269: bed, bath, and bea arthur

1. white rabbit

Has it been two weeks since I last wrote? Wow, I’m getting really lazy aren’t I? I guess I could blame the blackout, but that didn’t touch Chicago (though I wish it had – I could have done with getting out of work early on Thursday) and besides, I want to be responsible for once.

And so much has happened in the last 10 days or so. Not to me so much as other people. Other people who have exciting lives. I’m just here to report the facts.

8/8/03 – Karen & Gregg’s going-away party for Michael. The low-key backyard of their faboo Gold Coast apartment buildling. Karen & Gregg are wearing Yale t-shirts while their tiny blonde daughters scamper about in grey t-shirts that say “Go Bulldogs!” I meet Karen’s brother-in-law Colin, a not-too-serious Englishman who is utterly charming, and some of Karen & Gregg’s circle who to me look like real adults. The women carry real Chanel handbags and don’t eat a thing, preferring instead to pump margaritas from the plastic keg of margarita mix. Gregg and Karen are wonderful hosts, if a bit frazzled, always quick to introduce me to people with all sorts of compliments that I am entirely too embarassed to refute. At 10:00 or so, Gregg announces the cake and we all file out, through the service garage, to the street where an ice cream truck is waiting for us and for us alone. I hop up and down, stopping long enough to order a Choco-Taco. I have to take a picture of myself with Damien, giggling and under the influence of so many margaritas, so much ice cream, and so many friends.

8/9/03 – Get up way too early to meet Bruno to look at apartments. We are scheduled to see four, we end up seeing two. Out of the two we saw, one was mildly depressing and the other was entirely scary. The second was a large studio in what was meant to be a hotel built in the 1920s. The corridors are wide, carpeted with a bold floral motif that screams “REDRUM! REDRUM!” when I step out of the elevator. Great location, though, and some decent amenities. Later that day, I go to Tasneem & Tony’s for their post-wedding brunch. They cook, I eat. Occasionally, I step out onto their balcony for a cigarette, which I never finish because one look down at the street twenty-nine stories below and I run back inside to the safety of their kitchen. We look at the wedding proofs, conveniently presented on a videotape with cheesy romantic synthesizer soft rock music. Tony and Tasneem look gorgeous (as usual) in the photos. After brunch, Jorge and I go to the Apple store where he buys an iPod and I scope out the place for cute boys. We go our separate ways that evening, and I join Kevin at Steppenwolf for “Homebody/Kabul”. Excellent, and I encourage you all to see it before it closes. It’s a tough play, though – three hours of straight drama, with occasional flashes of humor. I feel like a total slob when I read that two of members of the cast are still in college.

8/12/03 – Jean and I go look at an apartment which I will probably not, for a multitude of reasons, apply for. Even though I love the neighborhood. And there is a dishwasher. And a private deck. And only one other tenant in the building. Afterwards, we wander around her neighborhood, slinking through the humid air. We ge some dinner at Kitsch’n, which is fine – the mashed potatoes were lukewarm, but the patty melt was outstanding.

8/14/03 – Blackout. I want the blackout to hit Chicago in a way such that I get out of work early but not so much that the trains and lights don’t work. Alas, no – blackout goes as far as Detroit and Cleveland. I call my parents – Dad is okay at work, Mom is okay at home.

8/15/03 – So my boss had this little trivia contest and I happened to win it. I didn’t except anything more than a pat on the back, maybe a cookie, but she takes me out to lunch at, ahem, the Atwood Cafe. Yummy. I swear, the grilled cheese I order was made with a whole stick of butter but the waitress swears it is not. “Almost, though — almost.” she says as she leaves us to our meal. That night – Albert’s birthday dinner at Hi Ricky’s. I managed to get a picture of Albert’s face as he walks in on the surprise, and then another of him wearing a Barbie party hat. The hat looks fetching on all of us, though my hat keeps falling off my bumpy head.

8/16/03 – Hot. HAWT. Foster and I get pedicures. I buy CDs. We eat lunch. I go home, shower, get a ride from Jacinda and Joe to Michael’s going-away party. I stick with ginger ale for most of the night, though most people do not. Everybody’s tipsy after a mere drink or two, which I blame on the humidity. Jacinda tells anybody and everybody that she’d totally make out with me, because she loves me and who doesn’t love me? I’m sure there are people out there who don’t, but they were wise enough to stay out of Jacinda’s way Saturday night. Thom whispers to me that he shaved his chest earlier that day and psst, it’s a secret, so of course Michael tells everybody and I make Thom flash me for the camera. Nobody uses the martini glasses that Michael has arranged in the living room, drinking instead from the juice glasses in his kitchen, as they are closer to the alcohol. There are cute, straight girls there for Foster to flirt with, yet the evening ends with Foster asleep on the couch and me taking pictures of his underpants peeking out of his jeans.

8/17/03 – Ginza Holiday with Jean. We meet Christine at the temple, and watch the cute taiko drummers play in the hot sun. I eat a great deal of teriyaki chicken, buy a children’s book about pork buns. This is maybe the one day of the year that I honestly feel like I want to have a kid, as there are so many cute Asian babies in attendance. This feeling goes away later, when Jean, Dan, and I are at Scooter’s frozen custard watching toddlers screaming, at their parents and at each other, for no good goddamn reason. After the custard, I am happy to sit in the dim, coolness of Bungalow, the local neighborhood martini bar, sipping a Belvedere gimlet and watching “Sex and The City” like any grown person has the right to do.

other stuff

The friendsters, they keep coming along. But none of them are boys I used to have crushes on. Pooh.

No apartment, yet. But I’m circling in, getting closer and closer. Jorge found a place near him, and there are some apartments near Jean. If you have any tips on apartments, let me know.

Jasmine

Love is much nicer to be in than an automobile accident, a tight girdle, a higher tax bracket, or a holding pattern over Philadelphia.

(Judith Viorst)

*playlist*

Elvis Presley – It Feels So Right (alternate take no. 3); Daniel Lanois – Sleeping In The Devil’s Bed; Nelly – Hot in Herre

*links*

http://www.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/meast/08/15/iraqi.advice.ap/index.html

http://newyork.craigslist.org/about/best/lax/14380540.html

http://www.geocities.com/angrylittleretardedgoldfish/3_0.html

http://www.fametracker.com/fame_audit/willard_fred.shtml

http://www.sfgate.com/gate/special/pages/2003/recall

http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/features/story/0,11710,1014104,00.html

http://www.buzzmachine.com/blackout/advance.html

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~ by Jasmine on August 19, 2003.

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