It’s Always Cloudy In Chicago
Like Laguna Beach on crack…Archive for your very own dynamic duo
The Dynamic Duo Become A Separate Solo Act, Part II
Now that I have gotten up off my back (Thanks, Audrey.), I guess it’s time for me to stop being the hidden one of the group, and actually earning my keep… though Audrey really did say it all. That absolutely amazing boyfriend of mine, Christian, has returned to the Windy City to make me, his lovely girlfriend, happy once again. Because my god, I get fucking bitchy when I don’t get laid enough. Ask anyone. This is probably where Aud will jump in and tell you how I turn into Medusa and scream obscenities at little children (which may or may not actually happen, and I may or may not have any control over it… back the fuck off), but that won’t be happening for at least two weeks or so.
Because I got laid!
We started off the weekend a long el ride back from Midway, peppered with odd looks from strangers. We’re not usually canoodlers, but it was that kind of time. I mean, seriously, five weeks? That’s obscene. We went home, had some sex (which would be repeated about ten more times over the course of the weekend. Literally. I’m insatiable.), I cooked a bit, and then sat around and watched sports. We are very, very, boring. There were a couple weekend highlights though:
Bin 36: If you live in Chicago, like wine (or at least pretend to), and haven’t been to this place, go now. Audrey and I went there last year with Gretchen, and the two of us adored it. It seemed like a great idea for our first dinner back, and it worked out perfectly. We did a couple wine flights (this idea where you get four half glasses of four different wines to try), a cheese flight (same idea, only switch wine with cheese), and a large dinner. We got sufficiently drunk, enjoyed all of our food (he got steak, and the little vegetarian here got this fucking awesome squash, anise, and lavender goat cheese ravioli dish), and went home and cuddled. You know what I mean by cuddled.
MK: Another great idea of mine. SOVA recommended NINE, but they had no food for my annoying eating habits, so I decided on here. Oh. My. God. Somedays, I just love me. Good wine selection (notice a trend?), and my food was slightly above average, but the boy was falling all over himself (and me… maybe it was the wine bottles?) because he was such a fan. He got this dessert, ‘The Peanut Gallery’… I thought he was going to start raping it, that’s how psyched he was about it. After dinner activities were similar.
Also, as a sidenote, Pats won! Now, yes, I love that darling Peyton Manning. He is a fucking gifted QB, can throw a ’skin like it’s nobody’s business, but come on. I’m a Mass girl. Yeah, I was raised in Michigan (and am a Tigers fan as a result… I may have cried when I found out about Zumaya’s shoulder surgery. I hate San Diego even more now.) , but my heart will always be in Massachusetts and with the Patriots (because that’s what my birth certificate says. They declare it for you at birth. It also says I can never be a Yankees fan. Ever.). So, Tom Brady, whenever you’re sick of Gisele, I will be ready to become your next child’s mother. I may plan on naming him Thomas Peyton though, just for safety’s sake.
So, yesterday night around eight pm, I found myself once again on the path I was on four days earlier, only this time I was quite alone. People can say what they want about long distance relationships, and I know no one ever says they’re easy or fun, but my god, nobody ever told me they would ever be this hard. BF and I were talking a lot about the “future”… living together in Chi during the summer (or maybe Evanston, since I work out there), marriage (WAYYYY down in the future), kids (imagine that marriage future time, and add a couple more years)… and we just decided that though our relationship is great, and we love each other more than we could ever think possible, I still really fucking hate Denver.
Repeat: I fucking hate Denver.
Today, I was back to my regularly scheduled programming. It blew, as usual, but I still had this thought floating around in the back of my mind during my classes: “Yesterday I got laid, and I bet you didn’t. Ha ha ha ha ha ha.”
I’m so going to hell.
Take My Word for It… Coldblooded
After reading a few of these start up posts by our heroes, you may be sitting there, thinking to yourself how these two 12 year old laotian dudes should shut the eff up and get a life but SOVA is here to let you know that these bad bitches are for real. I normally wouldn’t come out in this quasi public forum ( I mean, after church and all) to extol the virtues of two amoral twinkles in my eye however I can attest first hand that Audrey and Lily are two major league Fillies, and certainly attractive future broodmares.
Sharp tongued and quick on their toe, these two Chicago Ninjas can mince your heart and balls with the flick of the wrist. Mind you, I walk with a slight limp these days…. and I’m one of the few that survived.
Tread carefully my friends…
The Dynamic Duo Do Your Mom (AKA: Hi, Nice to meet you.)
doggy style…. but only on Wednesdays. Because it’s Hump Day, duh.
This is just a little FYI for you. Lily and I are hetero-lifemates. We like to party and point and laugh at that idiots that we come across. We are pretty much the coolest people in the world. We know everything about everyone that matters (that’s why our hair’s so big). We’re a little bit amoral and we think it’s funny when bad things happen to people that aren’t us. We only drink Ketel One and have other expensive habits (we get that from our mama’s). We get by on our looks and we’re totally okay with that. We live by Mean Girls, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and Perez Hilton.
We party like rock stars. We play like all-stars. We live like movie stars. And we fuck like porn stars.
Trust us. You should know us.
Let’s have a little AA moment with me (since that is pretty much where I am headed in the near future).
What up, bitches? My name is Audrey and I’m an alcoholic the Silent Bob to Lily’s Jay. I drink way too much. I’m notorious for meeting people drunk and not remembering them no matter how many times we meet. I have zero tact and I can talk my way out of any situation. I am the kind of girl that always gets what she wants. So I guess that would make me a spoiled brat. On more than one occasion, I have been told that I am going to hell by strangers, friends and surprisingly enough, my family (including but not limited to my parents) because of my “evil” ways.
Despite my strict Catholic upbringing, I am pretty desensitized to the plight of the world around me. I have little faith in anything. I don’t care about politics. I don’t care about solving world hunger. And I am probably the last person on earth who would adopt a helpless child from some foreign country. Hell… I think that I may be the last person on Earth who is grossed out by the idea of baring children. (I’m a little bit selfish.)
Sometimes I think that my ego is a little too big for its own good, but that is totally just a passing thought. It’s true. I do think that I am hot shit, as the kids say. I am narcissistic and superficial. I don’t care about anything unless it directly affects me. I figure if aerosol hairspray works better than the pump kind—fuck the environment. As I get older the line between right and wrong becomes more and more of a blur.
Yo, what’s my weakness? MEN (okay, then). I fall in love with someone almost weekly. I go through boys like tic-tacs. For the most part, they were disposable. I have a growing list of the boys around here, and I know what you are thinking… This broad is kind of a slut. And to some degree you’re right, but I consider it more of a “phase”… a very. very fun, little (at times big) phase.
FUN FACTS: I live on Monster and cereal (not together of course). I have a knack for putting myself in awkward situations accidentally on purpose. (An awkward morning is better than a boring night, right?) If I could have any super power in the world it would be to teleport/bend time and space or manipulate fire. Even though I may come off as a make-out bandit– I am totally saving myself for Andy Samberg… or Batman (I’m a little bit of a comic book nerd). I am not as stupid and naive as I pretend to be at times. I have a little bit of an anger issue, so I started a little something you may know as Fight Club (I got kicked out because I’m so hardcore so I don’t really care who knows). I’m a little bit of an asshole, but the majority of me is pretty f-in sweet.
I could ramble on about Lily too… but she’s the one who can do that the best.
Believe what you want to about me. I’ve shocked, awed, and scared. I’ve been committed, cursed out, and cared for. It is more than many get to live in a lifetime, and I’ve done it in only twenty one years. I could’ve gotten names, dates, times confused, but it’s all the truth. Every little word. I might lie about some of this to your face if you ask, because I’m still not ready to say it all aloud.
I can’t tell you the first moment I realized that something might be wrong with me. Blame my childhood, my parents, or my lack of personal discipline, whatever you choose. All I know is that one day, I looked in the mirror, and the eyes staring back at me, that face in front of me, well, it wasn’t mine. Or, at least, that’s how I’ve felt for the last two decades.
Call me typical. I was raised in an upper-middle class home. We moved every couple of years, to bigger houses and bigger incomes. My parents were miserable for most of what I could remember. Fights were frequent. I learned words at seven that most boys my age wouldn’t have even thought of using yet. The parents divorced when I was almost ten. My sisters and I were blamed for their relationship lasting so long; that played out “staying together for the kids” excuse was used more than once.
I curse like a sailor, and smoke like one, but only when I’m sober. You’ll rarely see a cigarette in my mouth while a drink is in my hand. I read a lot of Kurt Vonnegut. I listen to a lot of music that you’ve probably never heard. I’m not cool, and I’m not all that special. I just happen to do what I do better than you ever could. I love my boyfriend, but he lives across the fucking country, so I get to see him once every six weeks. I get cranky on week five, and you don’t want to see me. Weeks one and two, however, I’m a doll. I play wingman for Audrey every night, and these nights are usually concluded with her making out with some dude, and me telling whatever guy trying to keep my attention that he picked the wrong friend.
I sometimes think that I am living in a world very similar to The Truman Show. I never liked the movie, but if that doesn’t tell you a little bit about my ridiculous ego, I don’t know what could. Maybe that’s why Audrey and I get along so damn well. We’re sensitive, kind hearted, but fucking selfish as hell. I was trying to think back to all the parts of our friendship… we, like many girls our age, went through a phase where we despised each other. And, to this day, neither of us are really sure why, or how it shifted back. But, boy did it shift back.
I am an existentialist who believes in fate. A pessimist who sometimes sees the glass half full. A bombshell with a brain. I work hard, play hard, and spend my days (and subsequent nights) as if there were no tomorrow.
And I have no regrets.
Stay tuned. We’ll be your new favorite guilty pleasure. It’s how we see ourselves, and we know you will too.
