"That's the wrong hole."

I forgot to blog on the ten year anniversary of the loss of my virginity. It was the Chicago heatwave summer and my sublet had a western exposure. My first time was, not surprisingly, very sweaty. It was also a debacle. Not so easy to get your rocks off when you're unable to ignore the fact that you're inflicting pain. So as further support for my theory that life only gets better with age, at least now I know where the appropriate hole is (appropriate depending on the circumstances, of course).

I don't miss you, Michele Cho.

Since I'm merciless when it comes to ladies and their advancing age, I'm surprised that more of you don't take pot shots at me for being an old piece of shit. To be honest, I don't like getting older, mostly because it means that I'm this much closer to dying. But as for the psychological trauma of leaving my twenties behind, I had a recent conversation with Mark that led me to realize that I no longer give a shit. For real. Don't get me wrong, 21 to 29 has felt exceedingly brief. I can't believe that it's been over 10 years that I showed up on campus, or that it's been four years since my girlfriend ran off with an old-ass (uh, I guess he was around my present age) college professor. Time flies. In the end, though, there isn't any phase of my life that I'd rather retreat to, if it meant giving up the life I lead now. High school sucked. I didn't know how much it sucked at the time, but being just north of 100 pounds and a compulsive reader of comic books isn't all that fun. Sure, I got to date the coolest nerd chick in school, but that's akin to driving a brand new Ford Focus, leatherette interior edition. Plus, it was very, very weird. Korean christians (CRAZY, just CRAZY), teenage hormones, and a deeply rooted guilt complex don't mix. So I'd rather not be in high school. College was fun, but I don't miss being an emotional moron, i.e., "I fucking love you, bitch! Why are you doing this to me!? At LEAST let me keep your panties!" Most of law school was a blast because it coincided with the early courtship phase of my long love affair with booze. Back then, I never got hung over. Alcohol actually made my mind whip-smart. Imagine that. My girlfriend was an alcoholic, too. But during law school, I had no money, and that kind of sucks. The final alternative would be my pre-pubescent childhood. This is actually tempting. I didn't have to take care of myself, my parents were infallible, and I knew that they would always protect me. I miss that. But not enough to give up being the master of my domain. Getting drunk is better than cartoons, and being a fancy lawyer is more fulfilling than kicking ass in the fifth grade. I have nothing to fear. When I hit thirty-five, I'll probably being saying shit like, "Wow. Being married and having a brown-ass kid that likes tacos is way better than being a callow, self-satisfied twenty-something!"

P.S. My brown-ass kid will like tacos because Claire is going to have a long-term affair with Pablo, our pool boy. That's an inside joke. Well. Not anymore.

"O'Connor Urged to Reconsider Retirement."

This is retarded. A bunch of lady legislators are pleading with O'Connor to come back if and when Rehnquist, who's been recently hospitalized, finally decides to rest on his laurels. Jeez man. Fuck off, will ya? The asserted quid pro quo--which isn't even theirs to give--is that O'Connor gets to be Chief. Well whoop-dee-fucking do. Being Chief is 90% administerial, the only thing that's politically significant about being Chief is that you get to assign opinions if you're voting with the majority. Last time I checked, it was still one Justice, one vote. O'Connor has a life outside of the Court--she won't shrivel up and die inside of six months, i.e., Blackmun, Marshall, etc. Plus, her husband's ailing and although I don't personally know what that's like, I imagine if you're pushing 80 and your husband of five decades is sick, it would be nice to enjoy what remains of the life you share together.

On another note, the Washington state chapter of NARAL is throwing a "Screw Abstinence" party. I'm a closet pro-lifer, so I have an inherent bias. But if I were NARAL, I don't think I'd throw events that blur the lines between a constitutional right to the integrity of one's body, and a constitutional right to be sexually permissive. Although both privileges, in my mind, are part and parcel of our plethora of substantive due process rights; one is politically savvy and the other is not. The last thing NARAL needs is for middle America to perceive them as a bunch of libertine whores (and man sluts--are there men in NARAL?). When I read about this, I got the Cartman on Jerry Springer voice stuck in my head: "I DO WHAT I WANT! I FUCK WHO I WANT! I SCREW ABSTINENCE IF I WANT!" Lame, lame, lame.

THIS MEANS YOU, JODY!

Don’t marry lawyers. From a general health and well-being perspective, most, if not nearly all, are severely compromised. This is because lawyers like to drink. A lot. I can’t hang with these people, and with my thirties within striking distance, I don’t even want to. Our last happy hour stretched from 5:00 to 2:30 in the morning; most notably, Very Important Partner slogged his way to the bitter end. As a general matter, it’s not possible to drink your paycheck in one sitting, but if you have a dozen or so of your best work buddies with you, anything’s possible (especially if it’s not actually your paycheck, but the firm’s summer recruitment fund). As things were winding down, Very Important Partner tried to order one for the road, but was too impaired to speak. I’m astounded that he made it home safely. The incident definitely calls to mind a friend. Perhaps we can organize an inaugural one-on-one DUI Chicago—Distant Suburb drag race one of these days.

Good luck with that.

"That's what I love about these high school girls, man. I get older, they stay the same age. "

If you’re vain and have tied your self-regard to the way you’re perceived by the opposite sex, a woman’s mid to late twenties must be a soul-crushing experience. There’s a lady in my building who works for another firm, but went to my law school. I met her in 1999, when she was probably 22. She had a tight ass. It was one of my favorite things about 1L year. Fast forward to 2005, and I can safely say that she is not keeping her shit together. At all. It’s as if someone took her, stuck her in a dimly lit crawl-space, force fed her nothing but restaurant food and liquor, and bent her over for a (metaphorical) work-schedule butt raping for the last three years. Think fat and pasty. Ha. When I met her, she was twice as hot as me. How far the mighty have fallen. And she’s not married, either. So to all of my female friends on the cusp of the latter half of their twenties—cheers!

Uh. Okay.

I went out last night. Since I'm cheap, I took the el and as I headed out, the post-Taste of Chicago crowd was out and about. On my way to the train, I was waiting for the light to change at Wabash and Roosevelt when a car made a right turn in front of me. I had glanced at it a couple seconds earlier and inadvertently made eye contact with one of the passengers in its rear seat. As the car made its turn, the passenger rolled down the window, stuck half of his body out of the car and yelled, "I'M GONNA SUCK YOUR COCK!" I glared at him but didn't say anything because: (1) I wasn't that drunk yet; and (2) I didn't want to beef with a car full of fifty cents, especially after the post-Taste shooting at Jackson and Wells last week. But after they drove off and I had some time to reflect, I realized that "I'M GONNA SUCK YOUR COCK!" is certainly a strange ass thing to say when you're hanging out the passenger's side of your best friend's ride trying to holla at me.

I don't think it was a come on. This was actually the second time someone has told me that they're going to suck my cock (roughly) while driving by in a car. The first instance was materially different--it was boy's town and the perpetrator was a buffed and waxed (I assume) Chelsea boy. This guy wasn't exactly a sissy. But if he was trying to insult me, wouldn't: (1) "YOU SUCK COCK!"; or (2) "YOU'RE GOING TO SUCK MY COCK!" make more sense?