Posted by: kristabella | May 14, 2007

Hello Betty Ford? Can I Make A Reservation?

I know. Where the fuck have I been? Well, for a simple answer, I’ve been trying to drink myself into rehab. (Because Britney and Lindsay seem to have so much fun there!) Or try to flush my liver out my nose. Or something.

Sometimes, jobs? They are a good thing. Besides helping pay the bills and all that. You know for the stopping you from drinking until 3 AM three nights in a row when damn, woman, you’re 29 not 22!

So my friend Lori was in town from Arizona this past week. She was here from Tuesday until Saturday. So you will see why I haven’t posted since Wednesday. Lori has been part of a few drunken escapades featured here. So if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Wednesday night we went to the Cubs game. Lori, who is a huge baseball fan like myself, has ALWAYS wanted to go to Wrigley. So I figured I’d help her out and we’d sit in the bleachers. Since that’s a cool experience for a person who has never been. Or not. I’m not a big fan. (The bleachers. Not the Cubs.) Unless you get inside super early, you don’t get a seat. And you need to be really drunk otherwise you actually care that you can’t see a damn thing going on. (Good thing for me, I’m usually pretty sloshed.)

I got to Wrigleyville before Lori, you know to make sure that the drinks were cold and that everything would be perfect for her visit. I mean, if it meant sucking it up and sitting at Murphy’s by myself for an hour or so drinking beers, so be it. I am a team player.

But since sober KJ isn’t much of a let’s-strike-up-conversations-with-strangers-in-the-light-of-day kind of person, I just drank. The options were to A) start chugging so then I could start talking to strangers, B) hope a stranger would talk to me (which can be a little touch and go) or C) drink my overpriced Bud Light and send text messages.

I chose C. And Schwerer was lucky enough to be the recipient of such gems as:

  • I meet the weirdest people. I just met this ticket broker. Who works on the side as a private investigator spying on married people that cheat. (Side note – this guy gave me his card and said to call and he’d give me free tickets. He also asked if my friend was “hot” (which she is) and when I told him she’s married he asked “does she cheat?” (NO!) Hence how the PI thing came up. I don’t think I need to add that he told me he’s a Sox fan. I think that’s assumed.)
  • Lesson learned today. Can’t sit at a table by yourself and get up and get beers. Risk losing table. (Which? I did.)
  • I’m going to text you commentary to put up on my blog. I just overheard “I texted you man. I felt all high tech.”
  • I’ve gotten so fat my watch doesn’t like to be in the fourth hole anymore. Too tight.
  • People still wear Tevas? (Yes. They do. Why?)
  • Dude! My phone just blew up and shut itself off. (Should have taken this as a hint, no?) Also, my 5 key on my phone is all jacked up. I must type a lot of JKL.

Senor Beavis also got one that people wearing NASCAR jerseys (that said Earnhardt across the chest) should NOT be allowed into Cubs games.

After all this nonsense, it got interesting. There was this dude standing in front of me. He looked vaguely familiar, but most of the guys around Wrigley do. Plus, I can’t even remember most days if I remembered to put on clean underwear, let alone know where a guy looks familiar from.

That is, until this dude started talking. And I remembered where I knew him from! He is a consultant for Slapdick Consulting. (See what I did there? With the same initials and all? And seriously? Slapdick makes way more sense than Slalom. You know with all the skiing in Chicago.)

I think I saw a little bit of recognition in his eyes. But I could have been wrong. It could have been a little beer glow. Either way. I just laughed because I wondered “if he does recognize me, am I a cancer on the company? Because that? Would be awesome.”

And yes, I could have started talking to him. But really, texting people and giggling to myself was probably going to be way more entertaining.

Not soon after this, I got my liquid courage levels up and started talking to strangers. Well, just one. He was cute and wearing Crocs. I hate these shoes. Yes, I know they are sooooo comfortable. But people? They are U-G-L-Y. But since cutie was wearing them, I decided to ask him how comfortable they really were. (Cause I? Have mad game, fools.)

And then I realized why I should stick to texting. When I asked him, he’s all “they sure are comfy! Want to see?” And then he proceeded to take his bare foot, BARE, out of his shoe for me to try on. Feeling like an ass saying no, because I mean he was offering me his shoe and all, I put my bare foot, BARE, in his shoe for a hot second. (Teri, did you just throw up in your mouth a little?) OK, fine, I already knew they were comfortable. But I didn’t really want to be all “Um, I don’t know how they do it in Memphis, but we Chicagoans don’t much care for the sharing of the foot sweat and cooties.”

Thankfully, right then my phone rang and it was Lori. And she was here. Yay! So we had a drink at Murphy’s before heading across the street to the stadium.

The game ws pretty uneventful. It was a 1-0 win for the Cubbies (yay!) and Jason Marquis had a no-hitter going for some amount of innings. Which you don’t know when you’re sitting in the bleachers. Like under the scoreboard. And we missed the only run of the game, a home run, because we were in the feed line waiting for hot dogs and more booze.

But it was fun. We ate peanuts! Lori drank Mai Tais! (only non-beer option at Wrigley. And Lori does not heart beer. She so could never have been a Midwesterner. She’s not much of a meat fan either.) Lori got beer spilled on her! Good times all around. Pretty much a typical bleacher experience at Wrigley. She was christened in the name of Old Style.

After the game we went back to Murphy’s. It’s like close and shit. We had some more drinks. Ran into some people straight out of North Dakota, accents and all. They were from Bayer-Don’t-Call-It-Tylenol on some work trip. And I realized talking to them, that when I hear an accent, I immediately adapt. They think I adapt. It’s mostly mocking.

(And also, I think all those years drinking with Julie has turned me into a Minnesotan when I drink. I need to go drink in a bar on the South Side to regain my Chicago accent.)

We also met some dudes from Cleveland. Who, when told Lori was from Arizona, immediately asked about Oreganos. (Which will only be awesome to those who have been lucky enough to be there.) And we talked about the pizookie. Which was deemed by Cleveland man as “Sex in a Pan.” Which? Awesome. And so true.

We spent most of the rest of the evening/early morning with some dudes we met outside the bathroom. Some Tall Drink of Water stared at me coming out of the bathroom. Like full-on staring. And not the creepy old man up and down stare. You know, the My-Eyes-Are-Up-Here stare. But like locked eyes for like what seemed like a minute. Which? Also creepy. To which I replied “can I help you with something?” To which he responded with silence. Um, okay.

After we got our drinks I say “do you always  make a habit of staring at girls coming out of the bathroom?” And he said “only the ones that are really cute.” And then I melted into a puddle because I? Am world’s biggest sucker. And was also quite toasted at this point and he could have said “just to make sure they washed their hands” and I would have still made out with him.

Because did I mention he was tall? Like 6-5 or something. Tallllll! Which was when I realized that if you’re that tall, that’s about all I need. And he had all his teeth. Bonus! And my standards? Have gotten lower as I’ve gotten older. So Rich? There’s still hope for you yet.

And I just went on and on about one night (one!) in our drunken week. So you’ll have to stay tuned for the rest of the stories. Which are probably only funny to me and Lori. But did include a return to the site of the missing coat.

Must go now. To sleep. Because I only have 5 more days to be unemployed. (Yes, I am a little sad about it.)

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Responses

  1. if you only knew…

  2. Sex in a Pan, luv it! I just had some this weekend! Pizookie that is, not sex:( And…Murphy’s rocks!

  3. Ah, yes. That was only night one, and really it was night two that put me in bed for all of day three. GT, GT!

  4. Some creepy guy TOTALLY hit on me at Murphy’s Bleachers once! He, however, was not 6-5. Not even close.

  5. Yeah Swishy, it’s usually creepy guys. I actually had stopped going there, but figured an out of towner needed the experience. Not too bad for a Wed night in May.

    Chundley – sorry about the sex. But really, we all know the Pizookie is better. 🙂

  6. Yay! So glad Lori made it to Wrigley w/ the best tour guide possible… You always had more of a MinnesOta accent than I did anyway (well, at least until I moved back). Oh yah, you did… you betcha.

    Oh, and I wish whomever invented those stupid Crocs would break the mold!!! I have a funny Crocs story from Hawaii last summer… remind me to tell you.


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