This weekend I attended the "Taste of Lincoln" neighborhood festival. If you've never lived in Chicago you'll know all about this, the summers are full of neighborhood festivals, each area has their own take on the block party and bascially it's the same party every weekend in a different location. The whole event is basically this: close the street for approximately 5 to 7 blocks, put up a few stages for live music, line the street with vendors (food, promotional and knock off Fendis), open the bars to any and all comers and have copious amounts of beer and vodka lemonades for the festival goers. As it stands, Taste of Lincoln is the best so far, besides the fact that it's very close to home for me, it's the perfect time of year, everybody is in the party spirit and it's the longest so there is less crowding.
We gathered a large group of friends, met at a bar and proceeded to "stroll" the festival. Our group was close to 20 people, so after awhile you split up, meet up, split up and eventually meet back up at a bar somewhere. (much like a bad relationship) Toward the end of the festival I was outside Clarke's waiting for some of the girls and a couple of guys stopped to chat, and when I say chat, I mean fall all over their drunken words and repeat themselves numerous times trying to get your phone number. This happens often toward the end of the night because guys have had just enough to drink that they'll feel embolden enough to approach me. Anyway, so a couple of guys stop, we chat for quite awhile, the tall one is funny and from Georgia (I'm a sucker for southern boys) so I decide to give him my number (which I would soon regret) and then I go back into the bar with the girls.
While we were waiting for the rest of our group I was chatting with my friend Hayley at the bar. She had assembled a group of young boys around her, and they were absolutly adorable. They were from Fargo, in town visiting one of their friends and all in their early 20s. You run into this alot in Chicago. They were trying their twenty-year-old best to hit on us which was comical and amounted to this - "Hey, I'm leaving to go home to (insert city name) in 12 hours, wanna go back to (insert friend's name) house?" Thanks, but no thanks boys! We bid adieu to the boys and headed to Bottle Bar up the street, outside the festival zone. We have a bit more to drink, dance our asses off and have a great time. About 2AM, I decide I'm ready to go home, I said good night to the group and walked home. This is where I regret giving my number to the Georgia guy.
I made it home by 2:30, I'm exhausted, remove my contacts, wash my make-up off and crash into bed. I'm just about asleep, kitty cat is curled up next to me when my phone rings. Note: There is a very short list of people that can call me at that hour and get away with it. Most of these people live in Utah, with the exception of one person in Cali and one in Tenn, and Chicago has a few potentials for that short list. I do however make a few exceptions to this rule.
So I look at my phone and realize it's Georgia. I'm irritated to say the least and there's no way I'm answering this phone, because there is only one reason you make a phone call at 2:30 to somebody you just met...and we all know what that reason is. I push the ignore button, figuring I'm going to hear the signal for a voicemail in a few seconds, nope the phone rings again, I hit ignore, the phone rings again, I hit ignore, the phone rings again, I hit ignore...folks this happens 9 times! Now you might ask, well why didn't you just put the phone on silence? Simple answer - it was 2:30AM and there was alcohol involved. Needless to say I was not coherent. Truly I didn't remember how many times this had happened until 11AM yesterday morning when I woke up and saw 9 missed calls on my phone and only one number came up.
Some part of me absolutly expected a call from Georgia explaining the phone call, but I know better. I know why he called and I can most likely not expect to get a phone call from him anytime in the future. Which is all for the better anyway.
But it brings me to this - there needs to be a set of rules for drunk dialing.
1. You must have already had relations with a person before calling them at 3AM for a booty call. You do not drunk dial the guy/chick you just met.
2. No drunk dialing more than one person in a night. Pick your pony if you will.
3. There should be a cutoff time for calling. You cannot be awakened at 3AM and be expected to perform, this is just mean.
4. Only call once, do not call and hang up when they don't answer and call back 8 MORE TIMES!
5. If you're going to call at ungodly hours, please, PLEASE leave a rambling, drunken, slurred message so I can play it repeatedly for my friends at brunch the next morning and we can mock you over and over again!
Thank you all, I've said my peace!