Monday, Monday
It has been some time since I last posted, and there is a good reason why: for every bizzarre evening that appears on this site, there are three or four that go unmentioned. For example, this past Wednesday night was pretty awesome by any measure, but I forgot what happened, which means that what happened was worthy of forgetting. I sat at my computer Thursday morning trying to get out a few details of the evening, but I basically forgot really important shit. For example, I could give you a list of bars that I sort of remember drinking at, but I could give few to no details as to why we chose to attend said bars, or what happened once I talked my way in. It was another no-reason night of carousing, and those don't necessarily make for great stories. Tonight's story would be a mostly mundane yet fun night, and that's just not fucking good enough in my book. I want to entertain you people with my posting selections, and I'm sorry to say that tonight didn't really fit my minimum grade of ridiculousness. I tried.
This being said, there are always kernels of fantastic to be gleaned from rather pedestrian evenings, even if the spaces lying in between were not worth mentioning. Tonight's big five take-aways:
1. I'm still recovering from hanging out at Lollapalooza yesterday. We bar crawled down the Mag Mile, then saw Panic against the backdrop of the greatest Skyline on earth, and hit up multiple bars and phatty food both during and after the show. It was very much worth the discomfort, but it's hard to come up with words to describe this past heat wave. Let's put it this way: everyone's all hung up on talking about Lance Armstrong as this amazing endurance guy. All props to that guy are well due (though I'll forget all about it by Thanksgiving) but let me ask you this: gold Ole One Ball stand out in the 102-degree shadeless heat, alternate beers and water til he runs out of money, and continue drinking until he can't find any open establishments in the the Toddlin' Town? If there were a Tour de France for livers, mine would be looping the Arc de Triomphe as the others were still bitching around in the Alps.
2. The Cubs won another game in late innings tonight, on a 9th inning Burnitz sac fly to shallow center, thanks to an absolutely perfect slide to home by Ronny Cedeno. Rich and I were sitting next to a terribly attractive slice of jail bait, which caused the game to turn into an excruciating dance of me trying to check out the girl, and the dad trying to make sure I wasn't checking out the girl. (I won--Daddy got up to take a whiz in the 7th and never returned. Your daughter has nice thighs.) Not really hot girls at Wrigley tonight. Ah well...
3. My brother laid into Seamus after the game over a mostly insignificant bar tab, as we were finishing the world's weakest margaritas. It was one of those things, one of those things that make Monday suck... There were cute girls there, but we quickly noticed that they were going to the bathroom every ten minutes (coke) and were complete butter-faces (Schaumburg). So my bro just vented frustration, and things just fell apart. Another stupid Monday... We also saw Ryan Dempster in the bar, and he too was going to the bathroom an inordinate number of times...I guess he has a small bladder too.
4. I left my scorecard at Mystic Celt. The thing that kills me: I wasn't that drunk when we left; I just dropped it and forgot to grab it. I thought it was folded up and forgotten in a cargo pocket, but I realized my mistake about an hour after we left. What take. Although I've been an assload drunker at tons of other games and have always managed to take the scorecard back to the safety of my bookshelf, this is my first scorecard-related screw-up in more than 2 years. I'm really pissed off about it. It was a total junior varsity move.
5. Next Monday, I must find myself at some club/bar on Division called Funk, because the barbiotch told me so. I'm normally not really one to take (or remember) directions, but this girl screams from the top of a mountain, "Paddy, make an exception!" I'm such a sucker for tattoos just above the ass--they make for great targets. Blonde hair, low-rise jeans, tight white t-shirt...have I described anything a penised man would ever object to???
So, as I mentioned earlier, as my editing process is centered on delivering entries of only the highest entertainment value possible, I will not go into any and all details of this random Monday's funny events. There are often nights such as last Wednesday, when I had drinks at a club/sushi/lounge place with most of the Boston Red Sox, that simply do not make the grade. There was also the Wednesday before, when my brother and I found a jazz club, and neither remembers much thereafter. Nights like that, as well as tonight for that matter, fall into a file folder of memories labeled "pretty awesome." But the stuff I put on here is only the grade-A shit, the stuff that's really funny.
And this very Monday, Monday, on the night when Debbie Gibson sang the Seventh Inning Stretch at 80's Night at Wrigley, for all the quirky exchanges and individually spectacular moments that transpired, only one thing really stands out: I cannot believe how much heat my balls are throwing off right now. Sersiously, I'm not kidding about this: If you put a small beaker of water next to my crotch right now, you could produce enough steam to power motherfucking Canada. Thank God for Gold Bond Extra Strength Lotion.
I'm off on tour, back on Thursday. Be ready for some shit that will be beyond the fucking pale...
This being said, there are always kernels of fantastic to be gleaned from rather pedestrian evenings, even if the spaces lying in between were not worth mentioning. Tonight's big five take-aways:
1. I'm still recovering from hanging out at Lollapalooza yesterday. We bar crawled down the Mag Mile, then saw Panic against the backdrop of the greatest Skyline on earth, and hit up multiple bars and phatty food both during and after the show. It was very much worth the discomfort, but it's hard to come up with words to describe this past heat wave. Let's put it this way: everyone's all hung up on talking about Lance Armstrong as this amazing endurance guy. All props to that guy are well due (though I'll forget all about it by Thanksgiving) but let me ask you this: gold Ole One Ball stand out in the 102-degree shadeless heat, alternate beers and water til he runs out of money, and continue drinking until he can't find any open establishments in the the Toddlin' Town? If there were a Tour de France for livers, mine would be looping the Arc de Triomphe as the others were still bitching around in the Alps.
2. The Cubs won another game in late innings tonight, on a 9th inning Burnitz sac fly to shallow center, thanks to an absolutely perfect slide to home by Ronny Cedeno. Rich and I were sitting next to a terribly attractive slice of jail bait, which caused the game to turn into an excruciating dance of me trying to check out the girl, and the dad trying to make sure I wasn't checking out the girl. (I won--Daddy got up to take a whiz in the 7th and never returned. Your daughter has nice thighs.) Not really hot girls at Wrigley tonight. Ah well...
3. My brother laid into Seamus after the game over a mostly insignificant bar tab, as we were finishing the world's weakest margaritas. It was one of those things, one of those things that make Monday suck... There were cute girls there, but we quickly noticed that they were going to the bathroom every ten minutes (coke) and were complete butter-faces (Schaumburg). So my bro just vented frustration, and things just fell apart. Another stupid Monday... We also saw Ryan Dempster in the bar, and he too was going to the bathroom an inordinate number of times...I guess he has a small bladder too.
4. I left my scorecard at Mystic Celt. The thing that kills me: I wasn't that drunk when we left; I just dropped it and forgot to grab it. I thought it was folded up and forgotten in a cargo pocket, but I realized my mistake about an hour after we left. What take. Although I've been an assload drunker at tons of other games and have always managed to take the scorecard back to the safety of my bookshelf, this is my first scorecard-related screw-up in more than 2 years. I'm really pissed off about it. It was a total junior varsity move.
5. Next Monday, I must find myself at some club/bar on Division called Funk, because the barbiotch told me so. I'm normally not really one to take (or remember) directions, but this girl screams from the top of a mountain, "Paddy, make an exception!" I'm such a sucker for tattoos just above the ass--they make for great targets. Blonde hair, low-rise jeans, tight white t-shirt...have I described anything a penised man would ever object to???
So, as I mentioned earlier, as my editing process is centered on delivering entries of only the highest entertainment value possible, I will not go into any and all details of this random Monday's funny events. There are often nights such as last Wednesday, when I had drinks at a club/sushi/lounge place with most of the Boston Red Sox, that simply do not make the grade. There was also the Wednesday before, when my brother and I found a jazz club, and neither remembers much thereafter. Nights like that, as well as tonight for that matter, fall into a file folder of memories labeled "pretty awesome." But the stuff I put on here is only the grade-A shit, the stuff that's really funny.
And this very Monday, Monday, on the night when Debbie Gibson sang the Seventh Inning Stretch at 80's Night at Wrigley, for all the quirky exchanges and individually spectacular moments that transpired, only one thing really stands out: I cannot believe how much heat my balls are throwing off right now. Sersiously, I'm not kidding about this: If you put a small beaker of water next to my crotch right now, you could produce enough steam to power motherfucking Canada. Thank God for Gold Bond Extra Strength Lotion.
I'm off on tour, back on Thursday. Be ready for some shit that will be beyond the fucking pale...
posted by Pat at 4:10 AM
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