My Weblog

Weddings.....Part 1

“God Save the Queen”

Well Ladies and Gentlemen…

I’m back after a nice holiday in the UK, which was a most enjoyable time.  Hopefully you lot didn’t miss me too much…but relax; I’m back with another install of my mis-adventures.  I traveled to the UK because a good friend of mine was getting married. I had a wonderful time; it was good catching up with friends, drinking and laughing the night away.  This brings me to this week subject matter - Weddings.

I’ve been to enough weddings this year that I lost count a while ago. No, I am not a wedding crasher; these are people I actually know.  I may not particularly like all of them, but I do know them. Weddings lead to the unavoidable questions one asks oneself: When is so and so’s engagement date? Did you forget to put the check in the card? Why are we going to a wedding on a Sunday? Whose wedding is this again?  Oh shit, did I sleep with that girl at a wedding last year?

My good friends, I would like to take a moment to explain the basic process of how I get sucked into attending all these weddings. You come home after a long day of work and Oh look, a wedding invitation. Of course you’re somewhat excited and you open it on the spot, not bothering to wait till you actually get into your home/condo, because you’re hoping that while you take the elevator back up to your condo someone might ask about this monstrosity of an invitation in your hand and that will give you some excuse to go into a tirade about Indian weddings for the 37 seconds you have in the elevator together.  See, some of you folks may not know this, but when Indians get married the invitation that you get is very elaborate and huge. I mean sometimes it comes in a scroll, a tablet, a wooden box, but one thing is for sure my friends; there will ALWAYS be fucking glitter in that package; stuck on the card, the invitation and then of course inevitably it will get stuck on you.

Alright great, so “Raju” and “Shilpa” are getting married in 6 months time and they need you to RSVP, so what do you do?  You put it on the coffee table and tell yourself that you’ll reply back later.  Fast forward 5 months and “Shilpa” (because you know your boy “Raju” won’t do that shit) is yelling at you for not RSVPing to their wedding. Hell, they even put in a self address envelope because they knew you were a lazy fuck and would probably use that as an excuse as to why you didn’t send in a reply.  Here we are months later and they are out the 42 cents for the stamp and you’re stuck sitting at a table with some weird strangers, all because you couldn’t check mark a box and send it back in a timely manner.

It’s almost all the same characters that are at the functions....

Character One: The Auntie. (Indians call everyone else’s parents Aunties and Uncles, unless of course you happen to be white, then we’ll just call them Bob and Marie) There is always an Auntie with botched up makeup and that perfume that all aunties put on. You know what I’m talking about, smells kind of like jasmine or teak; oh wait its called Nivea Cream.  This lady is a nice and kind person, but man she won’t shut the fuck up about why you haven’t got married yet and haven’t settled down with a nice girl. My answer to this question that I always WANT to say is: “Auntie, I usually settle down with a nice girl at night, but somehow she always leaves in the morning.” Alas, I usually hold my tongue.  She’ll inform me that she knows a nice girl for me and that it would be a great match. Yeah bitch, that’s really who I want to meet; some girl who I don’t know from some auntie I barely know,  hmmm you think there’s a chance she’ll look like a sasquatch? Cause that would just make my day…

Character Two is kind of a combination who I lovingly like to call: “The Drunk Uncle”.  This guy also has the dubious honor of being your dad’s old buddy for the last 30+ yrs.  Avoid him at all cost.  See, what he’ll do is corner you (usually near the bar) and go on and on about the shit he and your dad would do in the 70’s when they first came to America.  How they discovered what a washer and dryer were for, how in 1977 he and my father were on the bus and he farted but blamed my father, when they first came to this country gas was 55 cents a gallon; blah blah blah blah.  In addition, he’s pounding down the scotches like this the last night that alcohol will be served EVER, isn’t helping anyone out.  Later on in the evening he transforms from “The Drunk Uncle” to “The Dancing Machine” and oh man does he just get down, but just in all the wrongs ways.  Regardless, everyone has fun with him on the dance floor.  Especially that one friend that you have, who watches way too many Indian movies and then starts dancing like he’s in an Indian movie. A round of applause for Bollywood.

Our final character is someone I call “Nowhere Girl” (or guy for the ladies). Who is this lady you ask?  This is that same girl you run into at a lot of weddings and you get really flirty with her but in the end it just goes nowhere. I mean you’re drinking, you’re dancing, you get a little close, but the only reason you guys are hanging out is because it’s a wedding.  You always say you guys should do something that week, but it just never pans out and then you’ll probably end up seeing her again at another wedding, until the two of you get fed up with this game and then it becomes awkward. Then you two end up not talking much at all.  In the end, she just becomes someone you give a passing “hi” to at the reception.

This topic is big so I’ll be splitting this into two parts, the second part will continue next week.

Sincerely

Mr. I.P. Freely, K.C.V.O. 

Internet Dating...

“God Save the Queen”

Welcome back Ladies and Gentleman…

Thank you for stopping by to spend a few moments with me, Mr. I.P. Freely. It is always a pleasure to hear from you fine folks. 

I was having drinks with a couple of lady friends this week and the topic of conversation turned to ‘Internet Dating’.  I believe I have mentioned in my previous entries that I’ve been going on a lot of first dates. Some of these dates have in fact been through the exploration of this new, exciting and inherently dangerous activity that is Internet dating. As this is a subject that many singles in our time have tried or at least thought about, I thought this would be an interesting topic to expand upon…

One day some years back I had been drinking (yes I know it seems I just haven’t stopped, that is probably because I haven’t) with a different set of female friends, who were mildly complaining about not meeting the “right” guys.  They were going on and on about not meeting anyone “nice and smart, someone who was compassionate”. Hmm…here’s a hint…places not to look for these guys would be; dive bars and night clubs, but I guess they didn’t get that memo.  So, being a gentleman, I said to them in my drunken stupor that I would be posting an ad for the two of them on Craigslist, and I would screen the emails and forward the rest to them.  They laughed it off and told me not to do it…not believing that I, Mr. I P. Freely, would do such a thing.

The very next day, of course I put an ad on Craigslist for them. Now mind you, these are two nice looking ladies, so I had to put a picture up as well.  Holy shit…the response I got from the ads was overwhelming. In a matter of 30 minutes these two ladies EACH got 70+ responses. Some were nice guys, but a majority of them were freaks who had no shame.  Now, its bad enough that I have my email spammed with messages about enlarging my penis, but a majority of these idiots actually thought women would dig them more if the first message they sent over should include a picture of their man-schlong…

You know what buddy, yeah you’re right, life is like one big porno movie and the moment my friend checks out your Python, she’s going to be all “Yes I’ll take that one!” I decided to email one of the perverts back and ask him what his success rate was with this strategy of circulating his family jewels on the internet, was it 1 in 10, 1 in 100 etc…I mean what does he tell his friends? “Dude I emailed this chick a pic of my man meat and she was totally hot for me.”

Did I forget to mention that I didn’t tell my lady friends I had actually done the post until after I had forwarded on the first flood of emails to them?  Side note: Never incur the wrath of your female friends by posting pictures of them in an ad on the internet unless you want to risk the possibility they might try and cut some part of your anatomy off.  Needless to say, I prefer my friends alive and breathing so some of the freaks that emailed them made me rethink the whole thing.  But come on, it was fucking funny.  At least they laugh with me now about it. I, however, was always amused.

Moving on…

For Jews they have Jdate.com.  I once knew an associate of mine that was a member of a particular royal family in the Middle East.  He put a profile (not his own of course) on Jdate with the headline “Want to sleep with the enemy?”  Surprisingly he got quite a few enquiries...we live in a strange world.

Indians have shaadi.com. Come on white people, you can say it …Sha-d. And no asshole, it’s not pronounced shady. This dating site has a huge database of people…hmm could be because all Indian parents are trying to marry their Indian princess daughters off to suitable Indian men. I only know one of my friends that have gotten married off this site, and so far so good for them.  On the other hand, I know a plethora of other people on there that haven’t found anyone suitable.  For some of the guys, their email gets flooded with proposal’s directly from India with girls named “Prachi” and “Amrita” who come in a standard package; “5’ 3’, fair skinned, hindu/sikh/christian, B.A., MS, looking to settle with likeminded individual”. What they forgot to include was “has a little bit of peach fuzz, is awkward in social situations, and has a tendency to perspire when eating ice cream”.

Alas, in the interest of something to do (and the fact that my buzz was wearing down) I decided to try out a particular website, which shall not be disclosed, to see if anything would happen.  I filled out the profile section, put some pictures up, explained why I’m doing this, what I was looking for, answered some questions, wrote a 13 page essay on J.G. Wentworth, sat through the MCAT’s, gave them my social security number, sent in a self addressed envelope, got breast milk from a Cambodian woman, AND gave some Nigerian my bank routing number!!  I mean what the Fuck!! They make it easier to donate sperm than to apply to these fucking dating websites. It felt like it took forever to set the damn thing up, I was almost ready to move on.

The next day I get an email from “Deepali'…

To make a long story short; it turned out that she was a he…

Or you can do the classic thing and hook up at a bar

By way of example: on a night you meet someone in a bar, yes, you get to see her up close, but you soon realize she is completely full of shit. She keeps talking to you and you can’t help but wonder if even her name is real. Oh shit, you forgot her name already. But at least she’s hot, or is she? Crap, how much have you had to drink? You then turn to your wingman to ask what the girl you are talking to actually looks like, but that bastard is even more drunk than you and is already sucking face with some she-beast that will not be named. You know what happens in the rest of this scenario; you wake up the next morning, grab your clothes and pray the floor doesn’t creak. It is this first moment of clarity that you are able to take a good look at her face and you have reached that moment of judgment; do you drop your clothes, go to the bathroom (pretending that was your plan all along) and go back to bed, do you leave your number or do you haul ass out of there. 

Internet dating has its advantages as well. For instance: you set up a meeting after talking to this person on email for days.  You arrive at the meeting spot and dammit, she is not at ALL what you thought she would look like (anyone who says looks don’t matter, you are either full of bullshit, blind, or ugly as fuck too). You simply turn around make a phone call and go meet your friends for a drink…across town.

Sincerely,

Mr. I.P. Freely, K.C.V.O

P.S. – I’ll be heading back home to England for the long holiday, so look for the next entry the following week.

Crazy Lady I met at a bar

“God Save the Queen”

Hello folks welcome back; I hope things are well with you.  It’s been quite the interesting week...

I would like to start off by saying "Thank You" to everyone for all the generous compliments that you have given me. I will try my best to continue writing in the style that I feel will make my weekly writing appealing to all.

So, recently I’ve been going on a lot of first dates and I’m not talking about the skanks that most of you see me around with.  I’m talking about women who I’d like to see more than just for that evening, women that I like to call “potential”.  To my surprise, it turns out that I’ve attracted a bunch of potentially crazy women who have the lights on at home, but clearly no one is there.  So let’s start with my brilliant idea of thinking I could turn one of my friends with benefits into something more than just a friend who benefited me.  Let’s call her “Shawanda”, yes yes I know what you’re thinking folks, and the answer is your right she is black, come on now, I don’t make the stereotypes I just call them.  So “Shawanda” works at one of the high end clothing stores in the Downtown area, so despite the name I have chosen for her, she was not some hood rat, but a rather beautiful, and I thought at the time put together, young lady.  I met “Shawanda” several months back at one of the many watering holes along Rush Street.  For those unfamiliar with Rush Street there are many characters to this particular area of Chicago; all with their own unique traits, more of which I’ll get into at a later date.

The night I met her, in the wee hours of a Wednesday night, I was plastered. Yeah... surprise, surprise Mr. Freely was loaded to the gills and on the prowl. I was sitting at the bar, talking to my friend the bartender, who should have been cutting me off, but is pouring me quite the generous portion of a finely crafted 15 yr old scotch because he’s a friend and that’s what friends do... give them more booze even though they don’t need it. All of a sudden chance would happen that two ladies come and sit across the bar from me, one being “Shawanda” and other some cow who just came in from the pasture.  Standard operating procedure would have been to call to arms my wingman and proceed forward to the battle, but alas I had ditched him some time back in lieu of having one more drink.  I immediately began strategizing on how to side step Jabba the Hut and proceed to Princess Leia, but a quick look around the bar showed me no Jedi’s for hire.  Instead, I proceeded with a trick I learned while hunting in Kenya with the Masai.  I slyly approached Sea Biscuit and tapped her on the left shoulder, while she was moving her 2 necks, I sidled my way in-between the beast and “Shawanda”, thereby cutting her off from her friend whom I’ll call “The Cock Blocker”. 

While I wish I could say this trick worked...

It did not; as soon as Moon Pie figured out what I was doing she grabbed me with her stubby man hands and pushed me back away from “Shawanda”.  Dejected I walked back to my seat at the bar and drank; although I was given a small round of applause from the staff I felt that I had let everyone down.  In the meantime Big Mama was putting up a protective guard near “Shawanda”, the way she was guarding her you would have thought I was trying to steal some fried chicken from her or something.

Well, I guess the pity party I threw for myself worked, because no sooner had I sat down did “Shawanda” come over and introduce herself.  To give a description of this girl, well you all know what Haley Barry looks like right; well this girl looked nothing like her.  She looked more like the one of the twins from that show “Sister, Sister” with the two black girls who were twins, well she looked more like the cute one (yes I know they are identical twins, but one was definitely cuter than the other).  So we got to talking for a while, heck she even bought me a drink, but I think she only bought me that drink because I had  put up with her friend “Shrek”.  “Shawanda” definitely was a talker, I just mostly listened... yadda yadda R&B... yadda yadda Stepping... yadda yadda her friend looks like Monique.  Between listening to her talk, keeping my balance while the room slightly spun, and looking at my watch all I could think about was; where is the chase and how do I cut to it? I mean there was something going on here between the two of us, but it was getting to be last call at the bar and I needed to get home and I knew that I had to cut my losses for the evening, so I acquired “Shawanda’s” number and said I’d call her sometime (sometime meaning about 22 hrs later).  I paid my tab, took a picture of her friend the Sasquatch (the national enquirer will pay $5,000 for proof of their existence) and left.

We hooked up a few times randomly in the coming weeks; we both knew it was nothing more than that.  Well, I thought there might be something more than just a fling in this relationship and she did too, but I didn’t know that was code word for “Now that we’re dating I’m going to be crazy”.  There comes a point in a man’s life when after only dating someone for a matter of days they know it’s time to move on.  I was delivered her 5 page manifesto on what she’s looking for in a man and what she was expecting in her “significant other” along with what I assume was a speckle of blood near the end of her demands, which was probably caused be her gripping her pen too tight while writing a 5 page hand written note on papyrus (well it wasn’t papyrus, but it might as well have been for all the trouble she took to write that damn thing). 

Needless to say I high tailed out of that train wreck...

So my friends although she appeared to be an angel on the outside, she  was in fact a nut job, living in fantasyland; where writing manifestos to people who you want to be involved in a relationship with is consider just fine.

Alas, it is a jungle out there, proving once again an old mantra: Confusicus says...be wary of people you meet in bars while intoxicated...they may just turn out to be fucking crazy.

Sincerely

Mr. I.P. Freely, K.C.V.O

Birthday Dinners....the other side...

“God Save the Queen”

I was just looking back at some recent photos of some birthday parties I attended in the last year… Some of the photos are during a birthday dinner. Now, attending a birthday dinner for 10+ people is already dicey as it is, but if those 10+ people happen to be Indian, well forget it. It all starts out so simple, doesn’t it? Your friend calls and reminds you that his or her bday is coming up and that we will be going out to celebrate but first we’ll all have dinner at “Le Pooh” the new hip restaurant that just opened up. You being the good friend will most likely say yes; I say most likely because, lets face it, sometimes you don’t like your friends’ friends. Sure, you can handle them at a club (and even then its just a smile and a nod) but the last thing you want to do is sit next to them at dinner and hear how this A-hole thinks this years Russian River Valley Pinot Noir is better than it was last season. Hey jackass, I get it…you drink a lot of wine.

So, throughout the week you are calling your other friends to see who’s coming for the Bday Dinner. Reservations have been set for this Saturday at 7:30pm, but we all know 7:30 is code word for 8:30, and 8:30 is code word for I’m sure I’m the last one anyway so let me stroll in at 9:15. So you finally get seated at 9:45pm, because you lost the original reservation slot since the restaurant wouldn’t allow you to be seated unless all members of your party are present. During that half hour wait the other guests you don’t know are giving you the evil eye, because they’ve never ever been late in there life for anything. In all fairness I’m exaggerating a little here because if you really made 9 other people wait 2 hrs at a restaurant just to get seated because you strolled in late, then you really are a dickhead.

The next step in this equation is crucial; you are about to play a game of social musical chairs. Pick the wrong chair and you can end up sitting next to the stuffy doctor friend who has no social skills and brags about his needle and how much work they do together (to all my doctor friends this does not apply to you, you are all very social and I enjoy hanging out with you all, well except for one). You may end up sitting next to that dude that everyone thinks is gay but no one is really sure, and everyone is waiting for him to come out of the closet. In the meantime you’ve got one hand on the butter knife just in case he tries to play footsy’s with you (I have nothing against gays or lesbians). Who’s worse then all the people above to sit next to? It’s the girl who wears way too much lip gloss, who is so ditzy she couldn’t tell you the difference between a dime and a nickel and if by some chance you thought your evening wasn’t challenging enough, you come up with the brilliant idea of pursuing a conversation with this idiot. Yeah, this MENSA candidate makes you want to bash your head into the table…or drink heavily.

After all that nonsense you finally get seated and wait for the server to show up, which won’t be for another 10-15 minutes. If you are lucky, the server is in a good mood and you’ll receive great service, however you might get “Bruce” the slightly agitated, angry at the world, artist. At this point of the evening “Bruce” is so sick of telling customers the specials that he just skims right through it and says he’ll give you a minute to look over the menu to decide. He doesn’t even bother to take your drink order and runs off into the kitchen, probably to complain to the staff that he’s got a big table of uptight fucks. Meanwhile, my wine loving friend to the left is disappointed because he’ll have to wait another 15 minutes to show off and go head to head with our server on what kind wines they have in the cellar or whether he can go to the cellar with “Bruce”.

Forty five minutes after you sit down the drinks come out. There is a simple solution to this problem and one that I advise you to do; immediately upon acknowledging that your server is less like Forrest Whitaker and more like Forest Gump, you order your drinks two at a time. It is the most efficient way of getting the buzz you so desperately need to get through the evening. You finally place your food order with “Bruce”. If, by this point of the evening you feel a kinship towards your server and you think “hmmm he’s not a bad guy”, you probably should say your goodbyes to him because you won’t see him again till the check arrives.

And when that check arrives………

Some people play dumb and won’t even acknowledge its existence. Like an ugly step-child, it sits there, mocking you, knowing full well that you’ll have to pay attention to it at some point. This is when the Three Ring Circus begins at the table, people who are normally competent suddenly can’t add. Menu price - Salmon $24, 3 glasses of wine $30, hmmm so I’ll put in $55. Hey buddy you know what, yeah, the rest of us will pick up your portion of the tax and tip because we feel that we’re a philanthropic organization put on the earth solely to make up for your shortcomings. Fuck you, asshole. But lets be realistic, there are probably several of these ass clowns who think tax and tip don’t exist. If you’re really lucky, it might end up where everyone just splits the bill. Alas, in the end when things come up a little short, there are always a couple of brave martyrs that will throw in extra money; money they should not put in. They are usually the same people that have always stepped up to the plate to end an otherwise embarrassing situation. Remind me why I came to this party again? Oh yeah because I’m friends with the birthday person.

In the end though, was it really about you or I? Not really, I suppose as long as the birthday guy or girl had a good time, that’s all that matters right? Well, that and the fact that I hate cheap people. You bastards know who you are.

Sincerely

Mr. I.P. Freely, K.C.V.O

First Fridays at the MCA

I would like to start off by saying; “God Save the Queen”.

Well, ladies and gentlemen after much prodding from friends, I have decided to start a blog.  Will it go anywhere? Will it amuse you? Will it upset you? Will it make you think?  Who knows? But one thing is for certain, Mr. I.P. Freely is here to write about things that matter most to you and I; The War in Iraq, Obama/McCain, Flaming Wok or Baba Palace, What it's like to drive a scooter, How come some women have a mustache but don't do anything about and still walk around in public as if nobody notices their mustache but in reality we all see it and talk about it after they walk passed us. All these things and more will be covered in the coming weeks.

To begin, I'd like to talk about First Fridays at MCA (

Museum

of

Contemporary Art

) in

Chicago

.  For those of you not familiar with this event, the First Friday of every month the MCA holds a Happy Hour from about 6-10, filled mostly with single people and their friends.  Yours truly, Mr. I. P. Freely, attended this past Friday.  I usually go to these events about 2-3 times a year, and it always amazes me how many different characters there are at these events.  As far as Indians go, I'd have to say it’s at least 10%.  You run into some old friends and new friends, people you've hooked up with in the past, people you wish you hooked up with, and people you almost hooked up with but the alcohol made you decide hugging the toilet would be a better option and now you're looking for a second shot with him or her, and finally, people you run into that you don’t want to talk to and end up having meaningless small talk with while looking around the room hoping a friend comes to save you from the most useless of conversations.  Here's how it usually goes down…

You -"Oh, hey how are you?"

Them-"I'm good, how are you?"

You-"So what's up with you?"

Them-"I'm consulting, just been busy. How about you, what kind of work are u doing?"

You-"I'm doing Finance, things are going good" -- all the while your thinking --you stupid Mother Fucker, you know what I do, we have the same fucking conversation every time we see each other.

The place is definitely a meat market, and for the most part you meet a lot of nice people and it's a beautiful venue.  I’ve made new friends at this event and have made some good business contacts. There are people from across the spectrum who attend First Fridays. Some of the people that will stand out are:  The group of single guys on the prowl moving from group to group trying to get as many numbers as possible, and while the laws of average are on their side, not everyone’s a winner; i.e. the brave member of the group that has to take “one” for the team so the others may benefit from his sacrifice. In fact I would just like to take a moment and Salute all the Wingmen and Wingwomen who go out there day after day and fight the battles that no one else will.

Moving on, there's the older crowd looking for a relaxed evening chatting up with old friends and mingling with the younger crowd.  There's the people that look at the Art work and say things like "I wonder what their inspiration was" and you feel like leaning over and saying "It was probably a six pack of Busch and some LSD" because all this “artist” accomplished was copying a bar code on a piece of paper and a smiley face to add some color.  Seriously folks, my cats litter box looks more fascinating than some of that shit, no pun intended.  These days wherever there are young men present, there always seems to be a group of Cougars at these events.  For those of you lacking in knowledge, let me take a wikipedia moment to explain. Cougars are a 35+ year old female who is on the "hunt" for a much younger, energetic, willing-to-do-anything male. They can often be spotted from across the room with their Leopard print dress or overly abused leather purse filled with half the cosmetics from Bloomingdales and they'll be clinking their martini glasses because its Friday night and they think their "Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda" from Sex in the City.  Personally I think Cougars are fun, I’ve had some of the best times with them.  Here’s a little secret I learned from my Grand Pappy; Lord U.P Freely; 3^rd Earl of the House of Freely; talk about your trip last fall to

Napa

Valley

and how since you’re a big shot you managed to score a VIP tour of the Boones Farm Winery.

All in all ladies and gentlemen, this is an event you should attend at least once. Gather some friends, have some patience, and get belligerent.  Who knows you may even find that special someone, someone who will bring a smile to your face, someone that will take a stroll with you down by the lake, and most importantly someone who will leave in the morning before the sun comes up.

Sincerely

Mr. I.P. Freely, K.C.V.O