The Nothing lives in my neighborhood and I'm pretty sure he wants to eat me...

I hope you have all seen the Never Ending Story.  If not, this post will make no sense, so feel free to skip it, go watch the movie, and then continue reading. 

Anyway so the "Nothing" (G’mork, that huge dog from the movie) totally lives in my neighborhood.  He HATES me.  This thing is the size of a small elephant.  It acts like it was raised by a gang of serial killers dressed like clowns. (Those are the most terrifying kind.)  If it ever got the chance, I am fairly certain it would tear me limb from limb. 

I would avoid him, however he resides along the most direct path between my place and school.  I have taken to attempting to sneak past him.  This is problematic because creeping through the alley never looks good.  You know it’s bad when the hobo digging through your trash thinks you are shady...  

The Nothing is totally sadistic.  He is like a damn velociraptor, what with all the hiding, and stalking, and eating my soul...

Most mornings start pretty much the same.  I nervously tiptoe down the alley, approaching his territory, hoping that I will get to school with all of my internal organs more or less in the right spots.  When I am halfway past his house I foolishly start to think that maybe, just maybe, today will be different. Maybe he is inside or asleep, maybe he moved or got sent to go live on a farm in the country. (That happened to several of my dogs growing up, which I never understood, because we lived on a farm in the country.)  

My heart does a little leap of joy: the rabid behemoth is no more!  Tears of happiness begin to well up in my bleary eyes.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, he attacks the fence.  How something that big can be so swift and so silent I will never understand.  He has an uncanny ability to turn a tiny yard with a fire escape into a vast jungle with seemingly endless points of attack.  He’s like an urban Rambo Velociraptor. With rabies.  His favorite place to bark and snarl at me is from the upper balcony.  Sneak Attack Mother Trucker! 

I recover from my temporary blackout, throw my adult diaper in the dumpster (much to the chagrin of Hobo Jack), and silently thank whoever invented the chain link fence.  I attempt to scrape what little dignity I have left off the grimy oil streaked ground and make my way to school feeling like a manly man.

I think the reason this bothers me (other than the nightmares and public humiliation) is I am the only one he freaks out at. I have watched countless others walk through his domain and he does nothing, I walk by and he goes crazy. Maybe I just smell funny...

It must be my cologne. After all, 60% of the time, it works. Every time.

I hate the Nothing. 

*object in picture may be closer to ripping out your intestines than it appears.

Fancy Ketchup

Due to some odd circumstances I ended up being downtown 3 hrs before class.  I suddenly had the most intense urge for that forbidden morning pleasure, that greasy, culinary mouth-gasm. You know what I am talking about: McDonald’s breakfast.  That’s right ladies and gentlemen, the real life breakfast of champions. And hobos.

After sitting down and inhaling the first sandwich, I happened to take a break from greedily gobbling down perfectly processed concoctions that pass for breakfast food and noticed a lone ketchup packet staring at me from the grimy surface of my feast for one. It proudly bore labeling that seemed to be a tiny badge of honor:

F  A  N  C  Y    K  E  T  C  H  U  P

Wait, what?

What makes Mickey D’s ketchup packets so uppity and pretentious?  Perhaps it is the fact the ketchup comes in little space age disposable packets that always seem to be mysteriously sticky... (Let’s not dwell on that).  But, that can’t be the reason, plenty of condiments come in little sticky packets. Is there a special ingredient in the ketchup?  If I were a betting man, my money would be on high quality rat spit. 

The whole idea of a ketchup packet being fancy seems to play into a neglected marketing niche. Hobo-chic.  McDonald’s may have a large scheming plan to take “Derelicte” to a whole new level.  Jacobim Mugatu would be so proud.  Or pissed.  Not really sure which... 

Now, fancy condiments do exist.  We are all aware of the fanciness that is Grey Poupon. (Do they even make that stuff anymore?  I clearly am not a consumer of fancy things.)  Anyway long ago on a small tv far far away, there used to be commercials about rich old people in limos asking for Grey Poupon.  They of course spoke with stuffy accents dressed in tuxedos while going to the opera.  

Grey Poupon is the definition of a fancy condiment.  It’s made with 47 different herbs and spices, infused with baby seals’ tears, and is prepared by the classiest of oompa loompas in a french monastery.  Grey Poupon is a rich creamy golden color with visible flecks seasoning.  Fancy.  Standard mustard is a shade of yellow reminiscent of putrid alien bile.

Or so I have been told. Mustard is gross.

Other things can be fancy.  For example, Fancy Feast.  That stuff is delicious.  I always eat mine out of a crystal dish with sterling silver fork.  Although I am not entirely sure why all their commercials feature snotty, constipated looking cats...

So, why IS McDonald’s ketchup fancy?  It may be one of those mysteries we will never know.  Mostly because I am too lazy to ask.  I think the most plausible reason the ketchup is fancy is due to it’s obvious proximity to the Shamrock Shake.  The other 10 months of the year be damned.

The morning after etiquette

So "the morning after" is always an odd and often awkward ritual that many single people are forced to go through...

When awaking somewhere other than my own place, I often find it most convenient to do the quiet sneak out.  It puts me in control of my fate and allows me to get a start on my day (or at least go home and go back to bed).  Leaving decently early is a good way to not inconvenience the other party.  Plus, rummaging through someone’s stuff to find their ID, in an awkward attempt to remember their name, is not a great way to start the day. Nor is being accused of petty theft.

So I like to disappear with as little fanfare as possible without being rude.

However, I must be in the minority. When people stay at my place it’s often the exact opposite. I’m sorry but soon after the sun comes up, unless we are in a serious relationship, you need to vacate my abode.

Example number 1: The overnight guest.  This varies but one particular morning I had a lot I needed to do.  I purposely got up and took an extra long shower, made lots of noise, and made a big production of getting read for the day.  This totally allowed the quick, painless get away.  I felt I was doing him a big favor allowing us to skip the forced conversation about our days and that awkward kiss goodbye or god help me "let's hang out again soon..."  But did he take the hint?  Did he capitalize on my subtle social gift?  Did he use the “get out of my apartment free” card? -- No.  I got out of the shower and found him sitting on my couch, in his underwear, watching children’s programming on PBS.  Really?

Example number 2: The crashing friends.  After a long night of partying when I offer you a place to crash, please don’t take that as an invitation to stay until 3pm.  You’re awesome and I dig spending time with you, but I probably have crap I’d rather be doing than watching you nurse your hangover. 

Example number 3: If you do have the sense to leave at a decent time, please fold up the blankets or put the futon back together.  Pick up the random fast food wrappers you ordered at 4am.  The garbage can isn’t that far away.  It’s just common courtesy.  I’m your friend; not a hotel.  I don’t have a housekeeping department.

Example number 4: This is quite possibly the most important.  If you are friends that are staying at another friends house, DO NOT leave noticeable evidence of your evenings escapades.  I’m opening my home to you and your significant other/hookup, go ahead do your thing.  But DON’T leave traces for me to find. Again, I’m your friend, not a maid or a technician from CSI.

Moral of the story:  Duck out early and clean up after yourself.  We'll get along just fine.  :)

Here goes... again.

So here I am again, avoiding all my worldly responsibilities, doing what I do best: procrastinating.  I seem to have an amazingly uncanny ability to find ways to waste time doing anything (ANYTHING) except what I actually should be doing.  This is at least my third attempt at a decent blog.  This time I mean serious business.  That is until I get distracted and completely forget I even have a blog.  

It has long been established by many reliable sources (well mostly me, but after enduring my continual insistence many of my friends have wearily agreed) that my life and thought patterns are ridiculous enough to warrant a bad reality tv show.  Or at least one of those amusing books that people read in the bathroom.  I've never been one to read in the bathroom (lately I've been playing Angry Birds) but I'm pretty sure that's my target audience.  

In the past there have been at least 3 different blogular manifestations of the ramblings of my brain. All have failed. Miserably.

Blog #1 "Randomness I Call Me"

Focussed on my new found freedom and shenanigans when I moved from a tiny northern Minnesota town to attend the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis.  Highlights included joining a fraternity, pregnancy scares, people watching on public transportation, puking rainbows, coming out, and the complete unbridled impulsiveness that is my existence. I had a solid following of readers and I genuinely enjoyed writing about my life.

Why it failed: Censorship.  At one point over the summer, I published a post from my parent's home computer.  My mother is a phenomenal woman whom I love dearly.  However, the woman is an amazing detective.  She knows EVERYTHING.  If she doesn't know, she will find out.  She also has this terrifying ability of being able to trick you into confessing to wrongdoings you merely considered perpetrating.  So during one of her sleuthing missions, she discovered my glorious blog in all of it's delinquent hilarity.  Needless to say, she was not impressed.  I attempted to continue writing, but knowing I had to censor my thoughts, keeping everything PG, felt like a sham.  I felt like a phony.  I also did not want to disappoint my readers.  So it was abandoned.

Fast forward a year.

Blog #2 "Not Your Average Joe"

This one seemed to have lost the humor and soul of my original blog.  I was still gun shy about censorship. I also switched services, so had no idea how to build up readership again.  

Why if failed: In addition to the aforementioned lack of humor and or soul, I was severely depressed.  I was now completely out of the closet, but had lost the close relationship with one of my sisters. She told me she had already "done her grieving" for me. And that was that.  I also had just had my heart ripped from my chest and ground into a bloody pulp. Via text message.  My life lacked direction.  I got tired of writing really emo posts. That's not who I am.  If I didn't enjoy reading my ramblings, who the hell else would? So it too fell by the wayside.

Blog #3 ????

I think it was a Livejournal.  It was doomed before it started.  More post break up emo bullshit. Done. 

Blog #4 The Musings of a Social Chameleon (not to be confused with this current edition)

I switched blog services yet again.  This blog was to be my triumphant return to the blogging world.  I was going to be funny. I was going to be famous like Tucker Max, Allie from Hyperbole and a Half, or The Oatmeal. (Except I can't draw to save my life).  My life at the time was prime for awesomeness.  I worked 3 different jobs with a lot of interesting people.  I got paid to get people drunk, old women shoved money down my pants frequently (that's a story for another time) and I got to laugh at business men who came to the front desk of the hotel claiming they did not order a pay per view movie.  Are you sure sir?  I see here you watched 12 and a half minutes of "Naughty Asian Schoolgirls 7."  Don't worry maybe next time you can watch it longer...    

Why it failed: I have a very short attention span.  I totally and completely forgot about it.  Also, I packed up my entire life and left everyone I know and love behind and moved from my beloved Minneapolis, MN to Chicago.  It was while actually writing this post, (in the middle of "Blog #2) that I remembered it even existed.  The posts consisted of an archive of old emails from when I was living in Venezuela and several complaints about Minneapolis metrotransit.  It included such colorful posts as:

"The bus smells like vomit. Buen provecho"

"Hobo BO"

"Vagrant Fragrance"

I kind of had a one track mind at the time...

Fast forward a Year

Blog #5 Musings of a Social Chameleon (Notice the lack of "the" at the beginning. Crucial difference.)

This brings us full circle to where I am now and this current assemblage of nonsense I call thoughts.  I am now living alone in Chicago.  Single.  In my first year of law school, although I frequently wonder why...  

I have left behind all my friends and family from MN but I have been extremely lucky and have fallen into  a great crowd of amazing people here.  They keep me sane and prevent me from running away to join the circus.  Well actually my intense fear of clowns prevents me from joining the circus.  Also, I dont think I could live in a trailer with a bearded woman.

I am hoping this will be a great outlet to immortalize the fleeting thoughts that my ADHD riddled mind forgets as soon as I stop laughing.  I plan to share the many stories of stuff that could only happen to  me as I clumsily stumble through life.  It will also be a great way for me to vent.  Although I don't want to bitch too much.  Because then even I will stop reading.  

So, Here goes... again. 

Me in a nutshell.

I'm the chameleon that eats social butterflies for breakfast. 


I'm the ace of spades and a jack of all trades. 


I'm burning the candle at both ends and takin' a big old blow torch to the middle. 


Too nice to be a drug dealer, too picky to be a prostitute. 


Looking for my fortune in a disco ball. 


Broadway geek. Netflix junkie. Dancefloor addict. :) 


I may be the dream you never want to wake up from, but youre the nightmare I'd rather forget... 


Living vicariously through others is nothing compared to living for yourself... 


I am very easily amused -- shiny things will be the death of me...


I have ADD, OCD, narcolepsy, and insomnia -- or I might just be a hypochondriac... 


Like a Phoenix from the ashes, I will rise again.