All the Single Ladies

Last weekend, the Single Ladies and few other friends (several of whom have appeared in this blog at one time or another) gathered in Chicago to celebrate some birthdays (A’s and mine, specifically). It’s like that time the gals from Sex and the City went to that desert in the movie sequel and rode camels. I don’t know. I didn’t see see that movie. And we didn’t ride camels. But we were on location. And like Sex and the City, it was fabulous.

I hope you are in the mood for dated pop-culture references, because I have a few more for you in a sec. Get excited.

You know what was really exciting? Pulling up to the airport and seeing my lovely friends waiting with their bags. It was a little magical. I’m sure they were even more excited to see the chariot I arrived in — a silver Buick, covered in bird shit, one headlight out. That is my ride. Magical.

We rented an apartment for three nights, and it was…adequate. We discovered funny details like the upstairs bathroom having a two-person jacuzzi — ketchup red. Quel romance! Feel free to write some ATSL fan fic about us all squeezing in there and giving each other the business. In sad actuality, everyone used the downstairs bathroom because we couldn’t figure out how to get the shower head to work in the jacuzzi. We thought it likely that the shower head was actually a secret camera to spy on us. Craigslist rentals: you never can tell.

We did some quality hanging out, filled in the gaps. Like for instance, did you know that C and N adopted Clark’s cats? Yes. He moved to Austin to be a photographer/artist (like the bag of dicks he is) and was going to give his cats to the cat skinner (or the Humane Society, whatever). The girls took those handsome toms from him, and now they are truly one slip of paper away from being old marrieds.

We went to a bar that was too loud to talk or be heard in, so we played a few rounds of spoons. Multiple boys found our group to be very good looking, and we were invited to an after party (bars closing at 2am! So quaint, midwest! [jk, hearts and stars, I love you, midwest. Nothing good happens between 2 and 4am…except, ha, I’ll get to that.]). We did not go a second location with that group of men, but instead retreated to our apartment love nest for more beers, games, and laffs.

The next day, I was RUDELY awoken as I am every day, in one form or another. My alarm clock, seriously, no manners whatsoever. This time, it happened to be A trying to get the aforementioned camera/shower to work. Anyway, once I had a cup of coffee, we did a little shopping, spent a little money we didn’t have, saw some sights, and ate some cupcakes.

For dinner, we had a late reservation at a BYOB thai place. BYOB restaurants: favorite. Then we went to a bar. But oh, what a bar! It was basically the bar of my dreams. They played all the hits. They had flipcup tables. They played Robyn! I rolled on the floor! I would have gone home happy, but sometimes, Jesus has even bigger plans for you than you have for yourself. And Jesus’ plan for that night was to bring a special person into my life.

I had noticed, as is my wont, all the men in the bar. No, really, all of them. And so of course I had noted the guy with the hair. I have taken some care in google-imaging the correct hairstyle. I looked at a lot of cast members from 90s shows. I have decided that this about it: [EDIT: Of course they pull the pic from the internet within 24 hours of this post. Here’s a new one, not quite as good.]

I always did like Shawn.

But his face was way more evocative of early Sean Penn. Like, pretty much a carbon copy of Jeff Spicoli. I looked at a bunch of Spicoli clips on YouTube, and really had trouble choosing just one. So please, watch them all, and also read the Wikipedia page. It was written by the sort of person who would write the Wikipedia page for Jeff Spicoli.

Handsome, no?

So there, I was, just busting a move, when this guy came up to me and said, “Hey, you’re not the best dancer I’ve ever seen, but you’re not the worst.”

CAN WE PAUSE A MOMENT AND ENJOY THAT LINE.

This was triply hilarious because on my best day, I am a rhythm-deaf nightmare. To say nothing of the aforementioned Robyn reenactment. I was skeptical and believed his true motive was to flatter me into bed. My spider-sense/woman’s intuition was proven correct about thirty seconds later, when he told me, “I’m just going to be honest. I’d really like to take you back to my place and fuck you senseless.”

AGAIN, WITH THE PAUSING.

He also told me he owned the bar, to which I said, “You couldn’t possibly. You’re way too young.”

“You’re right. But I sort of inherited it. I actually live just around the corner.”

Probably 9 times out of 10, I would have told him to take a hike, but it was my birthday, the bar was closing, and I was like, fuck it. Let’s make babies. Let’s do the business.

I told him to wait for me while I said goodnight to my friends. The whole first exchange took about five minutes, definitely some sort of record. But when you know, you know. I knew. 

It took about twenty minutes to say goodbye, and this Spicoli person waited for me by the door. Nice puppy. Stay.

He did indeed live right around the corner, and if there is one first impression I could give about his apartment it would be, “Holy lord, do you burn weed candles and have weed scented air fresheners, or do you seriously just smoke that much weed?”

There wasn’t a whole lot of time to take in the particulars, as we pretty much just boned for two straight hours. In between bonings, I did manage to find out that he did not, in fact, own the bar. I asked him how many times that line had worked on girls before.

“Never. Never once before.”

Also he had a broken nose. I didn’t really notice it at first, but yeah. Totes broken. He wouldn’t tell me how it happened. I also found out that he had backpacked around South America for a year and a half, but had to leave “in a hurry.” I asked him if it was drugs related. He laughed and said no. I said, “Oh, you totally got some chick pregnant, didn’t you?” He changed the subject. He was a little sketchy!

Now, apparently, he has a boring corporatey sales job. He is “so bored.” His hair was phenomenal to touch.

I love him? We had a lot of sex in a short amount of time.

In all the kerfuffle, I kicked a glass of water onto my pile of clothes, so when it was time go, I just put on the bare, soaking essentials. That was a drafty 1-minute wait for a cab, I’ll tell ya.

By 4:45, I was back at the Single Ladies’. I did get a text from Spicoli the next day, but I don’t expect to hear from him again. But thank you, Jesus, for sending that special angel for my birthday.

Speaking of Jesus! I forced my friends to see Joyful Noise the next day. It was AMAZINGly terrible. Dolly Parton: National Treasure. And fine, pretty much the whole movie was ridiculous, but this scene was goosebumpy:

We had some more fun, us Ladies, and then it was time to go. I have tentative plans to run out to NY for a weekend this summer. Until then, I will leave you with this thought more or less from An American Tail:

And when the night wind starts to sing its lonesome lullaby,
It helps to think we might be boning underneath the same big sky.

Tears!