But It's June

The weekend was a rousing success. After the utter self-hatred that ensued Friday during the day, I was in much better spirits (pun intended) Friday night. Tony "T-Diddy" Green came to town from Louisville, as well as Amy "Not the Lead Singer of Evanescence" Lee and Doug "You Son of a Bitch" Smith from NYC/Columbus, OH and Brooklyn, respectively.

Friday night, a pretty solid crew ended up going to May Fest Chicago in Lincoln Square. It's a German street festival (no Kevin, it's not a festival celebrating German streets--it's a German festival in the street). Among the attendees were Jester, Ari, Doug, Amy, Kyla, Alex, Tana, Goni (little), Gsell, Chambers, TG, and me. Maybock was drunk. Bratwurst was ingested (probably the best brat I've ever had). Good times were had by all, including me after I gashed the shit (read: not shit, but actually blood) out of my shin on one of the metal stakes that held up the big tent. I was also fairly ecstatic after I said something about my blog to Kyla and the conversation went something like this:
Kyla: "What the hell are you talking about?"
Me: "My blog."
Kyla: "You're what?"
Me: "My blog."
Kyla: "You're plog? What the hell is a plog?"
Me: "That thing I write that you read everyday."

Then she realized what I was saying and nearly died from laughter. While death was not an imminent possibility for me, I did enjoy a boisterous guffaw.

One of May Fest's little (read: big) rackets is that you can't pay for beer or food with cash, but rather, you have to buy tickets for a dollar each. Therefore, I have about eight or nine 2006 May Fest dollars that are now worthless. Fucking Nazis. Nothing changes.

Saturday was the bachelor party of Morgan "Crazy Legs" Hirst. Since I am a supporter of the general code of male ethics, I'll keep my comments and observations about said bachelor party to a minimum.

It started at a reputable steak house, where I enjoyed the hell out of my filet and crab legs. Then we trekked to Comiskey to see the Sox/Rangers game. At the game, TG was getting bored in about the 3rd inning (Sox were down 2-1 at the time), so he decided he needed to bet on the game to make it more interesting and he was willing to let the other person take either team. We all make mistakes, whether it's drinking too much, betting against the World Series Champion Chicago White Sox, or misidentifying a college girl's corpse. Five bucks later, TG felt the sting of at least one of those.

After the game, we went to Shananigan's on Division St. The previously determined over/under on how many bachelorette parties we would see was 3. I think we went over. Unfortunately, our goal of commandeering a bachelorette party trolley was not realized, due entirely to a lack of an available trolley and not at all to a lack of alcohol. I remember someone talking to two Amazonian-type women. I kid you not, one of them had to be 7 feet tall. At some point I remember someone in our crew buying the shot girl's entire supply of test tube shots. I don't remember much after that, except for the fact that during my 3:30am trip to LaBamba with TG and Morgan, we were somehow given an extra burrito in our bag, an unheard of phenomenon that we didn't realize until we had already taken several bites of said extra burrito. The amount of grief I experienced when we had to throw it away is immeasurable. I'm not quite sure that I've really come to grips with it yet.

In slightly less depressing news, a couple days ago we had a death in the family: Todd, our beloved betta (or pla-kad, for you Thai readers) that, ironically, loved to play dead in his bowl that, ironically, had a little porcelain sign that read "Mar Muerto" that, ironically, means "Dead Sea" in, ironically, Spanish. I've pretty much kept Todd's death to myself. I didn't want to bring the bachelor party down or anything. Needless to say, we miss him. He was the first pet Jessie and I bought together as a married couple. His inability to live more than a year ensures that he will be the last.