Wednesday, April 30, 2008

veni, vidi, vici

The sidewalks of Chicago are strewn with shreds of diva fabulosity. We pillaged Nordstrom Rack and Loehmann's as if we were being pursued by Satan, which we were, seeing as how we were half-buzzed on jello shots before we made it over the state line. Once I saw the Sears tower and the Hancock building my aggressive driving kicked in and we whipped onto Lake Shore Drive like the Furies and skidded to a stop in front of our hotel in under 3:20 -- with only one pee break!

I fucking HATE driving on the toll road, but I love it when we hit Lake Shore. All those tall, phallic buildings! The lakefront condominiums! The bronze lions in front of the Art Institute! Michigan Avenue, the Chicago River, and Hugo's Frog Bar! Most fun of all, the burly Chicago men!

I have a strange ability to get hit on in Chicago. Maybe that's why I love the city so much. Every time I've been there, men flirt with me, and it never happens anywhere else. Take it from an almost-50-year-old -- if you are under 40, you need to get your flirt on NOW. Be shameless! Flirt with the bellman, the sandwich guy, the UPS man -- anybody with a decent bod that doesn't stink like motor oil or rotten fish. If only I'd known how cute I was 20 years ago, I would have had HORDES of men to play footsie with. This time I got into the hotel elevator in search of ice for my martinis when a cute guy about my age chatted me up -- I almost invited him up to our room, but the last time we picked up a boytoy we ended up face down in the bar at the House of Blues from him buying us Chicago River martinis. It sucks being a good girl.

Anyway, besides the men of Chicago, obviously we love the Shopping. Normally I despise those discount stores like TJ Maxx, but Nordstrom Rack is the high-class, more organized version and they have the best deals anywhere. I found a metallic-silver linen Tahari blazer that fit perfectly and was half-off -- it is utterly classic and I will wear the hell out of it. I got a couple cute T-shirts, a couple more blazers for work, and a darling little summer Coach purse (70% off!) at Loehmann's. Excellent foraging!

After that there was a blur of martini-drinking in the room during which a fifth and a half of vodka spontaneously disappeared or evaporated or something, five women getting ready in one bathroom which led to lots of picture-taking of random butts and boobs which were mysteriously sent to various spouses' cellphones, wearing my most fabulous brown crocodile-patent-leather patterned peep-toe stilettos, heading out to redlight for dinner (exquisite! if you go, order the mango martini), after which we collapsed into a taxi and after that I don't remember. All I know is I woke up and my feet were killing me, but I still had my underwear on. Good sign!

So for roughly 36 hours, I forgot about my husband, kids, bills, diet, laundry, chores, homework, aging, job worries, and general suck-assedness and bonded with my girlfriends as only women can. This is as close as I'll ever come to being a diva, but it gets me through. I love my friends.

4 comments:

Beth said...

That sounds great! Glad you had such a good time! Now it's back to reality, huh? Too bad!

Allie said...

being a diva is not fleeting.

you simply are one.

and sadly. sometimes even diva's have to do the laundry.

but make no mistake.

you are quite the diva miss girl

Terri said...

And miss allie is a diva as well. Plus, she can do HAIR!!

Girl, you shoulda seen my shoes. I wept at their beauty.

Tasty said...

When are we having martinis here so I can see the shoes in person?! Missing you!