I’m really wishing there was an instructional guide that went along with this site. I’ve looked around but nothing shows me how to create links to sites I like or bloggers I follow. How am I supposed to pay homage to my favorite burlesque dancers with blogs if I can’t link to them on my front page?
I suppose this will turn out to be one big trial and error. Kind of like walking in stilettos after 3 bottles of wine. Something I’ve never done. Well the three bottles of wine possibly, but not in stilettos. High heeled boots perhaps, stilettos frighten me. When I lived and worked in the South Loop I used to see women dressed in short, tight dresses and stilettos all the time. This was your average “going to the grocery store” wear.
I don’t care how respectable you think you are honey or how much money your husband/boyfriend/sugar daddy has, you look like a hooker. No two ways about it. Add the “purchased” breasts that spill out of the tight(and always in a bright color) dress, and the long blond extensions and you find yourself not staring at them out of admiration but “holy shit I hope she doesn’t catch pneumonia and I hope I don’t catch an STD from standing next to her in the checkout lane”.
Living where we did in the south loop was always interesting. I worked at a spa at the time(R.I.P Spa Ariel I still miss you) and from the front window I could people watch all day long.
There were the young, wannabe hipsters across the street at Columbia. Some days I wanted to go over there and yell at these kids in their ironic haircuts that you KNOW were done at 50 bucks a pop on the credit card daddy gave them for emergencies that dressing the part doesn’t mean they have really lived the part. I really shouldn’t get started on these kids, they’re young and they don’t know any better. But watching them all parade around in their skinny jeans, smoking their skinny cigarettes made me want to punch someone. At one point I became even more obsessed with watching them when I realized that my (quite a bit) younger husband had run into the girlfriend he had before me outside the school. She was still a student there. I wanted so badly to know what she looked like and was she better looking than me. He explained over and over that wasn’t the case, and to this day I have no reason but to believe him. But still, which little girl in black skinny jeans with her hair tousled just “so” was she?
One of the other interesting things about living around this area, Roosevelt/Wabash/State street was that on one corner there was an abandoned building(later a Binny’s), on one a hip breakfast place with overpriced sandwiches, the other a Starbucks and the fourth? A BP that seemed to be the resting place of many a homeless man asking for change. Now normally the residents of this area were accustomed to this sight. And I say this without sounding uncaring, but it became frustrated when you couldn’t even cross the street or go get coffee without feeling the need to hand over your change to the same man in dreads day in and out. After a while you had to wonder how much money he was making just by standing in front of this locale.
My two normal reactions depended on my mood that day. One was to hand over whatever loose change I had. The other was to put my head down and hightail it across the street as soon as possible. Often I had either my then 10 yr old with me or later my then infant in a stroller.
Backing up a bit though, one night before I was pregnant with my second(my husband’s first) child there was a particular night when J had a show at The Horseshoe. J is my husband. And he’s a musician. He doesn’t get to play out as often as he used to, but what he has done is pretty amazing. I’ll get to his music some other time, because he’s really good. And there are many other people not related to us who agree.
This night was exceptionally odd because J was in a weird mood. This was a solo show for him. His longtime band Riviera was on a slight hiatus. It was summer and I’m not a fan of summer(more on this later-I have a huge post all about this brewing elsewhere). Back then we both smoked. A lot. Now this night I had a couple of drinks in me and so did he. He played his show and it was pretty fantastic per usual. I sat off to the left of the stage at a small table by myself. At one point I noticed a thin brunette sitting on a chair in front of him rather mesmerized. Now I don’t usually get jealous with him. We’ve both always been secure in our relationship with each other. However Ms. Curly hair was being a bit too interested in him. After the show before I could move out of my seat I notice her go up to him, she’s speaking to him and as she does so she grabs his arm in a way that reeks of a come on. I did a big ole “hmmm”. Then she left. ???
He told me a few minutes later upon my asking that this woman just walked up to him, grabbed his arm and told him how his songs just changed her life. And then she left. Well yeah, I noticed the last part. But still I was a bit fascinated, repelled and a small part of me was smug thinking “my husband is one hell of a songwriter”.
Well I had to get home because I had to work the next day. I think. So I went to grab a cab, but I was out of cigarettes. As we’re standing outside I asked him to go grab me some of his and he said no, your cab is here, I’ll see you later. I was pissed the whole way home. It was about 1 am. No one goes out on our block at that time unless you’re selling drugs or an idiot. I guess I fit into the latter category that night. Because the cab let me off and I ran that block like FloJo to get to the BP without getting mugged just to get a pack of Marlboro Lights.
I ran in and out. And from sheer adrenaline and a few rum & cokes, I found myself handing over $5 in change to one of the many “gentlemen without homes” that frequented the front of this gas station.
And then I ran back home. And smoked three in a row, had a drink and cursed my husband for making me go out so late. A couple months later we quit for good. Considering all the trouble those damn cigarettes have caused us, I think it was the smart choice. Well that and that we’ll live longer now.