Wow, so we tried this thing called the extinction method on the baby last night. It’s called this because when you try it, you want to kill your baby, your spouse and yourself. It’s a great time. Essentially, its theory is this: This kid’s gotta learn how to calm himself down. Yes, you’ve been running in to comfort him at all hours for the past four months, but now he’s starting to form habits, and this sort of reinforcement only encourages him to keep crying, so starting now, let the little thing scream til its shrill banshee howls make everyone in the house shit their nerves into their pants. It’s fun.
So, I’m tired, my wife’s tired. My dogs are looking at me with a “what the fuck is that thing that just yells all the time still doing here?’ sort of look (as though they don’t shit in our room when they’re pissed at us). Domestic bliss. That’s the long and short of it, people. Yay.
Nah, it actually turned out okay, and when all the craziness was said and done, everyone slept until 7, which is no small feat. I’ve picked up some more shifts at the bar, so I’m up to three days a week, which I think technically makes me employed part time. That’s a big step up from ‘dependent’.
Well, technically, I’m also an advice columnist, right? And celebrity blogger? And just all around internet impresario? Yeah, that’s me. Step into the virtual lounge and have a virtual martini while I entertain you with my various virtual witticisms.
I hate music. It’s the worst. I can’t go see live shows anymore unless I really, really like the people in the band, or in very rare cases, really like the music. It’s a sad consequence of working in the live music world so intensely for so long. I used to love it, but I’ve been going to rock shows every day for the past fifteen years. I think even double blowjobs would get old after that amount of time. (eh, maybe not.)
Some dildo at my bar summed up all the conspiracy theories in the world for me yesterday. This guy’s in his forties and I’m pretty sure he’s always been a dork, but kind of got hip to pinko leftism in the very end of his college career or something. Anyway, he schooled me on the conspiracies of gas prices, airlines manipulating the economy, 9-11, the government sending anthrax to people, something that has to do with Chinese slaves being butlers for White house cabinet members during extended vacations somewhere, the commercial mailing industries hostile takeover by communist China and the White houses role in that and finally, how the NBA is totally fixed and he’s gonna go down to the United Center and start protesting, you know ‘just to get the word out there…expose the truth!’ then he sang me a song he had written. Four verses of it. Great. Thanks dude. I can barely stand to be in a room with a talented band made up of my friends, playing songs that are good. Listening to you (I’m not making this up) do the chicken clucks that comprise the chorus, FOUR TIMES is not cool. Not cool.
This is why I need to get out of the workforce. I can’t stand anyone. Not that I’m a barrel of fun to be around or anything. God, I think about what I’d do if I was my own customer at a bar…Christ. Thanks Joyce, Katie, Anne-Marie, people at Loafers, John, Dave, Martina, Tom, and various other poor suckers who have to deal with me on the increasingly rare occasions that I go out.
I gotta go to work. Enjoy your weekend.
Keep the advice coming. I don't think I need to tell you that blumpkin season is right around the corner! Let's talk about that.