Monthly Archives: March 2011

Keep moving, nothing to see here folks

I took a pto day today, as I have more time off due to me than anyone else I know. I slept in, went out for breakfast, picked up some groceries and will kick back and watch a couple of movies this afternoon. On my way into the Golden House this morning, I spotted Jerry across the street, walking out of the Uptown Bank Building. I tried to duck in before he saw me, but two minutes later he’s making himself comfortable across the table from me. Seeing him awake before noon was odd, but seeing him wearing his only suit (borrowed from the Rockford Files wardrobe dept) made even less sense. I found myself looking for Angel or Sgt. Becker somewhere close by.

So, he goes on to tell me that he’s done smoking pot and he’s been going to worship services. At that point, you could have stabbed me in the eye with a fork and I wouldn’t have budged. For the last 20 years the longest he’s gone without lighting up is three days, and that’s only because he was locked up over a holiday weekend. See, Jerry is Rogers Park’s very own Charlie Sheen, but without the money, women or fame. I’ll give him credit for quitting drugs years ago, but it’s always pissed me off that he continued to smoke up while he lived off my tax dollars.

Apparently, Jerry made some new friends at a yoga class of sorts a couple of months ago. These new friends have a small, budding church in Berwyn and have been witnessing all over town. I suppose they’ve run the Greyhound stations and Youth Centers dry for recruits, because now they’re offering Yoga classes in Rec Centers and old gas stations, and wait for deadheads and what-nots like Jerry to show up. Evidently, this Yoga stuff must the last straw for people seeking inner peace. And I always thought it was marrying an ugly woman who can cook and cut grass. Excuse me, I digress. So, Jerry has been clean for five weeks and now he’s looking for a job, any job, so he can help support his church. He went on to tell me that his church believes that the world will end February 5, 2012, which is the same day as Super Bowl XLVI. I guess the next step now is to buy a purple warm-up, a new pair of sneakers and move into a compound of sorts, in some desolate place, like Detroit.

Categories: Northside View | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

*Lions & Tigers & Bears, Oh My!

Ok, it’s been a very, very long month or whatever since I last posted here. I’ve been too occupied with work to do anything else. Well, I did go out after work one night for a few beers, which led to a party in Jeff Park, where I was seduced by a beer bong (wait, that sounds a little weird), and I met “Arabella”, yada, yada, fast forward eleven hours and insert the awkward morning-after looks. Not from me or her, but from my neighbors.

Thinking back on it, everything surrounding meeting her said “hook-up”. Me and the guys had been putting shots in with the beer (bong), I was lit like a campfire and the conversation of the last thirty minutes centered around recent female conquests. Which, due to my job, I was unable to contribute anything to the conversation. But I sure as hell listened. So, I’m drunk and “motivated”, when SHE strides into the room just as Barracuda started (click and listen, makes the story). We made eye contact, smiled and measured each other up. Wasting no time, I immediately went over, introduced myself and got the conversation going. Fortunately, the music was loud enough that it allowed me to get close enough to lean over and talk directly into her ear. She did the same thing. In fact, every once in a while, she would pull me in closer, as if she really liked what I was saying. Sweet.

After a few minutes of going back and forth, I realized that she had an accent, but for the life of me, I couldn’t place it. Well, she did have dark hair and she kept wanting to use her hands when she talked. So, yeah, she must be a New Yorker, probably Italian or whatever. Of course, with both of us drunk and trying to have a conversation with the speakers rockin’, she might have thought I was from Texas or Mars. Anyway, I suppose words didn’t really matter at this point. As long as she was picking up on my vibe, then everything was going to be fine. And by all accounts, my inner Hugh Hefner was doing his job.

After thirty minutes of yelling in each others ears and trying our best to dance, as well as drunk white people can, my ears are ringing from the endless 80’s rock, and we’re both giving each other the “let’s get out of here and go back to my place” look, when her friend walks up and says that her and her date are leaving in five minutes, do you want to share a cab? I spoke up (ok, yelled over the music) and said that we could use a lift over to Carmen’s on Sheridan. She (Miss Italy) grinned and nodded. Sweet. The next thing I know, all four of us are in the backseat of a cab, cruising down Lawrence Ave, and making out like horny teenagers. Not a word was spoken until we got the Carmen’s and then it was all I could do to say “keep the change”. We jump out of the cab and she immediately whips out her phone and starts texting somebody until we got to my place, which was only a couple of blocks away. I didn’t care because a good conversation wasn’t what either of us was looking for tonight.

Within a nano-second of my door closing, we were tearing each other’s clothes off, kissing, moaning, grunting and making our way to my bedroom. Hot damn, this is going to be one to remember! So, we’re butt-naked and horizontal, continuing with the kissing, caressing, moaning, yada, yada. I’m thinking that she is one very hot, sexy and motivated seduttrice, and Stanley is now standing straight up trying to catch a glimpse of his counterpart. Now, keep in mind that we had basically just left a concert and were now in a quiet bedroom, on a quiet street and it’s about 1:30am.

I don’t want to get too graphic here, but she’s on top and lets out a couple of moans. Then she really starts going at it and her moans turn into what sounded like a polar bear-walrus-fight-to-the-death, I dunno, I really couldn’t tell. So now I freeze up and I’m staring at her, thinking she really needs to work on a more sultry delivery, and she gets to going faster and faster, getting louder and louder, wtf, she sounds like Abe Vigoda being shoved into a tree shredder!! Well, she must have sensed what was going through my mind, so she leaned down and for the first time that night, I really heard her voice.

She was surprised to find out that I never noticed that she’s deaf. In fact, she was sort of pissed. However, I explained that I really couldn’t hear her back at the party and besides that, I wasn’t really paying attention to the words coming out of her mouth. I was thinking about how much I wanted to, you know… Well, she took that as a compliment and we started going at it again. The following morning I got some weird looks from a couple of my neighbors, but I’m really surprised that nobody called the cops about the murder happening in Unit 303. Oh, and yes, we did it again in the morning.

Categories: Naked, Northside View | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Blog at

%d bloggers like this: