Lately I've developed a bad habit of going on MySpace and looking up people I went to high school with. You can search by high school, and if you enter the years you attended it'll spit out a list for you to browse though. It's fun to see who has kids, who got ugly, and who moved halfway across the world. All without actually having to talk to them.

And then today I happened to find the girl I went to prom with. And it turns out she got married.

Things just keep getting weirder and weirder.

All this week Nikki and her boyfriend are in Mexico, and as a result, all this week I'm staying with Augie and Lucy, her two dogs. I've packed up my things (including my trusty iBook) and hightailed it down to Nikki's condo in the south Loop for a week of near-south siders and dogs. We'll see how it goes.

Today, upon my first arrival, Lucy was a bit skittish. To gain her trust I laid down in the middle of the livingroom floor, arms spread, holding a treat.

"Lucy, we've gotta learn to get along better," I told her. "I'm gonna be here all week." Pause. "And don't forget to tip your waitress."

A play in three acts. About love.

Act One: A couple comes into the bar last night. They're close and happy. They have a few drinks, talk to me a bit, and leave a nice tip.

Act Two: They leave to go sit at their table for dinner. I find out later that they have become engaged at some point during the meal.

Act Three: The woman comes back to the bar alone, clearly drunk and in a bad mood. The man, also drunk, arrives several minutes later. The two of them immediately engage in an argument about the size of the wedding. Then talk turns to prenups. They swear, they yell. A hostess who is working for the first time asks, "Does this kind of thing usually happen?" I shake my head no, solemnly. The man exits, stage right. The woman follows. Curtain.

The end.

The other day, while making a deposit, I noticed this sitting in my local ATM vestibule:







That's right - forget checking or savings, this guy was depositing to "ass".

Yesterday Micah, Kami and I were having lunch. Micah was in a flustered mood.

Micah: I need to use my drill on something, and I've been looking and looking and I can't find my bit.
Me: Kami and I have this bit where we pretend to be Roy Jacuzzi.
Kami: We do this Italian accent and talk about hot tubs a lot.
Me: (doing the Roy Jacuzzi voice) Ay, so I remembah this one time bahk in '84 White Snake called me up and they were like "Ay, Roy, can you spare us some Jacuzzis for our tour?" and I was like "Totally!" and in rehturn they gave me some tickets to their show and it was frickin' sweet!
(pause)
Me: So, you know, if you want to borrow our bit you can.
(pause)
Micah: You two are so weird.

Last night Stephanie and I were playing Trivial Pursuit. I landed on orange - wild card.

Steph: (reading the card) What do bartenders hear the most complaints about - work, women, or sports teams?
Me: Um...sports teams?
Steph: (scoldingly) Joshua! The correct answer is "work".
Me: Well how was I supposed to know?
Steph: You're a bartender!

Today Bernadette and I are driving past a Walgreens. Their outdoor scrolling sign that announces sales and deals is broken, and the message it's stuck displaying is: "Time is running out".

"Shit," I say. "That's so ominous."
Bernadette nods and says, "Who knew that Walgreens was so big into theology?"

It's 1:00 in the morning and Kel and I are leaving a Lincoln Park bar. A woman stops us as we're about to leave. "Excuse me," she says, "but what color would you say this guy's shirt is?"

The guy is wearing a black suit and is defensive about his shirt. He calls it red. The woman disagrees. Kellie feels like it's more of a wine color. "But wait," he says, "what do you think of it with this tie?" He pulls out a solid red tie and Kellie reels back in horror. "No," she says, "absolutely not."

The guy, not quite trusting her, asks "What do you do for a living?" She smirks at him and says, "I work at the Banana Republic on Michigan avenue." He has no comeback for that. As we're exiting the bar he finally thinks of something to say and yells out after us, "Oh yeah? Well I make $250,000 a year as an investment banker!"

"You really need to move neighborhoods," I tell Kellie as we walk down the street. Shaking her head, she agrees: "I know, I know."

The other day Lizze, Shayan and I are all lying around. "I want Chocolate," Lizze announces. "Me too," Shayan says. "I'd be up for that," I third.

Lizze suggests that we go to Sweet Occasions, as they have this great, rich chocolate cupcake.

"Eh, I don't really like chocolate if it's that rich," I say. "Well it's not that rich," Lizze amends. "You can spread it out," Shayan suggests. "Give some to the poor."

I start laughing and announce to the room, "I am the Robin Hood of Chocolate!"

Bern: It's Igor's birthday today.
Me: That's cool. What are you two doing?
Bern: I don't know. I wasn't at home when he called.
Me: But...you have a cell phone.
Bern: Whatever.
Me: You don't even *have* a landline that you could have been away from!
Bern: Whatever!
Me: That doesn't make any sense!

Today Stephanie is telling me about what she plans on wearing to a party next weekend.

Steph: Or maybe I was thinking I could just wear my fingerless gloves.
Me: Fingerless gloves?
Steph: (sarcastic) Didn't you know I was a total punk?
Me: Oh. (pause) Well in that case, gabba gabba hey.

Today over lunch Bernadette and I are discussing "intimate relations".

"Do you have everything you need?" she asks. I shrug. "I'm sleeping over at her place all this weekend," I tell her. Bernadette cocks her eyebrow at me. "Oh, so you expect her to have everything?" Point taken.

After lunch we swing by to the CVS down the block and head to the aisle charmingly named "Family Planning". It's been a while since I've shopped in this aisle, and I'm alarmed at all the new choices. Flavors, colors, scents. They have them with lotion that heats up. They have them in little easy to open packages that look like the jam containers you'd find at a diner. They have ones that vibrate for up to 20 minutes thanks to a tiny built in battery. Clearly, this is one market that is not standing still.

I grab what I need and head up the register, only to see two seniors (one in a wheelchair) and a group of small children mulling about the registers. "I can't do this," I tell Bernadette. "Oh relax," she tells me. "Kids don't know what the hell's going on, and old people need it too. Especially ones in wheelchairs." I don't fully understand what Bern is talking about, but I listen to her nonetheless.

I clench my jaw and head up to the registers. One of the seniors has walked away and the man in the wheelchair is mumbling something. "I need to be moved," he says to no one in particular, and I offer to push him. "Over there!" he says, and I wheel him to his desired spot. "I can't reach the TV Guide," he informs me. I hand it to him. While doing this the kids vamoose, and suddenly the registers are wide open. I take this opportunity to make my purchase.

As we're leaving Bernadette sighs and says, "Only you."

Most people already know about my love for the Fox show 24 (also known as the one hour a week that Kiefer is sober), but this week I decided to kick it up a notch.

With Stephanie (another 24 lover) coming over, I felt that a 24-themed dinner would be a nice touch. Pasta ala Sentox? Too weird. Something on the lamb? Too corny (plus, neither of us like lamb). And then Micah gave me a brilliant idea: Radioactive Pizza (with, of course, jack cheese).







At first I was unsure what to use for the black part. "Black beans?" I asked Micah. "Hey," he shrugged, "it's your date." Black olives were viewed as a safer choice.

As I started making the pizza I could barely contain myself. "This dinner is going to knock your socks off," I told Stephanie before she came over. "Okay," she said, a bit hesitantly. I followed up with, "Even if it tastes like crap, it will look awesome." When Steph finally arrived she walked over to the stove and I triumphantly announced. "It's a radioactive pizza." Pause. "With jack cheese."

Stephanie turned to me and deadpanned: "Josh, my socks have been knocked off."

I still think it was pretty cool.

Yesterday at lunch Micah orders iced tea and we start talking about those funny named teas like HonestTea, or some such sort.

Me: I want to start a tea company and make funny named teas. Like infideli-tea.
Micah: Infideli-tea?
Me: You'd drink in the morning after your affair.
Micah: Ah. What about Ambigui-tea.
Me: Explain.
Micah: It might be lemon flavored. Maybe herbal. You're not really sure.
Me: Nice.

We brainstorm a little more and then our grossness gets the better of us.

Me: Ooh, beastiali-tea!
Micah: Eww, that's nasty. Oh! Nas-tea!

We both laugh for a minute.

Micah: What would be in beastiali-tea?
Me: (shrugging) Fur?
Micah: Ew!
Me: What would be in nas-tea?
Micah: Piss.

We finally end on virgini-tea, which is clear when you first drop the teabag into the cup, but slowly it soaks out and turns the water red.

Oh, where did mom go wrong?

About a year ago I decided to answer a personals ad in the Reader. "This girl sound like the female version of you!" my brother exclaimed, showing me the ad he had found. She liked cheese, comic books, writing, and a variety of other things I can't remember, but sounded thrilling at the time. So I contacted her and we made a date.

Then, the day before the date, I realized that her name sounded familiar. Where had I heard that name before? And then it struck me: She had a website. And not in the way that *I* had a website. She had a website that people actually read. She had a website that was named one of the 50 Best Websites by Time magazine a few years ago. Unlike me and my faux intelligence, she was the real deal.

In the end we ended up only going on one date, but unlike my other one-hit-wonder dates that faded away, this girl never seemed to disappear, no thanks in part to her small celeb status. A week after our date I picked up the Reader, only to see her giant face on the front of Section 2, telling me "_______, creator of the popular Web zine ______, has a new obsession: food writing." Now, just shy of a year later, I had almost forgotten about her until I picked up this month's Chicago magazine.

April's Chicago is all about salaries. A professional dogwalker makes $26,000/year. An electrician makes $73,112. A vehicle booter for the city makes $52,728. And then, randomly in the middle of the article I see her name. And she makes $35,000/year.

In a small way I like to think I know what Jennifer Aniston feels like. Her and I just can't escape it.

The night is just getting started at work and Nikki isn't feeling well.

Nikki: What cures a chest cold?
Christine: Juice.
Me: Did you just say Jews?
Christine: (deadpan) Yes. I said Jews.
Nikki: I need hot sex with a Jew to cure my chest cold.
Me: Well, if I have to offer my services...
Nikki: (laughing and walking away) You're so weird.

Ah, the healing power of Jews.