Sasstastic Volume 3: Saturday & Sunday [UPDATED]

Sass and I slept in on Saturday.

This was ok by me. This was good by me, actually, as I am not used to closing down bars anymore, and two nights in a row, with a big party night ahead of us, it was a good thing to sleep in. I also knew that our agenda for the day included a trip to the Hard Rock Cafe, as well as shopping.

I had never been to a Hard Rock Cafe before, despite having worked across the street from the midtown Manhattan HRC, at least, where it used to be. I have, however, been shopping before. I am not a shopper, my friends. I shop the way the Air Cav holds a beachhead. I go in, get what I need, and get the fuck out of there. But I've been shopping before, the conventional way. I'm ok with it, I'm just not a practitioner of that method.

We headed down on the Brown Line to the Red Line to the HRC, and walked to our destination. On the way I spotted an old favorite- the Redhead Piano bar. If there had been more hours in the day, or more days in the weekend, it would definitely be a place I would have suggested.

We walked into the restaurant and sat down. I have seen pictures from the inside of Hard Rocks before, but wasn't really ready for the TV tower in the center of the bar. I, too, was expecting the walls to be covered in memorabilia, and was disappointed to see such a sterile environment. Little did I know that things were going to continue to be disappointing.

I had been briefed by Sass about the quality of food at HRC's, but I wasn't prepared for them to fuck up my favorite sandwich in the world, the French Dip. I ordered it as a safety, as I am apt to do when exploring a new restaurant, and was let down. Whatever cheese they claimed they put on the sandwich, if you could call it cheese, was disgusting. The fries were pretty bland, too. The only thing that really tasted right was the Sam Adams I ordered, which came with a HRC Chicago glass, which I sent home with Sass. After we choked down our food, Sass went for a walk, to check out the displays.

Finally it was time to go. I pulled out my check card to pay our tab. "Oh no," she said, "you shouldn't have to pay for that lunch. I made you come here." I smiled. It was another 10,000 points for Sass- when the girl picks the place, and the food is horrible, offering to pay is a very nice touch. I still wanted to pay, but I knew it was an argument that I wouldn't win.

I sometimes choose my battles well.

We headed over to Michigan Avenue for some shopping, our plan was to go to Victoria's Secret*, and possibly another couple places. It was by some miracle that we found a Border's right next to the VS. We wandered around. Sass is a fan of the bargain bins, as am I, but I was having no luck finding anything I wanted. I went through the stacks as well. It is tough to find a good Sanskrit dictionary, and I recently decided to teach myself Esperanto but had no luck. Border's had two Sanskrit dictionaries, but the print was too small in both, and absolutely no Esperanto books. Sass did much better than I did, finding a really good book of Dali's work, and another book on the way to the checkout that I just can't remember what it was.

We headed over to Victoria's Secret. I will only say two things about my trip there- #1- taking a girl underwear shopping is a fairly sexy and intimate thing to do. #2- I just don't see the value in thong underwear.

Next door to VS was a Filene's Basement, which is an ironic moniker, as it occupied the 4th, 5th, and 6th floors of the building. I had never been on a 4 story escalator ride before, either. Again, I was having bad luck. I couldn't find shirts in the right colors, the jacket I tried on was just a little bit the wrong size, and the belts were all adverts for whoever made them. I finally found something I wanted, needed, and was on sale. I got a couple new bath towels. They are sooooooooooo soft.

We were heading back to the train when I remembered that there was one thing I needed at home. I needed a memory card for my PS2. We popped into the CompUSA, only to find that they were sold out. However, in the bargain bin I found NHL 2005. That purchase was a no-brainer. Sass doesn't like video games, but I figured she'd let this one slide. It was hockey, after all.

After dropping things off at home, and a little beer/champagne purchase, we went to dinner at Resi's, as we arrived there too late on Friday for her to sample the cuisine. We chatted extensively, talking about a great many things. She seemed quite at home with my city, and this was making me happy.

The subject somehow shifted to the party guests we would soon be encountering. I mentioned that I was hoping a certain someone wasn't going to be in attendance this year, as she was last year, and the year before, well, we had a one-nighter. Most embarrassingly, I couldn't remember the girl's name. I finally did remember, but not until after this conversation happened:

"You're Jerry Seinfeld, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not," I tried to defend myself, "I think I'm just blocking it out."

"I see"

"My big problem is that I'll meet someone, think they're incredible, then I'll either get bored, or find some glaring flaw with them that I can't live with." This, in retrospect, was a very Seinfeldian thing to say, of course.

"I can't wait for you to find something wrong with me," Sass challenged. I was more than prepared for this.

"I already know what's wrong with you," I smiled, "my problem with you is that you're 550 miles away**." This is true. Sad, given, but true. I am not known for my positive history in long-distance relationships. This is not a secret, nor, I believe, a shocker.

I began to look at my watch, as it was coming up on 10 o'clock, and I'm a time-obsessed American. Plus, I was anxious to get into my kilt and get to the party. We arrived, as the story goes, and did some mingling, I introduced Sass around to my friends and got us some drinks. At some point in there, someone suggested that I make shots. I mixed up some very good kamikazes, a drink I mastered back in college. Sass, not being a shot person, poured hers down the sink. Sass also doesn't know that I have really good peripheral vision, and saw her do it. I understood why, though.

Round two of shots, as I said, was not successfully completed. They were made, but when attempting to remove the top of the shaker, the condensation on the side sent the whole thing to the floor. As we were mopping up the precious alcohol, in between my apologies, the host told me not to worry, that it was a shitty shaker.

I love alliteration.

I made up another round, slightly stronger than the previous, to make up for my faux pas. At some point, there were pictures taken, as two of my friends, who almost never wear skirts, were wearing skirts. I made sure that I got in on that one, as my kilt was a popular item at the party. My friends are big fans of the underwear check, too.

There was dancing, drinking, and cavorting until all hours. The hostess, my friend, owns a vintage clothing store, and Sass is a big fan of vintage clothing. I arranged for a tour of the hostess's personal collection, which is housed in their extra bedrooms, amounting to about the same square footage of my bedroom, living room, and dining room combined.

Finally, Sass and I made the walk back to my apartment. We had planned ahead and set the alarm so we'd have time to take a shower and maybe even grab breakfast before we had to go to the airport. You know what they say about the best laid plans.

Sass was nice enough to let me catch some extra shuteye while she got ready, but sometimes that can be a bad idea. I did some madcap driving to get us to the airport, and all was well. Except that that wasn't how I wanted to spend our last morning together for an as yet undetermined amount of time. Schedules and passports are getting in the way. For now.

At least I can say we'll always have Resi's.

*This site is being blocked by Websence at work. Kinda weird- it is, after all, only underwear.

** I just GoogleEarth'ed the directions. It is, according to their directions, exactly 550 miles from my house to Sass'. Pretty cool, huh?