Wednesday, August 31, 2011

I'm the keymaster, are you the gatekeeper?

He is the gatekeeper, the social director, security guard and all around know it all. He is the condo-building doorman. The wonderful thing about having a doorman is there is always someone to help you with your groceries and buzz in your drunken friends. The horrible thing about the doorman is you have just given unabashed power to, and I apologize, an idiot. Let’s face it; we are not talking about the cream of the employee crop here. Are their some intelligent folks out there guarding our buildings from Jehovah witnesses and girl scouts? Of course they are out there, but I have yet to find one.
Take my trip yesterday to drop off a cushion at a client’s condo. With the client on the phone I was instructed to leave the cushion at the front desk with Ralph and she would pick it up later. I explained this radical concept to him and he scoffed, “like I have room around here to keep this”. It’s a fucking pillow, stick it under your ass for all I care. We are in a 200 unit condo building I am sure there is an empty closet somewhere that can hold this pillow for three hours.
Today I had the pleasure of meeting Joy. The irony of her name was not lost on me. My presence was upsetting to her because the elevator was not padded at the time and she was not told I would be there. Personally I didn’t think a couple of flats of flowers warranted padding the elevator walls, but what do I know I have never been a doorman. In the middle of this debate a homeowner began to walk in the front door with his bike and she yelled ‘uh uh, no bikes in here sir, sir, sir…I said no bikes!’ Dude was about to get cut.
My suggestion is to be on your game if you ever find yourself interacting with one of these individuals. Keep in mind they don’t realize they don’t have any real power and are willing to make up their own rules if what you want means extra ‘work’ for them.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Yes, we can all hear you now.

Today’s challenge, pretend to be the person on the other end of the phone to someone who is talking way too loud on his or her cellular device. For inspiration I will relive my dinner experience from last night. I will play the role of jackass, random 45 year old lady will play the role of idiot talking on her phone loudly at the table next to us.
I: Where are you?
J: I am right here.
I: How long till you get here?
J: I am already here, so zero minutes and zero seconds
I: Sorry I am having a hard time hearing you someone is being rude.
J: Don’t you just hate that? Turn to your right, I am right here! Surprise!
I: No, he keeps talking to me. Whatever. Should I order you something?
J: I will have a house salad, no dressing, a cheeseburger with American cheese and fries a Coke to drink and apple pie for desert. Oh wait no, cheesecake for desert.
I: Dave, I cant hear you with this guy. We need to go somewhere else.
J: My name is Adam, but Dave sounds sexy.
The murderous glare I got as she left the patio area was well worth the annoyed look I got from my wife.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

American flag Cheesesteak

All I wanted was a cheese steak, apparently I was asking for too much. As I waited for my number to be called a table ten feet over was being occupied by what I will assume was a professor/ student combo. Someone forgot to tell professor no nuts that he wasn’t in the auditorium and could use his inside voice. Preparing for my meal I surveyed where I would be able to obtain some ketchup to pair with my fries. I found that the only bottle was on the table with professor snuggle farts and I would be forced to engage these two twits. As if the cook knew I was suffering endlessly, he took great care in hand preparing my sandwich, growing, harvesting and cooking the fries from scratch.
The verbal masturbation had reached its climax when the absolute truth was revealed, “President Bush knew Osama wanted to blow up those buildings.” If this dick pleasuring dialog had been caught on tape I am sure even Michael Moore would get a good chuckle. Number 77, that’s me. Here we go. I approached the table and grabbed the ketchup. They turned and shot me a steely glance. I started right in, “hey fellas, so do you think the Packers are going to win it all again this year? That Aaron Rodgers sure can sling a pig skin.” I might as well have been wearing a turban and holding the latest copy of ‘Crash flying a plane for Dummies’. “Well thanks for the free squeeze…of ketchup. Yea America!” I don’t really know why I felt the need to proclaim my patriotism, but it went over well. Well that or the thumbs up just caught them flat footed. USA! USA! USA!

Monday, August 15, 2011

She knows the crap I write and still sleeps with me...hopefully.

I have some bad news; my wife reads my blog. Through the powers of deductive reasoning I have assumed this to be the case over the past 18 months, but it recently has become fact. It was safe to say something was going on when she stop letting me drive, or push the shopping cart or enter a Starbucks while she was around. Then today in a clear act in defiance of our wedding vows she told me that she had read my latest post. She began the conversation with what we refer to as a compliment sandwich which is a nice way of telling me she thinks I am funny, but that I also write at the grammatical level of a third grader. “Honey your blog was really funny today. The grammar was horrific, but I really enjoyed reading the parts I could understand”. Compliment, insult, compliment, this is a compliment sandwich.
The reason why this news is bad for all of is not because her involvement will sensor my criticism of our parenting skills, financial irresponsibility, or sexual experimentation, but rather you might be forced to read postings that are written intelligently. Look, my lady is smart. Not smart like me, but actually smart. She is no doubt smarter that you which probably explains why she has been the only one to complain about my use of eight commas in the same sentence. My pledge to you today is to find the balance between my obligation to bring you factual accounts of the stupidity of humanity, but in a (slightly) more intelligent manor. If at any point a correctly placed comma or an omitted ellipses causes harm to even one of my readers I will immediately disregard the thousands of years of work perfecting the English language and relapse into my pre teen conjunction free ranting that prove to bring joy to this word. I love you honey, but no one puts baby in the corner.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

My baby might be dumb.

My baby is dumb and apparently it is my fault, I have ruined my child. I knew at some point in her life her ignorance would be blamed on bad parenting, but I guess I was hoping we would at least get past colors and maybe even the alphabet. I did, sort of. At eight weeks old we are apparently two weeks behind on reading, math and the landscape of the socio economical dilemma that modern countries will face in an ever growing social media based population. This may seem like a small task, two weeks can be made up, but in fact we are 25% behind schedule. Remember that senior in your graduating class that needed to pass freshman math to graduate? That is my baby.
This recent information came to light when a baby book that my wife was reading told us we should be reading to our baby and working on flash cards. Flash cards? What flash cards? I just sit my baby in front of the TV and head to the bars, I am counting on her being pretty not smart. Let’s face it, I have the body of a 14 year old girl, so if she is blessed with my body and my wife’s…well you know, she will be fine. Apparently this isn’t good enough for my wife. After all who will continue this horrible diatribe once I am going? Now that is a scary thought. So I did what any good parent would do (I think) I downloaded an App on my wife’s phone. I feel smarter already.
In other baby news. I fart so loud the other day it woke up my sleeping baby. Is that bad?

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Irrational lesson in pre road rage

I might have missed the point on why student drivers are in cars with giant signs “Bill’s Driving School”. For years it was my impression that these signs were in place to test the experience of said driving students. Whether in car, on foot or even on bike, I would investigate the skills of these young operators in essence asking “are you ready to be all alone in this crazy world?” I don’t mean are you ready to drive alone, are you ready to be alone? Just you, the road, 5,000lbs of metal and a sea of humanity ready to make you miserable. If you cant handle life behind the wheel of a car in Chicago it might be time for you to pack it in and get a job at the local movie theater. (offense to theater employees intended, those people creep me out). Upon finding one of these lost souls, my vehicle becomes a purveyor of life’s little lessons, a rogue monk teaching the spirituality of ignorance, a charging bull in the cattle call of the morning rush hour.
I will wait that extra moment at a green light enticing the doe eyed driver to reach for that horn. I will go out of turn at a four way stop and honk my horn and flip them off. As a pedestrian I will aimlessly cross the street forcing young Billy to wait patiently while cars angrily honk behind him. While on my bike I will ride as close as I can to his driver side window until his knuckles turn so white the blood might not ever return. For the fortunate few that encounter me on the streets feel privileged. The fearful fleeting moments we shared on the road has given you a taste on what life has to offer, pure uninspiring stupidity. Welcome.

Monday, August 1, 2011

I have Ruined my Child.

Remember when I told you I have no interest in your kids? I don’t really care that little Billy pooped in the toilet for the first time, or Suzie can read at a third grade level and she is only three weeks old. Its great that you think your kid is amazing, but remember I know they are still having a hard time telling the difference between an elephant and a dog…your kid isn’t that smart. In fact, I would rather hear about all the stupid stuff your kid does because honestly I think it is a direct result of your negligent parenting, which I find hilarious. I am sure all of you experienced parents out there are either laughing or cursing at me…’you have only been a parent for seven weeks, you don’t know shit’. (happy seven week and one day birthday Eme!) In fact in my seven young weeks of parenting I have done more to ruin my child than all of you have done combined. Quite possibly, I might be the worst parent ever in the history of parents and so begins my first post ‘how I have ruined my child today’.
In seven weeks here are just a few of the things I have done that will torture my young child throughout her life.
I let her watch the first Star Wars Phantom Menace before Star Wars a new Hope.
She is a Cubs fan
She still doesn’t have a facebook page
She was a wake Saturday when I drunkenly ate a soft pretzel and cheese in my underwear at 2am. No one should have to see that.
I have promised her a pony like 80 times. I hate ponies.