A couple Fridays ago, my friend Debbie came to visit me from the suburbs. It was all very Sex and the City. We dressed up, we opened a bottle of wine, we gossiped about boys and then we went out to dinner. FYI, I am NOT Samantha. I cannot speak for Debbie though, you'll just have to ask her yourself.
Since finding parking near me isn't the easiest thing to do, I was hesitant to drive anywhere. I picked a restaurant a half a block away from me and planned on taking the El to the bars afterwards. Yes my friends, this is what you'll have to look forward to if you ever visit me. If you are looking for a chauffeur, you are looking at the wrong hostess. Taxis, buses and the El are all we'll be riding. Get used to the smell.
After a dinner at Exposure Tapas (a bit overpriced but yummy), I talked Debbie into going out with me. She was tired but I didn't want to waste my cute outfit on just her and Olivia, so I dragged her out to Pops! for Champagne, a Champagne bar I've been meaning to check out for a while.
The first indication that the CTA (Chicago Transit Authority) wasn't the right choice for my dear friend Debbie, came as we hopped onto the Red Line. She opted to stand instead of sit (Why?)and got a bit anxious as more and more people hopped on, pushing us against the door. "Not only did you drag me out, you're making me ride the train!" she whispered to me. Apparently I conveniently forgot the fact that Debbie is an even bigger germaphobe than me.
We got to Pops! without a hitch. After a couple of yummy drinks, some chocolate fondue, and a neighbor who stared at me politely and then tried to make even more polite conversation, we left for another bar, where we had more food and drinks. By the time we were ready to leave I was a bit tipsy, so that'll be my excuse for hopping back onto the Redline at 2 in the morning rather than grabbing a cab.
So we went underground, where some scary guy smelled so strongly of marijuana, I almost got high smelling it. Then he proceeded to tell us how he doesn't like cops as we nodded our heads and looked around and tried not to meet his eyes. Instead, I looked at the dirty walls and down the dark tunnel for any signs of the train. But the tunnel only served to remind me of a scary movie I saw about a deformed murderer living in the deserted tunnels of the London Underground. Which scared me even more. When the train finally arrived, I sighed in relieve, but it was very short lived. We just sat down, (I think Debbie was to tired by now to stand), only to cringe as some guy across from us threw up at his feet, leaving a huge puddle of grossness and smell for us all to enjoy. Debbie turned to me and silently stared at me, but I got her message loud and clear.
As I've said before, get used to the smell.
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