I watched half the Super Bowl in dorm room!

Up until as late as Sunday afternoon I had no idea where I would be watching the Super Bowl. A bar, house party or my living room were the options I could conjure up two hours before kickoff. Never in a million years would I have imagined watching it in the swank dorm room of three 20-year-old women I don't remember meeting, but this is before Jesse calls me.

"Remember those girls from last night?" He asks.

"Not really," I reply.

"I guess they're throwing a Super Bowl party and they told us we could come."

I vaguely remember talking to a group of younger girls late at a party the night before, but remember nothing about a Super Bowl party being discussed, or much of anything else, really.

"All right, I suppose we can stop by that," I tell him. Neither of us had any options at this point, and the "party" was just a five minute walk down the street from my apartment. I put party in quotations because, given the recent — how do I say it politely — lack of action at Jesse-recommended parties, I'm a tad skeptical.

My skepticism grew as we neared the address of the "party" and I realized that two of the buildings at the intersection were commercial and the other two were DePaul University dormitories.

I stop dead in my tracks we I notice that, in fact, the address we were given is a dorm.

"I am NOT watching this game in a fucking dorm room!" I exclaim, shaking my head with a smirk of disbelief.

Jesse mumbles something and stammers.

"We probably can't even bring beer into this fucking place!" I continue.

He scrambles for his phone to call the girls to see what's up with their place of residence. Apparently they assure him it's not really a dorm room and that we can bring beer in.

"C'mon, lets give it a try," Jesse says shrugging his shoulders. At this point I'm assuming that he thinks he's possibly going to get laid by one of these girls, and as any good friend should when a buddy thinks he might get laid, you go along with his plan no matter how cockamamie it may be.

And this planned proved to be quite a cockamamie one.

We get there and it is very much a dorm room, albeit an upscale one with actual bedrooms, a killer view of the downtown skyline and a fridge filled with beer. I only vaguely remember meeting one of the girls there the night before, so it's initially quite awkward.

We take seats on the couch and I scramble to think of things I could talk about with girls who are my little sister's age (it just occurred to me while writing that sentence these girls were exactly my little sister's age, causing me to clasp my hands in my face in even more embarrassment.)

It ends up being not as uncomfortable as one would think. The girls were pretty cool and seemed to genuinely enjoy the presence of Jess and I. We talk about football, school, general pop culture stuff. I realize that for the first time in my life I'm sitting in a room full of people who had all not only seen Brittany Spears' movie Crossroads, but actually liked it.

We left at halftime.

We spend about five minutes in the bitter cold waiting for a cab while two college-aged girls do the same about 50 feet to the west of us. I notice a cab with it's lights on approaching us from the East (which is closer to Jesse and I than the two girls) flag it down, it rolls to a stop just past us and we began to walk towards it, thus forming an almost perfect triangle with Jess and I and the two college girls at the base of it and the cab at the peak. Well, the college girls decided to walk towards the cab and wave at it as well, at which point I realize they're totally trying to cut us off, which they end up doing.

What's a guy to do at this point? I kind of wanted to throw a bit of a tantrum, teach these spoiled little DePaul bitches a lesson on cab etiquette. I mean, it was fucking five below zero and cabs were hard to come by. You don't steal somebody's cab in the middle February. And I caught his attention first. But being a gentleman, I graciously let them have it.

We both laughed.

"Jesus, I don't fucking miss college girls one bit," I say.

Four blocks later we finally find a cabbie and winds up telling us the best cab story I'd heard since I moved here. Apparently one night he picked a guy up who said he needed to go to Des Plaines then promptly passed out in the back seat. The cabbie assumed that since he didn't give him a precise address, this meant he needed to go to the suburb of Des Plaines, which is about a half an hour outside of the city. So the cabbie heads to the suburbs. Once he gets there, he shakes drunk guy in the backseat up to wake him.

"We're in Des Plaines, where exactly do you need to go?"

Drunk guy rubs his eyes, looks around.

"Des Plaines? I said I needed to go to a place on Des Plaines, not in Des Plaines."

Des Plaines is also a street that runs north and south downtown. Long story short, the cabbie winds up driving him all the way back to the city and doesn't charge the drunk guy a penny.

Well, we get to a dive bar which had the exact atmosphere I was hoping to watch the game in. Just a few old timers, one TV and tons of snacks.

Bears quarterback Rex Grossman had another one of his complete lapses of reason and does just about everything humanely possible to help his team lose a football game. He's fumbling the ball, throwing wild interceptions, tripping over himself. It's embarrassing. Reminds me a lot of my high school football days.

Needless to say, they went on to lose.

"I'm not that big a sports fan, but there's this douchebag I work with that's going to be totally pissed tomorrow," I hear one of the hipster bartenders says as we leave the place. Hearing phrases like those are why watching a football game at a trendy dive is better than watching one at a bona fide sports bar.

We luck out and find a cab quickly, which was the coup of the evening. Almost every pocket of bystanders we pass flips us off, presumably because we're in a warm car and their not (the loss and drunkeness might have had something to do with it as well).

One guy actually grabs his ball sack and spits on us as we cruise past him. An hour after I got home I received email from Jesse saying that he was getting flipped off and cussed at by every person he drove past on the way farther up to his apartment.

I think it'll be good for this town to forget about its Bears for a while.