i love milwaukee

saturday night, rachel, joe, laura, kat and i piled into a dirty baby blue leather booth at a corner dive in milwaukee's bay view neighborhood. the place appears to have had no face lifts in the 41 years of its existence, its dark wood illuminated only by shallow candles and orange christmas lights decorating an island of seemingly dead brush surrounded by intimate sets of the same dirty baby blue leather booths we were in. at random, it's called, a name random indeed for a lounge that might better be called the 1970s time warp.

frank sinatra's moon river was playing when we entered the bar, so my heart was instantly hopeful to fall in love with this little at random bar. the 60-some gray-haired host, convinced of our legal drinking age because we told him plainly that we were all over 21, led us past table after table of couples sharing tub-like glasses of some huge tropical rum concoction. as we later learned, the "tikki love bowl" is brought to the table with a flame atop it, and can only be blown out by the couple together after they've looked deep into each other's eyes and made a secret wish. this is good marketing.

it reminded me a bit of a place i went to in LA a few years back, the stinking rose, i believe it was called. it had the same orangish lighting and dark wood and made me feel like tom selleck would be rounding the corner in a leisure suit at any moment.

rachel, kat and i all ordered the peanut butter cup ice cream drink (with a mountain of reddi-whip on top - i was sold from the first sip). i could have sat in that booth for hours, watching couples silently sip their bowls of island-flavor-infused rum and watching others whisper into each other's ears and get lost in their own private conversations. that's what i love. watching people love each other, and not caring one iota who - if anyone at all - notices them. i admire people like that. i want to be like that.

i don't want the show. i don't need to go the top-rated restaurants and i don't want to care who's being seen or doing the seeing or whatever that phrase is. i want to feel comfortable in my own skin, and accept other people in their own skin.

it never fails that whenever i go up to wisconsin, i see someone dressed as though they got up in the morning and thought it was still 1985. and to this person i say, thank you. thank you for making me laugh at myself and how caught up i get in where my jeans fall on my hips and how much time i spend thinking about how impressed everyone else would be if they saw i had such great "chicago style." to that person with bangs as high as the ceiling and tapered pants cut at the ankle and pastel esprit sweatshirts hanging down way past your hips, thank you.

and to this 1965 lounge tucked away in the middle of a quiet little neighborhood, thank you for making room for me in your time warp. i felt at home.