My return to Chicago; Part I

I left Chicago at the end of January last year, just after my 29th birthday. I sold all my furniture, trashed everything extemporaneous, and hand-packed the rest of my smegma piece by piece into the trunk of my car until it resembled a very complex puzzle of blenders and dishes and dog toys, etc. I then packed the girls into the front and back seat of my newly lowriding sedan and set out for California. It was a trip fraught with peril--if you can remember that far back in BunnyBlog time--but we made it to LA and TheProducer's house in one human and two doggy pieces, so no complaints from me. Murph even got to see some cows. I didn't realize what I was doing at the time, but looking back, I was definitely attempting an escape.

You know how human years translate 1 to 7 with dog years? A dog ages seven years every 365 days. Did I become a dog when I moved to California? Was there some strange canine threshold I passed beneath that anointed me with the aging properties of a dog on that warm January LA day I became Californian? I only ask this because it seems as if 3.5 years have passed in the .5 years it has been since I left Chicago. True, I'm turning thirty in January, and I'm being pathetic about the tiny little rivets in the skin under my eyes that only I can see, and only with a magnifying glass and spotlight, but its not that kind of aging I'm talking about. I am different. Very different, and so is my life.

Chicago is a great city. It's multi-cultural, well-run, fun to play in and an all around jovial place. I love the close proximity to humanity, which you certainly don't get in LA. I love the lake. I love how everyone has a dog, and the dog is usually a rescued mutt. I love how the women eat, and thus have few wrinkles. I love the metrosexual sport boys on the El with their beanies. I love, love, love Wrigley Field in the summer, and in the winter, when its frosty outside your pub window, and you're sitting with your chums before a fire having a beer, Chicago is the best city on earth.

I decided I wanted to do that last thing, sit with the chums before the fire. The frosty window thing. I booked a ticket for a visit and invited this super sexy guy I've been seeing to meet me there. I had my sister create one of those Evite thingies for me and arrange a little coming home party for me, not a beer brawl or anything, just a chance to get together with all the old friends who I remembered as being so fun, and such good people. It was going to be a blast. But then...

My sister blew two discs in her back trying to train for a marathon. She called me in tears after her prognosis was delivered and begged me to come for a couple extra days to take care of her. I told my friend not to meet me there, because I wasn't going to be spend much time with him, broken backed sister and all. My spirits were sort of dampened by this, and only got worse when the Evite drama started. I guess I had forgotten certain negative things about my Chicagoan friends, particularly the fact that almost 100 percent of my male ones are drama queens who fight with each other constantly and spend an alarming amount of time (at the tender age of thirty) gossiping about each other on line to whomever they can get to hear them bitch. I must have repressed this, because I made an open invite for anyone that knew me. That open invite turned into "Steve won't come if Brandon is there because Shelly fucked Brandon. Ted won't come if Steve is there because they're fighting over Mary. Bruce won't come if Brandon is there because Brandon and Bruce don't like each other, and when Bruce gets drunk, he and Steve team up and fight Brandon. Sue won't come if Steve is there, because he cheated on her." I would ask Steve what to do about his predicament, and he would say, "Come to me." Brandon, Bruce and Ted also said, "Come to me." Fuck them. Say what you want about the somewhat distant, need-based nature of most Los Angeles friendships; nobody fucking bickers like this. They just get a godamned life.

So an odd half dozen people confirmed that they were coming. All of my female friends were in, so there goes that stereotype, the "women are gossiping drama queens" one. Not a biggie. I miss the shit out of my girlfriends, so I was still pretty excited about coming to Chicago. Until I got there.

Comments

Posted by: Kelsness at October 17, 2006 11:21 AM

Posted by: Giggles at October 17, 2006 12:47 PM

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