What Happens In Chicago Is Going To For Sure End Up On My Blog …


Mavrick and I have only been together for a month, but I somehow managed to use my mindbling powers to get him to agree to fly into Chicago and spend the weekend with me. Even though he had to be back in Pittsburgh at 11 a.m. on Sunday to work his own trade show. Meaning that he would have to fly out of Chicago at 6:30 in the morning. After spending Halloween night out drinking with me. HAHAHAHAHA. Sucker.

Mavrick tried to talk me into switching my 2:30 p.m. flight to his flight so we could fly out together. I, of course, laughed in his face. There is no way this lush is getting up to catch a flight that early. This would be a decision I would come to regret. Like, a lot. (Spoiler alert: UNITED AIRLINES IS THE DEVIL)

I will acknowledge my inner girlie girl and admit that I missed Mavrick. A lot. Yes, we have only been dating for a month, but we have spent a shit-ton of time together, and he has managed to get under my skin, and I was none to happy about being away from him for five days. By the time Friday hit, I was practically vibrating with anticipation at seeing him.

And this explains why we went to Boystown, drank too much, and attempted to steal a rickshaw together. It’s sort of a long and complicated story, and to be honest, parts of it are fuzzy to me, but from what I can piece together, we walked past a Zip car stand, and in our drunken state decided we should take a Zip car to go somewhere else (where? I’m not sure. Perhaps Peoria), but we were cognizant enough to know that we should not be driving. So we go into what would end up being our last bar of the night. In that bar was a drunken rickshaw driver.


This drunken rickshaw driver, who’s name I either didn’t know or have forgotten, was a total drunken asshole. And it takes a lot for me to call someone that. First he tried groping Mavrick. Then he tried to grab my boobs. Then he asked Mavrick if he was allowed to make out with me. Then I looked at Mavrick and said, “Honey, we are stealing his rickshaw and driving to Peoria.”

Here is one of the key reasons I adore Mavrick. Rather than tell me that this was a Bad Idea, rather than talk me out of it, or point out that stealing a rickshaw was against the law, Mavrick says, “Ok! I will distract him. Text me when you’re around the corner.”

So off I go. Now, I don’t know if you are familiar with rickshaws, but they are basically oversized bicycles that pull a cart made for two. And since it was Halloween, this particular rickshaw had a big ol’ Zombie on the back. And was parked right in front of the bar I was attempting to steal it from. As you can imagine, this didn’t end well.

Mavrick was valiantly distracting the driver. I was almost home free. I had moved it a grand total of two inches when a gay ninja came out of the shadows.

Gay Ninja: “Whaaaaaaat in Lord’s name do you think you are doing?”

Me: “I couldn’t get a Zip car. It’s okay. I’ma allowed to take this.”

GN: “No. You aren’t. That is my boyfriend’s, What’s His Name’s rickshaw driver, and he left me here with the express purpose of guarding it. And you are SO not allowed to take it.”

Me: “Really, Mr. Ninja? Because I am a 100% sure that your boyfriend is in there right now trying to get with my boyfriend, and this is after he tried to jam his tongue down my throat and grab my boobs, and also, side note, he left you outside to guard his rickshaw while he went into a bar to drink and have fun, so maybe you need to rethink this relationship, and by the way, do you know the way to Peoria?”

And Gay Ninja was all “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiya!” and was coming after me like a spider monkey, so I ran into the bar, yelling “Abort! Abort!”, and Mavrick and I decided to just take a cab back to the hotel and call it a night.

Saturday morning, me and Mavrick wake up and decide to order breakfast via room service. I make Mavrick call, and since the room was in my name, they keep calling him Mr. Mindbling. “Okay, Mr. Mindbling, we will be right up with your order!”, and then when they got there, “Mr. Mindbling, when you are done, please leave your tray in the hallway.” The less Mavrick was amused by this, the more it made me laugh. I am sort of a bitch in that respect.

Saturday night we were going out with Boom Boom and her Hubby. We had dinner reservations for 7 at Sushi Samba, and I was looking forward to a nice evening out. Sushi Samba is a Latin/Asian fusion joint, and had this drink called a Caipirinha, which is, apparently, a total ass-kicker.


Mavrick wanted to order this drink. Hubby cautioned him against it, citing several blackout nights that forced him to order the bartender to never, ever, no matter what the circumstances, let him order it ever again. Mavrick scoffed at this, and proceeded, in short order, to fire back three of them. Bad idea.

He then followed his three hell-drinks up with a few rounds of Jack and Diets. I was about to spend the rest of the night babysitting my 6 foot 2, 200 pound boyfriend. Not an easy task when you are 5 foot 3 and *coughcoughcough* pounds.

Boom Boom and Hubby went home after dinner. I had to chase Mavrick to Angels and Kings. On the way, he sang to a homeless person and demanded a martini. We get to the bar, I order us two drinks, and head to the ladies room. On my way back, I can see Mavrick. At the bar. Dancing his little heart out. No one else was dancing. Just him. Somewhat conspicuously. I walk up to him. He stops dancing and hangs his head like a small child.

“I spilled your drink. Well, what really happened was that my straw hit your straw, and your drink fell over.”

Ummmhmmm. My $8 drink was now bar slosh. Ok. He has had to deal with my drunken ass, so I bite the bullet and take care of his. I had no idea Mavrick was so fond of dancing. It was one of those nights where EVERY SONG WAS HIS FAVORITE SONG!

We stopped at McDonald’s, where he proceeded to admire the architecture, order two cheeseburgers, and, I shit you not, SKIP out of there singing, “I want to WALK AND EAT!”

I manage to gather him up, drag him back to our place, get minor scrapes on my face as he attempted to romantically force-feed me baked Ruffles, change his clothes, get him into bed, wake him up at 4:30 a.m., get him into a cab and onto his flight, and fall back asleep, not knowing what I was about to face:

United Airlines is the Devil and I Will Spend the Rest of my Days Trying to Bring Them Down.

 Keep reading, peeps. I’m about to get real angry. Nobody likes me when I’m angry. I’m like the Hulk of pissed off blog posts.

Till then,

Xoxo, mindbling



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3 responses to “What Happens In Chicago Is Going To For Sure End Up On My Blog …

  1. Now THAT’S how you party it up! But a good rule of thumb is to beware of green drinks.

    BYW, I found your site of of Erin-Patricia and I like it. I’ll be back.

  2. sunshine

    I’m sure you could’ve taken that ninja! The bastard…ruining your devious plan. You two are hilarious!

  3. Hilarious! It’s always a ninja that spoils the fun. Sneaky bastards!

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