The first part of this entry is here.
The morning after Wicked (WICKED!) I woke up super early, got dressed and went down to the front desk, ready to have a hissy fit about Eugenia’s assertion that we would need to change rooms. However, this time, Ms. Eugenia wasn’t on shift and I marched up to the Honors desk, asked a very professional and competent desk clerk about the situation. She looked in the computer, furrowed her brow, replied that for some reason, the keys I had were scheduled to not work after noon today, so she’d just give me new keys that would work and all was well. No mention of changing rooms. No mantra of ‘preassigned.’ Nothing. All was right with the world.
Fucking Eugenia.
Because this had gone so smoothly, my next order of business was to fetch my car from the valet, which arrived promptly at 7 am and then I was off. This was really overkill, because my meeting in the suburbs didn’t start until 10 am, with a continental breakfast starting at 9:15 but I had no idea what rush hour traffic was like and figured that I could get the car washed and stop at Starbucks if I was super early. It was actually a good idea, since there were detours and road construction and I ended up somehow in the ghetto (not terribly scary at 7 am, thank goodness) but then finally found the highway, which wanted to take me to Indiana, then turned around and all was good. The traffic wasn’t even too horrible, and I made it to the corporate motherland by 8:30. I pulled over at Starbucks and got my first chance to search the backseat. As soon as I opened the rear door, I could see a corner of the black wallet sticking out under the driver’s seat. The previous night, it had been too dark to see it against the black floor mats, so we must have missed it when unpacking the car and trying to hurry for the valets. I let out a little joyous scream in the parking lot of Starbucks, then grabbed my precious wallet and scurried in for a big celebratory mocha. Of course, if I hadn’t found it, it would have been a consolatory mocha, but a celebratory mocha tastes oh so delicious.
I drove around and found a car wash and then decided that I didn’t want to be late to the big meeting at the headquarters, which, truth be told, I was really excited about. In the nine years that I’ve worked for the company, I’ve not had to travel to the head office, and I also sort of love this big meeting day because you find out all sorts of stuff that’s going to happen in the next year. I knew that the Green Bay meeting was very casual, but I wanted to make an impression in case I saw any of my team members (I work on a cross-functional geographically diverse team, and at least two of them work out of this office) and thus was wearing a grey skirt and black cashmere cardigan over a cami. Since I was officially working right then, I didn’t mind the three calls I got from the GB office on my cell phone during transit. However, when I found the hotel where they were holding the meeting, there were hardly any cars. In fact, I was sort of expecting that I would walk in and they would tell me that no, the meeting wasn’t at this Hyatt and that they had never heard of my company. However, when I walked in, someone was standing at the ballroom and said ‘Are you with X Company?’ and then directed me to the continental breakfast where eight other people were standing, waiting for them to open the main room. Ah, right place, just obscenely early.
As it turned out, being early was a good thing, because I got a choice aisle seat and then watched the room fill up to the point where there was a line of people just standing in the back because there were no more chairs. And then the global CEO walked past me and checked out my rack. Note to self: don’t bring out the boobies when trying to be professional. Stupid slipping camisole.
The meeting started late, but it was still very exciting because the leaders of my company are very dynamic speakers and I am such a corporate dork at heart that it’s sort of pathetic. However, the clock was ticking and since they started late, they finished late. Jake was slatted to land a few minutes after my meeting was supposed to let out, which should have timed my drive to fetch him perfectly with the amount of time it would take him to make his way through O’Hell and got his luggage. However, as I was speeding away from the Hyatt at ten after twelve, he called and said that his plane had landed early and he had his luggage already and boom, the late anxiety kicked in, because after Jake, I had to speed to Midway and pick up Jenfu, whose plane was landing about an hour later. Except that I was already late and man, my only directions on how to get to Midway involved backtracking thirty miles. However, through the magic of cell phones, I located Jake and we were quickly zipping off to pick up Jenfu. Which is when we hit the awful traffic going into Chicago. When she called, I suggested that perhaps she should take the shuttle, which Eugenia assured us went from Midway to the hotel. She went off in search of a shuttle. Meanwhile, I listened to my voicemails and got the one from Pie telling me that no one in the hotel knew anything about a shuttle from Midway. Fucking Eugenia! She was like a genital wart on our weekend.
I knew that we were still miles off from fetching Jenfu so rather than have her wait until we located Midway, I suggested that she jump in a cab and be done with it. She agreed that this would be the least stressful situation, so she did. Mo jumped on the train to meet Ian at the airport, so Jake and I got him checked in and stuff up to his room, where I then got a call from Fu saying that she was downstairs. Perfect timing. We met her on the lobby of the 20th floor and escorted my roommate for the weekend to our princessy room where we each had our own bathrooms.
Since Pie and Ian were nowhere to be found, we decided to go out in search of H&M, which we had spotted from the cab on the way to Wicked (WICKED!) the night before. The three of us hopped into a cab and then were off to State Street, where I suddenly spotted a branch of the Hootchie Mama store. We decided to get out a few blocks shy of H&M so that we could visit the land of Hootchie and also find some stockings for Fu. We shopped for a bit in The Avenue, which stayed true to form with 80% atrocious fashion and 20% great finds, and Fu found a few things, while I was oddly not feeling the vibe and was very shopping noncommittal. I know! Totally out of character. I think that I was feeling a little flummoxed by the wallet incident. Then we crossed the street so that I could introduce Jake and Jen to the Hootchie Mama store. Oh my lawds yes, the Hootchie Mama store. This one was no exception to the rule either, complete with pimp coats and sunglasses with snakes on them. I do so love the Hootchie Mama store! I love their collective We Are All In This Together fashion mantra, with clothes for the fat hootchies, the skinny hootchies, the boy hootchies and the hootchies in training all under one happy, poorly constructed roof. Jake insisted that I buy a pair of python heels, and, when I waffled, he bought them for me because they were only $12. He also decided that Jen needed a very fancy hat, so he pimp daddied her as well, throwing in a pair of sunglasses for each of us, because they were two for six bucks. Never let it be said that he doesn’t treat his girls right.
Flush with cheap slutty ho clothing, we scurried up the street to check out H&M, where we met up with Pie and Ian, who Baguetted me in the faux fur accessory aisle. (Which is really too hard to explain, but if you come to the GBMiniCon, we promise to teach you the Baguette.) I came very close to buying a faux arctic fox wrap, but then decided that it was a poor replacement for the real arctic fox ear muffs I passed on when Ian, Pie and I were purusing the stalls at Notoberfest a few months ago. But then Pie saw the faux and decided that she needed it and did not have such guilty longings and feelings of loss the way that I did. She is a far better person than I. Finally, after many fashion montages in H&M, we exited the store, laden with goodies and decided that, my god, we were all starving and about to die. The boys decided that they wanted to trek through the frigid windy streets rather than take a cab, but we three fragile flowers all said ‘Fuck that shit’ in unison and smartly hailed one. Go us! Mostly because we got to Geno’s Pizza in record time, piled all of our troves and jackets upon the sixth chair, named the pile Marsha, our besotted friend with low self-esteem (hence the poor posture) and then detailed all the ways that we were going to eat our weight in sausage wheels atop buttery crusts.
I swear that Geno’s makes all of their money on the appetizers and the fact that the pizza takes forty years to make, as we immediately ordered pizza and then beer and soda and then when we learned of the wait, ordered every appetizer known to man. By the time our cheesy monoliths arrived, I had eaten most of a giant squid, deep-fried and dipped in pizza sauce. But we tried. We ate and ate and ate and then ate some more and then groaned and asked for another piece of the spinach cheese one please. Well, my companions did very well, and I failed them, only having a slice of sausage and cheese that took me about half an hour to eat. Except that it was at least a third of a pound of sausage. Ian was the champion, managing six pieces of the weighty stuff, and then begging off further adventures and retiring to our hotel room to digest his food baby, since he and Pie were staying at another hotel and the beds in the Hilton were like comforting digestive biscuits.
Fu, Pie, Jake and I jumped back into a cab and then off to find a bar listed in a guidebook. It turned out that the Zebra Bar was roughly the size of my college dorm room and everyone else apparently had the same guidebook. However, it was very cold, and a bar up the street advertised karaoke and 80’s Nite! so how could we resist? It was a good place and we secured spots at the bar right away and then proceeded to have the much anticipated merriment and fellowship portion of our trip. Fu, Pie and Jake serenaded the patrons while I played Big Fat Friend and guarded everyone’s purse and coat. Pie’s neck was starting to bother her, so she caught a cab back to fetch her beau, and Fu, Jake and I went into the back portion of the bar where they had a dance floor. It was a weird bar, because the dance section, by all appearances, looked to be a gay bar, complete with statues of David and a big dance floor with a pair of fucking poles to gyrate against. However, they were playing hip hop and sort of horrible music. I made a few requests and the dj shrugged and said ‘That’s not hip hop, sorry.’ Except that no one was really dancing but us, and the non-hip hop portion of the bar was packed to the gills. It made no sense. We danced for a bit. Fu and I got hit on and then dismissed by the same skeevy guy, which was humorous. I wonder if he expected us to have a dance off for his affection. Gah. Then we decided to be done, so went off in search of drunken sausages, and then called it a night.
The next morning, we woke up fairly early to phone calls from the Ian/Pie contingent and also Jake, asking about what we wanted to do for breakfast. Fu and I were happy to have breakfast thrust upon us (nothing like gigantic pizza dinner to make you starving the next morning) and we offered to meet Ian and Pie at some place called Lou Mitchell’s. We got dressed and then met Jake in the lobby where we caught a cab and I deeply regretted my choice of short skirt, tights and long boots, since Lake Michigan’s finest chill decided that it needed some Seven Year Itch action. Pie and Ian were waiting for us in line, so we got seated right away (and the girls got candy, which means that I now have a new favorite place ever for breakfast) and then proceeded to be brought the biggest food that ever was. I asked for two scrambled eggs and there had to have been five on the plate. I asked our server Vasili (who was also sort of cute and flirty) why I got so many eggs, and he shrugged and said ‘Eh’ stuff happens?’ Which might be my favorite excuse ever. Love the Russians. My banana pancakes could have served as blankets. And not only was the food gigantic, but it was also delicious. Jake shared some of his cheese Danish, and while it is seriously not one of my favorite things, I now understand why there are cheese Danishes, because this Danish was the one lord to rule them all. After an exceptional breakfast, once again, we were all dying of fullness (well, I was, maybe because I was given fifty-two scrambled eggs). However, we could not protest loudly enough when, trying to leave, we had freshly made powdered sugar donuts thrust upon us by a very small, very adamant donut woman. Four of us obediently popped them into our mouths, but smart girl Fu knew her limits and left the donut as a warning to all those who crossed this way. Beware. Too many donuts here.
We parted ways for the day, Fu, Pie and Ian off to museums and to see the entire world and the St. Louis Arch from the observation deck in the Sears Tower and Jake and I off to plunder the Magnificient Mile. We made a quick stop back at the hotel to get Jake’s camera (which we ended up forgetting about entirely) and I changed out of the short skirt into something a little better for shopping. A long skirt.
And then we were off. We made our first stop at Sephora, where I got some very tasty lip stuff and some little doo dads, while Jake loaded up with Christmas gifts. Then we spent what seemed like an entire afternoon in Nordstroms. I didn’t see any shoes that I liked, and the purses weren’t calling my name. I tried to talk Jake into buying a ridiculously expensive cashmere coat, but he would rather do some world traveling or have a down payment for a house with the cash instead (and who blames him). And then, during probably my favorite moment of the entire afternoon, we were going up the escalator when Jake, in mid-conversation, casually says ‘Oh, we have to go back down.’ ‘Why?’ He nodded to a display stand in women’s accessories. ‘Look.’
I looked and spotted them. Perfectly fluffy silver arctic fox ear muffs. Very similar to the ones I had regretted not purchasing at Notoberfest. I did a little dance, zipped back to the down elevator, and grabbed them before anyone else could take them. They were the only pair and they would be mine. Oh yes. Shopping karma was being kind to me.
Very happy.
We walked around the mall a bit, then walked up Michigan to a few other stores. By the time we got to Room and Board, my fishnet tights were causing distress, so I did a strategic reassessment of fashion needs and reshuffled everything, but then we realized that it was getting quite late and we should probably get back so that we’d be ready for Meat or Death. We hopped into another cab, went back to the Hilton, where we enjoyed drinks and appetizers on Jake’s club level floor (because he is swank and because I didn’t realize there were rooms with two bathrooms on the club level). Then we departed to get ready for dinner. I had been in a quandary about what to wear and ended up with a silvery cami, black khakis, and a black hoodie sweater. Jake and I watched some Project Runway on his laptop, and then took off for Meat Or Death.
We met Paula and her husband Steve, Allison and her husband, and Krystyn as well as the rest of our Menagerie. After a few caiprinhas, I was feeling somewhat silly, but apparently, Pie had introduced Fu and Ian to Esteban’s Drunken Trivial Pursuit rules and they had quite a few visits from the good Doctor, so were very very silly. Meat or Death was a very hedonistic and somewhat strange experience, and I’m sure that everyone who joined us probably thought we were all very immature. Which, I guess, we are. So there it is.
I had sort of the best seat, surrounded by all the folks who had agreed to be part of our Grand Meatening. It was excellent to see Krystyn again, as I haven’t seen her since the fateful San Francisco Journalcon that formally introduced me to Jake and Mo and Ian and Fu. with Paula and Allison and meet their husbands. I can’t wait to hang out with them again in February on the sleigh ride. Paula and Allison and I moaned over the little cheese bread popover things (I had forgotten my fixation with them the last time Esteban and I visited Meat or Death, probably due to the meat coma immediately after said visit) and Krystyn and I split the papaya foam dessert that helps your body get through all that carnage. My little inner vegetarian pretty much gave up and went into hiding during that dinner and, as of a week later, hasn’t checked to see if the coast is clear.
After dinner, the snow was falling just so, and Fu jumped up and down and said Squee to the snow and was pretty much just adorable in the way that only Fu can be. We scurried into a cab, because Jake and I are not so much enamored of the snow, living as we do in cold climates. We went back to the hotel, and Fu negotiated her upset stomach and touched base with her adorable Monkey. We watched DVDs until late in the evening and then I went to bed, where I apparently rattled the very foundation of Buckingham Fountain with my scary sleep apnea noises, causing Fu to lure me away from the bright light with the promise of a dirty pillow fight. In my half-awake state, I thought it was a terrorist attack, perhaps Osama was hiding under Fu’s bed? If I were in hiding, I’d probably pick the Hilton too, so I really couldn’t blame him. However, a few swipes of Aveda Blue Oil on my wrists and pillow and my air passages were clear once more and sleep came quickly to all.
Fu and I slept very late, she because she is on fancy West Coast time and I because, well, I was really tired. A call from Mo roused us from our bedclothes and then Jake stopped by with Caribou Coffee. Despite the fact that Fu is too cute for words and I wanted to spend every last moment pinching her adorable cheeks, we quickly packed up all of our crap, since check out was the ungodly hour of 11 am, and then there was a luggage check fire drill. Then Ian, Pie and Fu went off in search of cinnamon buns, while Jake and I were off in search of Ikea. Which, thanks to my crack navigation, we didn’t find, because suddenly, we were somewhere very south of where we were supposed to be. When I was about to exit to turn around, we were greeted with a Premier Outlets, with promise of cheap Kate Spade and Armani and Calvin Klein. Um. Ok.
I didn’t realize that it was an outdoor mall, so didn’t have a jacket on, but with a borrowed scarf, the open mall was designed to buffer the wind and it wasn’t too bad. We scoured the racks and then, laden with more inexpensive designer stuff than we could even handle, we loaded the car up and went off again to find Woodfield Mall. We eventually did, but it was getting so scary close to Jake’s departure time, that we had to eschew Ikea and couldn’t get in on any of the Off Saks/Nordstrom Rack action. Ah well.
We hit the highway again, and instead of following my excellent directions, I saw a sign that said ‘O’Hare Expressway’ so took that. Big mistake. We drove and drove and drove and then I wasn’t seeing planes anymore, so then I started to hyperventilate a little, but put on a brave face. I turned around and went the other way. Then we started seeing planes, but the expressway petered out into an industrial area, with no signs anywhere. At that point, it seemed like the best plan was to go where we could see the planes were landing, so we did, all the while I was trying not to burst into tears because it was getting SO near his departure time and I should never have deviated from the known route. I felt like a complete fuck up. We found the back of O’Hare, which was comforting, and with the help of a gas station clerk, we got to the departure gate, unloaded the trunk in seconds, gave a speedy hug and then he was off in a sprint. I felt truly awful and pretty upset, worried that he would not make his flight, since the security line had been atrocious. Essentially, my fear of being late had just turned around smugly and said, ‘I told you so’. I called his phone about the time his plane should have been taxiing, and left a voicemail, hoping that it meant that his phone was turned off because he was on the flight. He did end up making his flight, through the assistance of the kind folks at Delta.
I headed back to the city to find Pie and Ian, but since it was so close to Ian’s departure time, he decided to take the train. It was a good idea, since I was at least thirty minutes away and still didn’t know how to get to Midway from downtown. Moreover, I am now harboring some kind of bad airport karma now so it was probably in Ian’s best interest that he did not rely upon me to get him anywhere. I arranged to meet Pie in the lobby, and we arrived within ten minutes of each other, so getting Ian on the train right away was a good idea. We got our luggage from the bellman and then were off, decompressing from our trip, discussing what happened during each of our excursions and making plans for Chicago Trip II: the Art, Donut, and Ikea quest while listening to the original soundtrack from Wicked (WICKED!). We drove through the frozen night and watched the temperature drop as we climbed north, all residual warmth disappearing into the west, carried off on three airplanes, three carry on bags and three beloved people who make these trips worth every Eugenia and crazy cab driver and lost wallet that ever was.
