Chicago Needs More Pretty People
Here's an idea: Know anyone interesting and full of life in Chicago? Get them to contact me. We'll run around or something. I'm seriously starved for non-boring companionship. See below:
Working in an office is seriously weird. I feel like my eyeballs are wearing mittens.
Though that could be because I got bored at home and went to this place called The Empty Bottle were they fed me Blackened Catfish Tacos, $2 bottles of PBR, and a good local band opening for a sort of shitty Scottish band called Frightened Rabbit. Also, they had a separate room with a couch (containing a cat) and a pool table, so I petted the cat and read a local music magazine between sets. Also, I drank a beer, which the cat tried to eat, and it was great.
Felt very morose during the non-cat/eating taco parts of the night, didn't even try to hit on Random Boring Scene Girl who was totally out of my league. Of course, it was also pretty dark in there, but the crowd seemed uglier than one might usually expect at a $7 show, and older, so I didn't think the RBSG actually made an appearance. Also, I think the winters here make people old and ugly.
My social life seems to pendulum back and forth: on weekends, Carl and Jeff take me to hang out with yuppies, gay guys (indistinguishable from yuppies), and lesbian sculptors. On weekdays, I venture out into the wilds of Chicago, using the hour of daylight after work to find some way to surround myself with beautiful women who will feed me grapes and make limericks about my private parts. My strategy so far has been to just go for walks, and it is failing terribly, but the walks are a lot of fun. Really, the walks are more fun than my normal strategy RE female companionship - getting drunk and pretending to be a Fun Guy.
The place I work is all underground. See, it's a really fancy retirement home, which means all the pretty stuff is above ground, surrounded by elm trees taller than any tree you'll ever see in Atlanta. So they stick all the employees in offices buried in deep underground bunkers, and the underground facility is huge and sprawling like your mother, so I spend a substantial portion of each day getting lost on my way to supply closets or bathrooms or cafeterias.
Anyway, I got back from the show about 1, read and interneted for a bit, fell asleep at 2, woke at 6:50, fell asleep again, woke at 7:16, said "oh shit" in my head, and got to work only a few minutes late. On the other hand, I'm dressed in a manner which could only be described as "sharp". As in: Bluish white dress shirt composed of intricate gridwork, black pants made from spun hatred, shoes which were approved by Carl before purchase, and a belt which is just the right color. Actually, all of these items were approved by Carl before purchase, otherwise I'd be sitting here in sleeves too long for me looking like a fucking dork, as opposed to now, when I'm sitting here looking like a fucking pimp who is also a dork and smuggles a copy of Dubliners into the office every day.
Working in an office is seriously weird. I feel like my eyeballs are wearing mittens.
Though that could be because I got bored at home and went to this place called The Empty Bottle were they fed me Blackened Catfish Tacos, $2 bottles of PBR, and a good local band opening for a sort of shitty Scottish band called Frightened Rabbit. Also, they had a separate room with a couch (containing a cat) and a pool table, so I petted the cat and read a local music magazine between sets. Also, I drank a beer, which the cat tried to eat, and it was great.
Felt very morose during the non-cat/eating taco parts of the night, didn't even try to hit on Random Boring Scene Girl who was totally out of my league. Of course, it was also pretty dark in there, but the crowd seemed uglier than one might usually expect at a $7 show, and older, so I didn't think the RBSG actually made an appearance. Also, I think the winters here make people old and ugly.
My social life seems to pendulum back and forth: on weekends, Carl and Jeff take me to hang out with yuppies, gay guys (indistinguishable from yuppies), and lesbian sculptors. On weekdays, I venture out into the wilds of Chicago, using the hour of daylight after work to find some way to surround myself with beautiful women who will feed me grapes and make limericks about my private parts. My strategy so far has been to just go for walks, and it is failing terribly, but the walks are a lot of fun. Really, the walks are more fun than my normal strategy RE female companionship - getting drunk and pretending to be a Fun Guy.
The place I work is all underground. See, it's a really fancy retirement home, which means all the pretty stuff is above ground, surrounded by elm trees taller than any tree you'll ever see in Atlanta. So they stick all the employees in offices buried in deep underground bunkers, and the underground facility is huge and sprawling like your mother, so I spend a substantial portion of each day getting lost on my way to supply closets or bathrooms or cafeterias.
Anyway, I got back from the show about 1, read and interneted for a bit, fell asleep at 2, woke at 6:50, fell asleep again, woke at 7:16, said "oh shit" in my head, and got to work only a few minutes late. On the other hand, I'm dressed in a manner which could only be described as "sharp". As in: Bluish white dress shirt composed of intricate gridwork, black pants made from spun hatred, shoes which were approved by Carl before purchase, and a belt which is just the right color. Actually, all of these items were approved by Carl before purchase, otherwise I'd be sitting here in sleeves too long for me looking like a fucking dork, as opposed to now, when I'm sitting here looking like a fucking pimp who is also a dork and smuggles a copy of Dubliners into the office every day.
posted by Fifth at 11:58 AM
2 Comments:
Snazy, are there pictures up yet of Respectable Ben yet?
I'll get someone to take a ppicture. It will blow you mind.
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