lookin' back, on a track, for a little green bag

CheetahGurl earned a new blogname last evening. she shall now be known as WidgetControl. WC's daytime is spent doing development work for cawc, the chicago abused women's center, and last night, they had a fundraising party at the lowest ceiling'd bar in the chi, the underground wonder bar. i've spent a few drunken evenings at this place, most noteably on the eve of my birthday 2002 (my first in the chi, turning 28) in the company of my SteakhouseManifest co-workers. this is the night that i first smooched on my friend, NorcoKev (yes, he was still with his trifflin' girlfriend -- the first one, not this good one of late). you know, it was one short round of kissing in a dark corner, and that bitch was so much drama for him, he knew he needed to let her go. and it was my damn birthday and all i'd had in the recent past at that point in time was the terribly creepy rendezvous with FatFinger, but just previous to that, MyDaddy had been in town (selling merch for a friend's band and riding the tour to move him to nyc. pretty clever.), which was great, but had been a few months a memory, so i deserved to get some closeness on. my wishes were coming true, as later in the night, i got hit on by this blind cat who was a jazz piano player. he was nice, but a bit of a sloshy nervosa ala stevie-style because he was boozin and in fit of enthusiasm, doused me with an entire bottle of miller lite, head to waist. i followed that by chatting with the seemingly artsy then suddenly creepy guy looking to crash at my crib to escape some live-in girlfriend in winnetka (um, no thanks). i'd decided i was over indulging his mouth, so i left the bar with him hot on my heels, bombarding me on the street to take him home with me. then, outta the black of the night, this car came tearing up chicago avenue, screeched to a halt in front of us and said to me, "get in the car." LadyB was riding shotgun with our tiny friend Pixie in her lap like a ventriluquist dummy, and she looked at me and asked if i was cool with this guy. i said no and hopped in to escape and leave that guy yelling at us for a ride. he actually had the nerve to keep yelling for me to take him to my place. not after you put the grips on my arm like that and tried to pull me by you. so, i haven't been tooling around this place since a random visit to celebrate janis joplin's birthday at their annual celebratory pageant last january, which we discovered our neighbor performs at. sometimes this city is smaller than i think. WidgetControl is funny to watch work this event, because she's having fun enough for the circumstances, but it's still *working* fo yo work, dig? i was repeatedly amused to observe her interacting with her crazed boss, who has been on storytime royalty in our circle for months, and whom i've never met, but greatly enjoy tales of. homegirl is in her late 40s and uses this very silly nickname into whose introduction she consistantly peppers the following, "that's Beetle. b e e t l e . yeah, my folks used to call me the Beetle before i was born." of course, she has this hilarious name that i'd like to utilize and WidgetControl got to ring it out twice on mic as she won a random prize drawing. first and last name would be equivalent to Beetle Sabbatinni. And WC announcing her name in this very serious tone that was further cracking me up. Beetle? Beetle Sabbatinni? Beetle?.........Sabbatinni? i was snickering away to hear this silly name in a common situation and then WC actually admits to me that she told Beetle "a friend of mine is coming tonight who thinks your name is really hilarious, so she might laugh at you when she meets you." now, i think i could have kept it realer than real during a brief intro with this woman....until WidgetControl told me she pre-announced my arrival with that caveat, so of course, i avoided meeting her as long as possible, because i'm totally paranoid about wanting to crack up in her face about this stupid name, but i can't because that's exactly what she expects me to. fucking WidgetControl got me all off kilter thinking about it and i couldn't get it out of my head. as expected, i had to interface with Beetle, and it really took alot to hold it together and not turn into a guffawing mess. i did keep my composure, no thanks to WC.

had a few false starts just to arrive at the wonder bar. the cover for this event was advertised as $6 a head or bringing something from the center's wishlist. thus, i made a point to hike over to the target last week to get this family-sized bottle of shower gel (cuz it's gots to be all big for a bunch of women and kids to share) and a box of band-aids for good measure. i bag them up in a shopping bag from una mae's freak boutique, and like the idea of them mixing in the pile of donations. i was very pleased with myself and strutted down the stairs to get in our cab, complementing my mental prowess in remembering not only my i.d. and scant amount of cash, but also a couple of low fared cta cards so we could scrimp even further and take the bus home, *and* even some exact change to boost the cards up to valid levels. then i hit the front door of our building and realized i'd forgotten that damn bag with the cover/donations. i hauled back up to the third floor and soon enough, found myself back in the waiting cab with our regular driver, Gonzo, at the wheel. yes, it is true, i have wrangled my own on-call cabbie. this guy is a trip and really likes to augment his fares with regulars in his chosen driving area, which just happens to be the bermuda triangle of neighborhoods in the same zip code that we've lived in this past year. Gonzo randomly stopped to pick me up at the damen blue line stop as i was returning from a business trip to some forelorn fly-over city. he's a hulking, bulky hippie-ish dude with glasses and long hair. he loves to read, and i'm pretty sure he digs him some sci-fi. but he's always chatty and nice and not at all spooksville, so i happily took his card after our maiden voyage and he drives the chariot on probably 80% of my chauffered jaunts around town. he's my regular guy, and who doesn't like to have some of those? naturally, we're running further behind than we'd intended, which has Mole getting antsy because he's tired anyway, but it ain't my fault my man had to all come up on me and get me wanting to hook it up with him. i was liking his kissing for real and i said i could wait til we'd returned from this event de Beetle, but no, he had to get me up in the bed before we left. i have no shame about it: that thing started at 8:30 and we was rolling an hour later cuz my man got me to make love to him. about halfway en route to the bar, i ask Mole where that bag is with the donations and he says that i went back inside to get it, i should have it. i'm laughing insanely because i have no earthly idea where that thing is and no recollection of whether it even made it out of the house with me or not. i must be losing my mind, but i was totally blank and completely he-hawing about this, wondering outloud if the bag might be hiding somewhere on the floor of the cab that we'd be able to see when we arrived and the interior lights came on. Mole said, "no. that bag is not in the car, and you had it last." thus, we came to pay $10 in cover (less than advertised, so there were bonus coupons that night for the loyal shoppers) to go along with the bag of goods that i found resting comfortably where i'd left them on my dining room table. both times.