Blah bLah blah

I noticed that I had to move my belt out one notch today. I noticed, too, the bill for Gold’s Gym that lie screaming on my kitchen table. I noticed in my pantry I have more snickers than necessary to crave temporary hunger. Tomorrow’s my 28th birthday and I am already going through a midlife crisis…Shit!

I haven’t achieved a house with 2 kids and a wife and a white picket fence. All I have is a dog I bought from a homeless man, a twelve pack of Milwaukee’s Best, and a set of tax form paper cuts littered like mosquito bites on my hands. I must also have a Coor’s Lite baby gestating in my belly from all that venting Plutoed and I have done lately. I wonder who will pay child support on the Beer baby? Me or coors? I have to carry the burden around. I should bill them for my gym membership, send an invoice straight to their headquarters in Colorado. I will show them how to taste the fucking Rockies with an aftertaste of bitterness from the check they have to write me every month to support my Coors baby.

Too bad I won’t be able to claim my Coors baby on my taxes. Maybe I will see if there is a loophole where I can get a tax deduction for making a donation to the Sammy Wismon Foundation for Drug Deprived Bums. Always worth a shot. Right Plutoed?

Damn straight, Dan. Go get you some more money so you can keep buying me this quality Iams with carrots and beef and shit.

You’re good company, Plutoed. You know that right? Real snobbish good for nothing company.

Better company than those late nights you spend with Craigslist blowing money on anything from car covers to authentic Irish bag pipes. You fill your life with worthless QVC shit.

I thought I was going to make it to the gym tonight to combat against my spawning waist. I thought I was going to be excited for turning 28 tomorrow. Dave set me up with some chick for a date. I almost forgot. Shit. What’s that girls name again? Beth. No. Brianne. No. Shit. Why can’t I remember that shit that actually matters? Why haven’t I been working on my chiseled physique? Probably because I don’t have one. I better wow her with my personality and interesting work and social life. That will for sure do the trick as she falls on top of me, arms flailing in infatuation.

Better go to bed to get my beastly rest.

Good night, Plutoed.

Good night, Dan. Don’t dream too hard. Real life isn’t all that bad. You got me after all.

Dan gives the dog a name

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 14:47:00 -0400

I decided to name the dog Plutoed. You may think: did you mean Pluto? I most certainly did not. As many of you know, in 2007, the planet Pluto got demoted from Planet status, sent to the realm of Planetoids. In the same year, the word Plutoed got coined, meaning to be demoted. I thought this to be a fitting name for a dog who once belonged to rich family and had fallen into the hands of a homeless man.

Over the past week, I have connected with Plutoed, his talking presence keeping me company. He internalizes his emotions and walks most of the time with his tail motionless like a white tick on his butt. Dan why you keep looking at my butt dude? You gay or something? Did I mention that he also delivers lines with a brute brashness? He has “opened up” to me. I listen to his thoughts, grappling and molding them like clay in my hands. I’ve learned that his mother grew up in a barn in Missouri and that his father grew up a prized show dog in New York. Plutoed’s enjoys a meal of fillet steak bathed in original A1 sauce. He prefers to stick with the classics like Cool Hand Luke and Rebel Without a Cause. Dan, the brilliance of Paul Newman’s performance stuns me everytime. I appreciate the Christian allegorical elements of the plot and story. With James Dean, he defines an era that intrigues me, an era of brut honesty and stark, simple sex appeal.

What a wealth of intellignce for 5 dollars. A mercurial efficiency of the mind. Dan, can we chase squirrels in the park today? With an edge of playfullness not found in most men. Plutoed, we can run after squirrels, bears, lions, even Venus in the sky. We can chase whatever you want to chase until our feet burn with the embers of the earth.

Some days you wonder why the wind blows and the skies cry? but not me, I know it all has its reasons...

Sun, 08 Mar 2009 12:42:45 -0400

Some days you wonder why the wind blows and the skies cry? but not me, I know it all has its reasons for presenting disorder and creating motion.

I met a guy today with the last name O. How sweet is that, his last name was a letter.

Wed, 04 Mar 2009 13:36:44 -0500

I met a guy today with the last name O. How sweet is that, his last name was a letter.

March 6th marks my 22nd Birthday.

Wed, 04 Mar 2009 09:59:03 -0500

March 6th marks my 22nd Birthday.

Dan goes on a blind date Part 2

Tue, 03 Mar 2009 20:35:00 -0500

Dan goes on a blind date Part 1

“Hello, Britney?” The words travel through the rain, muddling their volume. “Britney. I’m Dave’s…erm..Friend, Dan.” Her body moves like a jaguar beneath her clothes. The black dress moving in sync with each of her body’s movements. “Nice to meet you Dan. This weather is absolutely awful. I hate the rain.” “Well then let’s get out of this crap and go inside.” Her eyes meet mine, seeming as if she appreciates my bluntness. Britney’s hair falls onto her shoulder like twists of rusty ribbons. How did Dave work this out? He must have paid her or bribed her, maybe blackmailed her. I can’t really guess. What the hell though, she is here with me right now and she hasn’t run away yet.

I would hold the door open, but it’s one of the turn style ones. I awkwardly wait for her to approach the entrance to the restaurant, waiting my turn to push through to the other side.

The lack of lighting creates a mood of sophistication, not exactly romance. A picture of pink martinis hangs above the bar, the olives dancing above the rims of the glasses. The leopard print carpet’s a sad attempt at exoticism. With Britney at my side, I approach the hostess table with a new found ease.

“Reservation for dos…Dan Stillman.”

“We don’t have a reservation by anyone under that name, sir.”

I look straight at the ceiling covered in faux copper tiles. The world seems to melt on top of me, copper rain drops falling from the sky.

“Well Fuck that. So much for making a reservation last week…Hey, Britney, want to hit up my place for frozen pizza and a bottle of cheap chiraz?”

“Throw in The Goonies and that is my idea of a perfect date.”

I push of the copper rain drops from my jacket and embrace for the storm outside. We push through the side door that reads “Use revolving door please” and dart out into the night, Britney’s red heels mocking the oil colored black top, my tie blowing over my right shoulder, the rain drops kissing every inch of our bodies.

Dan's thoughts on his way to work. March 17, 2009

Mon, 02 Mar 2009 17:32:00 -0500

Should I have drank that Baileys with my coffee this morning? Should I have followed that up with three Guinness and a pint of Beamish?

I really shouldn’t have had that corned beef for breakfast with the cabbage. I hope I don’t rip ass in that meeting later with my client for Kellogs.

Did that girl look at me? I looked at her. No, she didn’t look at me. Maybe her friend looked at me?

I like Crocs. Why do they always get such a bad rap? They are A)Cheap at $30 a pop B) Made out of material that you could eat and C) Multifunctional…one second they are a slipper…nope now they are a summer sandal.

Why did St. Patrick wear that ridiculous hat?

Why can’t I find a freakin’ four leaf clover? Luck of the Irish my ass.

The security guard always has a smirk on his face like he forgot something and can never quite remember what it is.

Cindy, looking good today with that pencil skirt and red high heels. You make coming to work worth it some days.

Hello desk. Hello papers. Hello friends. Hello day filled with ink smudged hands, glances out the window at the identical building across the street, daydreaming about nothing at all. By the end of the day, all I will want in my hand will be an Irish Carbomb and maybe some of my dignity.

St. Francis talking to a bird in Boston, Mass.

Sun, 01 Mar 2009 21:42:24 -0500

St. Francis talking to a bird in Boston, Mass.

Chicago is a one way city

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 17:23:38 -0500

Chicago is a one way city

Questioning the Restroom

Thu, 26 Feb 2009 20:03:00 -0500

Why do they call it a Restroom?? I never rest when I am in the lou. Heck if anything it should be called the workroom. Showering, brushing your teeth, shaving, taking a poop-they all require work. So, from now one when someone says they need to go to the restroom, I am going to ask if they have a lazy boy next to their porcelain poop collector.

"I am a firefighter not a collector. Stop drop and rollllll"

Wed, 25 Feb 2009 20:40:04 -0500

““I am a firefighter not a collector. Stop drop and rollllll””

Dan Dan Buys a Dog

Wed, 25 Feb 2009 17:52:22 -0500

I bought an English bulldog today for 5 dollars. He’s as white as an old man’s beard, but has the pep of a hopped up candy addict. I bought him from a homeless man while walking down the street away from work. The bum, dressed in worn black and white zebra pants and a 1996 championship Bull’s t-shirt, approached me and said, “I’ll tradeya da mut fo som blow.” The dog snorted a sneeze. I looked down at the him, his eyes colored like black sludge , the murkiness drawing me in. “Naw, I think I’ll pass, man.”

I tried to walk away. I tried to take my eyes off the dog. But the dog’s mouth seemed to move, begging me to stay and take him away, “Dan, I need your help. Don’t leave me here with this man. Please.” I think in my head how much does it cost to get high in this town - five, ten, 100 bucks. I am not quite sure since I stopped doing drugs in my teens - I only ever smoked the occasional bowel of weed, nothing too hardcore. I decided that I would lowball this old gent of the streets. “5 dollars for the dog.”

“5 Dollars is all ya got. I don believ that fo a sekund. 50 bucks for an ol man that wantz to gut hi. I need to taik awae the paine. Pleaz I beg you.”

Do I want to assist this old man escape? I know I have been looking for an escape for quite awhile, even if it isn’t from street drugs. I can feel for this man who peddles around this dog day and night. I know the dog doesn’t belong to him. He probably stole it from some little girl named Suzy or some Business executive who left the dog unattended in the park. But who I am I to be the moral or ethical authority here. If the guy wants to get high, I am going to let him. I feel more for the damn dog than this man. Maybe I can find its rightful owner. Maybe I can do something worthwhile for a change, have someone call me hero.

“5 dollars is all you’re getting out of me. No more. Hand me over that dog.” And with that I toss a crumpled up wad of one dollar bills at the man’s feet. “I could have used this on a drink a second ago. Use this money wisely. I am usually not the kind of man that hands out money on a whim. I am going to come find you and make sure you are doing something with your life. What’s your name?”

The honesty and vigor in my voice scared me.

“Sammy Wismon”

“Sammy Wismon, I will meet you right here on this street every week. I expect to see you here to meet me. Now that we are friends, I don’t want you to let me down.”

With that, Sammy shook my extended hand, his eyes latching onto mine like fish hooks.

“Thancs fo da 5 dollars.”

I bought an English bulldog today for 5 dollars. And also, maybe saved a man’s life. Now it’s time to find who this dog belongs to before I get to attached. I walked down the street away from my office, but now with a new companion. The dog’s nubby tail waved at the air, swatting away at weeks of insecurity and fear.

“Now you are safe my friend. Let’s go get a bite to eat”

The words seemed to echo from my mouth onto the dog and back again, almost as if the dog spoke to me.

Speak no Evil, See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Feel no Evil

Tue, 24 Feb 2009 12:39:00 -0500

Speak no Evil, See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Feel no Evil

Dan Dan Goes on a Blind Date: Part 1

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 17:39:00 -0500

For my 28th birthday, I went on a blind date with this chick my friend Dave described as “sarcastic, but sweet.”

Let me tell you, I have never been the dating type. As a result, the attention of females seemed to avoid me, lurking around the corners of high school hallways, waiting in shadowy cubicles. I give off this relationship stench, noxious fumes of despair and apathy brewing in my soul.

I would rather spend my bday with a paper shredder than to go on a blind date (a shredder is brutally honest, making waste to all in its path with ease and without comment). Women just hide behind facades. Women leave you guessing what they feel. Some may seem dramatic but that is only to hide what they truly feel behind those outward histrionics. Some women are like eggs with unbreakable shells, they are just filled with yellow goo, but act like they have more to offer.

To start the big birthday day off, my mom called me. ”Happy Birthday Daniel. It’s your mother calling. I feel like we haven’t talked for awhile. Please call me back. I Love you.” Good thing voicemail answers all of my calls. My mom has talked to voicemail more than she has talked to me over the past six years. I bet she has grown fond of the sweetness found in voicemail’s voice. Voicemail has a knack for listening and understanding.I should probably tell you that I decided to shut off contact with my family at the ripe old age of 22. I think that is the last time I went on a date too. Shit. I can’t believe is has been that long. I go on dates with tax audits not tax auditors. I spend my nights in bed with International Tax Law books, but can’t find an international to tax me between the sheets. I’ve closed myself off in a lot of ways.

But what the hell, I figure maybe I am tired of being lonely. Maybe I am tired of hanging out with shreds of paper confetti made from last weeks misfiled tax forms. Maybe this girl Dave describes as blond athletic and outgoing might dig me out of me.

That night before going to Go-Go Marias, a tapas bar in Oak Brook, I ate a full meal consisting of a medium rare steak and a 312 wheat beer. I wanted to eat something in case my date fled in terror or if I got sick of her and decided to get up and leave. I couldn’t go through the night hungry that would just make me more angry at the world. But like I said, I am willing to go on the date to help me find me.

Our reservation was for 6pm party of two awkward singles meeting for the first time. I decided to leave my apartment at 5:45 pm to make the 10 minute journey. Her name was Britney. Her occupation was Dental Hygienist. I couldn’t wait to meet her.

As I drove to the restaurant, rain fell, gluing droplets to my windshield. I picture Britney sitting next to me at the table, her voice eating away at my self doubt. I reach out to touch her face, but the closer my hand gets, the more she fades into nothingness, sitting in a nowhere chair. “Please!” I scream into her face shrouded by the darkness of my self loathing. “Take me out of this place! I don’t know why, but I know that you can help me. You and you alone.”

I sit in my car, the engine running, rain still rapping on the roof. My hands clench the stearing wheel and my feet are firmly planted into the floor. The car has been placed in park. My mind brought back to focus by the car alarm going off next to me like a crying baby in the cold of the night.

My clock reads 5:55. Right on time. I smile, turning the key out of the ignition, straightening my shirt collar, and reaching for the door handle. As I push out towards the rain, I feel the drops drain the blood from my face. I think I see Britney standing by the door wearing red high heels, the one article that distinguishes her amongst the rain. Did I mention I love a woman who can pull off wearing red shoes?

"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple."

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 21:38:51 -0500

““Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.””

- Dr. Seuss

Dan Dan The Business Man Goes to The Bar

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 21:03:47 -0500

“Whiskey Sour please.”

“How sour you like it?”

“Bitter, but I want to feel the burn of the whiskey.”

“What kind of whiskey, sir?”

“Sir, call me Dan. All that sir crap should be left to the formal audiences. Do I look formal to you?”

“Umm well the shirt and tie maybe give you away.”

“You call this formal. More like a uniform of pain.”

“Double whiskey sour coming up.”

“Double…I didn’t ask for a double. You going to charge me more for that shit? Give me a single, man. A single. Do you hear me? I like it my way. not yours. Mine.”

“Geesh, single it is. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

Dan stands and turns towards the exit, hands clenching a wad of money, his tie leaning a bit to the right and his hair falling over his dark eyes.

Why I love the Mornin'

Fri, 20 Feb 2009 16:05:00 -0500

I woke today with a Zionist chill,

my heart beating love’s THC

through my veins. Victorious

sun, voluptious breast, Villified

crest washed clean greating me,

Forcing my eyes to follow. i feel

the world with my irises and touch

the earth with my soles. Solitude

of Rasta, preacher calls from the pulpit,

Hallelujahs of Islamic peace, jihads: All

heard, but not all believed, but All

respected. I respect the day. I

respect God for letting me rise up

from the night and slumber. Rise up

from days of tumult and unrest. I

rise. I. you. me. she. We are all

together. One. United. We all wake up

Unless dead in the night. We all

dream but some don’t hear the voice

of the dreams story. some wake

to the mornin’, some wake to

the Night. I always wake with a smiling heart and yawning eyes

Dan Dan The Business Man

Fri, 20 Feb 2009 14:47:00 -0500

Last night I thought about jumping out my office window. I saw some pidgeons flying around and they looked like they were enjoying themselves.

I sat in my Big Four office with Big Four furniture and Big Four titles and awards. I sat amongst forms numbered W-2 to 1040. I couldn’t stand looking at one more deduction or credit or figuring out what benefits Susanne Tomas should recieve (if any) from having two deceased husbands in the same tax year (What a coincidence).

I went to the window and looked down at the town. Chicago looks peaceful at 10pm on a day when it is almost 15 below zero, no people walking around and only lights, concrete, steal, and windows sitting before me. I smack my hands against the window, screaming out against my current situation. The world seems to ignore my calls for help. The pidgeons don’t even turn to acknowledge my cries. Stupid freakin pidgeons. All they do is shit.

No one’s in the office. No one but me and my friends, stacks of forms unfilled.

How did I come to this?