Part Three and Part Four. A fraction, if you will.

Alright, these are the last installments of Chicago. It’s so stale I feel like I’m telling you about the time I went fishing with my grandpa instead of a recent summer road trip. FYI, the fishing trip was in 1995 and the bread was stale, but you wouldn’t know that. And neither did the fish. And that’s why we won.

That never actually happened. My grandpa didn’t like me; he thought I was a fairy.

Regarding Chicago, I believe I left off after the lop-off. To this day I fear when I see the guy with bare feet.

The day after the incident we packed up our gear, waited for the wine monster to dummy another full bottle in one breath, and hit the beach. Of course our good friend lent one of us that beautiful tank top you see in the picture below.. that thing got some attention. And my grandpa wouldn’t have like the guys who gave it. The kind who’d give advice to Peter Pan, you know? And have dreams of the pan flute, which I’m sure is both an instrument and a technique in Germany.

My favourite reaction was from a Walgreen’s employee who reminded me of Precious. She just kept laughing at him and saying, “You just take dat shirt off now ha ha ha, oh my, ha ha, you take dat shirt off!” He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

The beach was so relaxing that our buddy Wino let his Canadian accent slip out a bit. It’s making me laugh even right now remembering him yelling to everyone, “Hey, how ‘boat a cuple MOlsons fer tha bOys!” At least at this beach the average person knew what beer was.. the next one is another story.

And here it is! Remember I’m rushing through this because I have limited time and you’re sick of hearing about it.

After the beach, we headed to the suburbs to stay with Amigo 1’s uncle for a couple of nights. We got in around 9 or so and just took it easy with his uncle and maybe half a case each. I do recall Amigo 2 at one point spilling his heart over his previous chemical transgressions.. and then walking off to the bushes to drain some beer out, or as he called it, “I’m just gonna go poison some ‘yotes.” (Coyotes that is. You weren’t there last year when Amigo 1 decided that the best way to deal with a pesky ‘yote was to “get it drunk and make it perform autofellatio..on itself.” Wait.. I thought..— Yeah, so did we. Reinforcing the point I suppose.)

We woke up in the morning and had a big breakfast. Or didn’t. One of those two happened, I can’t remember now. What I do remember is that we were advised to go relax at the town’s man-made beach for a while. What we didn’t realize was that it doubled as a man-made studio for To Catch a Predator. They actually had a gate to get in where they checked your bag for what I assume was often candy on a string. That was one of the most uncomfortable situations I’ve been in, and that includes sprinting out of a bedroom like Road Runner when I realized I was about to make a post-bar mistake. So we hung around for a bit to ease the hangover and then walked back to the car with our heads down to ease the shame. On the way out someone said, “Becky, is your dad leaving without you!?”

We got back to the house and tried to tell them that it was a pretty good time at the beach. But then I saw a Barbie commercial and started to cry.

We had a great dinner and greater wine and then hit the patio bar downtown to watch what I think was Andy Fantuz’ first NFL game on TV. Followed by what I think was a good night. I remember tequila shots, I remember Amigo dropping his beer and then refusing sober-up water from the bartender, I remember a sports love affair between other Amigo and a AAA baseball player who met up with our group, and I remember getting kicked out at some point and jumping in a cab who both needed and couldn’t work his GPS. Apparently the back door was locked when we got home (they must’ve seen an alert on TV about three men at the beach), so Amigo and I waited while other Amigo rang the doorbell for five minutes. By that time, two of us were asleep on the back deck like we’d succumbed (succame? - logical order of events) to the elements. I’m not sure who we were trying to be gentlemanly to when we got inside, but one guy slept on the couch, and the other two of us slept on either side of the bed. Not actually in the bed, but on floor beside the bed. I only recall drifting off in the on-knees fetal position dreaming of fighting off the Duke of Hurl.

In the morning, someone woke up naked in the storage room and we sat around for an hour trying to piece together how that happened and what the odds were that he unknowingly left the basement and caused a stir upstairs. For amusement’s sake, I hope he did, and I hope we find out in 10 years when they stop laughing, or when they read about double-jeopardy. Not our first rodeo.

After doing our best to solve the mystery of Naked Ned, we packed up our stuff and headed to Milwuakee. Why? We don’t know, it was just kind of a place to go. Maybe our subconsciousness-es (<-man, that’s wrong, but it’s fun for the lispy ones so it’s staying) knew that we were going to have another interesting night there.

Man alive, that took a while to write out. I guess I was wrong Carlos, or whoever the lone reader is today. I’ll have to continue this piece tomorrow. Ha! I hope you can wait, pal.

Oh, there I go again quoting my ex-girlfriend.