Blowing My Skirt Up

I’ve always been obsessed with Chicago. Growing up in what’s best been described as a “sleepy little town” in mid-Michigan, I was always the kid wanting to take a trip to the city, where I’d inevitably urge my mom to go for walks in the downtown and northern neighborhoods so I could go all peeping tom on unsuspecting Chicago residents and see into their living rooms and kitchens. It wasn’t out of perversion – we think – it was out of a insatiable desire to be living the life those people already had.

Over the course of my life, my love affair with Chicago has carried on, mostly from afar. I have friends that live in the city and I’ve spent plenty of time there as a visitor. I love how I can almost feel the streets pulsing under my feet with energy and excitement. I love how even on the rainist, snowiest day, I can still find positives that far outweigh the negatives. I love that it has its own brand of crazy served up in the form of street performers, hot dog slingers and most of the partygoers in the Viagra Triangle.


Hell, I even get Chicago Magazine. I read about the newest restaurants, search the real estate listings and read the latest and greatest on the city that stole my heart so many years ago. If you haven’t been yourself, you won’t understand my lunacy for this place. I urge you to go. Soon. Pop up to Lincoln Park and enjoy some sangria and tapas at Café Ba Ba Reeba. Roll on Downtown for a wine flight at Bin 36. Get some stellar sushi at Butterfly or Thalia Spice. And if you know what's good for you, get thee to Frontera Grill! (side note: I've had a mad crush on Chef Rick Bayless since way back in the day. The man can cook. He's a Top Chef Master!)

Once you’re full, check out some of the best museums and attractions our part of the world has to offer. And go shopping, for God’s sake. And by that I don’t mean at the Gap — venture out, little ones. Hit the boutiques and shops you can’t find at your local mall. Ask around. I’m sure someone has an opinion they’re willing to share. Or, forget about all of "the stuff to do" and take a run, stroll, strut or limbo along Lakeshore Drive. It's great for people watching or for forgetting anyone but you exists on Earth. It's one of my favorite things to do when I'm there.

For me, I missed my first chance at making a move to Chicago when I was 21. I went and got married to a local boy instead. After 10 years, that didn’t work out so hot, so for the past two years, I’ve been flirting with the idea again. Of course, I have a great job, a great family and great friends here. Of course, the prospect of the unknown is scary. Of course, I’m a giant pussy.

But the 16-year-old me is constantly sitting on my shoulder, likely in a Varnet France t-shirt and some K-Swisses, whispering ever-so-quietly into my ear, “Get it, girl.” Whether I choose to listen to her or not remains to be seen. In the meantime, I try to appease her as much as possible by making the three and a half hour drive to the Windy City every so often. And I still peep in windows from time to time. And I imagine that life. And I smile.