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.