning of Monday the 23rd.  Now Monday the 23rd also happened to be my first day at work.  So that day was out.  I asked if they scheduled appointments on the weekend and the lady told me they could have someone out on Saturday the 28th between 8am-noon.  I told her to sign me up.  For the uninformed, the significance of not having gas also means I do not have hot water.  So to recap, I have lived in my new place for two weeks without running hot water.

So I know at least of few of you are sitting there in your chairs thinking, "well without hot water, how do you shower?"  Good question.  Here's my morning routine:
7:04am- wake up, turn on hot plate, place two pots of water on hot plates.  I bought the double hot plate from Walmart my third day here (expertly suggested by Greenie McGreen from South Dakota).  Those first two days?  Didn't shower. 
7:16am- first two pots of water are hot enough.  Pour them into plastic containers and refill both pots.  Place them back on hot plate burners. 
7:28am- second batch of pots are warm enough.  Pour them into plastic containers.  Move all plastic containers around the shower.
7:30-7:45- wash hair twice (it's how I get it to stay so soft) and wash rest of body using as little water as possible.  My worst nightmare is to have a body full of soap and to run out of warm water.  This has yet to happen but it still scares the shit out of me.

For context: I start work at 8:30 and live within 15 or so minutes of work.  I get up an hour and a half early to shower, eat, change, and drive 15 minutes.  And yes, I fucking hate it.  

Shockingly, I have gotten quite good at my pseudo showers.  Yes it is a fucking pain and yes I cannot wait until it is over, but it really wasn't that bad.  I mean it could be worse.  I could be without Internet.  Or worse, cable.  

The good news is that the gas company is coming on Saturday morning.  The bad news is that I still have to take this "shower" tomorrow morning.  In the past, I had never thought about never having hot water.  I definitely took it for granted.  Growing up and continuing into my 25th year, I would routinely take 20-30 minute showers, while living at home, at school, and on my own.  I wasn't touching myself (all the time), I just enjoy hot water.  So I think this was some one's idea of karma.  Well fuck you karma, I survived my two week hot water famine.  And you know what this means?  I'm going to take a two hour shower on Saturday the minute that gas man leaves. 
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Started my new job but that isn't important.  The important thing is I'M BACK!!!
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Still need to figure out a good ending line.  Until then, won'tcha please come back.

Austin I Love You, But You're Bringing Me Down

"Ski" trip to the UP was an absolute success.  I put ski in quotes because out of 5 days, we skied maybe 3 hours.  They didn't have much snow yet so not much of the hill was open.  Out of seven or eight chairlifts, only two were open.  Which meant we could only use seven or so runs.  It got old real quick.  There wasn't even enough snow for us to snowmobile.  The rest of the trip though, that was awesome.  I previously mentioned, we had a keg of PBR for five people.  As we were picking it up, a few of us had the brains to get two extra cases and a handle of Captain.  Turns out that was smart planning because the keg was empty by the third night.  If there's one thing my family does well together, it's drink and have good times.  As my mom always says, "you can't have a good time without drinking."  She actually says "you don't need to drink to have a good time," but that clearly is just a completely false statement.

Since we couldn't snowmobile on Friday, we didn't have any plans.  So, naturally, we went to the closest bar.  Four of us walked there and we were literally the only people in there.  It was both strange and amazing.  The service was topnotch.  They had the cheapest jukebox I have ever seen.  Four songs for one dollar or ELEVEN songs for two dollars.  I've been to bars that charge a dollar a song.  Needless to say, I was enthused by this.

Also of note, the bathrooms in this bar are different.  That thing six feet off the ground is the handle to flush.  I guess midgets and kids just don't flush these days. 

First urinal picture.  Hopefully the last.

 The drive home on Monday morning was brutal.  Seven hours stuck in a car after I had pretty much been drunk for five straight days.  When I was younger, my family used to drive everywhere.  My mom's family lives in Arizona so we drove there every few years.  While on these long trips, my mom would always make a point to tell me when we were passing animals, or military vehicles, or anything random like that.  Mostly cows though, and she would specifically tell me.  Not my sisters, not my dad, it was always "J, look.  Cows.  J, cows."  To this day, whenever we are in the car together someone will tell me about cows.  This past trip included.  So while I'm attempting to sleep off almost a week long hangover, my mom is in the front seat telling to look out at the imaginary cows.  Angry.
 
Considering I had to be at the airport by 10 the next morning and had just drank the past five days, one would think staying in and catching up on sleep would be the sensible thing to do.  Off to the bar we went.  It was my friend's 25th birthday and I hadn't seen him since Christmas Eve 2010 so there were no excuses.  The bar was fucking packed.  What began as my two sisters, friend Pollkat and I, turned into three tables full of friends and friends of friends.  Beers and carbombs were flowing like usual.  At the end of the night, Pollkat and I were doing one last carbomb.  By this time, the bar had run out of Baileys so the tarbender gave us Guinness and a full shot of Jameson.  Shockingly, this tasted like ass.  I couldn't even drink the whole thing and may have had a mini puke moment on the front of my shirt.  May.  We ended up staying until closing time.  Really gave Pollkat a good birthday celebraish.  Southside at it's finest.
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Friday night was my going away party.  A few coworkers and some volunteers came out to celebrate.  I got pretty drunk (shockingly) and was home by about midnight.  Top shelf margs, tequila shots, and beers were abundant.  I can't stress enough how lucky I am to have met these people.  Some of them I will never see again.  Others though, I think there will be visits in the future.

Yesterday for New Years I went to a friend's place downtown around 7:30.  They all had tickets to see Gary Clark Jr. play at 10pm.  I did not have a ticket but my plan was to go with them and see if I could find a ticket.  Prayers were answered when the bouncer pointed out a guy who was selling two tickets.  This was as close to a drug deal as I'll ever get.  He wasn't even selling them for an absurd amount- I paid $30 and my friends who already had tickets paid $29.  But it still felt like I was part of a sting or some shit.  Yes, I am a pussy. 

GCJ rocked.  If you've never heard of him, give it a year.  2012 is going to be his year.  Heard it here first. 

Also of note, some random chick came up to me and started making out with me.  It wasn't even midnight or anything cheesy like that.  It happened right at midnight.  I'm pretty much the star of my own personal fairy tale.  Needless to say, 2011 went out with a bang.  Sadly not an actual bang, but still.

Austin gave me one hell of a year.  I moved here December 30th, 2010 and I'm leaving January 2nd, 2012.  In that year, I've lived in two apartments, experienced SXSW and ACL, worked the largest wildfires Texas has ever had, sweated my ass off just walking to my car, saw a thousand lizards, became paranoid about finding scorpions in my shoes, went on brewery tours, swam in the Gulf of Mexico, went to Mississippi to help with the tornadoes, experienced a UT football game, ate some amazing food, learned to say things like y'all, laughed, cried, wandered the streets, took pedicab rides, saw some shitty movies and a few decent ones, ran the Warrior Dash, remembered the Alamo, and a million other things that I will never remember nor forget.  Austin I love you, but you're bringing me down.
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Y'all come back now.