Yawn

This morning yours truly is writing to you on barely 4 hours of shut eye. I played with JC last night, actually I played with his frickin computer that refused to cooperate and then called it quits, but was in bed by 11p.
Around 2:45am my phone rings (I leave the ringer on in case an emergency arises). I pick up the phone w/o noting the caller ID figuring anyone calling at this hour is in desperate need of assitance or munchies.
A groggy me croaks out "Hello?" and lo and behold my pal KB is on the line, live from LA, to regale me with his adventures while at some convention...not exaclty imminent danger...
What's odder still is that I've hardly spoken to him in weeks, almost months, and yet he chooses 3am this morning to call me?!
I would not have minded the entire incident were it not for the fact that 15 min. later I could not fall asleep. An hour later I still could not fall asleep and my tummy was growling. A piece of toast and another hour of trying and I was still wide awake. I read for a while but that proved useless so I eventually hoisted my sorry butt out of bed, ate breakfast and hit the gym.
Thus I sit at my desk, my brain functioning only well enough to blab on the blog, and itching for some starbucks, which will have to wait since I have a 9:00a apt. .

Junk Mail

KS and I recently engaged in combat with Comcast, or as I like to refer to them, Concast. The both of us are inundated with mailers from Concast on a weekly basis sometimes as much as three or four time per week! It's easy enough to throw the suckers away but we'd had it up to our ears and could not take it any more. Thus we courageously ventured off into the badlands of automated phone systems, during off-peak cell hours of course, to wage war through numerous Concast operators, management, associate peons, and janitors to finally have our names effaced from the dreaded mailing list. Of course this will only be effective for about a year and then they'll be at it again...the bastards.
Anyway, this endeavor reminded me of an utterly hilarious editorial I read in the Chicago Tribune about a year ago. Perhaps it struck me as particularly funny because I have a vivid imagination and visualize the facial expressions, actions, and mannerisms of people while I read. FWIW I thought I would paste it here for your entertainment. I attempted to give you all the link but the Trib protects its article database from non-subscribers more fiercely than a momma hippo over its young. Enjoy!

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Author(s): William HagemanColumn Name: DIARYSection: QPublication title: Chicago Tribune. Chicago, Ill.: Nov 2, 2003. pg. 3Source Type: NewspaperISSN/ISBN: 10856706ProQuest document ID: 435417151Text Word Count 264 Full Text (264 words)(Copyright 2003 by the Chicago Tribune)

QUALITIES OF LIFE.
I have a game I play with a certain credit card company. They send me credit card offers, and I send them my trash.
This started more than a year ago. The company was one of the many credit card companies pleading to help bury me in debt. I'd ignore them and toss their offers into the trash. But this particular plastic-pusher became relentless; we would get, literally, four or five offers a week.
I decided to fight back, though on what, in retrospect, was a pathetically puny scale: I threw their prepaid envelope in the mail, figuring they'd have to pay the postage, as insignificant as it was.
But the offers kept coming.
So then I used their envelope to send them a note, asking to be left alone.
The offers continued.
So the battle escalated. I now stuff their prepaid envelopes with old Jewel receipts, refrigerator magnets, restaurant take-out menus, photos of the family dogs, copies of the kids' report cards, credit card offers from other companies, newspaper clippings, Subway coupons, parish newsletters . . . whatever I find around the house. My last mailing included a mortuary's offer to help me plan my funeral. I also enclose a note, asking them to lay off.
The envelopes are thick and heavy--sometimes I seal them with duct tape to add weight--and I write on the outside ADDRESSEE WILL GLADLY PAY THE EXTRA POSTAGE.
Childish? Of course.
But I prefer to see it as a little game. And right now, my challenge is how to get an old sneaker into a 4-by-8 1/2-inch envelope.

Boogie Woogie

Sunday evenings are typically uneventful and quiet, which is a welcome reprieve before hitting the gym and daily grind come Monday morning. Bed sounded particularly enticing last night as KS and I had spent a downright gorgeous day at the beach playing hooky from church. We bladed along the shore a bit and then camped out on the beach for a picnic, manicure, and tanning. We arrived home sun-kissed and sleepy thus I had no plans for partying later on.

A two hour nap and lounging about the house did nothing to improve my energy: JB, JC and several others called wanting to play and I refused them all. I was on the high road to a good night's sleep in preperation for an early morning run when SB, an old chum from high school, called. And so our story begins...

SB works at a nearby club and usually works Sun. nights but due to a scheduling mix up had last night off. Apparently two White Sox players frequent the joint when they're in town and both know SB pretty well. She expected them to be at the club last night and asked if I would like to meet up and play for a while. I declined at first since I knew I'd be out till dawn if I went. Unfortunately, I was getting my second wind after the nap and was thus feeling energized and awake. I also blow SB off quite often and was thus feeling guilty about doing so yet again. Against my better judgment I called her back and said I would play for a bit.

Some high points from the club:

Troy, a construction worker, played prince charming for all of 10 minutes and then bumped into me randomly as SB and I perused the floor. He later gave me his number when it became clear that I would not give him mine and was astute enough (even through all those Millers!) to note that I would probably not be calling: smart boy!
Christie, a gorgeous young thing in size zero jeans and a curvaceous D on top, gave SB and I a shot while working her beer tub. I later inquired if she'd had them done and of course she had. Note to self: if you get work done at least keep it realistic.

Lewis, the deejay, gave me a backrub and a good-bye slap on the ass along with SB: I later learned he's married. Some boys never grow up....
Dave, a competitive body builder or something like that, who once had it bad for SB, offered to take me for a ride in his vette: very nice. Unfortunately, as we pulled out of the parking lot, he informed me that he had taken X for the first time that evening (albeit he said it was much earlier, around 8p, so the effects had worn off) which he quickly followed with "but I never do drugs". Yah, sure pal. I was somewhat terrified and held my breath/prayed as we went for a nice easy drive around the mall's perimeter. Dave talked about himself and his ex and dropped me off sans incident at SB's car wherein she lay passed out in the passenger seat.

I exited upon Dave's assurance that he would stay with SB until she sobered up enough to drive. 20 min. later I was showered and in bed but oh did I pay this morning: so much for the work out. Note to self: party hard = pay come morning. The Sox player's never showed but the evening was entertaining and memorable nonetheless.

Elvis Spectacular

For those of you who were paying attention, when J and I had our adventure downtown at Ra (the creepy Canadian incident) we met "Elvis" whilst in line for the girl's loo at some post-sushi bar dive across the street. Elvis appeared to like blonds and gave us VIP passes to his show, which happens to be taking place next Monday, 8/16.

I e-mailed my name and J's to Elvis for "the list" and he replied that we will have VIP seating and back stage passes for House of Blues come Monday night. He also sent his website:
http://www.markelvis.com/

So, I'm thinking that there are going to be a lot of overweight, middle-aged women going gaga for my friend Mark along with a few guys sporting beer guts. Now J and I are not, I repeat NOT, Elvis fans. Some of his stuff is ok but neither of us is about to make the sacred journey to Graceland.

However, it turns out that the week of the 16th is something like national remember Elvis week and the 16th happens to be the anniversary of the King's death. Thus J and I are expecting an entertaining event that will, at the very least, provide some amusing fodder for this rag of a blog.

Quote of the YEAR

One of my best gal pals, BF, who I admit has not had much face time on this program but should because she is sooo random, says to me this morning:

"I am SO GLAD I don't have a penis! I mean....can you imagine having to deal with that?!"

Thank you BF!

Freedom

I have paid my last rent check ever! End of the month I get my house!