Anonymous Female Chicago Blogger #2

What should I call these folks who I read and who may read me? AFCBs? Argh.

Today I went to look at a filly, a young female horse. When they walked her out, I noticed she's way too small and way too fat. Not what I like. 14 hands is too small for me, even though I'm a short guy. I like big beasts. So I rode her for 15 minutes and realized it wasn't going to work.

Will see another filly this week, and a gelding colt next week. Hopefully one of the two works. They're both convenient to my home.

After the ride, I decided to head into the city to see some friends later. I was going to just sit at an outdoor patio, smoke a ceegar, have a nice cold drink and let the day pass. I brought my tiniest of netbooks so I could even get some writing done on an assignment due Saturday.

Instead, I received an invitation from Anonymous Female Chicago Blogger #2. I already met one Anoymous Female Chicago Blogger last week, and had a great time. Since I'm always intrigued by writers, and the vast majority of those I communicate with are strangely female (not strange themselves, of course), I figured I'd take up her offer to join her for lunch.

We decided to meet at a restaurant near her work somewhere in the mysterious city of Chicago. We texted back and forth, and she said she'd meet me there. I got to the city about 15 minutes ahead of schedule, so I ran to Walgreens to pick up some things. This particular Walgreens is home to 50,000 homeless people buying Snickers, at least it was today.

I hopped back in the car and zipped to the part of town where the restaurant is, a few blocks walk from her office. She asked me to text her when I was close. I paid the parking meter (2 hours, just in case!) and ventured down the street looking for the place. Being my clueless "blonde" self, I picked the wrong side of the street and likely walked right by her, only the turn around, cross over and notice her when I was making the double-cross to the other corner. Oops. Is embarrassment cute?

She was standing outside, looking surprisingly prettier and happier than I had expected. This is the second blogger I've met, but for some reason I always picture them in my head to be... not like the two I met. She was wearing a fantastic dress that should not be worn within 45 feet of a horny old man. No glasses, thank God (sunglasses on her head, though). Cute shoes, cute bag, not overbearing on the makeup from 10 feet. Surprising, considering the area she works in tends to be all bleach bunnies with too much face paint.

I walked up, said hi, shook her hand and proceeded to walk towards the restaurant. A little bit egotistical of me: when meeting someone you don't know and it's a random encounter, it always makes sense to keep them comfortable. We decided to sit indoors (it was a bit muggy out). The restaurant had maybe 2 tables with people, and we were seated by a cute hostess who played on the fun banter AFCB#2 and I provided.

It's good to see a woman smile. In fact, I would say that a woman's smile is probably tied for a woman's "Flush and I can't move and don't touch me until I can get my breath" look. She sat facing the door and I sat facing rows of empty seats.

The chit chat was good with no pregnant or uncomfortable pauses. I ordered a cocktail and she ordered her own alcoholic beverage, which to me looked like way more than her frame could handle in a weekend. She had to get back to work in an hour or so, alcohol being the preferred consumable for us both. We both took sips of our water glasses, and the drinks were presented quickly by our waitress, another cute 20-something who definitely did not want to be there.

She talked with me intruding a bit more than I normally do. Her eyes were curious and her smile contagious, but the dark cast behind her pupils showed that she was stressed. She mentioned this, and we talked about the lead-up to the stress in her life. I don't like to see people stressed, and I try to do my best to let them discuss things in hope that they find a new solution to the stress than what they're already letting weigh in on their chest (note: she had a great rack).

We jumped subjects like hipsters jump the turnstyles at the Red Line (one of Chicago's subways). The conversation started off with a bang, neither of us remembering to share with the other our real names (it came up, but it passed too fast). She's confident, with no obvious twitches, fidgets or lip biting (too bad on the last one). She does have a significant poker tell, a glance to the right when she's thinking deep about something.

That's a good thing, to see her thinking deep about what we talked about. There is always a way to get someone to realize a different path to take if they think deeply. I didn't know what to expect with her (we've never chatted or emailed before, ever), so to see her open up to digging into her cranium to produce answers (and honest ones, at that) was great. Seeing her think and respond and even react with laughter to some of my (not so great) comedy pleased me greatly.

Our lunch came and it was fabulous; I had chilean sea bass and she had a sushi-style roll. Since she made time for me out of her day, I offered to cover the first round of drinks. Food was the perfect size: neither her nor I were stuffed at the end. When our server came back, it was obvious she wanted to either spend some more time, or at least talk some more, so I offered to order desert. The desert was a cake, and as many people know I am anti-sugar and wheat. The cake came highly recommended, so we decided to share it (two forks) and returned to our drinks, our conversation. Her eye contact is fantastic, never breaking or falling away shyly unless she was deep thinking. I like that, it's rare.

Between obvious sadness over her stress point and unforced laughter, the conversation had a good rhythm to it. I interrupted to ask questions based on parts of her answers. The stress she has should be easy to overcome, but her answers to other seemingly non-related questions I pitched leads me to believe that she's still got a few weeks to get over it. Other things in her life should help, though, so I think she's going to be A-OK and soon.

I spoke a little bit about myself, which again is rare when I am talking to a woman. It's obvious we hit it off in some sort of odd virtual friend manner, and I do think we'll do it again. I am in her neck of the woods at least 2-3 days a week already, so lunch at the very least will be a possibly regular event.

Our desert arrived and we each ate 1/3 of it. It wasn't too sweet, and was a perfect end to a wonderful lunch. I'll return again. After paying the bill (she paid for her meal, I paid for mine, drinks and desert), we tipped and continued talking, well past the hour mark. Neither of us checked our phones or the time until we realized it was probably late. She confirmed it by checking her phone, and then we chatted some more, probably 20 minutes.

At the 90 minute mark, it was obvious she needed to go back to work. I doubt it was because the conversation lulled, but an honest need to be responsible. I can appreciate that. The waitress came and thanked us both for the generous tip (about 30%, but it was slow and I always tip at least 25% if the server checks on our water and drinks, which she did constantly). That was a nice thank you, too. Rare.

AFCB#2 and I walked out together to the corner, her work in one direction, my car parked in the other. I thanked her for a great meal, and we agreed to try it again in the future. Before I turned to leave, she says "So we don't hug or what?" or something like that, so I step forward and embraced her quite-perfectly-suited-for-my-size frame. This girl definitely can be a firecracker, she needs a strong guy to throw her up in the air, catch her on his shoulders, and parade her in front of the world. I'm sure a little of that would get her unstressed really fast. I hope she gets it, and soon.

She is smooth though, and she pops like a spark plug, so I think she'd be awesome to go drinking with. She mentioned that her life doesn't allow for much time or desire to drink, but we can change that, can't we? I think I can.

Refriended through blogging?

So last night I met up with a female blogger who admitted to reading this site daily.  Per her request, details of her life shall remain missing.  I would highly doubt that she'll post her side of the story on her own site, but who knows?

We agreed to meet at a bar in her neck of the woods in Chicago.  Let's say Hipster Central: Wicker Park, Logan Square, Ukrainian Village, Humboldt Park.  She sent me a photo her self (indie cute) and I obliged with a reply of one of mine.  9pm, non-date because she has a boyfriend (and even if she didn't), just to chat and meet a fellow writer.

I picked a bar I hadn't been to in awhile, a dive bar.  It was fairly quiet, but early for a Friday.  A few older folks, a couple of early drinking hipsters, a yuppie table.  Nice, dark, quiet.  I decided to wear some new threads since I was planning on going out solo afterwards: new shoes, new jeans, new dress shirt.  Nothing too exotic.  It was rainy, so I donned my early spring jacket which hadn't been worn since late last spring.

I arrived at 8:55pm, found a seat at the bar near the door and waited.  The bartender, a relatively indie-looking dude, asked me for my drink but I said I was waiting for someone.  "Female?"  Yeah.  "That her?" he said, pointing to the other end of the bar.  I looked.  She saw me and smiled.  Oops.

I wandered down the bar and she smiled again.  As I was removing my jacket to place on my stool, she says "I've seen you around before.  A few times."  Really?  "Sure.  You don't recognize me?"  Sorry, not really.  "In winter last year you were chatting up a group of my friends."  Oh, I do that often.  So what did you think then?  "Not much.  Probably thought not my type, who knows?"  Were you single then?  "Yeah."  So I sit.  She's already drinking (a cocktail, not a beer), and I ordered my tequila, rocks.

We chat.  She's cute, on the slim side, short, nice hair a la the 50s.  She's pretty warm to talk to.  She asks me about my blogging adventures, and I told her she's the first.  She smiles a lot, which seems to be rare around the indie/hipster gals.  She's no hipster, just a refreshing take on fashion.  I appreciated it, although I didn't say so.  She did comment on my shoes in a positive way.

I asked her about her blogging history: she started with LiveJournal back in college, did a little Xanga, had a TypePad and ended up at Blogger mostly because it just works.  That's pretty much why I picked it, I said.  I prefer Wordpress, but I wanted a blog that just worked.  Nothing shiny and flashy.  No need for advertisement.

Her work sounded decent, not in the writing field.  She's a corporate busybody and likes the structure.  Odd for someone who dresses outside the box, but I'll accept it.  Has a pet, lives with a roommate (not the boyfriend, and probably not with him ever), good core group of friends, family not-too-far-but-far-enough.  She wants to move to NYC (all bloggers from Chicago seem to have this glitch).  Happy with work, happy with the guy, happy with friends, happy with money.  Pretty decent overall.

She asked me, "Why don't you settle down at your age?"  I think I'm fairly settled down, compared to my twenties.  I asked her if she considers herself settled.  "Everything is in flux, but I'm comfortable.  If any one thing changes, I can take it in stride.  Two things, I might get a little concerned."  Ahh.  Work, love, sex, entertainment are all for stability, not for happiness.  I ask what she wants to do.  "Own my own company."  I'll say she's 22-32 to keep it generic.  At her age, she needs to jump on that idea NOW, not next decade.  Risks can be easier swallowed as failures or successes when you're still "young."  Not to say that someone 32-42 can't take a risk and go solo, but it's easier to handle younger.  Energy.  Drive.  Excitement. Lack of huge responsibilities.

"Your hair is way too long."  I know, I need a good barbershop closer to home.  "How do you usually cut it?"  However.  Random.  It grows ridiculously fast.  If I shave it off, it grows back instantly.  "Always the scruff?"  The beard comes and goes but I'll keep a 5 o'clock shadow most of the time.  Easier.  Hides the scars and cuts and irregular facial lines.  "No wrinkles at your age?" Only when I laugh.  I'll age extremely well.  My dad looks 25 years younger, my mom 15 years younger.  Good skin.  No product.

She tells me about her business idea, and it happens to be a counter-niche to something I do.  I tell her I'll email her some business contacts that can help her aim her targets.  She's laughing a lot.  About 2 drinks into our (her?) conversation, she's laughing more, and her hand falls on my hand a few times.  Need to put a stop to THAT, so I put my hand on my thigh instead.  She doesn't notice.

She keeps inquiring into my life, but I'm the usual quiet and discrete talker.  I really don't have much to say.  It seems to frustrate her, but when I make a topic change, she gets reinvigorated.  I'm thankful that she has nothing to say about favorite bands or favorite beers; it doesn't seem that either really motivate her to talk.  I've been bored to death on more than one friendly date by talk of the latest shitty band or the latest horrid-tasting beer.  There are good ones out there, both, but most leave me bloated and burpy.  Especially the bands.

Drinks set 3 come to the bar in front of us, on the house, and she continues her banter and jest.  Boyfriend is a great guy, not her typical type, but very open with letting her be and just being a good boyfriend a few days a week.  Sounds like the perfect relationship in many ways.  They started dating in January.  He's tall, good looking, educated, responsible.  One of the few good ones, I guess.  I didn't ask her about sex, and she didn't offer.  I'm guessing it's probably decent enough but nothing exciting.

She goes to the bathroom so I twitter an update and text friends to see where they're going.  As she comes out, she catches me flipping my phone closed.  "Booty call next?"  I laugh.  No, just figuring out what to do post-midnight.  "I'm beat.  You ready to call it a night here?"  If you are.  "Probably.  Was up late last night, got up early for work today, worked an extra hour, and I'm going out tomorrow night for a crazy night out with friends."  Cool, need a ride?

"This is where you always get the girl in your stories.  I'll take the ride, but sorry to dissapoint you."  I laugh and we lock eyes, then she laughs.  "I can see why you do, but keep your hands off of me."  I laugh again.  She's cute as hell, probably fuck buddy material if she was interested and found me sexy, but I would say a strong no on both sides.  Plus she's not my type, really.  It was a good chat, we exchange phone numbers to try it again and wander out to my car.

I let her in ("OOoh, gentleman, hah!"), and I narrowly get creamed by a Special Olympics ("Critical Mass") type moron on a bike riding way too close to the cars in hopes of collecting from the car insurance people for their next dooring.  The guy yells at me, and I laugh.  I accept that bikes have equal rights, but like any moving vehicle, THEY are responsible for being careful.  Riding that close to cars is ridiculous at that fixed-gear speed.

She notices that I almost got clipped and tells me about her battle with being a biker and also a pedestrian and once-on-a-while borrowing the roommate's car.  Bikers have attitudes until they need a car for life, then things change.  I always mind them, until they almost kill me (about once a week, actually).  I tell her a story about an intercourse I had with a biker (talk, not sex) and she laughs hysterically, telling me she probably knows the guy.  Her hand is on my arm, and I pull it away to grip the streering wheel.  I ask if I should drop her at her house or near it, to prevent her fears of me being a stalker.  "In front is fine."  She gives me the address and Mr. GPS tells me where to go.

We continue our talk and I notice I need gas, so I ask if it's OK to hit the nearest gas station.  I have no idea how I went from full to empty in 4 days, but it happens.  She's fine with it.  I go and pump gas and have a talk with a tall, pimp-dressed black guy outside of an SUV.  He digs my shoes, too.  We laugh about being stuck pumping our own gas while the ladies are in the clubs, and nod our goodbyes.  $18.46, I guess I wasn't that low.  Stupid gas light.

When I get in the car, I apologize for the delay (slow pump) and there it is: she kisses me.  What the fuck is going on here?  She tells me earlier I'm not her type, she has a great boyfriend, life is good, yadda yadda yadda, and now she's got her lips on me.  I'm not one to turn down a great kiss, ever, so I kiss back.  For about 3 minutes.  I break the embrace and let her know that was completely unexpected.  "I wanted to see if you'd get surprised."  Did I?  "No.  Smooth, too."  So you did it just for empirical evidence to check if I could get surprised?  "Well, I wanted to, also.  You're fun as hell.  And you look like you could kill 15 guys when you walked in or I saw you before, but you're really nice.  The listening thing is amazing.  And I wanted to touch your hair."  Ok.  I'd remind you not to let it happen again.

Then she shoves her face on me AGAIN.  I'm sitting with my foot on the brake pedal, the car in drive, one hand on the streering wheel and her face on my face.  This time I think about it while we're kissing for about 5 minutes.  She's pretty good.  The nibbles on my bottom lip would get this girl in trouble if it happened for too long.  I break off again and let her know that teasing me is NOT going to get her bonus points.  "Who's teasing?  You're a good kisser, I'm not going to sleep with you tonight, and I'm not married to anyone."  Oh, no, not that.  Tonight?  "Oh, we'll be friends.  Don't worry, it won't ruin any affairs you have planned."  I laugh at this and she laughs too.  I kick Mr. GPS in gear and take off towards her place, a short 8 blocks away.

As she gets out, I did check out her ass (which was seated at the bar).  Pretty good.  She turns around and says "Just so you know, it's just a kiss."  I laugh and tell her I'd stop her if she tried anything more.  "You almost know the right thing to say, if you say anything at all, don't you?"  Sure.  Friends, then?  "Friends, for sure.  I'll catch you online.  What will you write about?"

I'll write that we fucked, that I gave it to you hard, that your boyfriend catches us so I tie him up in a chair and do you in ways you'd never let him do you.  She laughs out loud, I smile and she slams the door.

No, we didn't fuck.  No, we won't fuck.  There's absolutely no chemistry there in any way, shape or form.  The night was fun.  It wasn't a date, it was friends who didn't know they were friends, refriending.  The kiss?  It was good.  Very good.  But it was just a kiss, a thank you for a nice night, a little tease to a guy who can't call someone up and get the third leg in.  One thing I can say for this gal, she understands boundaries, and I can appreciate that.

And she did call me cute.  Always need more women friends who find me cute: they'll introduce me to their friends and tell good stories.  I consider it in the win category.

Who's next to meet and get drinks?  Or coffee?  And, no, it isn't for sex.  Just because I had a few rounds of play in the past 6 months doesn't mean I'm THAT kind of guy.  I dig friends, and I especially dig writers.

Interesting blog discovery

Found a great blog over at Good Great Bad Awful.

Start with her second post.  The strike-through ritual she uses is fantastic comedy, although I do take her slightly seriously.

Worthy of a read, and a follow, if she follows through.

Invitation from an Anonymous Blogger?

Looks like my plans to wander Greektown tonight may have changed, only slightly.

Received an email from someone who asked not to be named:

Hi, I read your blog daily and think about some of the thing you write about.  If you don't have plans tonight, want to meet me at some random dive bar so I can pick your brain?  I'm not going to be some hookup, I have a boyfriend, don't think I have any needs missing and would like to see who you are.  You can write about it, but no details about who I am or what my site is.  I live in __________, lots of bars to check out.  9ish?  LMK.

I replied, asking her what information is acceptable to write about, if anything is worthwhile;  no names, no blog links, no age, no specific location.  Honestly, I'm sort of in the mood to fly solo tonight, but I'll take an hour or three to visit a visitor and see how she ticks.  Since it is obvious there's going to be no funny business (not that I would ever make that assumption, anyway), it should be a nice cocktail-or-beer with a cowriter.

To be honest, she's never commented on here as far as I know.  I don't believe I've commented on her blog.  Oh and I just found out that LMK means Let Me Know,  I'm learning these things.