My Boyfriend, My Mommy

Nick's Pub is a lame-ass pit of pukes on Milwaukee Avenue here in Chicago where, for an awful period last year, I regularly bobbed for random cock. For the first time in quite a while, I'm hearing the call of Nick's again. Loudly and disgustingly.

You see, I acquired this crappy boyfriend named Schlobo just so I could stop slutting around with every plug-ugly shithead with whom I came into contact. This strategy actually worked for a while but my "boyfriend" is a nudge and nitpicky and irritating and loud. So loud. He's forever pointing out that I'm dirty as he spontaneously starts cleaning my room and making my bed and generally being a pain in the cunt.

You might think that there's nothing wrong with that, but Schlobo's approach is so obnoxious. He reminds me so much of my mother. Too much. He grabs crap on the floor and says, "Ok, we're sayin' goodbye to this one!" and then, "Yep, this is OUTTA HERE," and "EEW how long has this been here?" and "GOODBYE FELLA!"

You get the idea.

And when he's finished, I don't know where anything is, and he's thrown out half of the things that I need. Talking to garbage is so sick. I had no idea I hated it so much until he started doing it and I got an instant flashback to my horrible mother throwing my good toys out. It made me want to kill myself, then and now.

Schlobo also owns the shittiest record label in history. He doesn't even have the money to make actual records so he can only afford to make CDRs. What's worse is that he doesn't understand how lame this is.

I tried to explain to Schlobo that even the poorest, most degenerate piece of shit now has a computer with a CD burner. Why the fuck, then, would they pay him their money to make CDs for them when it’s about the easiest thing in the world to do it for themselves?

"Well what if the band is on tour?" Schlobo countered.

This logic is in keeping with Schlobo's sensibility in general, and speaks volumes about his way with a buck in particular. This is especially galling because he's Jewish and he can't even live up to the cash-savvy stereotype. Being whiny and incessantly running his yap and living with his parents past age thirty--those slurs he's chosen to adopt as his own. Not the money thing, though.

I only mention Schlobo's ethnicity because it's such a pathetic issue for him. He hates being Jewish to the point of constantly trying to cover it up. For Moses' sake, Schlobo works in a kosher restaurant in the heavily Jewish suburb of Skokie and he's forever trying to pass himself off as being raised by Christ-lovers.

Apparently soon Schlobo's going to fly the coop and leave mom and dad's house. We'll see. He likes to give me a lot of advice on where I should live. And he constantly smokes pot. I hate pot. I'd like to blame his idiocy on his being ganja-zonked so often but, no, he's just an idiot.

Look, I have my flaws. I'm a lazy bitch. But I'm not stupid. Schlobo is.

Giving the dummy his due, I must note that what he's amazing at is sex. I swear. That's about the only reason that I don't end this never-ending mess. I like the sex too much. It's enough to keep me faithful even.

But the talking! Schlobo never shuts up. It has driven my roommates--who are all fucking certifiably retarded and insane to begin with--past the point of complete meltdowns.

I will admit that I do not live with the highest caliber of people. Most people would actually refer to them as scum.

One of my roommates is a compulsive gamer. He is also a drunk who yells on the corner about how the neighborhood is filled with . . . well, I'll let you use your imagination but it's not good. Another roomie is a terminal fuckup that has been the bane of my existence for the past five years. And then there's one who chooses to walk around the house exclusively in raggy, blotchy briefs. The site of him sometimes makes me crazy to the point that I think I would rather have my own father's penis dangling right in front of my face than see this.

These are my roommates, but this "man" whom I am dating seems to piss them all off and top this by his talking. He never shuts up. Ever. EVER!

Schlobo has been regularly attending high-decibel rock shows for a good seventeen years. I will ask him politely sometimes if he might think that he has possibly suffered hearing loss as a result of his ear-rattling hobby.

He answers in his usual loud voice, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WHY WOULD I BE DEAF," and I will reply how all of the roommates complain about the volume at which he speaks and how it is too loud and how they wish that it could be a bit lower.

He can't comprehend this.

When Schlobo and I sit together in bed and talk, it’s like conversing with a victim of Down's Syndrome. Perhaps he does have Down's, but I have never asked. He does not have the look. But he is such a loud talker I find myself becoming deafer by the moment when he is around

However, like I've said so many times before, what is the alternative? Sliming around Nick's Pub again at 4 a.m. trying to find some kind of mate? And why do I feel I need a mate anyway? I do not know.

I have never considered myself straight, or gay, or bisexual. I guess "queer" would be the right word for it, but queer is too often associated with the gay community so I really do not know how to label myself, and I do not like labels anyway.

A good girl might be nice. I haven't had that in a while. I talk to straight men a lot and they cannot understand why anyone would want to be with a male because they're gross. And I agree, they are. They're all hairy and brutish. Females are so much softer, plus they don't have dicks, and I hate looking at penises, I think they're fucking ugly as hell, but I like sex with men. So I don't know what to do.

Schlobo has got to go, though. He has made references to our having kids already. It scares the shit out of me. Then I realize he's thirty. I actually think he'd marry my scummy ass just because he felt he had to, and then we'd have this miserable life. It's sick. I am in no hurry. That's for sure.

I might be wasting my time, but I don't know what I want right now. I just do not want bar sex. I'm done with that for a while. I think I will be done with crybaby loser sex soon, although I bet if I tried to break up with Schlobo, he would not even hear me.