Great Motherfuckin' Weekend

Sorry that I haven't posted in a few days. The reason is that I was busy having a fucking awesome weekend in Chicago. Let's recap:

I awoke early Saturday morning. The plan was to get on the road by 9am. I was just a few minutes late to pick up my cohorts for the weekend:

Purple Hays (left) and Emily-in-Chief (right).

Mr. Cole Ruby.

And, of course, your humble narrator.

So, we weren't too late in getting on the road. The primary motivation for our trip (besides the shared desire to get the hell out of Madison for a while), was the Cubs v. Braves game. I was excited to see my second MLB game, my first being the Diamondbacks v. Tigers game I saw at the Bank One Ballpark (the BOB, for those in the know) the season that the D-backs won the World Series. I was particularly excited to see the game at Wrigley Field, especially given that field's connection to the Blues Brothers.

As we're driving down on the horrible toll road between Madison and Chicago, we exit at one of the oasisi and get some food. Purple Hays and Cole both had McDonald's, and a disturbing trend was set. Emily-in-Chief had some Subway, and I ate panda, which tastes remarkably like orange chicken. We got back on the road and, at about noon, I asked what time the game started, assuming that it was supposed to start at about 1:30. Cole found the tickets in the glove compartment and explained that the game actually started at 12:20, just ten minutes from then. Oh fuck. And we're stuck in traffic.

Well, as luck would have it, we only missed about an inning and a half. When we got to the game, the Cubs were winning 1-0. By the time we got to our seats (which were, literally, the worst seats you could possibly buy while not being in the stands in the outfield), however, the Cubs had allowed the Braves to score twice. Two motherfucking times.

Our view from our seats.

Seats built into the top of neighboring apartment buildings - awesome!

Inadvertantly lined up in size order.

So, now it was the third inning, and the Cubs are down by one. And that's how it would stay for the remainder of the game. The bottom of the ninth got a little interesting, though. The Cubs managed to get guys on first and second. The batter fucked around until the count was full. There was one final, pivotal pitch. And . . . the worst anticlamax ever. The batter swung, and he hit the ball. The problem was that it was the most half-assed swing I've ever seen. It was like he couldn't decide between swinging, not swinging and bunting (which is strange because I was screaming at him to bunt). So, given his indecision, the batter did the best he could to find the perfect midpoint between those three things, so the ball went about 10 feet, got caught, and the game was over. It was pathetic.

After the game we went to McDonald's for a second time. Really strange. After McD's, we went to out hotel, where a good amount of shrieking came from the girls upon discovering their sleep number beds. After getting settled at our hotel, we took the hotel shuttle to O'Hare, then took the El down to Wicker Park. We walked around for a few minutes, during which I expressed my need to be in a bigger city. Chicago, specifically. Anyway, eventually we found a bar/restaurant called Salud, which billed itself as a "Tequila Lounge." Now, Emily loves tequila, so we went in. Little did we know that it would be the start of an amazing night.

Emily's in love with her mango margarita. Also, I take almost any opportunity to pose - even when I'm not the subject of the picture.

Sometimes you've gotta chug a margarita.

Pretty much an awesome picture.

We also ate at Salud and, goddamnit, it was awesome. I had a seared tuna steak with guacamole. Completely fucking off the hook.

Eventually, Ryan, Maureen and Trevor joined us, and fun was had by everyone. We continued drinking a shitload of margaritas. If memory serves, I had about 6. At one point I was triple fisting two margaritas and a Pacifico.

Mr. Ryan McNamara.

Too Fucking Cute.

With all of us in tow, we headed down to another bar just down the street - Rodan. I liked that bar a lot less than Salud, but we kicked it there for a while before heading back to Salud, where we rounded out the night with - you guessed it - more margaritas.

I am a right sexy superhero.

The ladies of the Senior board.

Me and Mauree, one of my favorite pictures ever.

Cole and Purple Hays - they may be short, but they pack a lot of cool into their scant height.

Anyway, after all that drinking, we were fucking tired. We walked to the El station, rode the train back up to O'Hare, caught our shuttle (after talking to a nice security guard with a dog) and hit the sack in our sleep number beds, but not before heading to IHOP for some incredibly shitty food.

I gotta be honest, I was struggling at this point.

We awoke the next day, checked out, had an unbelievable meal at the Cheesecake Factory, and then did a good amount of shopping. We stopped at the IKEA, where we took one hell of a rest stop on some of the display furniture.

Not pictured: Cole, who insisted on taking this picture.

After buying a coffee table with enough room to store a dead body in it, it was sadly time to bid farewell to the Windy City. We took the "scenic route" through Lake Geneva and arrived home at about 8:30. Purple Hays and Cole and I went and watched "Over the Hedge," which was great, and then hung out with Rachel and her sister.

Today, we all went over to Brat Fest and then went to Rachel's sister's place for a BBQ. Another great day, and a perfectly relaxing end to what was, honestly, one of the best weekends in recent memory, and definitely the best Memorial Day weekend ever. And, like Purple Hays says, "It's not rocket surgery."