My dad handed down his Merkur XR4Ti (yes, it had a double spoiler), and the day after I earned my license I smashed into the back of a Cadillac. It was piloted by an elderly couple on their way from Florida to Chicago to see their only granddaughter’s high school graduation. They yelled at me, but good. Old people suck.

This time it wasn’t my fault.

I was heading home from a fantastic evening with the woman I’m seeing. We had been to a musical and, on the way home had missed our exit, ending up about a dozen blocks south of where we were supposed to be. As I drove into an intersection a car traveling the other direction decided to turn just left in front of me. He was supposed to yield to my car, naturally. He did not. I slammed into him at a pretty solid clip. Well over twenty miles an hour. I think I had time to jump on the brakes but I’m not sure.

Strangely, I wasn’t afraid in the seconds before the crash. I felt an immediate adrenaline rush as the two cars became one. It didn’t feel, however, that we were ever in danger. We collided and my hood crumpled. Mind you I drive a huge old lady car. A 1999 Jaguar XJ8 that my parents were nice enough to gift. It’s a tank. But now it was smashed to shit.

His vehicle went spinning across the intersection and ended up about thirty feet from mine. I checked to make sure Beth was okay (she was), and I got out of the car. I yelled over to the guy, “Hey, I had the green light!” He yelled back something unintelligible. I was angry. The red dissipated immediately as I realized the experience was over. My car was fucked. So was his. That made me feel a little better.

Thankfully a cop had been cruising by at the same time and pulled over. That started the lengthy and boring process of waiting for the police report. The fuzz talked with me for a minute asking what had happened. It was clear that the fault lay with the other driver.

A slimy pickup truck operator had been listening to the police scanner’s accident channel and showed up within minutes. He eventually won the business of the other driver. The cop told me not to use a private tow service as my insurance has their own vendors.  I was on the phone with the insurance company for about thirty minutes and then their roadside assistance team.

During much of this time Beth was trapped inside the front-passenger seat. The side panel had crumpled back and blocked the door’s ability to open. She eventually slid out and bullshitted with the cops and tow jockey. She stayed faithfully there and kept me in good spirits. It would have been easy to steal away into a cab, but she didn’t. That’s a good woman.

The other driver was cited for failure to yield and then the cops left the scene. We were alone again, waiting on the tow. Thirty minutes went by, and since it was a little chilly we huddled into the backseat. It was kind of romantic in a weird way. It felt like we were far away from the accident and we snuggled up. She kept me calm.

There was one problem when the tow truck arrived.

I had a big purple vibrator in my trunk. Oh, and six packages of lube. The fine people at Trojan had loaded me up at the BlogHer conference a few months back. I always take free stuff, but I never knew what to do with any of these particular goods. At the time I had deposited it into the trunk and never again moved the contraband. The tow truck driver asked if I had any personal belongings I’d like to take with me.

He had a garbage bag in his truck and I filled it with marital aides. In the trunk search I also found two non-alcoholic beers floating around. Took them with me, too.

At the end of the day nobody was injured and it’s just a car that was provided to me free of charge by my parents. While I didn’t expect to shell out god-knows-how-many-thousands on a new car this year, I am an adult. Most of us buy our vehicles like big boys and girls.

However, if any of you want to donate a luxury vehicle I will seriously consider flying out to your location, treating you to a fine steak chop, taking one photo where we’re shaking hands, and drive the car back to it’s new home. I mean, I did spend my money developing the ThoughtsFromParis Apple and Android app. You owe me.

When I was parking my car outside of her townhouse, I applied The Club to my steering wheel.

Now, I am acutely aware that The Club is not fashion friendly. It’s not as bad as producing a two-for-one coupon at Dennys on a first date, but it’s similar.

First, it’s a subtle sort of insult. I didn’t mean it this way, of course. I use The Club everywhere. The only places I don’t deem it necessary are at grocery stores and other retail-like places.  I’m not a Club maniac, for chrissakes.

I do, however, live in an area that is not exactly safe. We have gangs who roam about. Plus, I’ve had a few cars broken into over the years. The Club is a mainstay even in my gated parking place.

Side story – When I first got my condo I wanted a roommate to help with the mortgage. The woman I selected was a chemist PhD from Stanford. On her first day here some gentleman threw a brick through her rear windshield. What’s even more disturbing is that he didn’t steal anything. Just interested in bashing windshield, I guess. Someone who will smash a window and not even have the initiative to go and steal the contents inside the car is not the kind of individual I want loitering in the neighborhood. She was beside herself and my only response was to remind her that she had signed a twelve month commitment to pay rent. She took off two months later. We did have a party once and she brought all of her nerd friends. That was awesome. Otherwise she sort of sucked.

I didn’t realize it might appear to my date that I thought she lived in a shit part off the city. In fact, she lives in a perfectly nice area of Chicago and her townhouse is beautiful.

I’d like to point out that she has three pets that all shed and yet there isn’t a hair anywhere on the floor or furniture. These are what we in the dating business call a “good quality.” Pet ownership and cleanliness goes a long way in my book. Never understood what book that idiom was referencing. Probably the Bible or some crap.

After I whipped out and applied the device to the steering wheel, she deadpanned, “Please write about how much I hate The Club.”

I read recently that it only takes about an extra minute to get through The Club if a burglar is motivated. She echoed this saying it does nothing to detract  thieves.   I looked at her for a moment, sobered by this conversation. Then she laughed, not at me, but at the idea of a guy applying metal to the steering wheel as a safety precaution. Seriously, none of us (except me) have seen a Club since that one scene from Swingers. And it was ridiculous then.

I started to laugh, too.

These are the moments I long for when I’m most lonely. To share a laugh with someone that is genuinely funny. When it’s at my expense, even the better. The comments on this blog are a testament to my insane thoughts and actions. You guys call me out on my stupidity. It’s grounding.

To me one of the most attractive qualities in a woman is for her to bust balls in a caring way. It’s a delicate and difficult stretch. Too far one way and you’re a bitch. But done correctly it’s a connecting experience. Laughing at someone in this way exposes the silliness and true humor that exists naturally  in life. But these jokes are hidden if you’re alone. I’m reminded how important genuine friendships are. Normally I’m driving alone. In that moment with her I had a copilot laughing at something that I had forgotten was funny.

Now, wait until she finds out I dance in the bathroom with the door closed and the headphones on pretending I’m not one, nor two, but all three of the Beastie Boys. At the same time.

• 220221whtever  Doritos

Doritos are the Skittles of the chip world. The first twenty six are delicious. The twenty seventh one will make you keel over. Hard. And when I grew up there were only two kinds, the Nacho Cheesier and the Cool Ranch. Two was enough. Sometimes you wanted tang (insert bad joke here) and sometimes you wanted cheese. They were equally good and equally destroyed your breath. Also, you can’t read eating these chips. You will destroy that leatherbound version of Moby Dick that, like me, you have on your bookshelf to impress people. So who cares I don’t know who Queequeg is? You don’t either.

• chubachups  Penguins

Let’s face it – penguins are the best and only reason to go to the aquarium or zoo. To watch them waddle, run, dive in the water and show their bellies is awesome. Plus, they sleep standing up and their necks go into their bodies. It’s fantastic. However, and this is gross, the best is when a penguin bends over facing the glass where you’re standing, and shoots a stream of white waste right at you. I’ve seen it several times and you instinctively jump. They must get a good laugh on that one.

• NewPairOfGenes  Lay away pay option for Chicago loop parking meters.

Chicago privatized their parking meters a few years ago and the prices have risen dramatically. I was in the Gold Coast this morning getting my hair cut and I paid $6 to park on the street for sixty minutes. It’s expensive. Here’s an idea to make the whole thing more enjoyable. This is dumb but I think it would work. There should be a little simple slot machine where each time you park, you push a button and it runs. If you win you get $20 credit back to your card. Like one in a thousand wins or something reasonable. At least then you’d feel a little hopeful each time you’re shelling out $25 for two hours of parking in the city.

• Melendora    the trolls that live under my bed

Okay, first those aren’t trolls, they’re dust mites. You need a decent carpet shampoo and a Dyson. But, I always said there are trolls who steal in the middle of the night. Cigarettes, beers, guitar picks,  barrettes, and twenty dollar bills are all lifted while you snooze. The only chance to keep these thieves at bay is to pee around your bed in a circle. The trolls respect this boundary and will leave to find habitation at another home. Tonight you must pee on the floor around the bed. Please do this now. ProTip – not a great idea to eat asparagus beforehand.

• LeslieMueller Brownies vs. Cupcakes

Cupcakes and here’s why. Well, for one I just picked up a whole tray of them today in the grocery store. But I did briefly consider the brownie cookies that were available. And since we’re only talking about the pastry one does not get to include supplemental treats like milk or ice cream. These make brownies the clear winner. Here’s how you know brownies aren’t all that – there are no brownie stores. There are a ton of cupcake hangouts. Brownies are a commitment. You sit down with a brownie and you’ve got the next thirty minutes booked. A cupcake only commands four minutes max. Also brownies get nasty in pans after a few days. Oh, and walnuts. Brownies are often ruined with nuts. Enough said.

• OldDogNewTits  High thread-count bed sheets

Here’s my philosophy on buying linens and televisions. Go to the store and do some quick comparison. Determine whether the Egyptian silk 1300 count is really so much better than that cotton stuff in the bargain TJ Maxx bin. Plasma vs. LCD? Don’t kill yourself with the decision because three days after buying and it just becomes your bedsheets and television. You’re not comparing after purchasing. You won’t know the picture sucks on your rear-projection until you go over to your buddy’s house who has the 90″ 3-D. So, stop leaving the house. The only way you’ll know if your thread-count sucks is if you’re cheating on your partner and visiting the Heavenly beds at the Westin. Stop that, too.

I am sad about this. I actually had two offers that I both turned down. One was from friends who, ever year, go to this huge gala in Chicago. The week prior I had decided against it. I get dressed up each day for work – it’s enough. Ha. Sorry to laugh at my own moronic logic, but that’s actually how I thought about it. Also, it’s pretty expensive for someone who doesn’t drink. So, no to that one.

The other option was something that came up unexpectedly. Even though every fiber of my logic said to attend, I just couldn’t. Ladies and gentlemen (don’t you hate when writers or speakers throw that stupid phrase out there?), I simply chickened out.

Here’s what and why.

I hired someone last week whose fiance runs a bar. Actually, they now run two bars. This second one is brand new and they’re doing this big event for New Year’s Eve. In Chicago you’re  hard-pressed  to find a bar event that’s under $100. It’s just the normal cost of all-you-can-drink and eat stuff. I didn’t mind shelling out that money ten years ago when I was a boozebag. It was well-priced.

Her event at the new bar was only $50 for the whole night, including drinks. That’s a steal. So, even though I wouldn’t win on the spirits, I would stack as many Tostino Pizza Rolls as would fit on a mini paper plate. Now, she’s five month’s pregnant and I think she was going to run around selling shots all night. Which is a funny sight you’d have to admit. The point is, it’s not like we’re best pals (I’ve met her twice) nor will she have time to wax poetic to me. She’s going to be running around throwing Schnapps down throats.

Other than her I wouldn’t have known anyone else.

Now, in any other setting, I’m good. Invite me to a party where I don’t know anyone and I’ll go. I’ll make up a story about I how I used to bang the cousin of the host’s best friend’s sister. I basically interview people all day so I am constantly meeting new faces and talking. I’m good with people.

But the idea of going to a bar on New Year’s Eve where there would be nobody that I knew and walking around seemed odd. How do I explain that I just decided to go and spend $50 to hang out with nobody – no friends, etc. It’s sad, right? Also, imagine I came up to your table of single girls and introduced myself. How long before someone goes, “Where are you friends?” How do I respond? “Oh, I’m a loner. I roam at night in the shadows. No one can tie me down!” You’d think that was weird, yes? Yes. Yes you would.

Now, that’s the story I sold myself and, as a result, I didn’t go.

The TRUTH is that I could have attended and made it work. I would have gone, met people and simply said, “I didn’t have anything to do tonight – I know the owner and just thought I’d swing by. I’m D.J.” I’ve even extend my hand to shake, people! I’m good in public!

But I was afraid of doing it for some reason. I think it’s a control thing. I’d rather stay home where I can fully control my evening (albeit a lonely, sad evening) then go out and not have anyone to talk to. That was my big fear. Standing at the edge of the bar with nothing to do. But I could have always left had that happened.

I was beating myself up about this pretty good last night when I finally just said, “Well, I chickened out. It happens. I don’t need to shame myself. Maybe I’m just not at a place where I can do that on my own. Or maybe I needed someone to kick me in the butt. Either way I’m going to enjoy this time with myself. Next time I’m going to set up some event in advance so this doesn’t happen.”

Now, I’d love to say that I felt 100% better after that but I didn’t. But I felt 50% better. And that was a start.

I’m going to focus as much as I can on this self-judgment which never helps get me what I want. I hope all of you have a great start to 2013. Let’s all hit the gym tomorrow and stave off chocolates. Or, in my case lose 10 lbs before Saturday for the blog conference I’m attending in Las Vegas. I can do this. I know I can. Pray for me.

 
photo credit: George M. Groutas via photopin cc

I will admit it was a little weak. Ahem…

Last night I went around surveying her work. It was not great. Little things I hadn’t noticed before like corners with large dust bunnies, the bathroom mirror that hadn’t been washed, and the microwave she didn’t clean after a chili explosion. Oh well.

Are you wondering if I hadn’t done a walkthrough of the place prior to her leaving? Actually I did. But I’m also the guy who pees in his kitchen sink. What do I know from clean?  I mean, it’s not like I had her go around with a black light to see the real dirt. I will not be expounding further on this matter.

The reality is that I did a mini  walk-through  when she was here but I just wanted her the shit out of my condo. She was a yapper and I literally had to go from room to room to escape her stories. She was nice, but if I need a friend I’ll ask your mom to start paying me again to hang out with you.

Now, the last time I had a cleaning lady the cat peed on my comforter during and I had to run out to the laundromat because the thing is too big for my washer. When I came back the trollup was gone with a bunch of my stuff.

She was smart enough to leave her cellphone behind and all of her vacation photos from Hawaii with her daughter. At least I can feel good about ruining her ability to ever visually reflect on this family vacation.

So this time I had to take precaution.

The new cleaning lady was half an hour late – always a great first impression. I didn’t really care but I had to go run and get groceries. I had this coupon that was $11 off a $70 purchase. It just so happened I needed a bungload of groceries. Plus, a coupon like that is exciting to this paleface. But the last time I left with a cleaner there I got rooked.

So I did what anyone with half a brain would have done in that scenario…

I took her car keys.

Yep. I asked her for her car keys so I could go to the supermarket and shop. This way she couldn’t make off with any of my guitars, the upright piano, or the faux-suede sectional. She could continue to, however, line her pockets with anything small. I’m not digging around in her Wranglers. I’m no animal. If she can slide it in a purse, it’s hers.

Asking somebody for their car keys presupposes that they’re going to steal. It’s kind of a slight to their character. Okay, not “kind of.”

I explained to her that I got ripped off the last time and it wasn’t personal. Surprisingly, she understood and didn’t seem to take offense. She kept mumbling something about “karma” this or that for people that steal. Ever notice karma is a word only stupid people use? Because it’s the high tech version of “what goes around comes around” which we all know doesn’t actually translate into reality. By the way, if the world runs on karma it is definitely not on a one-to-one ratio.

I made it down to my car with two sets of keys. I have to admit I did love the power grab. I could take her car to the grocery if I wanted! I could go make a copy of her set of keys and break into her house! I could set off her car alarm and not turn it off!

Or I could just go get a bunch of asparagus and fat-free milk. Which is what I did.

Plus, I got a car so no more walking to the store like a chump.

• My Career As A Video and Photo Thief – Did I ever steal anything?   Yes!
• My Holiday Cards Are Better Than Your Holiday Cards – Would you like to get on the list for this year?   Too bad!   (I don’t much care for you.)
• I Get Drunk On Not-Eating – Want me to tell you how much I love you?   Hide the protein, carbs, and fat.
• Watch Me On TV – Like Right Now! – Tired of really unattractive guests on talk shows?   Me too!   Get ready to watch and fall in love with more of me.
• Sitting Here In My Underwear At My Parents’ House In The Kitchen – I forgot to mention this in the story, but a woman rang the doorbell while I was writing this.   I ran and hid so she wouldn’t see my boxer briefs.