Tour guide molested by drunken vagrant

I just spend the weekend playing tour guide for my friend maarmie ("maarmie" is her blog alias, as she wishes to remain anonymous there). Though it ended up being a fun-filled weekend, it wasn't without complications. There was a run-in with the law, I was scarred for life by modern art, and was sexually molested by a vagrant. I didn't take any photos, but maarmie took dozens, a few of which I've included. However, since she wishes to remain anonymous on her blog, I'm afraid I won't be posting any photos of her.

UPDATE: To see maarmie's (slightly differing) take on the weekend, she has started posting detailed accounts, and even *gasp* PHOTOS OF HERSELF!!!! She should have one or two more posts coming, and I'll post them here in the coming days.

maarmie's account:
-Friday
-Saturday
-Sunday
-Sunday evening/Monday morning

Maarmie lives in Florida and had flown up to Bloomington, IL to stay with a friend of hers. Their original plan was to drive together to visit Minneapolis, stay in a hotel, and perhaps I would spend an evening or a weekend day with them if I was able. When her friend decided she could no longer afford the trip, maarmie decided to rent a car, come for a whole weekend, and accepted my invitation to crash at my place. I have a very comfortable guest bedroom and thought it would be fun to play tour guide for a couple days. As she recounts in detail, but her trip got of to a very rocky start when she was pulled over doing 26 mph over the limit in a work zone in Illinois (I'm pronouncing the ending "s", as in "ill-in-noise" because I know that annoys the piss out of them there). This was the hard way of discovering that Illinois does not fuck around with speeders in work zones. She was initially assigned a mandatory court appearance in August, and the prospect of spending money to fly back in August, take more time off from work, and pay what will surely be several hundred dollars in fines and fees sent her into a mild (and understandable) panic. I received at least 6 phone calls Friday morning as she debated cutting her losses by scrapping the Minneapolis leg of her journey. Thankfully, she has since managed to move up her court date so she won't have to go back in August.

Unfortunately amidst wavering on her resolve to drive the rest of way here, maarmie's cell phone battery died (she didn't have a car charger) and our last conversation didn't leave me with a definitive answer as to whether she was coming or not. So once home from work, I left a note on the door for her to knock on the basement window, as I planned to lift weights and run on the treadmill for a while. Just before I was about to finish 4 miles, the knock came. Now keep in mind that though we have corresponded by email and talked on the phone several times, this was the first time maarmie and I had met in person. I swung open the door, out of breath from running, dripping sweat, and stinking to hell. I'm all about first impressions! I invited her in, let her make herself at home, cleaned up, and we headed to St Paul for dinner.

Instead of going into our activities in exhaustive detail, I'll list the highlights and lowlights and insert anecdotes as necessary. Asterisks (*) mark activities I had never done, despite having lived in the Twin Cities area for nearly 7 years.

Friday:
-Dinner at Axel's Bonfire on St Paul's Grand Avenue.
-A walk along Summit Ave to take in the historical houses and buildings, including a residence where F. Scott Fitzgerald briefly lived, and the James J. Hill mansion.
-*The stroll continued all the way to the Minnesota State Capitol building to marvel at its Renaissance style architecture and the dome modeled after St Peter's Basilica in Rome.
-A stop at Byerly's in Eagan for a few supplies to make breakfast and my favorite store bakery cake, the Triple Layer Chocolate Tiger cake (or something to that effect).

Saturday:
-A breakfast of scrambled eggs with peppers, onions, cheese, bacon, and sour cream, intended to be breakfast burritos, but I was so distracted by the prospect of cake that forgot to buy tortillas.
-A little over an hour at the Mall of America. This was not high on maarmie's list, but I insisted since it's only 10 minutes from my house and now she can at least say she's basked in the depthless bowels of the most obscene monument to American consumerism ever created.
-Some mandatory Caribou Coffee action.
-A light rail ride from the MOA to Nicollet Mall in downtown Minneapolis.
-Dinner and drinks at Chino Latino

Once downtown, we strolled along Nicollet Mall. After stopping for a few goofy photos with the Mary Tyler Moore statue, we listened to a band play a few songs at the Famous Dave's BBQ and Blues Festival in Peavey Plaza. When we had our fill (of music--no BBQ was consumed), we headed over to Hennepin to walk past the theaters and hit Block E for a bathroom break. Cutting over past the University of St Thomas, maarmie stopped to take a few photos, where we were immediately accosted by a scraggly guy asking for money to take the bus to St Paul. Per my standing policy of refusing to give money to people who beg for it, I politely but firmly declined to give him anything (I give money to charities that provide food and assistance to people who request it rather than directly to some clown to spend on drugs, booze, or otherwise piss it away). His reply was, "Oh yeah? Well now the mischief begins!" Given the tone of his voice and his sudden rush toward maarmie, I became concerned of his intentions and shifted my stance to prepare to tackle him. To our relief, he was just being a wise-ass and started waving is arms in front of her to block her camera shots. Though we'd realized his intentions were innocent and in good fun, the initial startled looks on our faces betrayed our fears. He apologized and moved on.

After whizzing in Block E (in the restrooms--they got upset when I pissed over the escalator railing last time), we marched on to walk past the Target Center and take some photos in front of the walls of stars outside First Avenue, the club featured in Prince's movie "Purple Rain". Thus began our second and most harrowing encounter with a begging vagrant. While rounding the corner to take some photos at the 1st Ave side of the building, we were confronted by a dude drunk off his heels. He wanted a dollar or two. Always a dollar or two with these guys! Not fifty cents, not a steaming ham sandwich on whole wheat, but a dollar or two. Given our previous encounter with a mind-altered wanderer, I was particularly agitated, more adamant in my refusal, and quickened my pace. He was persistent and kept blocking my path and trying to explain why he needed money in an unintelligible drunken slur. After a half-block, he mercifully gave up, and I checked over my shoulder to find...no maarmie. She was nowhere to be seen.

"God dammit!" I uttered with a sigh, as I turned heel and practically power walked toward to 7th St. I just knew I would be harangued again by the drunken Fucknut McGee. As I neared the corner, I spotted maarmie snapping photos on the 7th St side of the building. She had abandoned me. ABANDONED, I tell you!! Trying to avoid having to walk past my favorite drunken asshole, now wobbling about on the corner, I called out her name several times to no avail. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Jeremy. This caught the attention of Shakey Surefoot, and he zeroed in. "You're back! Couldn't stay away!" he exclaimed, struggling to keep up with my determined pace. I ignored him, thought I'd caught eyes with maarmie and implored her to keep moving so we could lose this guy and come back around the block to take our photos. But she didn't hear me and continued snapping photos, forcing me to come to a dead stop.

Now he turned his attention to her. This time, instead of abandoning me again, she engaged him. NO! Even worse. As she raised her camera to him, I heard something to the effect of "You have a very interesting face. I'd like to take your photo." Despite two glaring what-the-fuck lasers shooting out of my eyes straight through her head, she snapped a daring close-up of his face, and he was now slightly incensed. Somehow, she calmed him down, and the next thing I knew, I was being handed her camera to take a photo of the two of them together. My what-the-fuck lasers dissipated in a cloud of confusion. Damn her and her Jedi mind tricks!

Pleased with the results on the digital camera's preview screen, Wobble Man, cheerfully offered his phone number so maarmie could mail him a copy of the photo. She politely explained that was unlikely to happen, and continued to hold the coherent side of one of the most puzzling conversations I've heard in recent memory. As they continued chatting/slurring, I decided that his cooperation with her desire for a photo warranted breaking my rules, and I surreptitiously fished a couple dollar bills from my pocket. Once they wrapped up their chat, I said "I usually don't do this, but..." I didn't know how to finish the "but" and handed him the money. A wide grin crossed his face, and he thanked me. He turned to maarmie and slapped her a painfully forceful high five, then grabbed me into a bear hug, and thrust his pelvis toward me several times. *Had I just been dry humped??? I felt dirty as he teetered away, but we were now free to snap our photos, hop onto the train, and head to Eagan to clean ourselves of wino funk and eat lunch. And definitely in that precise order.

Wanting my guest to experience some of Minnesota's finest gourmet food, I had Spam and lefse on hand. But I was left crushed as maarmie vehemently declined my insistent offers of canned meat. Nuts to her! I happily chowed down on a Turkey Spam sandwich with swiss cheese, jalapeno mustard, and ketchup, as she nibbled on her inferior grapes. Fruit-- I laugh at it--HA!! She did partake in lefse, however, and was spellbound as I buttered and sugared the shit out of the tortilla-like sheet. "That can't be good for you!" she protested. Of course it's not! Is pepperoni pizza good for you? Is a big ol' fatty steak good for you? Hells no! But you don't eat that shit every day any more than you eat butter and sugar rolled up in potatoes and flour. At first, she was taken aback by the gritty texture of the sugar, but once it melted with the first bite, she grabbed another piece and wolfed it down. I told her it was good!

After our mid-afternoon lunch, we both had much-needed naps, gabbed a while, and then got cleaned up and changed clothes to go out to Chino Latino with my friend Mary. Once in Uptown, we wandered around Calhoun Square and the shops in the surrounding area. At Chino, we enjoyed our $13 Crack Ho Mojitos and had an unsurprisingly incredible meal of Coconut Shrimp Curry and Philippine Paella with plenty of leftovers to take home.

After maarmie finished some sort of berry martini-looking drink, we headed over to the Uptown Bar to throw back a few more. I wasn't really in the mood to get plowed, so I just had a couple of Blue Moons, but maarmie downed at least 4 or 5 Midori Sours and was having herself a grand time, much to the delight and amusement of Mary and I. Though upon light of morning, she was a tad worried she'd offended Mary with some of her ribald stories. I assured her that Mary has heard far more colorful remarks and tales tumble from my foul cesspool of a word hole.

Though maarmie longed to go elsewhere for a few more drinks (I should point out that she is not normally a heavy drinker, but felt like living it up that night), we adjourned rather early and were back at my house by around 11:30. With her still quite tipsy and me half-asleep, we stumbled through a cloud of hazy conversation for several minutes then realized it was time to retire to our respective beds.

Sunday:
-*A couple hours hiking around Minnehaha Park in Minneapolis, including to the area below the falls.
-A lunch at home consisting of leftovers from Chino Latino.
-*A jarring visit to the Walker Art Center.
-*A stroll through the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, featuring one of our most photographed local landmarks, Spoonbridge and Cherry (though it was in the middle of being refinished and looked horrible)
-*A walk across the Irene Hixon Whitney Bridge over I-94 to Loring Park
-*A sampling of ice cream with cayenne pepper in it followed by a delicious ice cream cone at Sebastian Joe's Ice Cream Cafe just down Hennepin from the Walker.
-Dinner at Mystic Lake Casino with my aunt, uncle, and cousin, who happened to come into town that night, and my brother and his wife, who'd just returned the day before from 10 days of gallivanting about Europe.
-Losing money in the slot and video poker machines.
-S'mores by the fire in the back yard.

Prior to Sunday, I had never been to the Walker and now am not sure that I could bring myself to ever return. Much to the consternation of maarmie, has a deep appreciation of the arts, my verbatim assessment of the Walker: it's a bunch of weird, random crap. For a 30-year-old former hick from North Dakota, I like to think I have a very open mind, but the collection of modern art at the Walker left me mystified. Films of an old man breaking apart a ceramic bunny with a brick projected near another of a man in a bunny suit firing a pistol out a window. A wrecked Pontiac Grand Am recreated piece by crumpled piece in monotone fiberglass. A film of a small girl reading a book quietly to herself on a grassy hill. What the fuck? What drives me nuts about subjective art is that I could shit into a watermelon, force feed it to a horse, cut off the horse's dick, sew the dick on its head to make it a dick-o-corn, freeze it in a portable meat locker, and a group of turtle neck-wearing beatniks wearing thick emo glasses would applaud my genius, buy it and donate it to the Guggenheim where more turtle neck-wearing beatniks would discuss my dick-o-corn as commentary on the oppressive nature of patriarchal societies.

My other problem with the Walker was the atmosphere. I became increasingly creeped out wandering through room after dull, stark white room, all the while breathing in a musty smell reminiscent of a rarely cleaned parking ramp stairwell. Though I'm not claustrophobic and am not prone to environmental panic, I felt boxed in by the eerie emptiness of the rooms and needed to just plain get the fuck out of there. I didn't want to ruin maarmie's experience there, but when I'm extremely uncomfortable, I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. I think it's because focusing on pissing and moaning distracts from what I'm pissing and moaning about. Fortunately, the Walker is smaller than I expected, and after a stop to peruse the gift shop, we headed across the street to the Minneapolis Sculpture garden.

Originally we'd planned on dinner at Psycho Suzi's Motor Lounge, but my uncle had emailed me a few days beforehand to let me know he, my aunt, and my cousin would be staying out at the Mystic Lake Casino Hotel Sunday night. I felt bad dragging maarmie to a casino for dinner with people she doesn't know, but she actually seemed to look forward to it, as she'd never been on a reservation or in a casino before. Yes, really.

After a nice dinner with the family clan, my brother and sis-in-law went home to sleep off European jet lag, and maarmie and I went out to wander around the casino floor. I probably lost about $20 total, and we soon both decided it was time to go home. But the clutches of the casino's enormity and winding aisles had me all turned around. It was like being trapped at Ikea (I just want to buy damn pencil holder and go home!!!). I'll bet we wandered looking for the right exit for 20 minutes, with more and more steam shooting out my ears as the seconds ticked by.

Following a trip to the store for supplies to make s'mores at the fire pit in my back yard (maarmie had never had fireside s'mores before, either), we retired for the evening. Maarmie left Monday morning when I headed out to work at about 7:30 and arrived safely in Bloomington, IL late in the afternoon. My first cross-country meeting of a fellow blogger went off without a hitch, we both had a great time, and I wasn't murdered in my sleep. Always a bonus. I got a huge kick out of playing host and tour guide and sincerely hope maarmie will come back sometime. An offer has been extended to visit her in Florida, and perhaps once my new job settles after a few months, I will try to do just that. Now I just need to find a blog friend in Hawaii!