....And That's How I Caused a Riot this Weekend

Everyone in Chicago was angry Saturday night.

I was hanging out in a local bar, celebrating my sorority sister's birthday with her boyfriend, and our mutual friends. Snoop Dog was blasting, people were getting some rhythm in their step, and shots were plentiful. And Chris was there.

Chris is the best friend of the Birthday Girl's boyfriend (got that?) and I haven't seen him since he crashed my other friend's Graduation Party at the Sutton Hotel last summer (read: he showed up for the open bar in flip flops and a faded tee shirt; the attire called for jackets and ties). Chris is a total womanizer who cannot commit to one girl at a time, and strings along women years younger than he just for fun. They fall in love with him, he is indifferent, and the list goes on.

Despite this, he's funny and has always been totally nice to me. We get along well, even when he quips about how dangerously good looking he is, and how he can't help it that women throw themselves at him on the daily (kinda true).

Chris has been "seeing" some 21 year old insecure, immature emotional land mine for about a year now. I've heard so many horror stories about this young lady, so imagine my delight when I discovered that she was at the bar with us.

As Chris and I chatted about life, the new boat he was getting, and whether or not that blond hottie just checked him out, I noticed a sullen faced brunette shooting daggers at me. Ahhh, must be her. For posterity's sake, I'll refer to her as 'Crazy'.

So the conversation continued, and eventually Crazy decided to walk up and check out what was going on. After a brief and stiff introduction, I meandered away for awhile. Chris, however, always seemed to make his way back over to where I was hanging out, and kept talking to me. Crazy kept getting jealous. She stood hovering, like a nettled hornet, waiting to bombard me. Then, it happened.

Chris made a flippant comment about how great I looked. It just so happens that I was wearing the same outfit as the Le Passage/Frenchie night. Coincidence? You tell me. The next comment out of his mouth was about how Crazy just acquiesced to the idea of having another female partner join them in their sexual rendezvous. I want to believe he told me this without the intention of feeling out my reaction.

Anyway, Crazy most definitely did not take kindly to these comments, and she pulled on his sleeve and jerked him away into a dark corner. I slid into a booth and happily sipped on my frosty glass of Coors Light. Suddenly, an outburst.

I looked over and saw Crazy sobbing hysterically, screaming, pulling at her hair in frustration, and gesturing to him wildly. Chris looked bored, and kept giving her the "Whatever, I don't give a #$*@" shoulder shrug. As he walked away, Crazy ran forward, grabbed the back of his tee shirt, swung him around, and clocked him right in the mouth. A smear of blood was left smudged on his inspecting hand.

"Crazy, stop it. JUST STOP. Don't do this here."

By now our entire group had stopped chatting, dancing, and stood sipping their respected beverages with wide, watchful eyes. But Crazy wasn't finished yet.

Chris went to exit the bar, and she sprung like a jaguar onto his back and took him to the ground. In her defense, her take down skills rivaled that of some professional athletes. She writhed around on top of him while pressing his face into the wet, dirty wood floor, all while screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs. By now strangers and friends alike had formed a circle around the two, and just watched in awe.

Somehow Chris got up. In one swift motion he snatched her cell phone out of her hand and spiked it to the ground like he was T.O. doing a touchdown dance. Her cell shattered into little pieces and her howl of rage could be heard by all in a 20 foot radius, even over the likes of Kanye West blaring out of the speakers.

Chris ran outside; batshit Crazy followed. Out there they rumbled again amongst the huddled crowd of smokers, and the bouncers grabbed her and restrained her until her mania slightly subsided.

By the time everything subsided, it was midnight. Everyone seemed to forget that madness that had just ensued, and the O-Bombs began to flow once more. A pretty blond and presumably her boyfriend slid into our reserved booth, making eyes at each other from across the table. We noticed and let it go for the time being. We looked over again and they were gone. But wait, was that a shoe sticking out of the darkness beneath the table?

Oh yes, my friends. These two literally slipped underneath the table at a packed popular bar and began getting it on in the dark right then and there. We all giggled like five year olds, pointed, someone even took a picture. Nothing stopped these two. They were on a roll. A bar back came to collect the empty glasses and accidentally kicked one of the lovers in the gut. His eyes got all wide, and he bent down, exchanged some harsh words, and about 2 minutes later the guilty but smug lovers resurfaced. Land, ho!

We closed down that bar, and decided to walk a few blocks to a 4 a.m. gay bar that is on the outskirts of Chicago's Boystown neighborhood. One of my best guy friends had his new (male) love interest with him, and we all decided to jump on the figurative party bus and go hang with them late night.

Now I don't mind hanging out in gay bars persay, but the last time I went to one I had a horrible experience. A gay man that kept calling me Lindsay Lohan (ok why? I do not know) catcalled at me for the millionth time and then reached over, grabbed my tank top, and pulled my shirt (undergarments and all) down to my navel. In the middle of the bar. With predatory looking females circling me and gay men petting my hair. His eyes lit up and he was in the process of asking me if he could grab the twins when my hand sailed through the air and smacked the crap out of his face. I didn't stay long enough to see if it left a welt.

Anyway so I had some reservations. But this bar was the chillest and most relaxed gay bar that I've ever been to. Usually there is a frenzied air about everyone, and the testosterone levels are dangerously high. Here, I felt comfortable. That's when I met F.

F is friends with my gay friend, and absolutely beautiful. She had dark, pixey-like hair and a shimmery gold dress on. She was mesmerizing from the get go, I felt drawn to her like a fly to a light. My straight self and this (maybe?) gay girl started having a really interesting chat about how she's trying to be an actress, she used to do a lot of ecstasy and frequented the west loop clubs, she even used to live a block away from me. Fate, right? She was cool as all hell.

The really fun thing about being at gay bars is the men don't hit on you. It's pretty refreshing to kick back and watch the guys get picked up, as I just sit and sip my Blueberry Stoli and sprite. I felt like a mother who watched her child get picked up for their first date or something. But either way of course, the unthinkable had a way of rearing its ugly head.

A bulbous, frog-like man in his 40s came up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and interrupted my conversation with F.

"You have absolutely gorgeous eyes. Can I buy you a drink?"

"No you can't."

"Awww, come on. Can I kiss you at least?"

"No, you can't. I actually am into girls. Women." I met F's eyes, and she looked at me meaningfully and slipped an arm around my waist. Sweet, I actually got to play the gay card for once and have it seem honestly really valid.

"Oh. Well you should know that I work for Gucci." Now it was his turn to look at me meaningfully.

Kayleigh the b!tch made a triumphant and brief return.

"Gucci? Yeah, I live a few doors down from the store. I'm not impressed." This is the truth, and the last thing this guy expected me to say. My words were met with a stunned and crestfallen face. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as if wanting to eek something out, and then just walked away. F and I giggled.

But although the night was progressing nicely, we were in for more drama. Another straight guy came up to F and started hitting on her. When she declined his advances, he grabbed her inappropriately and planted a kiss on her mouth. It was literally disgusting and so violating. And then all hell broke loose.

Picture a girl getting her cookies groped against her will in a bar packed with lesbians, drag queens in stilettos, and gay men. Picture the offender running out into the street, and seeing no less than 20 individuals chase him down and what I would delicately call "stiletto" him in his naughty bits and face.

The drag queens posted up on the sidewalk, flipping their feather boas over their sequined tops and screamed threats at the jerk. F was hyperventilating on the sidewalk next to me. I grabbed her and told her that it wasn't worth it, don't go join the pack of girls howling in the middle of the street, heels out, hair flying, and in full-out kill mode. She was resisting me, and trying to evade my grip. She had a manic look in her eyes. I just wanted to make it better for her. If I could have done anything I would have. I released her.

Four police squad cars pulled up and blocked off the street. As everyone scattered, the guy got up and ran into the darkness, LAUGHING. Seriously, what an asshole. F came back to give the police a statement, and rejoined me on the sidewalk. No less than 6 guys surrounded her asking her a million questions a minute as to her current state of mind. She looked away from side to side as if she were about to panic again. I brushed the men aside and put my hand on her shoulders, asked her if she was ok. She visibly relaxed with my touch, and turned to me with tears in her eyes. I just wanted to make it better.

My friend picked her up like a baby and carried her off into the darkness. Her head drooped against his chest like a deflated balloon. And I was left to find my way home.

Chicago, Chicago. What a Saturday night.