Last week I went to Chicago, my home away from home. I went to school there and I have many friends who are in the city or have recently decided to move to the city because of work.

Let me just say that I Looovvve Chicago in the summer. You can have it in the winter.

My first day as I dragged my suitcase off the Red line and cursed myself for being cheap and taking a train as I had to haul my luggage up endless flights of stairs because the escalator was out, (as usual), I decided that Chicago of old when train ride was 1.50 and Blue line Damon stop was my go to destination, that Chicago was gone. Increased fares, property values, and sales taxes was what I thought of as I made my way to my hotel.

I literally put my suitcase in the room, changed my shoes, grabbed my purse and ipod and flounced off to see Chicago of new.

The Ipod was on shuffle mode and as I opened the lobby doors onto Grand Avenue the heat, the smell and the wind of Chicago hit me at the same time as the first cords of George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord". I am not religious, but music can be powerful and I almost cried with joy- almost, I didn't actually do it- as I walked on Michigan Avenue, a place I knew very well, as I used to work part time as a babysitter at most of the hotels back in the late 1990s. How people put me in charge of their kids, I will never know. Ever.

The city was sunny, it was bright and it was Glorious!



It's a strange feeling, being back in a place that has made you a person you are, and I believe that I did most of my growing up in Chicago. It's both nostalgic and yet not sentimental because I still remember the bad things as well as the good things that happened there.

I walked everywhere my feet would take me which wasn't very far as my eyes refused to follow them past the AIC museum.

For the entire week I was in Chicago, I went to the museum at least five times. Sometimes twice in the day. I practically lived there.

I dreamed...



I drank.....



I danced....



The security guards on both ends of the museum recognized me on sight and let me through without even checking my tickets by the end of the trip. I never went to the museum this often when I lived here, but in my defense, when I lived in Chicago, the Grant park was under construction and it was bloody cold on the lake front. I went home for the summers, so I never saw the beauty of the city as it thawed out.

When my feet would get too tired I'd cool them in the newly finished Grant park water stream. I would wear out my feet walking around in high heels for days, and I didn't care! I refused to wear flip flops no matter what! ( I know the red shoes look like they are flats, but they aren't, it's a hidden heel)



I especially loved the free concerts coming from the other end of the Park. Sometimes I really liked the music, and sometimes I turned my ipod on and listened to Nina Simone.

When I wasn't hanging out at the park, I was hounding my friends.

My first stop was dinner with my old roomy Kenny Gee.

We decided to go to have dinner at the Russian Tea House. Mistake number one.



Okay, so they didn't say that, they just closed the kitchen at 8:25 pm on a Thursday night. No wait, the manager said and I quote "we normally close at 9, but I have decided to close at 8:30." I bet you, if I was a large Russian man with a suit and gold chain and gold cross strapped to my neck, they would have opened the kitchen. Idiots. You can take a Russian out of Russia, but he will always stay Soviet.

My next trip the next day was to my old Tango professor, who really taught me tango. He owns a music store on Michigan Avenue, next to the Symphony and has been there was decades.



Poor man, he was in his seventies when he danced with me and now turning 80, he was just as pleasant and quick on his feet. He is the only man who has ever told me to loose weight, (for dance purposes) and has lived to tell the tale. Unfortunately for him I am still as much of a fatty klutz when it comes to dance as I was ten years ago, but he still danced with me. The man is also hell bent on living till he is 150. I am much more modest- I am aiming for 120. Unlike me though, he has an actual plan to achieve this goal. My plan is to eat whatever I want , whenever I want.

And I did so, at Lucia's restaurant- THEEE Best Italian food in Chicago.



Food is sooo good, it ruins me for all the other Italian restaurants in the city, and it kills my waist line. The owners, Lucy and Dominic and the intrepid daughter Lia, were the first and only people to employ me in a waitstaff position. What can I say, the Sicilian Chicagoans were my family away from family. With better food.

Mistake number two was taking a taxi for a short distance travel.



I was late to dinner with my friends at Avec (the other very very very good restaurant in Chicago) and it was starting to rain, so I jumped into a taxi cab where I met my first Lady taxi driver and also the first driver who tried to scam me on the cab fare in Chicago ( I say nothing of Washington DC, cause they take the slogan Yes We can to mean Yes we can scam our passengers).

My Nigerian ( I asked her where she was from after she took me on a merry go around the city blocks passing Avec twice) taxi driver, smiled as she pulled up and said - $ 10.00 please.

Now the cab ride was $5.50 in real life and I knew this because I had taken a cab there before.

Little did the Nigerian lady know she was driving a Megreli passenger. (I am half Megreli half Guruli, and while Guruli people are supposed to be slightly insane (most of them become artists, or politicians), the Megreli people are known to be just as slippery and tricky as Chinese merchants in California)) Have I left anyone out, or have I offended enough stereotypes?

In any case the taxi driver was very surprised, as I produced six dollars and told her that was all I had.

She tried to say something like 'what will I tell my boss?' and 'now I have to pay it out of my pocket' but I just shrugged my shoulders and pointed out that it wasn't my fault she passed my place of destination without stopping twice. I even pointed out that Some would say, that her actions constituted kidnapping.



That got her attention and we parted our ways. Next time lady cab driver, ask where your passenger is from before you decided to mess with them.

By the way, if you are in Chicago and you can afford it, besides going to Lucia's go to Avec. Very different and very delicious food.

Finally the day I had flown to Chicago for had come. It was finally time for my friends Igor and Parita to get married. I never like weddings, my own will be in a court house and my money will be blown on a vacation to Greece- I hear they are going belly up so maybe I'll even buy an island while I'm there. This wedding though I was willing to attend.

I was ready. I had gotten my hair did on Oak street (I feel pretty oh so pretty).



I had gotten my dancing shoes on and my happy smile glued to my face and I had bribed my friend Kayte with food, to be my date for the wedding.

It was a half and half wedding, half Indian, half Jewish.

Or I should more accurately say 80 percent indian



Thank all Shivas for letting there be seating through this ceremony, because if I had to stand for three hours I would have killed someone. The Hindu ceremony is like a Georgian supra toasting- everyone gets toasted and blessed, even your future cat's kittens. The wedding ceremony itself was beautiful with dark red and gold colors and the groom all dressed up in white like a bride at a Jewish ceremony which came and went in 15 minutes.



The bride looked so pretty I thought I would cry- thankfully I thought wrong. When they were pronounced husband and wife I was clapping madly for them, but all I could think was Thank you GOD, for letting this costume change and language dance be over. Now we could get to real stuff- the food.

We were seated as I was told by the groom, at a fun table number 14. The Groom lied.



Things went wrong form the start.

The Russian couple on my right sat down with such grim faces you'd think we were at a funeral not a wedding.



They waited for everyone to sit down at table 14, looked us over and then got up without a word and left for table 12.

Table 14 was confused and slightly offended, as was I. That was rude by even Russian standards. At least say something like, I think we got the wrong table, or If you don't mind my wife and I want to sit with our Russian friends. Something!

Well, we let it go- made some jokes and ate our food.

Now the couple to the left of me, the man said he was from Odessa, so I asked him very politely what Ukranian weddings were like.



He looked at me like I had just spit on his grandmothers grave and growled 'I would not know.' No explanation was given to such sudden indignation, and all I could offer was stunned silence. Well I didn't want to start a fight at a wedding.



Table 14 was confused, my friend Kayte was confused. Finally the man's wife politely nudged him and when he refused to explain himself and his behavior, she whispered - He is Russian, not Ukrainian.

Pardon my horrible faux pas, Russian dude. How could I possibly have offended you by suggesting you might be of Ukrainian descent?

Table 14 is now infamous for scarring off Russian guests. We are just not sure of how we did this.



The Georgian government should smuggle me into Abkhazia. One or maybe two weddings later not one Russian will be left in the region. I'd piss them off without even meaning to and they would piss off on their own accord.

I wasn't gong to let these strangers ruin my fun time, and so I left the Infamous table 14, Kayte still putting away plates of yummy Indian food, and made my way to the dance floor.



Hmm (hallelujah)
My sweet lord (hallelujah)
My, my, lord (hallelujah)

Hm, my lord (hare krishna)
My, my, my lord (hare krishna)
Oh hm, my sweet lord (krishna, krishna)
Oh-uuh-uh (hare hare)

Now, I really want to see you (hare rama)
Really want to be with you (hare rama)
Really want to see you lord (aaah)
But it takes so long, my lord (hallelujah)

George Harrison....My Sweet Lord..