As part of Australia Week at Trump Tower (and to commemorate Australia Day on the 26th), the Grand Ballroom on the 16th floor turned into festive place with Aussie musicians Anthony Snape and Claire Wyndham performing in the background while patrons imbibed on a selection of fine Australian wine and food. Chef Frank Brunacci of Sixteen and Australian chef Simon Bryant collaborated on exotic and mouthwatering foods like barramundi fish (Australia's premiere fish), abalone and oysters, tuna with ginger, wagyu beef, and an array of cheeses and crackers from the native land. Throughout the ballroom, vendors set up their booths that served sample portions of wine and specialty items like hibiscus infused sparkling Yellow Tail. In the lobby area, patrons could consider the idea of booking a trip to Tasmania on the spot. In the Skyline room, three wine tastings were held throughout the afternoon. The one we went to hosted a Pinot Noir, a Shiraz and a white wine paired with food like carmelized foie gras. Rich and delicious. There were also bite sized morsels of pastries to snack on. And let's not forget that spectacular city view from the Tower with Lake Michigan a stones throw away.
A very authentic event, we were introduced to Australian bottled water called Tasmanian Rain and their version of health bars called Wallaby. Australia might be mainly known for it's wine, but they also brew a mighty tasty sparkling beer called Coopers. Take that, Fosters! Of course the wine was the highlight: over 30 different ones from Reislings to Semillion, to blended varietals, and something intriguingly named Woop Woop. We couldn't have thought of a better way to have Sunday "brunch" than with the best things the other side of the world had to offer. Australia's amazing culture and Chicago's cloudy and rainy day made us hope we'd win a trip to the Outback and inevitably escape the winter. posted by Garin
$7.75 unlimited Bloody Mary bar (1) at the Rail, Saturdays and Sundays 10:30am-3pm. The bartender pours some vodka in a glass and away you go to the buffet: Add Bloody mix, then shove in as many pickles, lemons, hot sauces (like Red Rectum), celery and olives as possible. Voilà—an entire day’s worth of nourishment! 4709 N Damen Ave, 773-878-9400.
$6 sangria pitchers (2) at Coobah, Tuesdays 5–11pm. A pitcher of sangria usually costs $18 here, so no wonder this Spanish dining haven gets packed on Tuesdays. 3423 N Southport Ave, 773-528-2220.
$10 unlimited open bar (3) at Purple Haze, Tuesdays 7–10pm. Wrigleyville isn't always pleasant, but after three hours of nonstop tippling, you'll forget where you are. Well drinks are served in plastic cups and the decor is sparse (the purple theme is a tribute to Northwestern University), but for the best drink deal in town, a little goes a long way. 3415 N Clark St, 773-975-6677.
$3.50 house margarita (4) at Flo, Tuesdays–Thursdays 2:30–10pm, Fridays until 5:30pm. Drinking on a Tuesday afternoon could result in rehab, but in these tough times, no one's judging. Flo takes a salt-encrusted glass and tops it off with fresh juices and a lime wedge. 1434 W Chicago Ave, 312-243-0477.
$4 sangria paired with $1 tacos (5) at Caoba, Tuesdays. Buy a drink on special such as the $4 sangria and get unlimited mini chicken, pork and steak tacos for just $1 each. 1619 N Damen Ave, 773-342-2622.
Half-price glasses of wine (6), $4–$6.50 at Rockit Bar and Grill, Mondays. While sipping on moderate pours of pinot grigios, malbecs, cabs and dessert wines, impress your date by picking out those notes of berries and chocolate like a true oenophile. Albeit alluring, avoid the spendy $19 Rockit burger—Dionysus would’ve wanted it that way. 22 W Hubbard St, 312-645-6000; 3700 N Clark St, 773-645-4400.
$10 margarita pitchers at Cortland’s Garage (7), Thursdays 5pm–2am. It's (scrumptious) taco night every Thursday at this Bucktown hangout. Bartenders might not blend the best margaritas in town, but a pitcher for what most places charge for one drink makes it better than average. 1645 W Cortland St, 773-862-7877.
$5 mai tais (8) at Trader Vic’s, Thursdays 4pm–midnight. Polynesian joint Trader Vic's housemade mai tai might be the cheapest drink in the tony Viagra Triangle. Gold and dark rums are mixed with orange almond liqueur and fresh lime juice, then shaken and poured over crushed ice and garnished with fruit and mint. 1030 N State St, 312-642-6500.
$5 Leinenkugel pitchers (9) at Gallery Cabaret, Thursdays 5pm–2am. Part hipster and part old-man hippie bar, the always-lively Gallery Cabaret combines artwork (the gallery) and open mike (the cabaret) with a long list of daily beer specials, including Wisconsin's Leinenkugel pitchers and pints. Yes, the beer's cheap, but it’s also surprisingly high quality. 2020 N Oakley Ave, 773-489-5471.
$10 wine flights (10)w at D.O.C. Wine Bar, Sundays 5pm–2am. A blazing fireplace, lounge music and comfy sofas make Dunlay's adjacent wine room conducive to sampling the world’s best wines, from the Loire Valley in France to Calistoga, California. Choose from eight flights of red, white or bubbly. With three glasses per flight, you just might discover something unexpected. 2602 N Clark St, 773-883-5101. posted by Garin
Once a year, Whisky Fest comes to Chicago. Just like the host magazine Malt Advocate magazine, we're also whisky enthusiasts. Whisky Fest is like our Christmas except happier. The VIP tickets gave us an hour earlier start. It gave us a chance to sample some pretty rare stuff like an 30-year old Laphroaig (as old as me!) that was hidden in a fisherman's boot and a exquisite Johnnie Walker Blue Label. I'll admit I don't know much about whisky or whiskey, but I did learn a lot about whiskys from all around the world, and they all had their own distinct flavors.
We arrived to the Hyatt Regency downtown just in time for registration. We were lured to the bowels of the hotel. The place reminded me of an airport with its different levels and concourses. Upon walking into the banquet hall, we were greeted with a cornucopia of booze and food. The planning committee was smart to include food in the deal, especially hearty fare like mashed potatoes to help absorb the alcohol. I should mention each sampler was only allotted a 1/4 ounce pour of whisky. After VIP hour ended, the place suddenly became swarmed with people who had regular tickets. The crowd had a nice blend of older connoisseurs and younger people wanting to educate themselves on the finer things in life.
Throughout the evening we kept hearing announcements about seminars beginning, but we never got a chance to attend any. The hall was set up with about 50 different vendors in booths (200 varieties total). There were a lot of authentic Scottish distilleries, yunno, Scotsmen who actually lived in Scotland and wore kilts. As the evening weathered on, more and more ruddy faces appeared. We expected people to go nuts and pass out in the mashed potatoes, but somehow everyone maintained and sustained. We noticed a lot of people spitting out their whisky, but like wine, we thought it should be completely enjoyed by the palate and swallowed for full effect. But we understood the need not to imbibe too much. Besides whisky, other alcohol companies were represented such as beer, gin, absinthe, vodka and brandy. I really enjoyed all of the peaty whiskys, but I didn't care too much for the spicy and sticky ones like American Honey. Some were smooth but others tasted like burning. We even sampled some Suntory Japanese whiskey featured in the movie Lost in Translation. I thought of Bill Murray while I slowly sipped it. Besides Scotch, American whiskeys including Jack Daniels, Wild Turkey, Bourbon Country, and Makers Mark were on hand. We clearly avoided those because we clearly can have those any day, but not Scotch in a boot.
Whisky Fest was a successful night of gluttonous endurance. Never had we felt so full of booze and food. We were seriously spoiled by all the good stuff that we ruminated how'd be able to go back to drinking regular instead of rare blends at cocktail hour. We can't wait for next year! posted by Garin
My favorite bit:
You cater to degenerates.
AK - Every bell-curve has its fringe, and we're already on the dangerous fringe at our bell-curve's center. Our bell curve has really dangerous sociopaths.
Read the entire article, make a comment, and rate it five stars. And then go over to The Windy Citizen and say you like it. Just because you can. (And hell, because you're bored; why else would you be reading the updated-once-a-month MOB blog?) I'll leave you with this final quotation:
It doesn't matter who you are, If you can drink for cheap or free, it's good. It's really a wide demographic, it's not going to go away.Theresa
AK- It's going to increase.
AS - We'll be drinking PBR and roasting potatoes around campfires in the middle of Milwaukee and Damen.
"Drunk As A Skunk ... Or A Wild Monkey ... Or A Pig"
So animals like to get soused as much as we do!
My favorite bit is the following:
Interestingly, a few species of mammals including the slow loris and the pentailed treeshrew (with which we share a common ancestor) not only have a predilection for alcohol but also a natural tolerance. When the latter species find an especially rich batch of fermented palm nectar in their native Malaysian rainforests, they’ll visit it several times each night and consume the equivalent, in human terms, of nine standard drinks, without any evident deterioration in their behavior. Perhaps we drank deep before we were fully human?
Incidentally, readers of Myopenbar Chicago might be interested to know that the NYC-based founder of Myopenbar is one of the contributors to Proof.Theresa
209 West 38th Street
New York, NY 10018
To whom it may concern:
I understand that your Women's Classic Tall and Women's Classic Short boots are made from sheepskin "for the utmost comfort," as mentioned on your website. In fact, the entire product description of the Women's Classic Tall seems to emphasize only the comfort of this boot - it is finished with raw seams and the leg of the boot is so supple that it can be folded completely in half. In the "Care and Fit" section, you advise women wear their UGGs barefoot so as to "maximize the cushioning and warmth of the sheepskin."
From what I can tell, nothing about these boots suggest "snow boot alternative." I live in Chicago and winter weather conditions can be brutal. If one needs to walk more than a block outside to get to where they're going, winterized attire should be in place for maximum protection against the cold. I've researched sheepskin boots a bit and all of the resources I have found recommend not wearing them in excessively muddy or wet conditions. Chicago winters are nothing but four months of slush.
The purpose of this letter is a request for UGG Australia to actively inform your customers that the Women's Classic Tall and Women's Classic Short are not acceptable as a snow boots. I am not writing from the perspective of a scorned customer whose toes have fallen off from frostbite - I am writing from the perspective of one with a respectable amount of aesthetic taste who has to look at these boots on a daily basis.
I find these boots to be impossibly hideous, perhaps the UGGliest shoes I've ever seen. I refer to them as "sweatpants for the feet." Sure, I think sweatpants are cozy and I put them on as soon as I come home from work but just because they're "comfortable" and "warm"should this allow me the right to wear them out? To work? To a party? With a mini-skirt? In the snow, when everyone who's come within five feet of sweatpants knows they contain no water resistant attributes? I don't think so.
I've never been to the UGG store here in Chicago as I wouldn't subject myself to such a visual raping, so I can't attest to your selling procedures. But someone is selling these boots as snow boots to women in Chicago and they're selling them like hot cakes. I'm sure this is wonderful news for your CFO but while you're outfitting the feet of every other woman in town, I think you're also practicing unfair business principles. I would think one would have to be an idiot to not understand the fact that sheepskin boots are clearly not made for trudging through the snow but everyone comes from different backgrounds. Perhaps the women I'm seeing in Chicago are all from southern California where rarely a snowflake is seen. Perhaps the women I'm seeing have forgotten after such a beautiful summer that it was only a short year ago when we were all up to our shins in the white stuff, about to embark on yet another months-long stretch of Dante's icy hell. Whatever the case may be, your customers don't get it.
I guess this could happen with anything. If I wanted to go to a sporting supply store and buy a jump rope to be worn as a belt, I could do so and no one would stop me. But, correct me if I'm mistaken, wearing a jump rope as a belt is not a trend. Jump ropes as belts is not a popular decision seen in television, magazines, and other mass media. Some might even say that wearing a jump rope as a belt would look "ugly" or "dumb:" enter sheepskin boots as snow boots.
I want UGG boots out of my life and writing to the company that manufactures them is a useless step to reaching this goal. But we can at least cut down the number of the winter UGG sightings, and my stress level, by letting your customers know that while they're making innocent passersby in appropriate snow boots nauseous with fashion malaise, they're also doing a disservice to their feet and your footwear.
United States Department of the Treasury
1500 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20220
To the person that writes the checks:
I read yesterday that General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler, after recently receiving $25 billion in federal loans, is requesting an additional $25 billion from the United States government. President Bush is "cool to that idea" and he's hoping to "[help] the industry, which is buckling under poor sales, tight credit and a sputtering economy," ("Democrats urge federal stake in big auto companies." Associated Press. 12 Nov 2008).
I also read yesterday that American Express is requesting $3.5 billion in US assistance. Specifically, "$3.5 billion in taxpayer-funded capital from the federal government," ("AmEx Said to Request $3.5 Billion in U.S. Aid." Wall Street Journal. 12 Nov 2008).
And, of course, the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act of 2008, or the $700 billion bailout of the financial industry. I feel no sources are needed here.
I, Nicole James, am hereby formally requesting a $15,000 bailout from the United States government. The reason for my request is that I am thousands and thousands of dollars in debt from going to college. I am aware that this activity appears unethical and amoral but I assure you with my sincerest oath that I did not accept my education loans in vain. It was only after receiving my degree from a highly accredited state school and graduating on the honor roll that I realized my aforementioned degree means next to nothing in our current economy. Furthermore, the return on investment has proved much less than promised or expected.
My logic is demonstrated in Figure 1 below.
Please make check payable to:
Ms. Nicole James
Plus, why not jump on the bandwagon? Bailouts are so 2009.
In a 12-month period in 2006 and 2007, 602 Britons were hospitalized and 28 raped in Greece, and that 1,591 died in Spain and 2,032 were arrested there. Reports of scandalous incidents rumble on regularly here and elsewhere, helping to cement Britain's reputation as the largest exporter of inebriated hooligans in Europe.
I wonder what it'll take for Americans to be deemed hooligans?
Several women were arrested in July for partaking "in an alfresco oral sex contest."
Oh dear. Then again, I kind of like the sound of it. "Alfresco" makes it seem sophisticated. I mean, you're already outside enjoying a fine evening of wine and food, so why the hell not get a little risque?
For about $50 in Malia, tourists can go on unlimited-drinking pub crawls. One 21-year-old man from Essex, for instance, said that his consumption the night before had been five beers; six specialty drinks combined with Baileys, tequila, absinthe, ouzo, vodka, gin and orange juice; five vodka and lime drinks; and then five cans of Stella Artois, all of which, he said, emboldened him to pick up a woman to spend the night with.
Holy shit! Absinthe, ouzo and beer? Who is this guy? I think he's my hero even if it took him that many drinks to "embolden" him to pick up a chick. Whatever gets you by, I guess. But I wonder if LD failed him...
To quote one of those hooligans: "We have stressful jobs, and we don’t get much time off, and we like to enjoy ourselves and have a good laugh. And we love a bargain."
Fuck yeah, bro. I think MOB has found its new motto.Garin
The evening's program features a selection of short films by Czech surrealist Jan Švankmajer, American modernist Man Ray and French filmmaker and scriptwriter Robert Enrico, each with a live soundtrack performed by music collective The Elegant Universe. Complimentary Drambuie cocktails will be served.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008High Concept Laboratories Rooftop1401 W. Wabansia Ave, Chicago, IL7pm, 21+, free with RSVPTheresa
For some unbeknownest -- yet totally bodaciously rad -- reason, shoe company Saucony [that's SOCK-oh-knee to those non-athletes out there] is sponsoring teams of offices to compete in a summer sports league. Throughout the summer, teams in NYC, San Fransisco, Seattle, and Chicago will be engaging in such bloodthirsty sports as whiffleball and kickball.
Our rivals are Threadless, Venus Zine, UR Chicago, WXRT, and Time Out. We know how formidable our opponents are, especially since we've made out with at least a few people from each office, if not all of them. If they're that aggresive with their tongues, we can only imagine the worst when it comes to actual wrestling. Not that we'll be doing that. At least not till after the open bar they're throwing us after each game.
For starters, read our kick-ass answers to the survey they sent us. (Other teams are to the right. Go ahead, compare their un-creative answers to ours.) Once we start playing next week, you'll be able to keep up with our progress on the official Saucony Chicago blog.
Stay tuned for more...
I'm at the dentist the other day, and waiting in the waiting room I glance over the names of the other dentists in the practice. Listed next to their names are their areas of expertise. One of these is "patients with special needs." That is fairly vague. Is this also a brothel? I have special needs. Maybe I should try this dentist.
I don't pay it much more thought, assuming that it's something more or less standard, like people with, you know, really messed up teeth. This assumption is soon shattered when, from out of one of the exam rooms runs a highly distressed man, whimpering and crying. Now, I sympathize. I have often felt this way while getting my teeth cleaned, but have so far resisted the urge to bolt from the chair in tears.
He runs around the waiting area a bit and I get a better look at him. Something is indeed not right. He's acting like a three year old on crack and has the unmistakable look of the mentally handicapped. It's then that it hits me. The specialty needs guy is a dentist for crazy people.An annoyed looking person comes out to retrieve the whimpering man. I can only describe this person as the crazy man's handler.
Handler: What's the matter with you?
I can probably answer that question.
Crazy person: Whimper.
Crazy man looks left, then right, then charges into the bathroom and locks the door. The handler is clearly used to this, and with some coaxing, manages to get crazy man back into the exam room.
Disaster avoided, maybe? Crazy man is probably not dangerous. Right? Well, you never know. You think you have someone under control but miss one dose of meds and you could have the Tasmanian Devil on your hands. I look back to the list of dentists. There's another one with the same specialty. My level of concern rises. There could be more crazy people here. They could have Hannibal Lector back there and I wouldn't know until it's too late. Can you imagine what he could do with dental equipment? Jesus!
Am I the only sane patient in this office at the moment? Even someone not quite as malicious as Lector could inflict some serious damage in a dentists' office. What if crazy man decides to make a visit to my exam room and blasts my genitals with the x-ray gun? That's probably what I would do if I were fucking crazy.
I think they need to restrain the fucker. I don’t want to be mean here. Crazy people need dentists too, but sometimes you need to tie people up. Or sedate them.
My dentist is ready to see me now. I could use a drink. With a sweaty brow I make my way in, peaking in to rooms to see what lunacy could be unfolding. Everything seems normal.
A brief oral exam reveals that I will need a mouth guard so I don't grind my teeth down to nothing. The dentist assures me that I absolutely need it, it costs $450, and my insurance will almost certainly not cover it. Whimper. Why does insurance always have to suck?He comments that I have some stains on my teeth. I say I drink a lot of coffee and red wine. How much red wine? Well . . .
He fires up a vibrating device, saying it's great and will get rid of the stains. I believe him, because it looks like it could reduce anything it touches to a fine powder. The sound when it makes contact with my teeth is a hideous ear drum liquefying howl. Whimper.
The dentist seems to be treating me delicately, and I wonder if he thinks I'm crazy too. Maybe you're supposed to be crazy in this office. Maybe they assume all their patients are nuts. When making the appointment I didn't specify that I wasn't crazy. Maybe I can pretend to have a psychotic break and they won't mind. Where's that x-ray gun?
Maybe I need a handler.posted by Adam
Here is a sampling of what I consider the best of the best:
- Stuff White People Like - cultural anthropology of yuppies and hipsters
- Everything Is Wrong With Me - by some hilarious New Yorker
- PostSecret - sometimes these make me choke up. Fo' real.
- I Can Has Cheezburger - if you haven't seen LOLcats, you must not have been on the web
Have a favorite site of your own you'd like to include for everyone else to see? Let me know at firstname.lastname@example.org. And don't forget that we have our own MOB-sanctioned favorites on the drop-down "We Like" menu on the right of this page. Check 'em oooooout!Theresa
Tell me a little about the play.
It's an unromantic comedy about being single. A typical train ride to work finds Girl and Other Girl transported to an unknown land called Spinsterland where they are arrested for the heinous crime of being single. They are doomed to a lifetime in Spinsterland unless they are successful in finding a husband within 24 hours; it is literally a race to the altar.
Did you ever drink while writing it?
Not while writing it. We only drank during the "research" part of the process, the "desperately seeking men at bars" part.
Do you think single people drink more than people in relationships?
Not necessarily. We know a lot of married people who are alcoholics. But there's no question that drunk, single people are more fun.
In your opinion, what's the first sign of alcoholism?
Drinking excessively by yourself. It is the equivalent of us eating a dozen donuts while no one's watching. So we're like alcoholics...but with donuts.
What was your first drunken experience like? Did you puke as a result?
First drunken experience was a crisp fall night and one peach wine cooler. As for puking: Don't mix mysterious punch with antibiotics or a blonde wig and tequila. Lessons learned.
Do you think if people come to your show drunk that they'll find it funnier?
What's the key to finding true love and happiness?
Find what you love about yourself and you'll find someone that loves it too.
That's nice and all, but what advice would you give drunken, singletons out there?
Stick to shots, fewer calories.
Do you see anything wrong in getting drunk and finding oneself in a compromising position? What's your opinion of dead babies?
Thought that was the point of getting drunk?
Where's a better place to meet a respectful future mate: in a bar or at Home Depot?
If you're able to find a future mate at either a bar or Home Depot, consider us impressed.
What's the best pickup line you guys ever received?
Does a random guy from out of nowhere leaning in to kiss you while you're waiting in line for the bathroom at a frat party count? It wasn't a line per se, but it sure made me feel... desirable?
What's the worst date you've ever been on?
See our show to get a nice summary of a bunch of them...
We have yet to write our political platform. Stay tuned!
What's your opinion of dead babies?
- There Will Be Bloody Marys
- The Diving Bellini and the Buttered Rum
- Atone-Mint Julep
- No Country for Old Crow
- La Vie in Rosewater
- Charlie Wilson's Ward Eight
- Sweeny Tonic
- Into the Wild Turkey
- Americano Gangster
[Credit where credit is due.] posted by Theresa
Let's start with the ANKLE. So I was out and about. At that Pete Wentz Malibu Beach Bash in Bucktown. Yay, alliteration. Anyway, you know that guy that is SO SO SO debbie to be Johnny Depp from Pirates? C'mon, you have to have seen him. It's absurd how much he milks the Johnny Depp thing. I mean, he really is in a costume basically. I love costumes, but this is the same one all the time! It's so bizarre!
Anyway. I was talking to him. I was wearing cute shoes. I decided (drunkenly) to jump off this little wall. I'm not sure why. Maybe I saw that he was clearly insane, and thought, "Hey! Me too!" Or maybe I like that sort of thing. Yes, that's it. In my past life, I was absolutely a flying squirrel. Well, regardless of why I jumped--and I was everloving WASTED--I didn't land quite right. I felt the break--or more so, the sprain of an ankle and what I know had to be at least one broken foot-bone--and thought, "Fuck it, let's dance." It didn't last. I bid Depp-ity Doodah adieu-dah, and left. Crying. Like. A. Bitch. I even called my mother. Yes. MY MOTHER. Drunk and crying about my FOOT on a Friday night. Shoot me.
The next day, my ankle is fu-u-u-u-cked. I mean, size-of-a-grapefruit fucked. Do I hit up crutches and the doc? Nope. Too logical. Instead, I limp like an asshole around the entire city of Chicago, doubtlessly encouraging everyone to wonder "Is she retarded?" And yes, actually. I think I may be.
A week or so later, and I am feeling so fat it hurts. Being splayed out on your sofa for that long does that to a girl. I call fellow MOB writer Garin, and we make plans to hit up Evil Olive's Monday open bar and have a dance party. I wear my ankle brace and some boots that do not allow for tipping over. Anyway. THERE IS NO FUCKING OPEN BAR AT EVIL OLIVE!
"I AM INJURED!" I exclaim.
No fucking open bar? WHAT? Why not just throw salt in my wound you bastard asses!
I get a little upset and ask around. Some absurd guy with an even more absurd moustache (it could have been a cool stache, had he presented me with drink tickets, but nooooooo) tells me something about cops breaking up the open bar, which I interpret as "we wanted people to come so we lied," but that's not 100% confirmed. Or even 50%. So I'll be back to you on that. Moving on--we still have a GREAT time. We dance our asses off, and chug super cheap beers. $1 PRBS are fine. I can sacrifice. It's fine, Moustachio. No, really. Don't apologize. We'll be okay.
Garin is hungover, I am injured, and so we exit pretty early, about an hour and 45 minutes of hardcore aerobic dancing logged. I am so sweaty and refreshed, I decide to walk home. It's snowing and pretty out. It's 12:10am.
I then get mugged. No, don't worry about me kids. I'm fine. It was the sloppiest mugging ever, actually. It was in Bucktown, and the guy was totally inadequate. First, he stepped up to me with a John Wayne bandana on his face. I thought nothing of it. It's cold!! People wear ridiculous things in Chicago when it's freezing.
Then there is the awkward shuffle where I try to go left and so does he, right and then so does he. I think it's accidental and drunkenly shake my hands in his face, mocking gang signs (I don't know why I did this, but if you ever dance with me, I do it all the time) and start yelling "WHATTAYAGONNADO? WHATTAYAGONNADO?" which is something I do as a joke when I run into people on the dance floor. I guess I was still feeling the dance party aspect of the night. My bad, because what he was "gonnado" was mug me. What a prick.
So he grabs my bag and TOTALLY rips up my purse straps. Like, is that necessary? No! And I'm like "Motherfucker get your hands off of me." So confused, you know, because why would someone mug me? Broke me? I had no idea what he was doing! So I grab the bag back. Yes, really. I was so happy. My bag!! MINE! Then the negotiations begin.
Prick: "Give me your bag."
Auriane: "No. I need my keys. You can have my wallet."
Prick:"Then give me your wallet."
Auriane: "Waiiit, you can't. It has my passport in it. I don't even have any money."
This is where I get really confused. I swear to you, I really thought he then said,
Prick: "GIVE ME YOUR SHOES."
Now, mind you, he had that stupid fucking bandana over his grill, so I couldn't hear him so well. he was also obviously retarded, so perhaps he had, like, headgear on under there or something. So I react to what I swear I thought was him asking for my shoes.
Auriane: "Whhhhhat? No! It's cold outside, you maniac! And these are GIRLS shoes!"
Well, he looked really confused now, too, and repeated: "Bitch I said I WILL SHOOT YOU." And I'm all,
"Wait, wait. YOU HAVE A GUN?"
Then I started screaming my bloody fucking head off like an insane banshee. This frightened him. He grabbed my cell phone, which I was thrusting at him to take, since it's insured and so, so low-tech who would miss it, and he ran as fast as a gangbanger in those ridiculously low pants can. His homeboy, who was much bigger, then made an appearance. This frightened me.
I thought, if he is going to run, so am I. And I did. Into a bar. The bartender listened to the story and poured me a beer.
Bartender: "Guess he didn't know he was robbing a crazy person, then, did he?"
Pretty much. Though I would say "frustrated person" is more accurate.
The next day or so, I was feeling better. My ankle still hurt, but I was seriously happy that I got to keep my money, credit cards, passport, cute silver bracelets and various brick-a-brack that was in my purse. Yep. I lied!! I am so sneaky! Take that handi-mugger. You fell for my LIES. If there were lots of roles for actresses who get mugged in movies, I'd so be typecast for being, like, SO CONVINCING at it. Haha, okay enough of that.
I decided to buy breakfast for my office on the way to work. I loaded up with 2 dozen donuts and a bag of muffins for my coworkers and a large hot, hot coffee for me. I rode the train to the best of my crippled ability, hobbling through the blue-line wobbles, and seriously thought, "Fuck it. Life is good."
I spoke too soon. Literally steps from the front door of my building, I felt my left ankle start to give way beneath me. My shoe slided on a sheet of pure ice, and I slammed the injured ankle into the gray granite in front of my office. In an attempt to save my ankle, I threw the entire leg in the air, and tossed the donuts into the sky.
CHOCOLATE CREAM DONUTS WERE PELTING SUITED CUTIES IN THE MORNING RUSH! AURIANE WENT UP IN THE AIR!
Auriane, sadly, also came down. With a motherfucking THUD like none you've ever heard!
So, the ankle, ruined again, now had gained a gimp-friend in my completely ravaged-by-pavement tailbone. Great.
Men surrounded me instantly. I felt quite popular, laying there on my back with nothing but handsome, concerned faces about. One man helped me up, and I swear I was forced to hump his leg to even stand. I liked it, of course, but I was still too in shock to really give it to him. Plus my makeup was running and I was covered in salty street grime from head to toe. There was actual maple glazed donut in my hair.
Another attractive gentleman picked up the donuts, dumped across the pavement, and frowned at me while he put them back in that ridiculously hard to balance Dunkin box. "Man," he said, "You try to do something nice for people, you know?"
To which,I reply in the most pathetic fat-girl voice I have ever heard come out of me, "Man! I can't believe I dropped all my donuts!"
I might as well have LISPED.
Fucking. Mortifying. WHO SAYS THAT?
So I was pretty fucked. I could not longer limp, let alone walk. Standing on the ankle was a challenge, but sitting was excruciating. Don't even get me started on how I had to learn to use the bathroom again. It's not sexy. (Am I ever? I mean, really? I think I may have to give up on sexy altogether.)
I must point out, however, that I didn't spill a DROP of my coffee, which remained in my left hand for the entire experience. Odd.
Anyhoo. Now that it's February, I think things will improve. I mean, I can almost walk properly now. So that's a good sign, right? I hope I don't have to wear flats on Valentine's Day, though. I want to be taller than the boys who reject me for my limp...
Or maybe my injuries will make me more attainable and I'll meet the man of my dreams and we'll one day laugh at how pathetic I was back in 2008. Right. I'm sure that's just my luck.Auriane de Rudder