Big Night Out

I wondered how last night would turn out all week. My husband and I hadn't been to a bar in the city in over a year. To prepare for my big night out I hit up Target for a cute shirt ( note to self: Don't go to Target to get "going out" clothes, better to save it for teacher clothes and underwear). I also ate a husband encouraged sandwich, so as not to get loopy after one beer. I stroked on the eyeliner thickly, like a four year olds' crayon. I busted out my hoop earrings that are large enough to hula in.

And when we got there I felt a little bad for the host. We were celebrating his wife's 40th birthday and the guest list didn't seem to be matching up with the attendees. But the food was delicious ( how can you NOT like mini fried crab cakes that you dip into a Mayonnaise sauce? ).

We ordered our beers and quickly fell in line with the beer drinking cadence around us.

We found ourselves socializing with another couple for the majority of our time. They were nice enough. The woman had a buzz cut. I kept staring at it when we talked. I had to stop myself many times from asking her how she felt about her hair cut. Because I went through a phase where I wanted to look like Sinead O'Conner but never had the cojones to go beyond a trim. And I kept thinking about the time when I was in church with my mother and I had on jeans that "had a long rise" and when I sat the bulge in the crotch suggested I was sporting a penis in there. And I began to panic and kept whispering to my Mom that "These jeans make me look like a boy!!"... in that completley horrific way that only adolescent teenage girls do.

I digress.

The conversation rolled into the "What actor would play you?" variety. My husband said ,"That guy from the Sopranos". And I have to admit he's pretty spot on. I hoped no one would ask me, because I have no idea who I would say. My mind seems to get trapped somewhere between who I would want to be like versus who is actually a likeness of me... Because I would say Fergie but the people would be thinking Kirstie Alley.... And the words Fat Actress come to mind. Which by the way, the season is readily available on DVD at my local library. Seriously. ?? ( I mean is it just me or is this kind of thing not exactly a bedrock of literature?).

Anyway, a good time was had by all. Uneventful, but pleasant. We left at 10:30 ( I know what you are thinkging! Party animals!! ) as the beer bus rolled up to take off the others to a night of Salsa dancing and who knows what at Excaliber ( umm... NIGHTMARE...). I am sure by now that most of them are laying in bed right now dying for a glass of water and a cheeseburger, and trying to recall the details.

Dear Mr.Baseball God Guy

I am seriously beginning to think that baseball season is delaying the onset of a Fall around here. Not global warming. Baseball. When is this season OVER already? The droning voice. The grody mouthpieces they sling in and out of the mouth with the tongue. The painstaking batting rituals. I can't take it anymore. And maybe, coming from Chicago and all, I am soooo over it since neither of our teams made it to the play-offs or whatever the heck they are called. I know- ultimately it's the World Series 750 or something or other. But I want football to start.
And after spending the weekend in the Wisconsin Northwoods, I am feeling pretty tough. (Well, sort of tough. Not exactly tough enough to sport my Bear's t-shirt deep in Packer land. I took it off after I brushed my teeth but before I walked outside.) And those baseball guys are just lame to me now.
But anyway- I like what football season means. Chili. Sunday papers. Cozy sweatshirts and oddly enough.. baseball hats with football logos. Jeans and relaxing Sunday afternoons.
Here in the midwest, I have always lived under the assumption that school was "off" for the summer so the kids could help on the farm. And you could plant AND harvest the crops in the interim of the school break. Meaning when school started back up, it was cool out. Or at least not HOT.
But not now!
There are still 70 plus degree days. I am scouring my closet for short sleeved Fall shades of summer style shirts. I am staring out the window dreaming of the beach while finishing up the first quarter of school, and it's October! I am unable to wear any Bear's clothes because they are dark and long-sleeved and it's hot. There are no cozy Football Sundays because we have our sliding doors open and I hear the airplanes. There is no chili because I would still rather be eating ice cream.
So please, Mr. Baseball God. Make it end soon. Leave me and my Fall weather and my coolish football season alone.
Thanks very much.

I thought You Were Wearing a Dress?

For starters, is it sad that most of the time my only two comments are from my Mom and my sister... in-law. ( Sorry, I had to add it, I felt like I was cheating.)
I have been to the city a lot lately. My former home. It's familiar, but yet scary, because it's not the same. Subtle changes make my backyard seem like someone else's. I feel like exactly what I am... just visiting.
Today I went to one of my "bestie's" wedding shower. Totally chic, totally cool- fantabulous. Rooftop party room with white chaise lounges. Waiter-served finger foods and waitress-served Mimosas and Bellingers. Beautiful day. Lovely party... lots of girls dressed in Chicago urban style.
I took a moment and went onto the private balcony to people watch the neighborhood. Fomerly known as the artist's mecca. Bucktown. Where Real World made Peace Pizza a common name. Where boutiques moved in and "locals" locked thier doors for the last time. Where I raked in loads of cash getting artists and yuppies alike trashed beyond reason while waitressing.
And while I was absorbing it all, wondering if I even missed this scene, my eyes happened upon a US Postal worker. I watched her zoom down the alley in her big white box van. Quickly. With intent. Purpose. Motivation. She hopped out and I noticed her afro. Her unbottoned pin-striped frock. Her "Muscle T" under. Her HUGE silver hoop earrings. Her thick black shoes. Her tube socks pulled up her legs to her knees with stripes. Her thick ropey necklace. And her cigarette hanging out of her mouth. And then, lastly, sunglasses so huge Nicole Richie would be jealous. She was the coolest dang postal worker I had seen in a long time.
It was then I recalled what it is I miss about the city. Not the traffic. Not the food. Not the parking or the parties or the bars. It's the simplicity of people being able to express themselves without a second thought. Without sneers or questions or contempt. Just everyday folks doing thier thing with thier own style. Which does not mean style-ish. Unless you are just visiting. And then you might have a sudden flash that you are not style-ish enough. And you are. You just don't realize that your eyes are resting on those folks you don't normally see by your house. And you think everyone dresses like that. And they don't. But the beautiful thing is that you can. And you will find respect regardless.
I loved that about the city.
I used to like to recreate my image once in while. I even got on a kick where I would change clothes in the middle of a party to see if anyone would notice. It got so out of control that during this "phase" I actually took a back pack out with me and would change outfits in the bathroom two or three times a night. To mix it up. ( I never said I wasn't wierd ). I loved watching the reaction on a person's face. Or the lack thereof. The city was my playground.
I can't imagine doing something like that in the suburbs. It would just be too wierd. People would... talk. They would think I had a lot of cats at home or hoarded newpaper or something.
That is what I miss about the city. Probably not a good enough reason to want to move back.
I don't have that kind of energy now. But sometimes it is nice to have a day where you are not you.