This weekend my mom and her boyfriend Ed came to Chicago to enjoy a weekend in the city courtesy of Micah and I. We went out to dinner, got them tickets to a show, and booked them a hotel room. But at dinner mom voiced in a concern to us: The title 'boyfriend', when referring to Ed, just didn't seem fitting anymore. They've known each other for a few years, they've lived together for more than two, and they're in their late 50's to boot. To her it seemed like the word 'boyfriend' just wasn't enough anymore.

We considered other terms. Mate? Sounds too scientific. Partner? Sounds like you're selling insurance or you're gay. Life partner? Sounds like you're really gay. Significant other? That's just stupid. In the end mom told us that she just calls Ed her husband, even though they're not married and probably never will be.

But for the rest of us, who still are curious to come up with what that word is (and can't fall back on husband or wife), I'm interested to ask for your opinion. Please people, if you have any ideas, that's what the comments section is for.

Not for harassing me.

Contrary to popular belief.

Favorite lyrics from the new Kelly Clarkson song 'Since U Been Gone': "I'm so movin' on!"

That's right. Kelly isn't just movin' on, she's so movin' on! Watch out Jack!

Kami and I have a tradition of going to see a movie together on Mondays. So I was a bit shocked when I walked into work yesterday and she said,

Kami: Josh, we can't go see a movie on Monday.
Me: Why not?
Kami: I'm getting divorced on Monday.
Me: Oh. (pause) Oh, okay.

If I had a dime for every time a woman has used that excuse to get out of going to a movie with me...

The other day Byron and I ran into each other in the kitchen at work. Byron seemed in a particularly foul mood.

Byron: How you can like women?
Me: Bad table?
Byron: All they do is whine and complain, and it's so annoying. I don't know how you can like them.
Me: Yeah...but they've got a vagina, so...I put up with it.

And isn't that what it all comes down to?

My latest piece is up at Life During Wartime. You can read it here, or not. It's really up to you.

This morning I saw a man pull up to a stoplight in his car, pull out a pipe (like an old man pipe), put it in his mouth, and light it up.

First off, I was unaware that people still smoked pipes. Secondly, can you smoke a pipe while you're driving? At 8:30 am?!

Is this like the zipper lock thing? Is this common knowledge to everyone but me?

Perhaps I should buy the New York Times Guide to Essential Knowledge. I'm sure that would have all kinds of answers to this stuff I don't know.

Recently (actually it's been for quite some time, but I like to keep things topical) I have fallen in love. Normally love is not something I like to have as a topic on the blog. I like to blog about things like weird people, or unexpected events, or odd conversations between my co-workers and I. Love is mushy, and sappy, and makes people sneer when they read about it. People say, "Oh Jesus. Its love," as if love is a bad tipper, or love was the one who arrived late in the middle of a play and distracted everyone, squeezing to its seat amid "excuse me"s and "pardon"s.

And of course everyone has had that friend who gets googly eyed over someone, and then blows them off to be with their "loved one". "Stupid love!" they exclaim, for love has stolen their friend away from them. Yoko Ono is one of the finest examples of this situation. I'm sure many nights Ringo yelled "Stupid love!" and threw his drumsticks around.

But I like to think that my love is none of these things. My love tips well, my love arrives on time, and my love doesn't blow off its friends. My love still sees Kami on Mondays, and goes to lunch with my brother, and it never rubs itself in others faces. "Look at me! Whoo weee!" No, my love would never do that.

But it's there, I'm in love, and I just thought that I'd share that with you. I hope I didn't make you sneer too much.

This morning Kel and I somehow got on the topic of zippers.

Kel: Well you know how you're always supposed to lock your zipper down, right?
Me: (pause) Huh?
Kel: You know, put your zipper down so that it locks.
Me: I have no idea what you're talking about.
Kel: Well this friend of mine kept having her pants zipper come undone, and it turned out her zipper was always facing up, so it was unlocked.
Me: I had no idea a zipper couldn't face down. I thought it just...automatically did.

As soon as we were done I went to find a pair of pants and tried pulling the zipper apart while it was flipped up.

Did anyone else know about this?

A week or two ago during a snowstorm the names on our mailbox blew off. This caused the following "knock knock" and conversation between the mailman and I two days ago.

Him: Does Trubatisky and Eisenberg still live here?
Me: Yes.
Him: Well where's the names on the box?
Me: They must have blown off.
Him: Well put them back up.
Me: Okay.

Two days went by. We forgot to put our names back up. Then the other day, scrawled on the outside of our Comcast bill, was the note: "Put your names on the box!! No names, no mail!!" We were getting threatened by our postman! ...The next morning I put our names up.

Today I was sitting in the livingroom when the dogs started barking wildly out the front window. I got up to see what they were barking at and saw the mailman standing at the foot of our stoop, looking at me and pointing to the stoop. He then shrugged.

I took this to mean that he wasn't going to even try climbing our steps to deliver the mail. I held up my finger at the window (the index finger to mean "hold on a second", not the middle finger to mean, well, you know) and quickly threw on jeans and a jacket.

I ran down the stairs to greet him with a hi. "I can't get up those stairs," he said, though I had no problem getting down them, or getting back up them after I had taken the mail. "You didn't even attempt to shovel them!" he went on. He just said it with such contempt for us.

What ever happened to "Neither rain, nor sleet nor snow nor dark of night shall stay this courier from his appointed rounds." I mean sure, he's out, but it's just a few steps. I think he's still bitter about the "no names" thing.

The other day I was leaving the gym and saw a pink Hummer H2 in the parking lot.

What must your life be like if you drive a big pink Hummer. I don't know, I'm asking!

The other day at work we were setting up before open.

Frank: I'm like the (says something I can't hear).
Me: You're like the "who"?
Sean: That's right. He wrote a musical about a boy who loves to play pinball. And he got his friend with the big glasses to help him out.

The other night Father Steve (the gay priest with a sense of humor) came into Kit Kat.

Father Steve: Hey, have you converted yet?
Me: Not yet.
FS: Well what are you waiting for?
Me: I'm waiting for the rates to drop.

I also hope that when I join I'll get a free toaster or something.

Who would think that a crowded train is a good place to go through ring tones, trying to pick a new one?

Evidently the man sitting next to me on the train today.

Yesterday I had one very simple and distinct goal: Go to the gym. It was first going to happen around 11, before I had to go into work for some stuff. Didn't happen. It was then going to happen around 2:30 after I got done with work. Didn't happen. It was finally going to happen around 4:00 before I had to go back into work. Instead I found myself sitting on the sofa watching The Surreal Life, and it was at this point that I said, "Enough is enough!" B-listers living in a house together had kept me from going to the gym!

I decided that my only real option was to go straight to the source. At this point I called up Comcast and told them that I'd like to cancel my cable television. "Any particular reason why you're canceling your service?" they asked. "Eh," I replied, "I just really don't have a use for it." The woman helping me then went into a coughing fit, sounding as though she might hock up a lung, and excused herself. I wondered if this was a ploy to get me to keep cable. Two minutes later she came back, apologizing, but still had a tiny cough every few words. Finally she told me that they would turn my cable off in a little more than a week. I thanked her and hung up but then thought to myself, "I remember this one time I didn't pay my bill and they just turned it off right then and there. Why does it take them more than a week to turn it off now?"

Oh Comcast, you're so sneaky.

Scene: Taking a cab home after work. When we're delayed at a stop sign because of all the people coming out of Maeve the cab driver says that it looks like a nice bar.

Me: Yeah. It's nice. I go there sometimes.
CD: Is it a good place for picking up women?
Me: (laugh) I don't know. I don't go there to pick up women.
CD: Straight?
Me: I'm sorry?
CD: At the stop sign? Turn or keep going straight?
Me: Oh. (pause)Make a left please.

Well it's that time again! 'Time to stick to my new year's resolution and go to the gym for two weeks and then quit?' you may be asking. No, it's time for the 2005 Bloggies, the annual weblog awards given out to bloggers. The nominating is today (yes, I know, late notice) from whenever you're reading this until 10pm eastern (on Monday the 10th)

The categories I'm hoping to be nominated in are "best tagline of a weblog" "most humorous weblog" "best writing of a weblog" and "best-kept-secret weblog". So go to 2005.bloggies.com and nominate me for all those categories...or whatever else you'd like to nominate me for.

And if you're looking for something funny in the blog today...you'll get it after you vote for me.

At work Shane and I have an odd habit of singing songs but replacing certain words with each other's names.

"Purple Shane, Purple Shane."
"His name is Josh, and he dances on the sand."
"Shane in the place where you live. Think about direction, wonder why you haven't now."

Then the other night Shane came up with, "Josh wears his sun glasses at night, so he can, so he can..." Shane and I both had a good laugh and then he told me how he actually knew Corey Hart.

Me: Really?
Shane: Yeah, he used to hang out with this group I knew. And once this friend of mine asked, "Who's that mopey guy who's always hanging around with us?" and someone else said, "Oh, that's Corey Hart. That singer from the 80's."

Shane's stories about celebrities never cease to amaze me. Also, I wonder if there's a VH1 Where Are They Now? about Corey.

Last night at work Dan was asking what supplies he needed to grab before he came behind the bar.

Dan: Do we need any fruit?
Me: Just limes and apples. And we're okay on juice.
Dan: Did you just say we were okay on Jews?
Me: No. Juice. We're fine on Jews. You've got me.

Then this morning I was talking to Kel and mentioned my craving for bagels and lox.

Kel: Oh Josh. You're so Jewish.
Me: I'm just saying.
Kel: I've never had it.
Me: Well I'll have to take you out for it sometime.
Kel: Doesn't it have cream cheese? I don't do cream cheese.
Me: But it doesn't have to have cream cheese. You can put tomatoes and onions on it. Or capers.
Kel: Like a little Jewish burger.
Me: (pause) Yes. Like a Jewish burger.

I bet Moses never had to have these kinds of conversations.

Outside the Bank One that I bank at there's usually a man selling Street Wise. This causes the obvious problem that people can't use the standard Street Wise brush off of, "Sorry, I don't have anything on me." Of course you have something on you! This is a place where your only purpose is to put money in or take money out! Either way there's going to be money on you at some point.

I can't help but feel a tinge guilty walking past him to deposit all my money and not giving him a dollar. Sometimes I wonder, being able to master the guilt trip that well, if the Street Wise guy was a Jewish mother in a previous life.

This morning Kel and I were out to breakfast and the ketchup was refusing to come out of the bottle. "Here, let me try," she said, taking the ketchup from me, as if I was shaking it wrong. It still refused to pour. "This is the world's most difficult ketchup," I said. Kel paused a moment and looked around. "Maybe we're on an episode of Punk'd." I rolled my eyes. "That would be the most pathetic episode of Punk'd," I told her. "Ashton would have to be pretty desperate."

But I'm telling you, if I see a new episode of Punk'd where Usher can't get the ketchup to come out of the bottle I'll know where Ashton stole it from.