Youth is Wasted on the Young: Or the Older Folks that Have More Stamina Than Me

It was another long day out at the client hospital in suburban Chicago. You see, I travel four days a week and work, along with a team of 8-10 other consultants, at our client's hospital. Folks were stressed, tensions running high, but it was Wednesday, the second-to-last weekday (for us), and by the afternoon all thoughts turned to our favorite Wednesday pastime: TEAM DINNER.

Once a week our managing director takes the whole gang out to some swanky Chicago hotspot for a nice meal, a small compensation for being away from family and friends most of the week. If it's on the menu, we pretty much order it. Appetizers, salads, entrees, dessert. And don't forget the wine. Lots and lots of really good wine.

This particular week it was my turn to the pick the restaurant, and I chose a favorite of mine and my grandma (also a Chi-town resident): The Chicago Firehouse. I highly recommend it. What began as an early dinner (about 5:30pm) quickly became a marathon meal, wrapping up about 10:00pm, after my teammates became sufficiently soused.

You see, aside from me and another girl in her 20s, everyone on the team is aged 40+. I, being the lucky girl I am, had a freak allergic reaction to something in the air or in the food (still a mystery), and my eyes swelled to the size of golf balls (I put on my sunglasses since we were seated outside, and no one seemed to notice except when I attempted to scratch my eyeballs out). So why did I hang out? Well, the networking opportunities are endless, and if you're known as "that girl that bailed out early on dinner," your career just might never recover. So I sat, miserable and itchy.

As we left the restaurant, the ringleader, a director in his mid-60s (with 5 grandkids, I might add), announces that we're all going drinking. S (the other girl in her 20s) and I tried to make a mad dash for the rental car, but the director called after us, indicating the activity was not optional. S looked at me and pleaded to go back to the hotel to pack and get to bed, which was exactly where I wanted to go, exhausted and itchy as I was. We were met with taunts and jeers from the other team members (bear in mind, all grown-ass adults themselves) who called us "weak" and "no fun" as they jumped around on the sidewalk, yelling and carrying on for all of downtown Chicago to witness. Well it was clear what had to be done: S and I were going drinking with the bully consultants, swollen eyelids or not.

Thankfully, my coworkers relented long enough to let me make a mad dash for Walgreens to buy some benadryl to decrease my Quasimodo-like swelling. Then they took me to the bar and insisted on shots and beer (bastards), knowing full well I had just taken some medication. Peer pressure is a bitch. I can't believe I was being bullied by people with their own spouses, children (and some with grandchildren!) I can't tell you how many times I heard "Come on, Ari, don't be a pussy!" that night.

Final verdict: It was a good night. Didn't spend a dime, got drunk enough to forget about my itchy eyes, networked with some great contacts to further my career, and just enjoyed myself with some folks I happen to like very much.

But, seriously, why do people twice my age have twice my energy?

Hair, Steak and Houseparty: Or the Best Weekend in a While

J, Ari, D and P at Mortons Georgetown (aren't they all hot?)

It was Friday, and I was tired. I didn't really want to go out that night, but S the intern reminded me that I had promised to hang out all summer and had yet to follow through. I relented, and by midnight we were on our way to Dream. Her sketchy connection C got us in for free just in time to see 112 perform, and then on to the VIP section where I met Slim. After four apple martinis, though, I don't remember what all I said to him. But that's not the story at hand...

Saturday morning I felt a bit icky, but P, my roommate's coworker and friend, came over to do my hair. He comes to my apartment to do it and charges me less than a salon (rave!) and does a fabulous job. Tell me if you want his number. He does my hair free every time I get him a new client. While chatting, we decided to try Mortons for dinner since he and roommate D are servers there and get a 50% discount. I invited my hot girl friend J, and off we went. At dinner, we were comped a bunch of side dishes and dessert, and it was only $100 for all four of us to eat (rave!)!

After that, we hit up a houseparty in Capitol Hill. The crowd was just OK, but there were plenty of jello shots to be had, so that kept us busy. Later on, our foursome hopped into a cab driven by a Sudanese dude (actually half Sudanese, half Irish, he explained, saying he was "all Irish" from the waist down. GROSS!). Roomie D suggested we take a detour to a strip club...and then...well, what did happen after that? Maybe I'll remember next time...

...But to recap: Good hair, good food, good fun? All in a day? These things ONLY happen to me... :)

Holy Crap: Or How Capitalism Raped Christianity

In J's words, "I mean, I am a baller." So it was no big deal to switch my plans at the last minute and fly to Orlando for the 4th of July weekend to visit two of my favorite Gtown grads. We'll call them J-Squared.

Besides an awesome shopping spree at the outlet mall and a day of rides at Universal Studios, our happy threesome stumbled upon another interesting attraction just off of I-4: The Holy Land Experience. I'm telling you, had I not been there, no way we would have stumbled across an attraction so ridiculous.

Oh, yes. It IS what you think it is. The Holy Land Experience is a theme park/amusement/attraction designed to transport the 21st century visitor to The Holy Land. Israel. Jerusalem, to be specific. Nevermind the fact that you're not in an actual desert locale in the Middle East. You're in the middle of muggy, touristy, Disney-esque Orlando, right smack in the middle of the Red State/Bible Belt.

My mouth gaped wide open as we drove past. The Holy Land Experience? Are you kidding? My God, whose brainchild was this? And what venture capitalist agreed to finance such an undertaking? A huge replica of the Holy Temple blocked my view of the rest of the park, so my mind began to wander and imagine the types of attractions held within:

• Test your agility in the "Dodge a Suicide Bomber" room! Avoid cafes, markets and public squares! Those bombers are tricky, and those who avoid getting blood and guts on their clothes WIN!
• Sing along to the crucifixion! Dress up as an actual Roman guard and pose with the Savior!
• Amaze your family as our holy magicians teach you to change water into wine! Great party tricks for all!
• Challenge your friends to play peace broker b/t those feisty Israelis and Palestinians! Ceasefires and treaties get you bonus points, and the highest score wins!
  
  All this and more at the Holy Land Experience!

Ok, so I'm bordering on sacrilege, but I'm trying to make a point. Christian or not, I hope most people were as appalled at this eyesore as I was. What's worse is that the park attempted to gain property tax exemption, a distinction reserved for venues such as places of worship. I feel violently ill just thinking about it. Capitalist pigs.

Riches, Rent and the Real World: Or Why Being a GrownUp Sucks

That's it. Somebody build me a flipping time machine. I'm going back to the 80's and my blessed, blessed childhood innocence. I've been nostalgic for my youth (relative youth, I'm still in my early 20's) since college graduation, but a little incident recently made me long for the old days:

I called my mom for our usual weekly chit chat session. She reminded me that she, my dad and little brother would be out of town from June 27 to July 4, and that I should call grandma in the event of an emergency. I completely blanked. "What? Where are you going?" I asked, utterly confused.

"Ari, you really should pay more attention," said Mom. "I told you about this months ago. The family is going on an Alaskan cruise." What? I hadn't even packed yet! Family vacation? Alright! But wait, I didn't request off from work...and suddenly it hit me. I was not going on this family vacation. Mom clearly said "the family." But apparently she didn't mean me this time.

"Why aren't you taking me?!?!?" I whined. I want to go on a cruise!

And my mom said (and these are her words), "Excuse me, but didn't you just come back from Greece less than a month ago? And San Diego? And L.A.? (I still assert the last two don't count, they were work-related, well sort of...) You're a rich bitch now, and I don't finance your vacations, and that is all there is to say about that."

"I hope you run into a bunch of lesbian whale-watchers. Lesbians love whale-watching!" I said spitefully to my semi-conservative mom. I was mad. I was no longer entitled to the perks of being a minor and a member of my family. No more free vacations, no more free health insurance (not to mention a personal assistant to make those doctor's appointments for me, aka MOM), no more free food, no more free shopping trips, basically no more FREE stuff. Period.

When I get sick, who will make me chicken soup and watch TV with me? Certainly not my roommate. When I can't make up my mind, who will make the decision for me? Not a boyfriend, heavens, no. When I get dumped, who will tell me it's his loss and I'm the sexiest thing to ever walk God's green earth? Luckily, my mom, dad, grandma and friends all tell me this lie on a regular basis, so I'm safe.

But despite being a bright, educated, hard-working yuppie, I miss the days when no one expected anything in particular from me. I miss describing my occupation as KID, job description: playing games, watching cartoons, discovering the world (within a two-block radius, that is), and just generally annoying the bigger people around me, but in a cute/lovable way.

Now what have I got? Bills, bills, and bosses. Somebody always wanting something, expecting something, demanding something. Ari, you have to finish this today, Ari, you have to go to [insert chic new club here] on Saturday, Ari, you have to make out with [insert hot boy here] tonight, or else! Or else what? I don't have to anything but be me and die doing it.

Ugh, I'm just so tired! Tired, tired all the time...between work, happy hours, shopping, clubbing, traveling, talking, bonding, kissing, smiling, hugging and just loving life, my calendar is full!

I should just move back in with my parents. They'd accept me, just as I am. They'd feed me, take care of me...charge me rent. Make me do some chores. Ask a lot of questions about who I'm going out with, where and when. Grill me about lifestyle choices and chide me for the bad ones...

...WHAT THE HELL AM I TALKING ABOUT? There's clearly a cocktail with my name on it and a boy waiting to be smooched and to be lured to my apartment...just forget all that other shit I just said. Ciao!