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Girls gone wild in Chicago

I’ve been on Hiatus.

I flew over to Chicago to visit beautiful Jenny. We rocked that city up and down, inside and out. It was fabulous. We pretended we were jet setters, and that Chicago was really New York and that we could afford the fancy clothes we bought on the Magnificent Mile.

High point:
The Green Mill. Franz Jackson on Saxophone and vocals. A dark curvy booth with slick cushions that our bare legs slide across. Al Capone used to come here. Did he sit where we sat? Did he drink red wine, like me, or cocktails, like Jenny? Outside, our high heels twisted and turned on broken concrete and we headed back to her car, laughing all the way.

High point:
The man we met at the hotel bar was from South Africa. This is a country I have read about and dreamed about. I had a thousand questions for him. Was the country really like Bryce Courtenay portrayed it in The Power of One? Is Johannesburg still dust and heat, or is a cosmopolitan city? How big is Cape Town? Where do all the ex-pats live? How can he stand to be away?

He indulged me with talk of politics. He pointed out that many American companies are, in fact, South African companies. (Miller AND Budweiser) He said that an entire series of BMWs is manufactured in South Africa, and while America tries to cover that fact, other countries, like Japan, advertise it freely. He talked HIV and prescription drugs. He talked about how shortsighted our media is. He prefers Italy to America. All very interesting.

High Point:
I got the first massage of MY LIFE at a spa downtown. I’m a true believer. They dressed us in luxurious robes, served us cool tea “elixirs” while giving us a footbaths. They sedated me with new-age harmonics and flickering candles, slicked my body up with oil and sent me to heaven. I swear. It was incredible. My masseuse (my new favorite person in the world) recommended that I get a massage at least every two weeks as I have “tight spots” that need to be dealt with. Sage advice, indeed. Jenny treated me to this indulgence. I am forever in her debt.

High Point:
The bed we slept in at the Millennium Knickerbocker Hotel. Soft, crisp cool one billion thread count sheets. I never understood the whole craze for good sheets, I’ve always bought my on sale at Target or K-Mart. Now I understand. Jenny and I slipped off our sandals, got in bed and swung our legs back and forth just to feel the silky smoothness against our rough tired feet. (Three days of shopping can really wear a girl out.)

Because I love Jenny, and we don’t get to see each other very often, we of course had some drama. It’s strange how even though we haven’t lived in the same city for years, my move to Japan suddenly seems like a really big deal. Sure, we can handle being a thousand miles apart, but three thousand? That’s a lot to ask. Life is picking up steam. We hold tight to each other because each woman is running so fast down her path. We have different paths. The best we can hope for is that they continue to cross, hopefully in equally luxurious settings as this last weekend. I think our next rendezvous should happen in Paris. We shall see.

posted by Scribbler @ Wednesday, July 14, 2004