Chicago
I LOVE CHICAGO. Went there with a couple of my friends this past weekend for the marathon, which none of us ran. I must say that I'm much more popular with the men there than I am here. They are also much taller than Boston men, which makes me swoon. My biggest accomplishment? Getting a guy to buy me a drink or a shot every night I was there. Thursday night, a beer from the guy sitting behind me who was, I'm assuming, looking down my blouse. Friday night, free shot of whiskey at a blues club from a guy at the bar. He was nice, but no dice. Saturday night, went to a place called The Lodge on Division St. SO MUCH FUN. Met a guy who must have told us he was from northwest Iowa about a billion times, then made me look at his hot brother's license to prove they were brothers. At that point, he owed me a shot. Chatted with a guy that looked like Barney from How I Met Your Mother (aka Doogie). Another guy started chatting with us after that; he was a commodities trader in the Chicago stock market, free beer from him. Iowa guy thought it would be a good thing to smack my ass every time I went to the bathroom. He's lucky he has a hand. Talked to two guys who decided to blame everyone else for their farting (no drink from them, stinkers).
Sunday night was the freakshow. We went to this club called Blue Chicago and sat in the back near the door so the smoke wouldn't kill us. A man came over a little while later and started to talk to us. Told us he was Australian, a lawyer, blah blah blah. He was a little older than us (we later found out he was 47, since he made us look at his passport picture and I have wandering eyes). We started to talk politics, and my friends are into politics much more than I am, so I started to look around the room and not pay so much attention to the conversation. However, I keep catching him looking at me. In the meantime, I'm chatting with other folks at the bar about nothing (and I'm good at that). The international man of mystery, as we've named him, manages to get the conversation around to a point where I'm included. That's when he really started to cull me from the herd, so to speak. He asks stupid questions, like "have you ever been in a serious relationship" and "when was the last time you've been with a man?"
Did I mention he had a big fat wedding band on?
So I answer his questions and tried to deflect more, but my friends were talking to each other at this point, so it was only the two of us hearing this stuff. Then, he jumps up and asks me to dance. I'm thinking, there's no way I'm dancing with him, so I offer up my friends as fabulous dancers and that they would love to dance with him. They turn him down, so he turns back to me expectantly. At that point I felt I had to dance with him. We walk up to the front of the club, a good distance from my friends, and we get in the traditional dance position. Three seconds later, I'm plastered up against him. I push away a bit, if only to get some air since my lungs almost collapsed with the force of his embrace. We dance. He was a good dancer. He said something to me and I couldn't hear him, so as I turned my head to ask, he shoves his tongue down my throat. Pleasant. I pull away, grab his face and said "YOU'RE MARRIED!" He then started dancing again and said "Yes, I know, and that makes me a bad, bad man," in semi-suave tones. 007 he wasn't. In the meantime, I'm frantically trying to catch my friends' eyes in the back, to no avail.
A few moments later, the best line ever comes out of his mouth: "You know, I'm an excellent lover." I was surprised and didn't know what to say, so I came out with a lame "I bet you are, but you're married." Why I didn't say something cool like "I want references from something other than kangaroos" or "You're a Mexican mother?" That would have been better. But nooooooo, I fall flat on my face with the comeback. Dumbass.
Finally, 30 years later, the song ends and we return to my friends. Immediately I say "Ready to go?" They gave me funny looks and said sure, and we all put on our coats. The international man of mystery kissed both of my friends on the cheek. When it was my turn, not only did I get the cheek kisses, but I got a whispered message of his name and where he was staying in case I changed my mind. AS IF.
Although I later found out he's a published author. I could have gotten a car out of that.
Sunday night was the freakshow. We went to this club called Blue Chicago and sat in the back near the door so the smoke wouldn't kill us. A man came over a little while later and started to talk to us. Told us he was Australian, a lawyer, blah blah blah. He was a little older than us (we later found out he was 47, since he made us look at his passport picture and I have wandering eyes). We started to talk politics, and my friends are into politics much more than I am, so I started to look around the room and not pay so much attention to the conversation. However, I keep catching him looking at me. In the meantime, I'm chatting with other folks at the bar about nothing (and I'm good at that). The international man of mystery, as we've named him, manages to get the conversation around to a point where I'm included. That's when he really started to cull me from the herd, so to speak. He asks stupid questions, like "have you ever been in a serious relationship" and "when was the last time you've been with a man?"
Did I mention he had a big fat wedding band on?
So I answer his questions and tried to deflect more, but my friends were talking to each other at this point, so it was only the two of us hearing this stuff. Then, he jumps up and asks me to dance. I'm thinking, there's no way I'm dancing with him, so I offer up my friends as fabulous dancers and that they would love to dance with him. They turn him down, so he turns back to me expectantly. At that point I felt I had to dance with him. We walk up to the front of the club, a good distance from my friends, and we get in the traditional dance position. Three seconds later, I'm plastered up against him. I push away a bit, if only to get some air since my lungs almost collapsed with the force of his embrace. We dance. He was a good dancer. He said something to me and I couldn't hear him, so as I turned my head to ask, he shoves his tongue down my throat. Pleasant. I pull away, grab his face and said "YOU'RE MARRIED!" He then started dancing again and said "Yes, I know, and that makes me a bad, bad man," in semi-suave tones. 007 he wasn't. In the meantime, I'm frantically trying to catch my friends' eyes in the back, to no avail.
A few moments later, the best line ever comes out of his mouth: "You know, I'm an excellent lover." I was surprised and didn't know what to say, so I came out with a lame "I bet you are, but you're married." Why I didn't say something cool like "I want references from something other than kangaroos" or "You're a Mexican mother?" That would have been better. But nooooooo, I fall flat on my face with the comeback. Dumbass.
Finally, 30 years later, the song ends and we return to my friends. Immediately I say "Ready to go?" They gave me funny looks and said sure, and we all put on our coats. The international man of mystery kissed both of my friends on the cheek. When it was my turn, not only did I get the cheek kisses, but I got a whispered message of his name and where he was staying in case I changed my mind. AS IF.
Although I later found out he's a published author. I could have gotten a car out of that.
posted by Betsy at
6:39 PM
|
0 comments
