The 4-Year-Old Sitter

Okay, G Frenzy, our 4 year old disguised as Che, the Cuban years, you watch your little brother, ChunChun, 7 months old, while Mommy and Daddy go out. Cool? He’s old enough to babysit. He can answer the phone and not talk. Play Stupid Zombies, a game of killing, on my phone. He’s way ahead of his time. And free.

My wife and I are going on a double date tonight; whatever that means. Apparently there are two of the same doing the same thing. Or is it two dates?

I see of it as more of a social orgy without the masks, or a safe, unrevealing social interview. So what do you do for a living? Oh, har har. How many kids? Har har. Oh, I can so relate to a lawn that won’t grow. Har har.

Its frothy, fake, like the fifth interview at a corporation.

St. Charles Double Date Banter
Talk about Lowe’s gift cards. The germs at the vacant Charlestowne Mall kid play area. If Cougar Town will get renewed.

Now that I have lost most of you forever (this guy is a city punk!), let’s move on.

Chicago Double Date Banter
Can someone explain Nietzsche’s misogyny? “Women are still cats and birds.” Really, Big N? You said we are All Too Human, what’s with the We as Animals deal? Valerie Solanas, can you hear me? Shoot him.

Is Tom Waits’ hair too curly? If Tori Amos and Tom Waits made love to her version of Smells Like Teen Spirit and had a baby, wouldn’t that kid be really cool?

Wasn’t Jason Bateman exploited, his humor depleted in that horror of a romantic comedy starring a former star of the tv show Friends. Hint: Jennifer Aniston. 2.40 hours of my life- wasted.

Did you get a whiff of the inside of that taxi?

These are conversations I would have with city friends on double date (THEN MOVE BACK CITY PUNK!). I just haven’t found any crazy companions out here in St. Charles yet. I have been here a year. Ed Itor, Thor of this Rag, is about the coolest, artsiest dudes I have met, but he won’t return my calls to have an espresso. ENTER BLOG, WRITER BOY.

Maybe I am too judgmental. St. Charles is as lovely as are the people in it. I am the problem, stuck in my pseudo-artsy attitude and obvious refrain from social engagement for fear of sweating in anxiety over presumed B level topics while sitting around some plates containing deep fried curly fries at Applebee's.

Wait, the other two in the double want to go to The Office, a restaurant in St. Charles. It’s a pretty cool joint in St. Charles or somewhere in foxes reach. The Office? Really? Do I have to clock in? Wear a hair net? Wish I were not sitting in a cube?

My wife, Conquistadora, reaaaaaaaaaaaallllyyy wants to go on the date. She thinks it will be good to go on our first double date since we saw the Thompson Twins at the Metro.

Conquistadora and the couple are fine. I am not. I am a bird or an ape or something.

She is most concerned not about my impending doom, or our impending double date doom and my Woody Allenesque sniping reclusiveness.

She is frightened G Frenzy can’t babysit a baby at his age.

Do what his Dad does when I babysit, I say. Watch 92 episodes of Veggie Tales together and pass out.

I might tip you with two chocolate cookies in the morning. Only … if you let us sleep in, kid.