Once a month at The Burlington is a sex show. And no, it’s not what you think! This show involves gifted writers who share their comedic sex and dating stories for the entire bar to hear. In between storytelling time they have trivia and answer questions from the audience. It’s all in good fun!
After attending my last Cubs game of the season (and starting to drink at noon), I made my way over to The Burlington to attend my first Sunday Night Sex Show. My good friend was reading and I was going to support, and possibly embarrass, her with my drunken revelry.
I recognized very quickly that the evening was going to be a success when the HOT bartender with long, stringy blonde hair and soulful eyes was responsive to my ogling and began to give me drinks for free. Excessive drinking at no cost was exactly what I needed! I’m sure that’s not all he would have given me for free – I plan to come visit you again soon Sean!
The point of this story is I met a guy who was funny, intelligent and seemingly normal (a real rarity).
Oh, and this guy is NOT Sean.
Anyway, I was a bit concerned because he technically worked for the Catholic Church. My response to that? “Really? Shit. I don’t possibly see how this will ever work.” Cue lightening, deafening clap of thunder…AND SCENE!
Then I realized he was out at 11 p.m. on a school night, so how “churchy” could he be?
We made plans to go out a few days later. A few internal red flags went up after receiving some texts from him, including one asking me if I had made out with anyone after he left Sunday. I responded by telling him that was none of his business, and asked him “What kind of question was that?” Also when going back and forth via text about where to go on our date he actually wrote “Couchy or outy?”
Couchy? Seriously? What kind of girl do you think I am? Um, aren’t you like hard-core Catholic? Not to mention, who uses the word “couchy?”
I think he thought I was a wild child, which I guess is partially true. Look buddy, I may know how to have a good time, but I’m not a total slut! (Unless your name is Sean and you are a just-dirty-enough bartender who works at various drinking establishments in Logan Square/West Town, have long, greasy hair and picture-perfect facial hair, looking like you just got off the set of an Anthrax video with your tight shirt, sweaty muscles rippling – CALL ME!)
Regardless, I was quite excited at non-Sean’s suggestion to go to a divey German bar. I had gone by it a million times but had never been inside. It appeared equal parts eccentric and unassuming, which is right up my alley. I mean, I like a nice restaurant or fancy bar every once and awhile, but first dates are awkward enough – the divey place is where it’s at!
I, of course, arrived early, as I’m a sucker for punctuality. The place is PACKED. Literally packed. There are absolutely no seats to be found EXCEPT two bar stools RIGHT NEXT to the musician. Strangely, this musician looked an awful lot like my Dad … minus the lederhosen and electric accordion he had strapped to his chest. For the remainder of this story the musician will be known as Mike as homage to my Dad. (I literally swore that guy could not possibly be German. I asked him his heritage and he said he was 100% Austrian. I swear I could smell feta and olives on his breath though – LIAR!)
Not sure what else to do, I nabbed the two bar stools, ordered a large beer (Prost!) and patiently waited.
It. Was. Loud.
At one point Mike even played “The Chicken Song,” as well as my personal favorite “Roll out the Barrel.” I could not stop giggling to myself. Especially during “The Chicken Song” when he put on a hat with a chicken on it, looked at me and said “I have a rooster” as he winked mischievously. I laughed out loud, and then he said to the crowd, “I knew SHE’d like that!”
Of course, Alter Boy was FIFTEEN minutes late. Because I had arrived ten minutes early, this is almost 30 minutes of me giggling to myself at Mike and downing my stein. Getting drunk is what you get for being late!
He finally arrived and took stock of the situation. “I swear every time I’ve been here it’s been dead!” he said in shock. Well, it is the end of September. Hello Oktoberfest.
I honestly wish I could have discreetly gotten video documentation of the night. It was indescribable. We could barely hear each other talking! And I swear EVERY time Alter Boy went to ask me a question or tell me a story, Mike would start going to town on cowbells. Literally in front of Mike was a table of about twenty bells of varying sizes. Regardless of the size, they were all loud. RIGHT NEXT TO US. At one point Alter Boy said to me, “I SERIOUSLY think he’s doing this on purpose!” We couldn’t stop laughing.
The icing on the cake was when Mike brought out a ten-foot-long Riccola horn thing. So Mike and his accordion and table of cowbells were to our right. Mike had his lips to the horn, which was traveling right behind us (hitting my back, no joke), coming to a resting point on the bar to my left. So, essentially, we were trapped between a horn, a bar and a table of cowbells. We could not move even if we wanted to!
As the night progressed, two spots opened up at the main bar and we were able to claim those seats and eat some very delicious German food (I strangely chose to order a veal loaf, which came with a fried egg and the best potato salad I’ve ever had). More important, we could actually hear one another talk.
We both agreed the night was fun, but “weird.”
Cue giggling, accordion and an Austrian imposter of my Dad.
When researching a bar or restaurant to meet a first date, you may want to make sure it’s not some crazy Oktoberfest party…where the only two seats in the very small establishment are next to an accordion player whose musical range includes “The Chicken Dance.” Although I find nothing sexier than flapping my arms like a chicken and shaking my butt, it does not inspire romantic feelings in most other people.
It ends up Alter Boy is only 24. I am trying to keep an open mind. Although that’s becoming increasingly difficult for reasons that will likely become another blog post.
If I was a betting woman, I would say we’ll continue talking and I’ll likely lose interest when I become distracted by a nonchalant dirty bartender who I have almost nothing in common with and most likely isn’t “looking for a relationship.” Historically, that is way more my type.