doll parts, grapefruit, rapeman. (or just another monday night in chicago).

it's a monday night. super wicked cold, january. we're in chicago, one of the largest cities in the u.s. i'm beat, as i'm pretty sure are you. we're old pals, been together not quite long enough to count on two hands, but longer than most post-collegiate friendships. it's been a while, since i've had the energy or motivation to leave the comforts of my adult married apartment. drinks bore me, at least if vincent's not there with me. but i know it's been too long, we both do, so when we make plans to hang out, i know in the back of my mind i'm not going to flake or bail this time, and you do too. or at least i think you thought that, because you came through on it. instead of overpriced east lakeview manicures at 'this really great asian joint, down on broadway, the price is worth it, go no-chip manicures!', we opt to hop in your little eco-car and we cruise it on down to our old stomping grounds. a mini bar crawl at the dangerous hour of 7:00pm. we opt for the more pricey beers, because well, we can afford them. and they taste better. we talk about our jobs. about love. about past experiences. our parents, and how everyone has some sort of dis-attachment they can't shake from their mom or dad. you, your dad. me, my mom. we talk about others we know, and how we're glad we're not them. two beers in and we're both feeling good, the conversation is on full spigot blast now. we become friends with joey, the little man boy bartender who plays hipster garage rock from three years past on his iPod, who feeds us malort shots and explains, 'they're really not that bad if you expect grapefruit, it's only if you think it's going to be bad it is,' you take the shot, 'this tastes like wood.' i take the shot, 'or a really bad kisser.' but we agree it's not as bad as aqua-net hairspray, which is what i was initially anticipating prior to the grapefruit analogy. we hop next door to an establishment we've frequented many a times in our past lives. it's different, but the same. enigma is still on the jukebox, as is eve 6. we play both, followed up with some deftones and kid rock. but it's only when we play hole's 'doll parts' and both burst out in teenage white girl angst, thrashing our arms at the wooden townie bar, that we realize how badly we want a karaoke night. instead i make small talk on the bulls game, they beat the nets, 84 to 111 (or something, at this point i'm 3 beers in and pretty beat). i'm going to see this game on february 18th with my husband. i bought tickets for valentines' day. being a wife is fun. but instead of our karaoke fix, we opt for cheap mexican food next door instead. you, two veggie tacos, with pretty incredible looking avocado slices. me, a steak quesadilla, side of sour cream of course. we share an over salted basket of tortilla chips that taste suspiciously like frito's corn chips. i pay the bill and it's under fifteen dollars. we drive back to lakeview, with promises to make this a monday night weekly tradition - except that you have a class every monday night starting the following week, and i have spinning classes on tuesdays. we'll make it work somehow, we agree, and you drive past my turn. we hop on lakeshore drive, listening to a cd in your car stereo by an artist called rapeman. surprisingly, it's pretty badass. i want to be in a band called rapeman. you drop me off at home, and i crawl into bed, inspired to write, observing and documenting the little things in my head. i write a sleepy mini outline in my gmail account, since my new laptop doesn't have microsoft word, and wonder how i can put this into prose. i guess this could constitute as a running start, a halfway meager attempt at an outline of sorts, a writing exercise. maybe, maybe not. at least if nothing else, it's an excuse to post a music video by hole on my blog. i'll take that, my friends, for what it's worth.