I love Mas in a totally non-metaphorical way
Earlier in the week, I was driving home from work and the thought of cooking was the most horrible thing ever. Christopher was in class, I was starving and as I passed Mas, I decided to pull over and have some dinner at the bar. I love Mas: this little Spanish-influenced upscale place on Division, lots of low light and high-end design. It’s calming and easy in there, relaxed and fancy at the same time. I ordered a margarita martini, Mas y Mas, no salt. The day melted away. Classes melted away. Bills and worries, all of it.
The man sitting next to me—suit, tie, shirt, squat, balding, late forties, maybe —ordered a glass of Shiraz.
“Would you like to see a menu?” the bartender asked.
“No thank you, I’m just Shirazing,” he said. “And celebrating the Sox.”
Ah, the Sox. I know I am getting older because I can remember the Bulls three-peat: Chicago on fire, T-shirts everywhere, rallies downtown (like today's) that hold up the el. I love the Bulls back then. I was waiting tables near the United Center and Bulls games put me through college.
“Have you watched all the games?” the bartender asked.
“Yes,” said the guy. “With monetary interests.” He glanced at me as he said this.
Later he said, “I love the Sox. I have a Sox hat in my BMW,” and, again, looked at me. On the word BMW. I understood that I was supposed to be impressed by this, and realized how long it had been since I’d gone out by myself.
Comments
At least you are getting hit on by men with BMWs who drink in trendy places. I get hit on by would-be homeless guys that have very bad eye infections, who ask me for spare cigarettes and somehow, in the same sentence, manage to ask if i have a boyfriend, tell me my boyfriend does not take care of me, and that they he will take care of me at the Diplomat, where he stays, but not tonight, because someone stuck him up for his one hundred AND ten dollar bill.
I hope this will change once I am not at bus stops at all hours of the night, or once I am old enough to duck into a trendy place for a drink, but sometimes, I think that I just act as a magnet, and these guys with eye infections will never go away.
Posted by: N. Kittinger | October 28, 2005 06:55 PM
Don't make me tell the story about the date with the guy in the Porsche.
Posted by: Betsy | October 29, 2005 09:54 AM
Now you MUST tell that story. Either here, in my comment section, or on your own blog linked to here. You know you have to, now you can't now.
(that's a good title for a short story, too: Now You Can't Not)
Posted by: Megan | October 29, 2005 03:29 PM
I was actually thinking the story should be titled "Don't Make Me" or at least it should start: Don't make me tell you the story about the date with the guy in the Porsche... I promise to tell it soon.
Posted by: Betsy | October 29, 2005 06:37 PM
I have yet to go to Mas itself (I suck) but I did go out to dinner at the spin-off Otre Mas (no longer open!!) shortly after I moved here and had one of the best meals of my life.
either that or the pisco sours were just so MFing good that the food seemed equally wonderful.
Posted by: carolyn | October 31, 2005 06:17 AM
This thread made me aware of an overlooked theme in the sea of chick literature:
Girls Night Out.
A woman goes out with her crazy girlfriends, or alone. Maybe she’s a good girl who was bad one night, or a bad girl, who did something good.
She drank tasty drinks, said things she wouldn’t normally say, spoke to men she wouldn’t normally talk to, or who wouldn’t normally talk to her.
People would pay good money to hear these stories. Why don’t we organize a Girls Night Out Anthology of pseudo fiction so we can all have money to go off and write our best-selling novels?
I’d like these pieces to be more than just a what-we-drank, said, and who hit on us episode. They should read like chapters in the middle of the tumultuous lives we’re all living. There should be conflict, detail, and a range of outcomes.
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Hey, how do I get a hard return and an indent on this blog? I want to send you guys some prose.
Posted by: Julie | November 22, 2005 12:05 PM
What's pseudo fiction?
Posted by: Megan | November 27, 2005 10:10 PM
Pseudo fiction: when a writer tries to pass off non-fiction writing as fiction. Or it could also be writing that is half-fiction, half non-fiction. Either way, you can distance yourself from your bad behavior while generating (hopefully) good writing.
Posted by: Julie | November 28, 2005 11:27 AM