Sunday, February 28, 2010

If These Chips Could Talk

Dunlay's On Clark
2600 North Clark Street

Chicago, IL 60614-1523
(773) 883-6000

If there is anything I have learned about my experience with this 30 Bar Odyssey, it is this – the company you keep, makes the journey.  Could you imagine: Carrie with Samantha, or Frasier without Niles, vampire love stories without goth emo kids, or Japanese cartoons without transsexuals?

Most of my blogs are pretty easy to write because I go with some pretty awesome people.  There is Vladimir who is the Doctor/Foodie/Movie buff – fascinating individual really.  Born in Russia, he could talk your ear off about the most insensible items; ask him about the “prescreen date.”  Vladimir’s boyfriend, Dustin is a firecracker, Midwestern, sensible, whenever he is at the table, he grounds our cosmopolitan, and maniacal tendencies.  And I cannot forget the duo in the suburbs, Candice and Jennifer.  Every time I am with them is like Sex and The City, without the city, and the sex.   Many of my blogs are with these people.  It is always a good time, a journey I always want to share.  But sometimes, there are those meetings where you go with a group of people where the dynamics don’t really click.  You wish for the check to come, and you become contemptuous of your party.  My time at Dunlay’s on Clark (DOC) was this.

“Scott” texted me on a Saturday night asking me if I would join him for a drink at DOC.  I met Scott on two years ago and romance did not really bloom.  I never really understood what really happened, things got hot and heavy one night and at the next moment I got the inexplicable “Let’s be friends discussion.”  Here is the problem with such a discussion, Dear Reader take notes, if you are giving the speech, the other side wants to know. If you think she has small breasts, she wants to know. If you think he is a bad kisser, he wants to know.  The “oh I am not feeling it” – is a pussy way of getting out of it.  Grow a pair and tell the other person why, you two probably shared bodily fluids anyway, so you owe him/her something more. 

My relationship with Scott has always been rather odd.  He would confide in me about his exploits while always trashing mine.  But here is the thing, he is kind of hypocritical, and sanctimonious.  It is never his fault.  He would always develop a relationship, and then something always happens.  Half of his relationships start and end by email, even though a meeting never occurs.  The other half, he ends the relationship, and he NEVER tells the other guy why.  I have often called bullshit whenever he tells me his exploits.  He often responds, “I am just Minnesota nice.”   The bile often rises whenever I hear this – it is not like the location of one’s conception is an affirmative defense for negligent acts.   A year ago, Scott ended a promising relationship with this fellow named “Darren.”  Scott told me that Darren had a lazy eye and he could not handle it.  Unfortunately, Scott did not tell this to Darren.  Scott just got increasingly removed and distant from Darren and finally “Let’s be friends.”  How do you support a friend's actions when the same thing happened to you?

As I said, Scott told me to meet him at DOC.  He was also invited a co-worker/friend of his “Diana” who is new to Chicago.  I was hoping it would be a good time.  It was dreadful. DOC is actually a pretty cool neighborhood restaurant.  It has seating capacity of around 100 people, of which the bar seats around 16 to 20 people.  There is an open kitchen to the north of the main entrance, and a little doorway connects DOC with its winebar known creatively as “DOC Winebar.”

Scott and Diana were already at a table and I introduced myself to the new girl.  Now I am not the first nominee for a Goodwill Ambassador, but I thought I should try to give my most pleasant first impression to Diana.  My god, this woman looked liked a 20 year old Amazon.  I was jealous, not only was this bitch taller than I am, but she was years younger than me.  In fact, to put everything in perspective, Scott is also four years younger than me, and as tall as a sequoia.  I was in a table in the woods.

Scott ordered a white, which Diana inexplicably copied.  DOC actually has a comprehensive wine list; it is after all, connected to winebar.  They were some weird sexless couple that copied each other.  I hate it when people do not have an identity beyond their clique.  If Hell is actually some state of being where there is no happiness, DOC was my infernal basement.  I ordered a Lagunitas IPA from Petulima. 

Scott and Diana started to talk about work.  They are both nurses at Northwestern, and all these senseless medical terms were strewn all over the place.  Now I hate being left out of a conversation primarily because depriving me from sharing my font of wisdom is a crime worthy of Nuremburg.  But worse, I hate it when people discuss shop when another of the party is not in the industry.  If I was having a dinner with all lawyers, discussing depositions is fair game, but if there are five lawyers and one chef – Roe v. Wade is not to be discussed.   So while the two were talking about needles, veins, and scat, I stated to take pictures of the Lagunitas.  The conversation stopped.  I should have took my iPhone out earlier.  They were just staring at me and Diana was giving me the most bitchy look.  I explained that I was writing a blog.  Scott admitted that he didn’t even know about my enterprise, and Diana just scoffed and carried on about saving lives.

Scott and Diana were finished with their wine in a hurry.  Apparently, being a nurse makes one thirsty.  They both ordered a second glass, since I was still drinking the beer in a counterintuitive languid manner, I ordered the “Blue Cheese Chips.” 

Scott tried to shift the discussion and asked me “So what is going on with you.”  I was about to have a stroke.  What should I have said, “I am writing a book,” or “I have a blog,” maybe I should have tried “I have had a plethora of terrible dates.”  I shared all of that, and all I got from Diana was the feeling that I was some harlot that was about to ride the Beast of Babylon.  While discussing dates, we were on the issue of the Twilight Series.  Her interpretation of high school girls and vampires was unusually off the mark. The chips came and I started eating right away.  They were delicious and covered in this rich b├ęchamel.  Even though I am gay I didn’t know anything covered in white sauce would be this delicious.  I was eating away as they both discussed relationships.  Apparently, Diana unsurprisingly has never had a relationship.  I guess heterosexuals are more discerning than I give them credit for.  

Scott started to talk about Lazy-Eye Darren.  I was eating intently.  There were some chips layered with hot sauce, OMG, if I could have had a conversation with them instead.  Scott told us that he sent Darren an email trying to rekindle things.  I wanted to throw up, but to purge those delicious chips would be such a waste.  I actually slapped Scott.  Not just a faye-gay slap, I mean a Class II Battery slap, “WHAT THE FUCK! WHY, WOULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM!” Diana was appalled that I had this violent reaction, “Well who knows, he should give it a try.”  This cretin, this tween who could not understand the nuances of vampire relationship was trying to lecture me about relationships.  Now, I stipulate, I am: pretty picky, unusually Type A, very opinionated, and sometimes a whirlwind of a character.  I am not sure if anyone in Chicago, let alone this world could ever tame me, but I think I have more knowledge in this area then some transplant wearing some fucking promise ring plucked out of a Cracker Jack box!  I was brooding, where the hell was Vladimir and Dustin?  They were probably having a ball as the cutest gay couple in the world.  Jennifer and Candice?  They were probably throwing beer cans at drunk frat boys.  It all sounded so fun, and this cunt was trying to lecture me. 

To make things worse, the check came, and without looking at it, Diana laid down $20.  Her wine was $9 each; therefore, I subsidized this twat’s drinks.  I liked DOC, but next time I am going with real women, and guys who know what they want.    


  1. Awww - I'm so honored to be compared to sex and the city! Minus the sex...and the city.

  2. I'm sorry you had such a horrible experience at that place like that...And that girl seems like a complete and utter dolt. As for "Scott"...I have a high dislike for people who treat others like crap like that. Those chips do look yummy though. And I'm glad you hold me in such a regard as Sex and the City too. :-) We'll have to do another restaurant soon.

  3. This is an embarassingly rude and uncalled for discussion of other people.
    I feel sorry for you.