The BEST (NEW) Place to Hook Up In Chicago
Late last night, I contacted a woman from the Craigs List Casual Encounter. I had just finished work (about 11:00) and the coffee I had been drinking had me wired and horny. So, in a fit of spontaneity, I sent an e-mail to a young lady. Imagine my surprise when I found out that the post was actually a woman and not some creep trolling for dick pics. She responded to my e-mail and it went back and forth like that. After we both confirmed that the other was not a homicidal, she forwarded me her telephone number. We nervously chatted about what we did that night, how we got to the place of being on Craigs List and just general bullshit. She sounded very sweet on the phone and we finally got around to having me stop by her place. To say the least, I was jacked. I agreed to pick up a little refreshment, left my place in Logan Square and proceeded over to her place in Lincoln Park.
Just when I was getting close, I received a call from her. She said that she had received almost 50 replies to her post, that I was one of two guys she liked but it was not going to work that night…maybe the weekend. What could I do? Not wanting to look desperate (or homicidal), I assured her that all was well and we can do it some other time.
Needless to say, my ego had taken a hit and I was feeling down. I’ve taken the walk of shame on many occasions but to turn it into a 15 minute drive was almost unbearable. Then, while I was driving down Fullerton, I happened upon the Our Lady of the Fullerton Exit scene. I knew I would not fall immediately asleep if I went home, and still feeling the sting of rejection, I decided to stop and see what the hubbub was all about.
I double parked my car with the other urban pilgrims and walked to the makeshift shrine which had been erected at the sight. The Stain of Mary (or, just the Stain as I like to call it) does not appear overly miraculous. First, it looks like, well, a stain. I don’t know if it was my horniness, which was heightened by the rejection I had just experienced, or what, but the longer I looked at it, the more I thought that it looked like a giant …vagina. However, knowing that Chicago is a place where perception is often in the eye of the beholder (if you say the Picasso is a woman than so be it), I decided to just go with the feeling.
The most sobering aspect about the Stain is not the Stain but the evidence of human emotion surrounding it. There are almost a hundred votive candles lit up around it. I realized that each of these candles represent a human emotion – the loneliness of death, the anguish of lost love and the pain of living. And there are pictures and little signs asking for prayers for a lost little boy or missing loved ones. I realize that the Stain represents not a vision of Mary, but the hope that many lost people need to be able to feel in order to survive in the world around us.
The crowd is an interesting sight. There was a large contingent of Latinos in the crowd, some of whom were on their knees praying. Two city workers (probably on the clock) were reading the signs. An elfish little homeless man was maniacally laughing and chanting something Latin (I think).
Then, I saw her.
She was standing with a man and a woman. She was tall and blonde. Her face had high Slavic cheek bones and her white teeth glowed in the light of the candles. We exchanged glances and I realized that I was captivated by this woman. I managed to weave my way through the crowd to her side. She was dressed in very tight fitting jeans, a white tee shirt and a blue hooded sweatshirt carelessly thrown over it. The man and woman she was with were obviously a couple and he was taking pictures of the Stain with a real high tech camera.
The crowd was hushed but I knew I had to take my chance. I slowly turned to her and solemnly asked, “Can you see her eyes?” She was a bit startled by my talking but quickly regained her composure and almost whispered in a heavy Polish accent “Yes.” I turned back to the Stain, pursed my lips, looked back at her and nodded.
I then quietly asked her what brought her to this spot on this rainy night. She said that she was there with her friends and that she wanted to see the Stain (or the “Veesion,” as she called it).
I then proceeded to tell her one of the biggest lies I have ever concocted in my life. I apologize in advance to anyone who has ever experienced this, but thinking quickly, the only thing I could come up with was “My brother died in Iraq…I came to pray for him.” Now, if you know my brother, you could appreciate the absurdity of this statement. First, the closest my brother has ever come to real combat has been by playing Socom Navy Seals on the Playstation2 for 24 straight hours during a particularly snowy (and drunken) weekend last winter. Second, although his chronic daily bong hits may one day kill him, my brother is very much alive.
Well, I am ashamed to say that it worked. She looked at me with those bright green eyes, and with a serious look on her face, reached out, touched my arm and said, “I am sorry.” I gently took her hand in mine and said “Thank you.”
At this point, her friends appeared to be packing up. We made small talk (“What’s your name? Where are you from? How do you like America?”). I learned that her name was Anna, that she was from Kracow, Poland and was studying english and working in the U.S. I knew I had to make my move so I asked Anna if she would like to join me for a cup of coffee. She was hesitant at first, but my gentle cajoling and sad story appeared to win her over. So, Anna and I piled into my car. Since she lives on the northwest side, we stopped at the Golden Nugget on Pulaski for coffee.
Now, if there is one thing I know how to do, its talk. During my drinking days, I was once complimented on my tavern conversing skills and was told that I could hold a conversation with a post. Which, incidentally, is exactly what it is like to have coffee with an immigrant from Poland. However, the fact that Anna was tan, blonde, beautiful and had an incredible body, it was almost painless.
Needless to say, we chatted for awhile until it was time to make a move. Now, here is my dilemma. Ever since my breakup, I have been sharing an apartment with the brother who allegedly died in Iraq. And because he is an insomniac pot head, I could not run the risk of going back to my place and having Anna discover said brother. So, I told her I would drop her off at home. However, when we got in the car, I remember the bottle of wine I had purchased for my earlier cancelled hookup. When we got to Anna’s apartment, we chatted some more, I told Anna how incredible it was meeting her (yada yada) and then said, “Hey, I have this bottle of wine…want a glass of wine?” She immediately smiled and said yes.
When we got up to Anna’s apartment, the tension that had been building up in me (and evidently her as well) came flooding out. I pulled her close as we kissed…I ran my tongue along those perfect teeth while I pulled off the sweatshirt and tee shirt. We hungrily kissed as we stumbled into her bedroom…she pulled my clothes off and almost shoved me onto the bed…
There I was, almost trembling in my nakedness on her bed…this statuesque blonde Slavic beauty towering above me with nothing on but a little black thong highlighting a perfect heart shaped ass…and as I looked over her shoulder and saw a huge picture of John Paul II on the wall…I think t actually winked at me….and it ALL made sense to me.