So what do you do?

As I go out to the bars on my quest for the future Mrs, to places where you can still smell last nights stale vomit, I am always plagued with one question that is inevitably asked: What do you do?

That is a question with so many answers, unless your remark is simply to state: Unemployed. Does that get a woman's attention? It would seem unimaginable for any woman in this great city of Chicago would find that endearing. How does one respond to such a question? That is simple, lie. The problem is I could not think of a lie that would suit such a milestone question during the courting faze aka how drunk are you and would you consider going home with me?

The answer was stumbled on by a female friend of mine: I am retired! That's it, a lie that entails mystery and intrigue. Now some of you are thinking, how could anyone start a relationship based on a lie, though most relationships end as a result of lies, lying seems like the most logical place to start.

The saying goes, the truth will set you free. I think that needs to be modified to say: the truth will set you free, lies will get you laid.

Any women who are reading this blog are probably mortified at such a notion; however, I didn't invent the waterbra, or makeup, nor did I ever tell my man that size doesn't matter, while secretly gossiping about length and girth.

I do not mean to imply that females are the only liars in this game; the greatest perpetrators of lies are men especially when winning the affections of women. If there was a nickel for every time a man "exaggerated" his position at work, how much money he made, how big he was (always divide what he tells you in half), and that he is not bald but rather just shaved.

I hope people do not read this and imply that I have a negative view on the dating world. Quite the opposite, I am a cynic who wishes to be an optimist; I am a realist working to be a hopeless romantic. As we age in this so called life we move beyond the sordid affairs of one night stands (though they happen on occasion) and look for that elusive soul mate. Especially in the city of Chicago, where the young get married, the older move to the suburbs, and the single get banished to New York City.

In the end we look at our partners and see the future or rather a plan for the future. The only problem is the unemployed are without plans. The reality is that we all present a dating resume that downplays the bad and enhances the good. I just hope despite my one blemish being unemployed, that I will still be able to book a few interviews.

Quick note: Something I thought was ironic. Today I started my Hobo blogs, and less than 6 hours later I find myself rummaging through trash looking for something my sister threw away. There is some sort of circularity that rings true to the beginning of this blog.

No Place Like Home

Today is the beginning of a journey unspoiled by responsibility or requirement. That is the true definition of being a hobo, consequence free.

As I begin this journey I asked myself what differentiates me from the homeless on the street besides the obvious need to give hand jobs for crack. I guess it's simply nothing more than the fact that my boyish good looks allows me to be a charity case on my friends couch. Maybe I should set up shop downtown jingling my cup for change with a sign "will excel for food." Sad to say I will be a dime a dozen of ex-bankers littering the street waiting for someone to offer them a job, until then I will just cash my unemployed check and buy some malt liquor pouring out just a little for my fallen homies. I never knew Old Dirty Bastard and I would have so much in common.

For the first time in 6 years I have no real place to call home, that is completely mine. I guess when I take girls home from bars I can take the long ride on the Metra to Wisconsin, milk a few cows on the way, and pray she is too drunk to notice where I have taken her. All else fails I can always use the back seat in my SUV to relive the glory days of High School as she releases herself all over my leather. I guess I will need to ScotchGuard my entire car before I begin bringing girls back to my new apartment.

I am a bit like Dorthy in a magical land looking for my way home. With my red heels I am pretty sure I could find a home quickly in boys town, I just don't know if I am ready for leather and a ball gag. In the end I hope that soon I will click my heels and pronounce "There is no place like home" and find myself in my very own condo, fully furnished in the west elm catalog.