C-I-T-Y, You Can See Why

I was in Chicago for four days and I don't know that I have the words right now to adequately detail the unbelievable set of coincidences that went down.
Remember Ferris Bueller's Day Off?

Last weekend was like my own, personal version of doing exceedingly cool things in Chicago with exceedingly cool people. In a city of 3 million or so people, I happened upon two chicks and one dude that I would start a gang with and elope with (even a cold place... I KNOW!), respectively of course, next week.
I ran into the guy with whom I shared an American cliche of a junior year prom. For the record, he's fat now and has really ugly arm-sleeve tattoos. I'm not bitter - I don't think I liked the guy all that much even when I went to the proverbial Big Dance with him. For reals, yo....
I will say that I am thrilled I didn't live the whole cliche and get knocked up and do the right thing and have a kid and share microwave dinners with that asshat for the rest of my teen years because he is not right.
And for god's sake, if I have to run into him in the most unexpected places, could he for once not be asking me for my ID and then laughing and thnking it's really funny that he asked me for ID to get into the bar where he is checking said IDs?
One time?
Or better yet, what if I didn't run into him anymore?

I watched the sun rise over Chicago from a sweet suite downtown. It was something I might not ever see again.


I totally have so much to write about.

I need to take some time and figure out how to write about this weekend without sounding like a tool.
I didn't want to write about Chicago and have the first essay that I write be about not wanting to live in Chicago.
I guess because this entry is following the last one, and considering the exploration of leaving home in that last post, I feel completely justified to write about not wanting to live in Chicago under the auspices of website continuity.
Dude, I am really glad that I don't live in Chicago.
No lie - I love it there.

Swear to Jesus truth - I am not a city girl.

Every catcall, every horn, every screech of tires, ringing cellphone, over-heard conversation; I'm so used to knowing where these noises are directed. When I hear a horn or a cellphone, I can turn my head and see what's going on. I can see the person who answers that phone and I can see the car with the angry driver. There's a sense of satisfaction that I could never put my finger on and I think it has something to do with being able to identify the beginning, middle, and end of whatever outside stimuli is in my immediate vicinity.
In the city, stimulus is EVERYWHERE. I couldn't tune anything out and I couldn't turn off the instinct to Look! Think! React!

And that is exhausting.
Fun for a long weekend where I can stay up all night for 2 nights and lose my voice entirely and drink with impunity but to live there?

It's possible that with so much input to my central nervous system, I would end up needing full time help in the form of a nice lady that my mom pays to come in every morning, turn on my TV, make some food for me, administer my meds, and return in the evening to make sure that the burners are off and my door is locked for nighttime.

arizonasarah at 10:12 a.m.

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