Essays, Interviews, Observations, Pop Culture, Stories, and other Dodginess

The Serbian Girl with Green Underwear

Posted on August 31, 2016

I met a cute Japanese girl who liked IPAs who said her mom was one of the screaming fans at the famous Cheap Trick at Budokan concert. I walked her out of my apartment where my upstairs neighbor, Miss Weregun, was outside shaking out a hand vacuum. Whatever was coming out of it kept blowing back in her face. She was swearing at it, saying things like “You fuck.”

She looked at me an Samira.

“Wipe that ass off your face,” she said.

I don’t  know who Miss Weregun directed that comment to, it probably could have been correct either way.

This was in June. Later that night I went to a festival on Division Street (“Do Division”). It’s one of those fests where they say it’s free, but there is a $5 donation. Samira was supposed to join me but I guess she had enough of me and didn’t show.

The best part about Do Division was the walk there down Damen Avenue, where out of someone’s apartment window I heard “A Boy with a Thorn In His Side” by The Smiths. It turned out to be a friend of a friend’s place, Monty. We sat on his porch and he told me about a story he was writing called “The Boyfriend Experience.”

I left for the fest and got my beer and stood near Pub Royale. A girl walked by and said she liked my Docs and gave me her number, so I took a pic of my Docs and texted it to her. She texted back, “don’t put your finger in the bad place.”

I also saw there the Indian girl I’d been dating until she broke up with me last month at the Breakroom Brewery on Montrose, which closed down a week later. Not surprised, as most of the beer I wanted to try they were out of and the ones they had I didn’t like. But I think Saraha jinxed it. She’s one of those attractive Indian girls with a British accent, so look for her in a TV series down the road. She walked by me with a handsome young Indian man. I smiled at her and raised my cup of beer in a toast. She didn’t flip me off, which was surprising because in my experience usually they do.

When I got back to my apartment after Do Division, Mrs. Weregun was standing outside smoking. I ignored her but she whispered to me as I walked by, asking if I “dabbed in dick.”

As I was walking into my apartment the Serbian Girl called me. Anka wanted me to take her to Star of Siam restaurant. Anka is a girl who kissed me in the church sacristy of our Catholic junior high, featured in (“The Serbian Girl with Green Socks”). I ran into her a few weeks earlier at a cookout hosted by Chicago recluse author Clive Javanski. Always these mysterious foreign women at his parties. And girls from my past. It’s like Clive summons them from somewhere to mess with me. So we went to Siam and it was fun until I started choking on my Shu Mai. It was only our second date and I didn’t want Serbian Girl to think I was choking, so she thought I was just reacting to hot food. Later I told her I was actually choking. And she smiled and said she’d like to choke me in the bedroom while listening to music from John Hughes movies.

After Siam we decided to get a room at the nearby Dana Hotel. A little corner suite actually, with a great view and a separate bedroom, where Anka didn’t choke me, but during one of my wonderful leg massages, she asked me to slap her on the ass. Hard. So I did. Hesitantly. She wanted it harder. I was using my left hand, and since I’m right-handed, I thought I could have more force by switching sides, so I climbed over her. It still wasn’t good enough. She wanted it harder. She had on green underwear. First green socks and now green underwear. I continued slapping. I sucked at this. Eventually we fell asleep.

Anka had her car the previous night and I didn’t, so she was kind enough to drive me home. When we pulled up, Mrs. Weregun was standing outside, smoking. “You cock,” she said. I didn’t know if she was talking to the vacuum or me.

As I was walking toward my door, Anka yelled out at me. I turned and she tossed over her green underwear and drove off.

“I’m gonna be wearing that underwear tonight, Liffey,” Mrs. Weregun said.

“Oh no you’re not Mrs. Weregun.”

I walked into my apartment as she continued to smoke.

“Mother fucking cock,” she said.

Writing and Drinking in Pilsen

Posted on July 25, 2016

Last week I did some lunchtime writing, drinking, and eating (for the book version of this site) outside at the patio at Dusek’s Board & Beer in Pilsen. That was me, the pale, handsome, Irish-American guy walking down 18th Street holding journals in one hand and holding up my belt-less jeans with the other. They were falling down, what can I say? I met a pretty Chinese girl from Bridgeport at Dusek’s. She had nice arms and a perfect handwriting (and drawing skills). More on that in a future post. Anyway, I came across this little chain link fence art display while there. Actually it looks like a memorial of some sort. More stories and interviews coming very soon (latest essay is right around the corner). The Dodgy is also planning a trip to New Orleans next month. Things will happen. Cheers.

pilsen

 

A Pint and a Cat

Posted on July 9, 2016

a_pint_and_a_stray_cat

A pint of Revolution Brewing Anti-Hero and a stray cat on a warm Chicago afternoon.

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