World Famous Cashier – Trulawn – MIA

Man, I screwed up my last posting. It was not intended to be some form of rhetorical posturing or attempt to solicit compliments (although they were all appreciated), but a sincere plea for new ideas. So, PSM gets the kudos for this one for actual suggestions, such as adding pictures of animals, Zen psychedelic art or famous philosophers, and reminding me that readers have a short attention span (I suffer from this myself, so I should know).

The picture loading has been a problem in the past, but maybe the latest version of eblogger will help with this. I’ll try in my next post. Short attention spans I can handle. That’s what Twitter is all about (I will be writing about this soon in a more serious essay on social software. For those who aren’t in the tech-know, Twitter is a site that allows you to post one-line messages - 140 characters to be exact - about what you’re currently doing—via the web interface, IM, or SMS. I find it all very fascinating).

Oops, I’ve already exceeded the 10 lines. Crap. Okay, here’s the question for all of you to answer:

What music/song (or sound) accompanied the loss of your virginity and where did it all take place? You can also add who the person was, year and any other interesting factoids. I’ll start (since this is my blog):

Where - The coat room of a bar in Boston (Back Bay area) called Jason’s.
Song - Diana Ross “Upside Down”
Year – 1981
Guy – Richard Something (Something is not his last name, I just don’t remember his last name. He was one of the bouncers at the bar where my friend, Alicia, worked).
Memory – This cannot be what people keep talking about.

Side Note to Notorious Lors:
Trulawn Elgin McCray Trooper is no longer working at Dominick’s. I called to find out his whereabouts, but when I started prying as to why he was “dismissed,” the woman on the phone was rather evasive – and she snickered when she said he wasn’t there anymore. So, I guess that’s the end of the rigid, rule-bound, surly, fanny-pack carrying (containing important cashier stuff), high-wasted pant wearing misfit cashier. Just remember, he was in local community theater, and I’m sure that had something to do with him being canned. Or maybe it was his super fucked up name. Or maybe it was his unfriendly checkout-line behavior (although this is more in line with the notorious Walgreens – we’ve had MANY problematic encounters at the Walgreens! Lots of serious laughter and situation comedy there. I’m LOL just thinking about it! Speaking of Walgreens, Sis, remember the lunch counter at Wags on Michigan and Chicago? Remember me going with Damien there with the three cabbage patch kids and him ordering them a glass of milk with three straws? He wore his black leather jacket, red plaid flannel pants and combat boots, and I had on that insane all-white outfit with uber-white foundation, major red lipstick and that moon white eyeshadow and my butch short-shaved haircut. Geez!! Remember the three of us drinking shots of maple syrup in my parents’ backyard in Maywood? Remember his fruit box apartment on Randolph? Remember the ants in the spaghetti sauce? And the cucumber episode? Or the time we went to the Golden Nugget and he was in his “no utensil using” phase and ate pancakes with his fingers? What about the Indian place on Broadway - Moti Mahal? Those were some good times. Man alive!). I’m guessing it’s the latter. Don’t forget – there’s always sexy B at the meat counter. Just go up to him and tell him you’re looking for a big rump roast or a 7-boner steak. That’s always a conversation starter.

What the fuck?

Man, my ratings have plummeted to an all new low.

How the fuck can I go from 24 comments, to 10, to 7, then to 2, to 1 and 1 again? QUE PASA? That's it. I've had it. With the exception of a few frequent fliers (o/n, PSM, Shatshat, and occasionally others), it's just not happening. So, I guess I'm the one that now needs advice. Should I go contest again? Send people prizes or cash? Beg? Beer? End blog? Make sausages? Make fudge (ok, I did that this morning)? Move back to Chicago? Migrate to YouTube? Get a ghost writer? Kill myself? Any suggestions?

Desperately seeking Susan.

SpongeBob-No”PineappleChopPot”Pants

My “prolific prose” (I’m LOL, too) is tanked, so it’s back to the list:

- The Crucifixion of Peeps and Bunny
- Fun Easter brunch gathering (sad that I didn’t invite PSM, J and Tortuga because I thought they were in MN. Don’t hate me!)
- A’s announcement that she’s too poor to even find a lover (the least of her problems, frankly)
- “Freaks” the movie (1932 – rather freaky)
- Crazy senior volunteers at the voting place drooling and yelling
- Boob injury due to underwire from bra “getting loose” and puncturing my skin while teaching – blood
- PSM looking for a nemesis (I totally want one, too!!!). Will look into taking ad out in paper.
- M makes the front page of the Marshfield newspaper (rock on!)
- Doris behaves badly
- My continued love and admiration for Alan Alda (both young and old)
- Biggy Small groovin’ overload
- Scariest hair ever at the “Italian” joint
- Ps getting ready to move here – permanently (gulp…freaking out)
- Fun surprise party for L given by H (food & wine were scrumptious). B and I were “married” for 15 minutes – now she’s expecting alimony. Geez!
- Wondering why all small tourist towns have fudge shops
- Frickin’ asshole(s) stealing my debit card number ($2,000 smackeroos) and charging $42 AT THE IN-N-OUT BURGER 6 TIMES IN ONE DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!! What the fuck???? I’m willing to pay for the plasma TV, but no way in hell with the multiple burgers.
- Fun afternoon with Bridge Mix at the arts thing, dance thing and lunch
- Serious headache listening to the German trying to speak Chinese – late at night in bed with his walkman. Man alive.
- Freaking out about big PRC trip (too much to do beforehand)
- A night of too much drinking, smelling people’s armpits, and talking about Phyllis Diller (?)
- Weird stuffed duck, pillow, fake flower and skull art at the art show – what?

Nissitified

I have a holding pattern of about 10-12 weeks where I’m okay being a country girl, but then I get the city itch going into the 13 & 14th week. Luckily, I went “uptown” this weekend visiting Notorious Lors for her birthday.

I took the scenic Milwaukee route to Chicago this time and it was actually rather pleasant. Better than the muck you get stuck in around O’Hare. I’m also lucky to have an I-Pass, so I can bypass the awful toll lanes (what’s up with the “open road” tolling concept, G-Rod?). It took about the same amount of time, but the road signs were different, and I got to pass the Bong Recreational Center I’ve always heard (and dreamed) about.

Poor Lors had just gotten rid of one of her more toilsome clients. Let’s just call her BH. I guess she had been complaining to Lors that her colorist was out of town and how she couldn’t stand it much longer. She also demanded that Lors give her a shoulder massage for an aching muscle. What? Totally insane.

Anyway, after some laughs at the gallery, Lors and I went to Davis Street Fishmarket in Evanston for dinner. We gorged on seafood, beers and Bloody Marys. Man, that restaurant went totally upscale. What the hell happened to the seafood shack chalkboard atmosphere? I preferred the old, but the good conversation and alcohol helped me forget the over-stuffed upholstered chairs. After dinner, we tried to get tickets to “Blades of Glory,” but they were already sold out (damn it), so we headed back to her (and Ms) super chic and cool lofty like condo. T was going to meet us later, but he was suffering from a back injury and was "high on Aleve." M and Mr. Cheese were both home, so we all caught up with what was going on. M relayed to us some interesting tidbits about some of the “male clubs,” shall we say, in Chicago. For example, I guess the Eagle and Man’s Country have a list of rules one must adhere to before you enter the club (women are not allowed):

· Uniforms are encouraged (e.g., cop, fireman, UPS driver, Good Humor driver, etc.)
· A major piece of leather must be worn
· No gym shoes
· No deodorant
· No cologne

I mean seriously. These are the rules? Well, I don’t think I need to tell you what goes on in the back rooms where one must disrobe and wear towels only. It is a fascinating world – the gay club culture.

Saturday, we caught up with lots of much needed shopping – including the Broadway Antique Mall (totally cool shit in this place), CB2, Trader Joes, Jake, beers at that Irish pub place, and some shoe place on Wells where I got these awesome little Ked/Converse-like sneakers with a Jolly Roger (or rancher like I say, or “rogers jolly” like the German says) embossed on the top. Super cute. Good for the boat (and punk bars). The booze and shopping made us drowsy, so we went back to her pad for a nap and watched the reality show, “I love New York.” Yeah, like her name is fucking New York, and her mother’s name is “Sister Patterson.” That is one fucked up show. Jesus!

I treated Lors to dinner at the May Street Café in the Pilsen neighborhood. It’s a cute little funky Cuban BYOB restaurant, and it’s located in some god-forsaken area on Halsted and Cermak where there’s nothing but industrial smoke stacks. We had super yummy slow cooked pork and some spicy shrimp dish. Man, that place is now on the radar for people because it was packed and loud, but we had fun. After dinner, we headed to Wicker Park and settled on the bar/club, Subterranean. Kendall, the (hot brother) bartender, hooked us up with some Jim Jones Kool-Aid drinks that he said would not be a problem mixing with the bottle of red wine we had at dinner. He never told us what was in them, but we each had three and were feeling almost sober. I thought this may have been a dangerous sign. Speaking of Jim Jones, I was also jonesing for a smoke and spent $9 on a pack of Camel Lights like some asshole. Kendall told us that some of the other bars in the neighborhood were charging $15 a pack!!!! Unfuckingbelievable. Lors and I managed to smoke 18 out of the 20. The club was fun. It was a strange mix of hipsters with faux-hawks, a smattering of Indian IT guys with bad sweaters and glasses, and some Louis Farrakhan looking brothers. The music totally kicked ass. It was old school, new school, good “heinous” shit, and just good shit. Closer to midnight, we were feeling the groove (possibly from the Kool-Aid) and got out on the dance floor. We sang some Biggie Smalls tunes on the way home and gulped a few hits of aspirin before we hit the sack.

Sunday morning, Lors had to meet a contractor at her new condo, but I stayed back and laid around with a slight headache, but nothing too terrible. We both met up with M, R, E & J for brunch at Reza’s. Once again, we gorged on a delicious Middle Eastern buffet and caught up with what everyone was doing. R hooked me up with some free Nars shit, and I was as happy as a little school girl. The funny part of the brunch is when M started to tell E&J that they should marry the Guatemalan nannies who work for B (the owner of the gallery where they all work), so they can stay in the country and then E&J would be able to use the Guatemalan dowry as a down payment for a condo. After some champagne, we all figured out the Guatemalan beach wedding, some important Spanish words and phrases E&J should learn for the INS officers, and the flower arrangements. We cracked up. E&J also told us about “Blades of Glory” which they had seen the evening before. They relished us in details about the tie-dyed unitards, bad feathered hair, famed Olympic ice skaters making star appearances, and the JFK & Marilyn Monroe skating pair who choreographed something to “Secret Lovers” while adorning sequined presidential seals emblazoned on their costumes. Imagine if we all had to wear unitards?

After all that fun, it was back to reality – reality in the country. I won’t “get citified” again for another 13-14 weeks.