Summer is pretty much over so that means that people will need to do more than show skin to get attention during Fall. The fashion Nazis from the Gap (Hitler wore Khakis too www.adbusters.org) have already launched Lenny and Sarah at us showing which pattern of stripes is in this fall. Well that alone helps many lost souls; but there are some more questions to be answered.
1. Can whites wear dew rags? - Well after seeing Vinny Testeverde wearing one on ESPN, no. First of all, what happened to a sweat band? It works for a NBA players. When a physically strong man says "where is my dew rag?" it just seems that it should be said with a lisp. Typically when a culture takes something from another they look stupid and ackward. However in this case the concept of wearing a tailored panty hose on your head makes you look like a nimrod- no matter the color of skin.
2. Would the boy scout uniform be best worn by lesbians? - Olive green knee high socks and scarfs. That is not a tough call. Yes. Only America's largest organized group of parental homophobes would dress their sons like a lilith fair patron.
3. What percentage of black women can actually pull off wearing a wig? - After watching the MTV video music awards and seeing Alicia Keys in a wig I have decided. 1%. Wearing a wig when you already have hair just screams identity crisis. Soul food good, black booty as well good, wigs or hair extentions from a pony rarely good.
4. Will white women ever learn that they are not Sarah Jessica Parker? - No. I was certainly hoping so but after the latest Gap ad, the dilusion will continue for another six months. Now TBS has her on tv constantly for those who are to cheap to get HBO or rent a dvd. As college is just a memory women need a new cool roommate that they can borrow all of her clothes. Enter SJP. I guess the fashion groundhog has just let us know that stelletos and jeans are still in, as long as you have a hit tv show, in syndication.
5. Would we still tatoo amd pierce ourselves even if there were not sororities? - No. The tattoo and piercing industry has a silent partnership with sororities. How would these young girls feel sexy and most importantly uniformily independent? Highlights and tanning booths just would not cut it. In most piercing cases, they are removed by graduation or removed before the fifth year since the fifth year tends to be a light workload that translates into marooning onto the futon eating Pringles by the tube.
6. If Fashion is cyclical why have in my lifetime I have seen the 60's fashion of bell bottoms three times and yet to have witnessed a braless social movement once? - If the girls think that a seven inch deep v-neck is liberating they really should acknowledge the oppression by males represented by a $30 satin push up bra. Victoria's secret, women don't need her stuff. There is nothing more attractive than a woman that you clearly can tell is not wearing a bra. Plus this way a guy will never have to ask if a girl needs cuddling, they will know before she does.
7. What happened to valeur jumpsuits? - They were made uncool by lawyers' wives. It is hard to maintain street cred when Cyndi has the same jumpsuit that says Gucci on the butt. Fear not I hear twead is the new valeur.
8. Pants or skirt? Why not both? - Look ladies, flat out honesty. You ALL look like idiots with a dress or skirt over a pair of pants. Actually you look like a lamp when you wear that outfit. This fashion trend just shows how afraid women are of making a decision that holds minimal effect to their life. "Where do you want to go out to eat?" "I don't know where do you want to go?
9. Can anything replace the power tie? - Never. The power tie is the best thing the Republican Party has given the U.S.A.
10. Will there ever be a more versitile color than black? - I am sorry to say no. If you are some of the shopoholics that bought the silly lie that both pink and green are in fashion at the same time, well then - sucker, party of one your table is ready. Look, black is the only color that is worn by 14 year olds to be individuals and then can be worn by 30 year olds to appear classy.
Monday, August 30, 2004
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Urban Legends Spilled on the Dance Floor
I went out on Saturday to a suburban club called North Beach. Now two important things to know about the patrons that frequent NB are one the guys dress in the styles from a ten month old GQ and the girls well apparently butt cleav is still in.
Upon my arrival I learned of important music industry news. There was an urban legend that Limp Bizkit was making a come back. Well, Fred Durst has become so desperate for attention that he appeared at North Beach wearing a flaming shirt. No really, the shirt had flames and this dill-hole even had the red ball cap backwards. Like a Limp Bizkit cd on the shelf, he stayed in one place and no one noticed him.
My next myth to dispell is that even the d.d. can get a phone number of an attractive person. As I sat at the I.T.O.S (Intoxicated Table of Sausage) I would make blatant eye contact with a lady caller from across the way. She then would respond. Whether it be a glance, shift of eye brows, or walking away no is probably the only word that never needs to actually be spoken.
The word on the street is that young women bartenders can keep a tab straight from other tabs. If they weren't so worried about the lamp shade of a mini showing the celophane thong. When confronted with the fact that I did not order nearly the price on the tab, sweetness went sour on me for questioning the bill. Fortunately, lady hotpants fixed the tab and apologized for the bitter box.
The last myth is that only lonely, desperate guys stay to near last call hoping to get whatever falls in their lap. The guys are easied to spot as they are typically surrounded by...ok they are just about five feet from a group of girls that they don't know. Slowly they move closer foolishly choosing to execute the worst moves possible- "the creep." There are plenty of lonely gals lingering around for "one more drink." Catching one of these fish is quite possible, finding a clean one is another story.
Upon my arrival I learned of important music industry news. There was an urban legend that Limp Bizkit was making a come back. Well, Fred Durst has become so desperate for attention that he appeared at North Beach wearing a flaming shirt. No really, the shirt had flames and this dill-hole even had the red ball cap backwards. Like a Limp Bizkit cd on the shelf, he stayed in one place and no one noticed him.
My next myth to dispell is that even the d.d. can get a phone number of an attractive person. As I sat at the I.T.O.S (Intoxicated Table of Sausage) I would make blatant eye contact with a lady caller from across the way. She then would respond. Whether it be a glance, shift of eye brows, or walking away no is probably the only word that never needs to actually be spoken.
The word on the street is that young women bartenders can keep a tab straight from other tabs. If they weren't so worried about the lamp shade of a mini showing the celophane thong. When confronted with the fact that I did not order nearly the price on the tab, sweetness went sour on me for questioning the bill. Fortunately, lady hotpants fixed the tab and apologized for the bitter box.
The last myth is that only lonely, desperate guys stay to near last call hoping to get whatever falls in their lap. The guys are easied to spot as they are typically surrounded by...ok they are just about five feet from a group of girls that they don't know. Slowly they move closer foolishly choosing to execute the worst moves possible- "the creep." There are plenty of lonely gals lingering around for "one more drink." Catching one of these fish is quite possible, finding a clean one is another story.
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Do All Liberals Sleep in a Swimsuit?
God Bless America. I sure love this election year. There is something specail about the major social movement this time. It seems that almost every group or celebrity is telling people to vote. Puff Daddy has put his Gucci-Ghetto appeal on the MTV crows telling young voters to "VOTE OR DIE!" Apparently if you do not vote you will be sent to either Iraq or Afganistan indefitiely.
Although we should be happy someone is excited to vote, putting a metaphorical Luger to their head is not the best way to get things done. I would have thought Diddy to be a liberal but his scare tactic is clearly a conservative maneuver. The only way this effort can get better is if he teams up with other MTV trophy Jessica Simpson to host a meet and greet with the candidates.
I don't know enough about economics to be considered a Republican so by default I guess I am a liberal. If Bush is to win this election it will be based on the fact that moron liberals won't keep their mouth shut about 90% of the issues they are uneducated about since they were not featured in Rolling Stone. Yes, I note the irony of this very blog entry, and certainly hope you do too.
As follow up to my last entry, the wagon is staying.
Although we should be happy someone is excited to vote, putting a metaphorical Luger to their head is not the best way to get things done. I would have thought Diddy to be a liberal but his scare tactic is clearly a conservative maneuver. The only way this effort can get better is if he teams up with other MTV trophy Jessica Simpson to host a meet and greet with the candidates.
I don't know enough about economics to be considered a Republican so by default I guess I am a liberal. If Bush is to win this election it will be based on the fact that moron liberals won't keep their mouth shut about 90% of the issues they are uneducated about since they were not featured in Rolling Stone. Yes, I note the irony of this very blog entry, and certainly hope you do too.
As follow up to my last entry, the wagon is staying.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Wagons East?
While I was out in Washington D.C. I enjoyed the lifestyle of the east coast. I moved back to hit up the Chicago comedy scene and well school at Second City. I am loving the bittersweet life of the starving/unemployed artist. However I still need a job.
I applied to the school that I studied at in Spain. The position was to recruite students and create a promotional campaign that could increase enrollment blah blah blah. Well they called this morning at 9:30 waking me from a bad dream (no metaphor intended). The message left was the office telling me the position for which I applied for has been filled. I should have known, at least the call was nice. The woman continued that there is another position availible and would like to know if I am interested.
Nothing gets me out of bed faster than a job offer, well maybe a pizza and some onion rings or nachos- ooh nachos. (By the way Rob said I should not get nachos when we went to a bar, even though it was a sausage convention) I have about three business days to decide if I want to live in Massachusetts.
Wagons East? Time will tell. Hey I got bills to you know. Plus side I could get that New England accent I have coveted for years now. Down side, I will be surrounded by Patriot fans. I vow to not bow to Tom Brady if I take this job.
I applied to the school that I studied at in Spain. The position was to recruite students and create a promotional campaign that could increase enrollment blah blah blah. Well they called this morning at 9:30 waking me from a bad dream (no metaphor intended). The message left was the office telling me the position for which I applied for has been filled. I should have known, at least the call was nice. The woman continued that there is another position availible and would like to know if I am interested.
Nothing gets me out of bed faster than a job offer, well maybe a pizza and some onion rings or nachos- ooh nachos. (By the way Rob said I should not get nachos when we went to a bar, even though it was a sausage convention) I have about three business days to decide if I want to live in Massachusetts.
Wagons East? Time will tell. Hey I got bills to you know. Plus side I could get that New England accent I have coveted for years now. Down side, I will be surrounded by Patriot fans. I vow to not bow to Tom Brady if I take this job.
Where My People At?
Life has a peculiar way of educating one about themself. Within the past few months I have learned an all to pressing fact about myself. I tend to omit one word from something that I read, heard, or even said. This became ever-present once again on Tuesday when I went to the Job Fair at Navy Pier. I am sorry that was the Diversity Job Fair.
The news paper said it was just a job fair and the internet said it was a diversity job fair. There was even a pie chart of the race demographic in Chicago. Uncertain of the turn out, I drove into the city and parked for what cost about thirty cents a minute.
I entered Navy Pier with shirt and tie, carrying my new resume and revived hope soon to be crushed. Matters were worsened when I was walking for about half a mile on the pier and still did not see the room. I was also getting these strange looks from people. What I thought was just me being in a tie at a tourist spot was almost right. They were all looking at me strangely because I was the only white guy in a shirt and tie.
Every sign there said "diversity job fair." Upon recieving this bushel of lemons I made lemonade by telling myself that mathematically I can be the most memorable white person there, plus if I were to be questioned about ethnicity I could tell them that I and the other five whites there that couldn't read were technically a minority.
After going to a job fair for college students at Marquette and then this fiasco, I have come to the conclusion that diversity job fair is code for crap job festival. I went over to a hotel's booth and asked what positions were availible. A man with broken English scrolled his finger down a paper passing housekeeper, room attendant, etc. Thankfully this job fair opens avenues that most minorities could not obtain on their own, like becoming a hotel housekeeper.
Before leaving the job fair I realized something else. No matter where you are in life there will always be someone/thing close to you that you simply don't want to associate with. There were two companies that were the pariahs. Terminex and Waste Management. It should not take four years of college to realize that those jobs suck. What do you do? I kill bugs. I work for curbside restoration- uhh garbage man.
Maybe my cinicism stems from the body language of employers that were playing the role of everything but that. I think the $14 penalty for parking for 45 minutes was icing on my multicultural cake. All in all, it was another experience that is helping to revive my apathy for the workplace. Which could only mean that I am close to returning.
The news paper said it was just a job fair and the internet said it was a diversity job fair. There was even a pie chart of the race demographic in Chicago. Uncertain of the turn out, I drove into the city and parked for what cost about thirty cents a minute.
I entered Navy Pier with shirt and tie, carrying my new resume and revived hope soon to be crushed. Matters were worsened when I was walking for about half a mile on the pier and still did not see the room. I was also getting these strange looks from people. What I thought was just me being in a tie at a tourist spot was almost right. They were all looking at me strangely because I was the only white guy in a shirt and tie.
Every sign there said "diversity job fair." Upon recieving this bushel of lemons I made lemonade by telling myself that mathematically I can be the most memorable white person there, plus if I were to be questioned about ethnicity I could tell them that I and the other five whites there that couldn't read were technically a minority.
After going to a job fair for college students at Marquette and then this fiasco, I have come to the conclusion that diversity job fair is code for crap job festival. I went over to a hotel's booth and asked what positions were availible. A man with broken English scrolled his finger down a paper passing housekeeper, room attendant, etc. Thankfully this job fair opens avenues that most minorities could not obtain on their own, like becoming a hotel housekeeper.
Before leaving the job fair I realized something else. No matter where you are in life there will always be someone/thing close to you that you simply don't want to associate with. There were two companies that were the pariahs. Terminex and Waste Management. It should not take four years of college to realize that those jobs suck. What do you do? I kill bugs. I work for curbside restoration- uhh garbage man.
Maybe my cinicism stems from the body language of employers that were playing the role of everything but that. I think the $14 penalty for parking for 45 minutes was icing on my multicultural cake. All in all, it was another experience that is helping to revive my apathy for the workplace. Which could only mean that I am close to returning.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Hey, Give Back That Personal Happiness
I find this topic of society discussed especially in our election year. I let this marinade in my brain for the longest time yet am inspired in this moment (to be explained later) to write about it. I am in awe at humanity with its fascination with driving the bitter bus. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
I suppose on a literal message we are all entitled to pursue happiness. Whom gets to have it is another story. I am thoroughly disgusted by the notion of same sex marriage being political issue. One big honking reason is marriage and politics share such a fragile relationship. The American government was founded with a separation of church and state, which is impossible in this modern era.
If that separation was to be true then it should not matter whether Joan and Dale got married or John and Roy did. Essentially as long as the couple was witnessed then all would be well. Not so quick, "we don't serve your kind here" says ignorant America. I can say that without a doubt because there are many hetero marriages that are interracial and had to fight a hauntingly similar battle earlier. Apparently Alzheimer's hit more people than imagined.
There is one group of people I expected this from, white men. In all fairness I credit most of my hypochondria to pigmentation. White men (historically and with the current political climate) have been behind the ignorance regimes that boast resistance to social change. White men were afraid of any heritage that did not need sun block. Many still are, and many are above the Mason Dixon line. So as sad as it sounds, I expected this sort of cowardly action from many white men.
There is more to the story. How, with one's scarred past of walking into firehoses, burning of bras, eviction from home and work to distant barracks, mass genocide of generations, robbing of sacred land, unending persecution of personal beliefs could many cultures turn their back on a community that is treading a similar path that they tread?
Throughout history discrimination has been everpresent. In this current situation I have the following questions for the homophobic people that read this.
Blacks-Do you not remember when your ancestors were only seen as 2/3 a person?
Women- Did your relatives ever burn their bra? or did they stay in the kitchen because that where they belonged?
Asians- Do relocation camps for Japanese during ww2 not remind you of the hardships a cultire can experience?
I could go on about the major obstacles but I am hoping that my point is clear.
It is quite a shame that Americans think of liberty and happiness like the conch from "Lord of the Flies." Something that is passed around for one to control and then when they are done with it they will pass it to the next party. We are the obese person holding the ladle telling someone else that they can't eat here. Clearly we have had too much too eat and only hold on to the ladle and scoop more food out of fear of what we can't (nor should) control (someone else's wellbeing).
Have another metaphor.
To me this is a fourth and inches situation that never needed to happen. As life advanced, penalties were called, downs were redone and it seemed as though every effort expelled would inevitably be stopped by the steel curtain defense and baised refs. The sacrifice of an entire group sweats, bleads and sacrifice themselves only to move a cause a couple inches when really everyone playing needs to realize that this battle is not the superbowl. It is just a scrimage by the coach to see if we can co-exist. Too many of us are lining up against someone in a fit of unjustified emotion never really asking ourselves "what am I fighting for?" This battle that happens between teams does in fact make groups better- at fighting. Until our fists are unclenched we can never pull them up from the ground, nor can they help us up.
I needed to write that down because if I tried to say all that I would have been stopped much earlier. It may seem over idealistic but I don't think so.
I suppose on a literal message we are all entitled to pursue happiness. Whom gets to have it is another story. I am thoroughly disgusted by the notion of same sex marriage being political issue. One big honking reason is marriage and politics share such a fragile relationship. The American government was founded with a separation of church and state, which is impossible in this modern era.
If that separation was to be true then it should not matter whether Joan and Dale got married or John and Roy did. Essentially as long as the couple was witnessed then all would be well. Not so quick, "we don't serve your kind here" says ignorant America. I can say that without a doubt because there are many hetero marriages that are interracial and had to fight a hauntingly similar battle earlier. Apparently Alzheimer's hit more people than imagined.
There is one group of people I expected this from, white men. In all fairness I credit most of my hypochondria to pigmentation. White men (historically and with the current political climate) have been behind the ignorance regimes that boast resistance to social change. White men were afraid of any heritage that did not need sun block. Many still are, and many are above the Mason Dixon line. So as sad as it sounds, I expected this sort of cowardly action from many white men.
There is more to the story. How, with one's scarred past of walking into firehoses, burning of bras, eviction from home and work to distant barracks, mass genocide of generations, robbing of sacred land, unending persecution of personal beliefs could many cultures turn their back on a community that is treading a similar path that they tread?
Throughout history discrimination has been everpresent. In this current situation I have the following questions for the homophobic people that read this.
Blacks-Do you not remember when your ancestors were only seen as 2/3 a person?
Women- Did your relatives ever burn their bra? or did they stay in the kitchen because that where they belonged?
Asians- Do relocation camps for Japanese during ww2 not remind you of the hardships a cultire can experience?
I could go on about the major obstacles but I am hoping that my point is clear.
It is quite a shame that Americans think of liberty and happiness like the conch from "Lord of the Flies." Something that is passed around for one to control and then when they are done with it they will pass it to the next party. We are the obese person holding the ladle telling someone else that they can't eat here. Clearly we have had too much too eat and only hold on to the ladle and scoop more food out of fear of what we can't (nor should) control (someone else's wellbeing).
Have another metaphor.
To me this is a fourth and inches situation that never needed to happen. As life advanced, penalties were called, downs were redone and it seemed as though every effort expelled would inevitably be stopped by the steel curtain defense and baised refs. The sacrifice of an entire group sweats, bleads and sacrifice themselves only to move a cause a couple inches when really everyone playing needs to realize that this battle is not the superbowl. It is just a scrimage by the coach to see if we can co-exist. Too many of us are lining up against someone in a fit of unjustified emotion never really asking ourselves "what am I fighting for?" This battle that happens between teams does in fact make groups better- at fighting. Until our fists are unclenched we can never pull them up from the ground, nor can they help us up.
I needed to write that down because if I tried to say all that I would have been stopped much earlier. It may seem over idealistic but I don't think so.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Ready to Love Again
It has been quite some time since I have dabled in the romantic arts. Well, I am putting in my 2 week notice for driving the bitter bus and will be rejoining the pool with renewed hope. Some of you are either saying "as long as your sober I believe that." or "good for you, six months is a long enough sabatical." Regardless I have returned my heart to my first love- not pizza by the way.
I was laying on my bed while a rather loud storm was happening outside. Amazingly (perhaps a message from God) the Directv still was working. It was 11:30pm and with my heart on my sleave I turned on the WB to watch a "fresh" episode of "Summerland." That was battling against my 15th viewing this summer of Catch Me if You Can.
Perhaps you may not know the premise of Summerland. After watching about three episodes I still don't either. That is the beauty of WB programming. Aingst rules any other cohesive storyline. Why was I watcing a WB drama? Did I not learn love hurts from Dawson, Joey, Pacey, and Felicity (yes I watched it, but not when she got the haircut.)? The answer of course is yes, We all fall off the horse from time to time but if we never get ourselves back on it we are probably laying on a pile of horse apples. Love hurts but emmotionial solitary confinement stinks.
Enter my first love. Lori Laughlin.
The angel that first came into my life as Rebecca in Full House. This woman is a modern Aphrodite. In twenty years she aged like three years tops. Maybe there is a leap-year contingency involved, who knows. What I do know is that Lori is having the same difficulties as myself. (minus the nephew watching and other parental crap). Not a day goes by that I thank God for her relationship with John Stamos to only be fictitious. I would cry like a Cubs fan on October 1st if she was to have been actually associated (romantically/intimately) with the clean cut Carrot Top.
My Full House loyalty is evergreen. However, if I had to choose a future with Lori Laughlin or Jodi Sweeten (Stephanie Tanner) I would be at a loss. Where in the world is Jodi by the way? Everyone else in Full House has resurfaced in one facet of eating disorder or bit role for made for tv movies. I don't think it is naive to say that Jodi and I would hit it off but then again I have not seen how she is doing. Before you put me on the vain train, I just don't want a sweatpant sweetheart. She best be working hard to consistantly fit through a turnstile- without turning to the side.
That is why I must stick to my guns and declare my heart for Lori Laughlin. By chance Lori that you are indeed reading this (shut it Phil- we all have dreams) you are the female version of Dick Clark (ageless wonder), except hot and not balding. One question Lori- what is going on with the teeth? I understand whitening is the thing to do instead of brushing and flossing these days but when the scene fades to black your smile is so bright one would think you swallowed the moon. Tone it down please, a woman with such a golden complexion should not be smiling with teeth whiter than her wedding dress.
Alright, I guess this probably will not work out Lori. Your busy schedule and my eternal search for an uncancelled open mic in Chicago would not allow for much us time. Best of luch Lori, I will have to swallow my pride/5th of scotch and hit the aforementioned scene. Game on.
It has been quite some time since I have dabled in the romantic arts. Well, I am putting in my 2 week notice for driving the bitter bus and will be rejoining the pool with renewed hope. Some of you are either saying "as long as your sober I believe that." or "good for you, six months is a long enough sabatical." Regardless I have returned my heart to my first love- not pizza by the way.
I was laying on my bed while a rather loud storm was happening outside. Amazingly (perhaps a message from God) the Directv still was working. It was 11:30pm and with my heart on my sleave I turned on the WB to watch a "fresh" episode of "Summerland." That was battling against my 15th viewing this summer of Catch Me if You Can.
Perhaps you may not know the premise of Summerland. After watching about three episodes I still don't either. That is the beauty of WB programming. Aingst rules any other cohesive storyline. Why was I watcing a WB drama? Did I not learn love hurts from Dawson, Joey, Pacey, and Felicity (yes I watched it, but not when she got the haircut.)? The answer of course is yes, We all fall off the horse from time to time but if we never get ourselves back on it we are probably laying on a pile of horse apples. Love hurts but emmotionial solitary confinement stinks.
Enter my first love. Lori Laughlin.
The angel that first came into my life as Rebecca in Full House. This woman is a modern Aphrodite. In twenty years she aged like three years tops. Maybe there is a leap-year contingency involved, who knows. What I do know is that Lori is having the same difficulties as myself. (minus the nephew watching and other parental crap). Not a day goes by that I thank God for her relationship with John Stamos to only be fictitious. I would cry like a Cubs fan on October 1st if she was to have been actually associated (romantically/intimately) with the clean cut Carrot Top.
My Full House loyalty is evergreen. However, if I had to choose a future with Lori Laughlin or Jodi Sweeten (Stephanie Tanner) I would be at a loss. Where in the world is Jodi by the way? Everyone else in Full House has resurfaced in one facet of eating disorder or bit role for made for tv movies. I don't think it is naive to say that Jodi and I would hit it off but then again I have not seen how she is doing. Before you put me on the vain train, I just don't want a sweatpant sweetheart. She best be working hard to consistantly fit through a turnstile- without turning to the side.
That is why I must stick to my guns and declare my heart for Lori Laughlin. By chance Lori that you are indeed reading this (shut it Phil- we all have dreams) you are the female version of Dick Clark (ageless wonder), except hot and not balding. One question Lori- what is going on with the teeth? I understand whitening is the thing to do instead of brushing and flossing these days but when the scene fades to black your smile is so bright one would think you swallowed the moon. Tone it down please, a woman with such a golden complexion should not be smiling with teeth whiter than her wedding dress.
Alright, I guess this probably will not work out Lori. Your busy schedule and my eternal search for an uncancelled open mic in Chicago would not allow for much us time. Best of luch Lori, I will have to swallow my pride/5th of scotch and hit the aforementioned scene. Game on.
Monday, August 02, 2004
The Scene (part one)
Loverboy said it best, everybody is working for the weekend. Well, they said nothing about working at a paying job for the weekend. Would you look at that. The second sentence of the blog and I am already on a tangent. back to the matter at hand the scene in Chicago's meat markets.
I went over to Rob's barrio where little Italy meets mini Mexico this past friday night after my improv show. My friend Sarah and her sorority gal pal Kristin came along. While waiting for the girls (Alison too) I asked Rob what the plan was for the night. "So will we be going to a place where we can actually sit down and hear what the person two feet away is saying, or are we going to an obnoxious place like Shennanigans where the walls sweat and the really classy girls dance from brass poles? because I have no preference." Rob replies. "Clearly you have no preference."
So we five greek geeks sit and tell stories of the hay day (Ali refrained- maybe bc she deactivated, who knows?). Let me tell how to bring people together. Tell about an hour of -you had to be there- stories. I am surprised Alison didn't kill us. So we venture over to Hawkeyes, a local tavern that sit, drink, and clearly hear the rejection from unreciprocated lovas.
Besides a ineptitude for dancing, when I go out on the weekend I am not primarily looking for play. This sets my perogatives apart from the groups sometimes. I say that because consistantly I go out looking for a solid buzz and most importantly a nice plate of nachos.
I then had a run in with the waitress named something-oya or what's-it-isha. Apparently when I ordered (mind you) my own plate of nachos I was to consider that not only would my friends be eating them (which was cool with me/expected) but I was to impress the waitress with my cornacoupia of toppings. I told her only salsa, cheese and sour cream would be necessary. She told me "Wow, that is boring. That's not my flavor." I actually replied "I was unaware that I was supposed to take the eating preferences of the waitress into consideration. I am sorry." I ironed things out with her and things were so good that I even let her take the plates in for a nice tip.
Now the night came to a breaking point. Rob and Allison were on a separate page from Sarah and Kristin. I was just happy I got my freaking nachos. Rob and Ali were about to declare the move to another bar when the girls ordered another beer. To break the tensions I reminded Kristin that she still had not won the challenge from earlier. This challenge was to lick her own elbow. She took that 10 second joke and made it into full hour show just about. FYI she could only reach her forearm. God do I love sorority girls who perpetuate a stereotype.
We leave and then the girls leave since they did not want to come along. Where were we going? Well Rob uses the blanket term Wrigleyville and then switches it out as we walk up to Shennanigans. I feel like the dog that is told it is going for a ride to Petsmart but gets out at the vet. So I go in. 1. Because Rob is my friend and he came to my show. 2. Hope- that things won't be nearly as akward this time.
Wrong.
I walk in and there are two docked bouyes in this beer girls tank top. That is the one thing I like about bars. You never verbally have to ask "so how did you get this job?" Every girl has either a fine butt or chest and the guys that work there are all Linkoln Park punk-metras.
So Rob like always courageously buys the first round. As they make their way into dance it up, I assume the tall guy position against the far wall. Although I did not dance, I was entertained by a shaved monkey dancing by himself. No really, imagine a shaven monkey and put on some Old Navy shirt and that is who I saw. The humor there was he was two part. One he was constantly trying to get this trashy girl to dance up on him. She shot him down. Perhaps it was his air boxing dance moves that scared her off. He literally threw jabs and crosses as dance moves. Or so I thought.
He stormed off to get physical with some J.Crew model and well models have friends and monkeys don't so the dude had to back off. He reported back up by his tire swing and was then rejected again by the girl. I laughed, for a long time. He looked at me, I kept laughing until he was met up by another desperate soul by the brass pole. I am sure they had a great night and will be friends for life.
Alison saw my enjoyment level was equal to being at the Field Museum. So we left and eventually went into this other bar. I was at this point drinking water so I could drive home. The bartender mocked me for asking for water. I love Wrigleyville. She later made me cross my heart and swear on my grave that I was really the designated driver so I could have another cup of water. I love Wrigleyville.
Rob soon met a woman.
I say woman because she was clearly thirty which means she could have been over forty. I only stuck around as wingman since she was buying him a beer. I approved anyway of this hook up. Mainly since it happened in front of me and almost on my lap. I then did what any friend does in this case. I checked her friend out. She was a thick Anne Heche meets Susan Powter. At that point I tapped Rob on the shoulder (mid make out) and said I think you're alright. I'm out.
I don't know what it is but that place is not my scene. I am such a buzzkill of late. It could be worse, I could have been that boxing Donkey Kong. I love Wrigleyville.
Loverboy said it best, everybody is working for the weekend. Well, they said nothing about working at a paying job for the weekend. Would you look at that. The second sentence of the blog and I am already on a tangent. back to the matter at hand the scene in Chicago's meat markets.
I went over to Rob's barrio where little Italy meets mini Mexico this past friday night after my improv show. My friend Sarah and her sorority gal pal Kristin came along. While waiting for the girls (Alison too) I asked Rob what the plan was for the night. "So will we be going to a place where we can actually sit down and hear what the person two feet away is saying, or are we going to an obnoxious place like Shennanigans where the walls sweat and the really classy girls dance from brass poles? because I have no preference." Rob replies. "Clearly you have no preference."
So we five greek geeks sit and tell stories of the hay day (Ali refrained- maybe bc she deactivated, who knows?). Let me tell how to bring people together. Tell about an hour of -you had to be there- stories. I am surprised Alison didn't kill us. So we venture over to Hawkeyes, a local tavern that sit, drink, and clearly hear the rejection from unreciprocated lovas.
Besides a ineptitude for dancing, when I go out on the weekend I am not primarily looking for play. This sets my perogatives apart from the groups sometimes. I say that because consistantly I go out looking for a solid buzz and most importantly a nice plate of nachos.
I then had a run in with the waitress named something-oya or what's-it-isha. Apparently when I ordered (mind you) my own plate of nachos I was to consider that not only would my friends be eating them (which was cool with me/expected) but I was to impress the waitress with my cornacoupia of toppings. I told her only salsa, cheese and sour cream would be necessary. She told me "Wow, that is boring. That's not my flavor." I actually replied "I was unaware that I was supposed to take the eating preferences of the waitress into consideration. I am sorry." I ironed things out with her and things were so good that I even let her take the plates in for a nice tip.
Now the night came to a breaking point. Rob and Allison were on a separate page from Sarah and Kristin. I was just happy I got my freaking nachos. Rob and Ali were about to declare the move to another bar when the girls ordered another beer. To break the tensions I reminded Kristin that she still had not won the challenge from earlier. This challenge was to lick her own elbow. She took that 10 second joke and made it into full hour show just about. FYI she could only reach her forearm. God do I love sorority girls who perpetuate a stereotype.
We leave and then the girls leave since they did not want to come along. Where were we going? Well Rob uses the blanket term Wrigleyville and then switches it out as we walk up to Shennanigans. I feel like the dog that is told it is going for a ride to Petsmart but gets out at the vet. So I go in. 1. Because Rob is my friend and he came to my show. 2. Hope- that things won't be nearly as akward this time.
Wrong.
I walk in and there are two docked bouyes in this beer girls tank top. That is the one thing I like about bars. You never verbally have to ask "so how did you get this job?" Every girl has either a fine butt or chest and the guys that work there are all Linkoln Park punk-metras.
So Rob like always courageously buys the first round. As they make their way into dance it up, I assume the tall guy position against the far wall. Although I did not dance, I was entertained by a shaved monkey dancing by himself. No really, imagine a shaven monkey and put on some Old Navy shirt and that is who I saw. The humor there was he was two part. One he was constantly trying to get this trashy girl to dance up on him. She shot him down. Perhaps it was his air boxing dance moves that scared her off. He literally threw jabs and crosses as dance moves. Or so I thought.
He stormed off to get physical with some J.Crew model and well models have friends and monkeys don't so the dude had to back off. He reported back up by his tire swing and was then rejected again by the girl. I laughed, for a long time. He looked at me, I kept laughing until he was met up by another desperate soul by the brass pole. I am sure they had a great night and will be friends for life.
Alison saw my enjoyment level was equal to being at the Field Museum. So we left and eventually went into this other bar. I was at this point drinking water so I could drive home. The bartender mocked me for asking for water. I love Wrigleyville. She later made me cross my heart and swear on my grave that I was really the designated driver so I could have another cup of water. I love Wrigleyville.
Rob soon met a woman.
I say woman because she was clearly thirty which means she could have been over forty. I only stuck around as wingman since she was buying him a beer. I approved anyway of this hook up. Mainly since it happened in front of me and almost on my lap. I then did what any friend does in this case. I checked her friend out. She was a thick Anne Heche meets Susan Powter. At that point I tapped Rob on the shoulder (mid make out) and said I think you're alright. I'm out.
I don't know what it is but that place is not my scene. I am such a buzzkill of late. It could be worse, I could have been that boxing Donkey Kong. I love Wrigleyville.
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