24-hour party people, or, Warum der liebe Nibadi mich nicht erreichen konnte

[muckefuck]

Thursday, an old and good friend--the original Owlet--came into town for a whirlwind visit. I figured she'd be spoken for most of the weekend, but early on I had dibbed dancing with her on Saturday night. Later, when I saw she was also free for dinner, I made plans to bring Monshu along. She used to work for him--and, in fact, is inextricably intertwined with the story of our romance (to the degree that she claims to be our Emma). Then, when she asked for company shoe-shopping earlier in the afternoon, I volunteered for that as well.

We got a late start because she is a SLEEP HOG. I suggested Meinl to get us caffein-charged. (Besides, I haven't been there in, like, two whole weeks.) Halfway through a two-hour conversation, when I pointed out that we were supposed to be out shopping, she said what she really wanted to do was spend time with me and shopping while doing it was just a bonus. I was so farklempt!

Still, we had a date to keep with Monshu, so we shuffled off to Bicker Park and the Fluevog store, where nothing she wanted was on sale. It wasn't a washout, though, since the junk shop up the block was mad fun. Great collection of old hats, china, knicknacks, and estate jewellery. How great? I actually bought a piece. Me, who generally shops for non-legibles non-quaffables only at gunpoint! bunj, you have got to check this place out. It's worth it if only to see the strange thing in the hand-held coffin.

I was so chuffed at negotiating a discount on the brooch that I would've been willing to plump for a cab, but the busses actually got us to Sidetrack without much bother. The place was damn quiet. I guess I've never been there on a weekend afternoon where there was no planned event before. The highlight of this visit was a vitally necessary remake of "Stuck in the Middle with You", featuring a video that wedded Reservoir Dogs to Cabaret.

Then off to Ethiopian Diamond for dinner. Sadly, they let me down. Every meal we'd ever had there had been wonderful up until the time we had guests along. (This is exactly what happened to us with the now-dead Du Yee.) They served us tough lamb. It was no disaster--everything was a tasty as ever--but now I'll live in fear that one of my readers will eat there on my recommendation and be disappointed.

At dinner, it looked like people were fading. Owlet admitted that she "might not make it until two". So we nixed the dancing and sent Monshu home. (He was asleep within 20 minutes, he tells us.) Then I finally got someone to come to Turkish Bakery with me! Two people, actually, Owlet and her friend the Masseur. The combo was still playing, I jolted down a Turkish coffee, and the conversation fatefully turned to linguistics.

We stayed up until 3:30. The restaurant closed at midnight and we went back to the Masseur's, where Owlet was staying, to continue the conversation. His wife joined us, saying she was "probably going to go to bed soon", but with us until the last. I wasn't about to try to get home that late, so I shared the fold-out with Owlet. (She said, "Are you going to sleep with me?" and I told her, "Only if you promise to be weird and distant with me in the morning.")

As a result, I got swept into brunch plans with Umm `Ata'allah, her husband, and their baby at Wishbone and, thence, into visiting the Umm `Ata'allah household. I wanted so badly to nap that I was slumped on the floor of their living room and lost all track of time. Shortly before it became time to get Owlet to the airport, she started making up a song for baby `Ata'allah on the fly. She sang a verse about a cow and handed the next one to me, but I wasn't up to it, so I passed to Abu `Ata'allah. He's a Gilbert & Sullivan baritone, so he kept lurching into patter song, but alternating verses kept us on track. After a while, I joined in, and before we were all helpless with laughter, cannibalism, bisexuality, and murder had decimated cattle and farmers.

We said our goodbyes and Abu `Ata'allah generously gave me a ride back to Monshu's. It was there that I realised that, except for bathroom breaks, I had been joined at the hip to Owlet for more than 24 hours straight. Despite having my mouth open most of that time, I still feel like there's no end to what I want to say to her. Damn!

Comments

[welcomerain.livejournal.com]

Hey, I met you once at Turkish Bakery and you didn't want to eat there!!

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

If I recall, I had finished eating and I wanted to get rolling before the afternoon got too long in the tooth.

But whatever. Wanna go this weekend? I'll check with Monshu, but I think he's got an obnoxious dinner on Friday, so I'm free that night. If you don't care about live music, though, we could go Tuesday or Thursday.

[prilicla.livejournal.com]

If this is a general invitation, I would be interested in going, and I assume lhn would, too. Unfortunately, we can't make any firm plans for the next few weeks, since we may have to go back up to Michigan at any time. But if we're in town and available on whatever date you pick, we'd like to tag along.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

Sure, why not? (Although I'm not sure there'll be enough BEEF there to satisfy lhn.)

Lords, Ladies, Commoners: the Turkish Bakery is located on the east side of Clark St. just north of Bryn Mawr (across from the McDonalds). Last time I went there on a Friday night, there was no problem getting a table, despite the excellent live music. I suggest 7 p.m., to give those working in the Loop time to get up there, but I can be flexible.

welcomerain, if you like, I can stop by your place on the way from work and we can ride the 22 "It'll be here when it gets here" bus down together.