Little vignettes of things that have truly happened to me but aren't worth an entire dedicated post.
My friends Mark and Kony in Chicago had a vegetable garden behind their garage that yielded copious amounts of vegetables. One night, after having dinner together, Mark sent us home with this huge zucchini. It was as big as Dipshit's forearm, I kid you not. Anyways, when Dipshit and I returned home, we had an issue trying to find a parking spot (not unusual in our neighborhood). After a few minutes of driving around aimlessly, I had Dipshit drop me at the corner across the street as I had to use the bathroom quite badly. So there I was, standing on the corner of Sheridan and Lunt (I always had people telling me this joke: There are 3 streets in Chicago that rhyme with vagina; Paulina, Melvina and Lunt) waiting to cross and the light turns red. Waiting at the light was a car full of young teenage boys. And there I am crossing a street that rhymes with vagina carrying this HUGE zucchini. By myself. The guys started laughing and one even told me to "Enjoy my night with my special friend." Dipshit thought it was hilarious when I told him the story. And just for the record, my special friend made an excellent zucchini parmesan.
I once went out with a guy who had a sock fetish. Rather than request nudie pics, this guy wanted to see pictures of my feet in my socks. He loved the fact that I have all of these weird, wild socks including Dr. Seuss One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish socks. It was odd, to say the least.
Never in my life have I enjoyed beer. I shotgunned a beer once just to prove I could, and I periodically try new beers such as the new lime beers everyone has started making and the Blue Moon you add orange slices to, but for the most part I am most emphatically not a beer drinker. So a few weeks ago, I swung by my dad's apartment to see him about something. While I had let him know I was coming, he told me he had a few things to do beforehand but that if I beat him there to let myself in, so I did. My dad arrived a few minutes after I did and offered me a beer. I said, "Oh, Dad. You man of perpetual hope!" My dad looked surprised and said, "Coke? You found a Coke in my refrigerator? Really? That can't be any good!"
I once asked a guy if it was in yet. It was. (B, that one was for you).
The other day at work, I received a sales call for a woman that no longer works with us. After politely explaining three times that the person he was looking for no longer works here, the man began spelling her name for me and telling me her position. Finally, completely exasperated, I said, "I know who you're looking for, but she doesn't work here anymore!" The man said, "Fuck you," and hung up on me.
In the days when MySpace was cool, I once had a guy hit on me. After a few phone conversations, I agreed to finally meet him in person at a Borders (yes, desperate times, desperate measures). So we meet. It didn't go well, mainly because he was an idiot. He wanted to open a "We Sell Your Stuff On Ebay" store in 2006 (reason numero uno that you're an idiot) because he had some friends who had opened stores in Chicago. I asked where in Chicago they had opened their stores. He said, "I don't know exactly which city, honey. Chicago is a big state after all." We argued for 15 minutes that not only is Chicago not a state, but it's not even the capital of Illinois. He left for the bathroom shortly thereafter, never to return. Icing on the cake? Some random man who had been sitting nearby said to me, "I don't think he's returning." He paused for a moment and continued, "It's probably a good thing. He's an idiot."
Another "Mo Went Out With This Idiot" Classic. I just want to make my disclaimer right now: I was high for the first time. In college, my friend Shiraz and I got conned into attending a party with our friend Jame-O (he worked with someone who was the roommate of the person attending the party or something like that). At one point, this rather beefy but good looking guy came over and started talking to me. We talked about school (I went to CMU, he went to Grand Valley) and I asked him his major. "Baseball." I shook my head to clear it and said, "No, your major. What's your major?" He responded, "Baseball" again. I leaned over to Shiraz and said, "Now I know I'm high, but this guy is telling me his major is baseball." God and Shiraz as my witness, I could not make this next part up if I tried. A fellow partier walked by at this moment and "Baseball" said, "If you put that guy in a barrel of oil, you'd come up with a fish! Fish! Fish!" But he was blond, cute, and beefy and sadly, though our conversation never did get any better than this, yes, sadly, I did go out with this guy. And violated Shiraz's beanbag with him as well.
The last time I smoked was almost a full decade ago. I was in Brooklyn, New York with my friend Brooklyn (name has been changed to protect the not-so-innocent). I had a friend Tommy who lived in Queens, and was a Brooklyn cop and we were hoping to finally meet in person (ironically, he had met my friends Gwen and April at an all-inclusive resort in Mexico when they were all vacationing there at the same time). Anyways, Brooklyn was having a bit of a panic attack at being back in New York without the love of her life so we decided to use a holistic approach to calm her down. Not wanting me to feel left out, Brooklyn handed over the joint and I inhaled. Wouldn't you know it? Tommy called RIGHT at that moment. So as we're talking, it's becoming more and more obvious that I just inhaled and suddenly he's yelling, "You're smoking pot right now? On the phone? With a cop? While you're in Brooklyn? SERIOUSLY?" Well, um, yeah.
And if you've wondered why I started my blog, it's because when I tell these stories (and many, many others), people tell me to write these things down. So I'm writing them down. 🙂