September 27 - Paint It White

Today I painted the floor at Essanay.

Stage 1.

6,000 square feet.

I had a partner.

A Swedish guy.

Ulf.

The floor was black.

They wanted it white.

We started around 9am.

Ulf and I painted in silence.

A guy came in with a boom box.

He turned on B96.

I caught up on pop.

It's the same.

It was 1pm.

It looked like we were going to have to do two coats.

An old guy came in.

"No! No! No!"

He showed us how to paint.

"You make a 'W'!"

I had been painting "X"'s.

Okay.

So a "W".

Fine.

For the rest of the day I alternated between pretending I was in The Warriors and The Wolverines.

Ulf changed the radio station.

"I hate that Euro disco shit."

Oh.

So we had been listening to B96 for hours and we both hated it.

He put on the oldies.

He wanted to hear some Neil Diamond.

Around 5pm they eventually played some.

"Sweet Caroline" of course.

Thankfully Ulf didn't do that obnoxious "so good so good" thing.

I fucking hate that so much.

We had been painting nonstop.

There had been no lunch.

The white paint was dizzying.

It sat in my periphery.

Like being inside an egg.

Mmm, eggs.

Some guys came in to check out our work.

I was far away in the corner.

Ulf and the guys just stared at me.

I put my roller down and waved at them.

"YOU'RE DOIN' A GREAT JOB, DUDE!"

"cool."

We finished.

My black shoes were dotted with white paint.

My only pair of shoes.

Time to go.

Lauren made delicious chili.

I devoured it in time for Monday Night Football.

Bears vs. Packers.

It was an exciting game.

I yelled at the TV with blue collar rage.

"MURDER THOSE FUCKS!!"

"CUT OFF HIS FUCKIN' DICK!!"

"YANK HIS ARM OUT OF ITS SOCKET!!!"

"FUCK HIS SISTER IN THE FACE!!"

"SHIT IN HIS MOUTH!!!"

That paint hate had to go somewhere.

Verdict: Win

September 26 - Bringing It All Back Brown

A big brown breakfast.

Brown brats.

Brown potatoes.

Brown toast.

Brown coffee.

Brown coma.

Actually just a regular coma.

"Brown coma" sounds like I shit myself.

Although I do have a little joke I do with Lauren.

It goes like this:

TONY: How did you sleep?

LAUREN: Like a baby.

TONY: So you shit your pants?

I am always on!

I am a non-stop laugh cannon!

I swear, sometimes I am Robin Williams.

When it comes to zingers, I am an expert marksmen.

If hilarity were a virus, our apartment would be quarantined!

Often I laugh myself right to sleep.

I woke up around 4pm.

I changed my underpants and went out.

(Hilarious immediate callback to the shitting pants joke.)

It was Joanna's birthday.

Ten years ago, Joanna and I used to date.

She was also in my old band.

Now she draws.

A group of us met up at a pizza parlour.

Tom and Thea from Nurse Novels were there, so it was a Sandwich Shop reunion of sorts.

I mentioned that I had begun shopping for an engagement ring.

Suddenly, I was a hero.

People displayed excitement.

They asked questions.

I provided hilarious answers.

They responded with non-stop laughter.

Brown laughter.

Do you get it?

They shit themselves.

I brought it all back to shitting.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

(Comedy genius.)

Verdict: Win

September 25 - Demons To Diamonds

While Lauren was in class, I rode my bike to Lincoln Square.

There was an "apple fest" or some crap going on.

Kids were everywhere.

And worse, their parents.

I was on their turf.

It sucked.

I locked my bike to a neglected dog and ducked into a jeweler.

They had rings.

The engagement kind.

Oh oh.

I was making a concerted effort toward becoming an adult man.

The jeweler was cool and understood that I knew nothing about rubies or diamonds or adulthood.

She showed me different kinds of diamond cuts.

Round, Princess, Marquise, Pear, Asscher, Cushion, Emerald, Oval.

I liked them.

They all looked very diamondy.

I decided on a band.

A thin "o" bejazzled with goofy sparkles.

It seemed like Lauren.

Vvrip!

Just like that.

I made an appointment for next week to view some diamonds.

"Are you nervous?"

About going back out into that child infested suburb in the city?

Yes.

In case Lauren beat me home, I created an alibi.

Gene's Sausage.

Breakfast brats and a couple of plastic 40's of Russian beer.

And that was the rest of my day.

Not exactly racing toward adulthood, but a bit closer than I was when I woke up.

Verdict: Win

September 24 - C'mon, Mom

A pounding on the van window startled me awake.

It was my mom.

I was in her driveway.

I had agreed to take her to the hospital today.

At 7am.

It was 6am.

I had left the bar around 3am and pulled into the driveway at 4am.

I didn't want to wake her up.

So I just slept in the back of the van.

"Okay," I waved.

While I pushed myself up into a new strange day I heard my mom talking to some people.

She was telling one of them to stop filming her with their camera.

I wobbly surfaced from the van.

A group of preteen girls were standing at the end of our dead end street.

I squinted in their direction and headed inside.

"You know if a policeman saw you, you'd be arrested for vagrancy," she scolded.

"I didn't want to wake you up."

My mom's throat was having a little surgery.

Without looking, she handed me a succession of papers.

Insurance forms, notarized legal documents, her will.

"Mom, isn't this a routine procedure?"

She kept going.

She seemed very excited for me.

I would get both the house and the car.

Her voice hopped.

"It only has 38,000 miles on it!"

She continued handing me papers.

Her morbidness was going to make us late.

"Mom, we gotta go."

It was a grey morning.

We were both crabby.

My mom drove us to the hospital like a maniac.

Everyone was her enemy.

Including me it seemed.

"Are you nervous about the operation?"

"No."

Well, I don't know then.

The operation went without incident.

The goofy gas seemed to mellow out my mom.

For as long as goofy gas lasts.

Over lunch we talked.

She mentioned postponing her train trip out west.

"Mom, you've been talking about this trip for years. Why don't you just do it?"

"BECAUSE I HAVE ALL THESE HOSPITAL BILLS!!"

"MOM, YOU'RE HEALTHY!!"

I told her I wish she would stop fixating on death and focus on living.

She keeps talking about how she's going to die soon.

She's not.

She needs to live.

I wish I could convey this to her without it becoming a fucking argument.

Verdict: Loss

September 23 - Cosmo Lauren

So what's Lauren up to?

She's been using her acting skills at the hospital.

Medical students have to correctly diagnose her based on the symptoms assigned to her.

Yes, like the Seinfeld episode.

It's one of the rare instances where acting is actually doing something useful for mankind.

Today she played Doris, a 48 year old pack-a-day smoker with an obstructed bowel.

A bit of a stretch, but hey.

Lauren's a pro.

Apparently, this strange world has its own subculture.

Many of the other actors there were regulars.

A few them made catty criticisms about the aspiring doctors.

"Can you believe he didn't even ask me about my eating habits?"

They all cackled.

Lauren moved further away from them.

These people are going to be doctors!

What the fuck are you doing?

I worked at the bar tonight.

Here's what I wrote:

My triumphant return as a doorman.

Kim & Brian both texted me to make sure I was still working there.

"Just stay alert at the door."

It's a dead night tonight w/ Kim.

Nothing spectacular happened –

A stumbling drunk man in his late 40s labored through the door + asked me if I liked Shakespeare or mumble.

He repeated it.

"I dont know."

He was here for about 5 minutes, bought me + Kim beers, left the change from a $20, and split.

Kim explained that he comes in here about every 2 weeks after getting overly refreshed at all the Polish bars – talks a bunch + then tips beyond generously.

One time he tipped Brian $80.

Brian refused it + put it in an envelope for him to get when he was sober.

A month went by, + he returned, still insisting that was for Brian.

Recently he tipped Kim $40.

"You need a new bike."

She didn't. She has four bikes.

"Well then you want a new Bike."

He thanked me for Being nice to him – though really I was just dead + unemotional toward him.

Verdict: Win

September 22 - Stupor Bowl XVI

I filed for unemployment.

Then Lauren put me to work.

I built two new black nightstands.

She made a dish called Hunter's Chicken.

Then I met my Sad On Vacation pals Sam and Andrew at Carol's Pub.

It's a hillbilly bar in Uptown.

Some white trash hoosiers played competent country tunes.

Sam and Andrew got silly.

I got completely shit-faced.

Around 2am I clumbered home.

I was in a talkative mood.

I talked mostly about 1982 Cincinnati Bengals quarterback Ken Anderson.

I was also in a bitative mood.

So I bit Lauren a bunch.

Then I fell off of the bed.

I am officially unemployed!

Verdict: Win

September 21 - Dole Bananas

Today Mike and Holli dropped by.

Holli lent me her "unemployment computer".

It's a PC.

In Illinois you can't file for unemployment on a Mac.

It keeps all those brainy eggheads off the dole.

All those poindexters with their pocket protectors.

There's plenty of work for all those pencil-necked geeks.

Ever heard of Rent-A-Nerd?

So after we all got loaded on Irish whisky while the laundry waited impatiently in the other apartment complex basement, I was going to file for unemployment.

Verdict: Win