The End of the Weekend

After the Bears loss on Sunday, Marla and I went to Ye Olde Sex Shoppe for some flavored gel to erase the bitter taste of Adrian Peterson streaking through the Bears' porous defense. After making love, we fell asleep for about an hour and Marla left after we woke up.

I went to a rock club on the south side to catch an acquaintance's band, and was favorably impressed. I called Urban Melissa upon re-arriving in Wicker Park (we didn't go to Hamlet after all. Student productions can be so pretentious) and we got together at Nick's with her boyfriend and two actors, one of whom was the playwright of the production she had just seen.

"This is the man of the hour, David," she said as she introduced us.

Then, as soon as he was out of earshot, "God that play totally sucked!"

I had to laugh. The contrast was classic Urban Melissa.

The five of us sat around the table telling ribald jokes and making politically incorrect quips and I thought of how much I preferred the company of actors, musicians and writers to the company of the young corporate professionals from which pool my work colleagues have always been drawn.

After my third scotch and soda and promises to get together for the next weekend, everyone left and I took a seat at the bar next to Submissive Liz. We talked about the marathon and, between her second and third cigarette, she expressed a desire to run in next year's. I told her she might want to quit smoking first. She had to leave, but soon after she walked out the door she sent me a text message:

"OK so i REALLY needed to be put in my place by you but can I have a rain check?"

I texted back, "sure".

An off-duty bartender bought me a shot of Jameson and we dissected the Bears game.

In the next room, a mixed group of thirty-somethings was playing pool. A woman from the group walked up next to me at the bar and ordered a drink. She introduced herself as someone on a business trip from San Francisco. She and her group were staying downtown but she had heard that Wicker Park was the hip part of town and wanted to check it out. She asked me to join her in pool, but I disappear whenever pool cues come out. I have the worst hand-eye coordination of anyone at the bar. In any given bar. At any given time.

She was back a few minutes later, asking me to help her choose songs from the jukebox. We selected some 80s and 90s throwbacks and she repeated her invitation to pool. I thought about it but politely declined. I finished my drink, said goodnight to the bartender and went home.

I was feeling content. It was a nice weekend. I thought, I'm glad that I'm single and can date whomever I please. I'm glad that I live in Wicker Park. I'm glad that I work with people I like and for people I trust. I thought, this is a pretty good time in my life, right now. I'm going to try to hang onto it for as long as I can.