The Long Weekend

And now for a well deserved break from Mr. South Side (actually, as I predicted, he has called again already, but I refuse to write more about him now. Besides, I’m sure by tomorrow, he may even call MORE and then I’ll have more to say). I had a very full weekend, and surprisingly am still alive to talk about it. See, back in my younger days, it wasn’t unusual to have back-to-back-to-back events on a Friday, Saturday and Sunday, but these days – it ain’t happening. Well, it ain’t SUPPOSED to, at least. But due to the fact that two of the events were one-day-
only things and the third was planned way in advance, I wound up staring at a three day jam-packed weekend.

Friday got the ball rolling with the DuPage County Fair. Normally, I don’t attend fairs, at least not in DuPage County, but this fair was different. You see, Roxy’s birthday is this coming Thursday, and instead of your typical skating party or movie party, she was having a Jesse McCartney party. Which, as I explained in a previous blog, made me Numero Uno in the mom department, not only to Roxy, but to her little friends as well. After I rented the minivan and picked up her four friends, we made the hike out to my brother’s in the city to pick up Aunt Sarah and do cake and presents. As my original plan seemed to be not following the timeline quite as expected, my brother (God bless him) offered to order pizza while we were on the road and have it ready at their place, rather than us making a pit stop at Pizza Hut as planned. You see, getting five ten-year olds organized and out the door is not an easy task, therefore my schedule pretty much was blown from the first second. So we made it out to Uncle Bob & Aunt Sarah’s, opened presents, ate pizza and cake, and were finally off. The ride to Wheaton was LONG as hell, but the girls made the time pass much more quickly by singing songs about barbecuing people’s heads and flushing their bodies down the potty. (The first time they sang this song, they sang about Barney, which is ok, but when they progressed onto fellow classmates, Sarah and I put the kabash on it. I think that’s how Columbine originally started.) Anyway, once we finally arrived, we did the obligatory rides, checked out the petting zoo, then finally it was time for the main event: Jesse.

Our seats were fantastic, fourth row and slightly off center. (Of course, I’d never get seats like that for Joe Perry – only for an 18-year old punk.) The girls were thrilled. They all got concert T’s, and stood on their chairs and screamed a lot. I must applaud Sarah for her savoir-faire – she remained calm and didn’t even flinch as the screams began to pierce her eardrums. At one point, Jesse picked a girl from the audience to serenade onstage. As he scoured the audience, his eyes stopped in our general area (I really thought he was going to pick Sarah). But when he pointed, it was to a sixteen year old with blonde hair and big boobs in a halter top. I later explained to my defeated Roxy and her pals that as a rule, 18 year old pop stars are usually going to pick the girl with boobs over a ten year old, no matter how much they scream. Life’s lessons learned.

So, concert ended, all’s well, and we all made it home in one piece. The girls crashed on the way home, and slept well all night. And the next morning they were gone by 10:30 am (Roxy too) and Phase II began for me.

I think I saw Def Leppard when I was like seventeen or so, I do remember awesome pyrotechnics. And much to my brother’s dismay, I still love their music and know most of the words. So I was pretty psyched for this concert. The original plan was to get there early enough to get a good spot on the lawn, so I had my cousin Patti (yes, the one who told me Mr. South Side was “a nice guy” – THANKS A LOT, PATTI!!!) and my old friend Vito get to my house at 2:30. My other friend Natalie showed up shortly after, and Rene and Bruce were planning to meet us there. But you know what they say about “best laid plans.” Turns out everyone (except me) was hungry, so we stopped for a bite beforehand. A bite, and an apple martini. (Well, for me, at least) I have to admit though, that was fun too. When we got to the ballpark where they were performing, the line looped around the arena about 60 times, since it was already almost 5:30. The only good thing about this was that it gave me time to finish my Twisted V’s that I had poured into water bottles (usually I am not a lush, but after a night with Jesse and the girls, I was definitely needing to unwind). Surprisingly enough, once we got in, we found a pretty decent spot right by shortstop, and dropped our blankets and prepared for the fun to begin.

Bruce and Rene found us pretty easily, and after listening to the opening act (who was about 19 and was really pissing off Bruce) butcher “classic rock,” it was time for Def Leppard. Have to admit, they weren’t as good as they used to be. (Since Bruce bought me a few beers on the inside though, they kept getting better and better.) It was a general party atmosphere, and pretty relaxed and fun. By the time Bryan Adams came on, I had run into a couple old friends and made some new ones. I was feeling pretty good, until he sang “Everything You Do.”

Now, let me just explain to the men out there reading this (because I know the women already understand). When a woman hears a song that reminds them of someone in their past, whether it was a good someone or a bad someone, they need to relive their lost moments in the music. Especially when they have had a few drinks. ESPECIALLY especially when that song is LIVE. And when women relive lost moments, sometimes they will cry. But only during the song. And they don’t want sympathy, or to be comforted, they just want to hear the song and cry. And be left alone. Which is exactly what happened to me. Vito panicked, but I waved him off. I listened, I cried, then when it was over, I stopped. And I was fine. I really think that a good cry is the best catharsis. Ok, so maybe if I hadn’t drank so much, I wouldn’t have cried… oh hell, yes I would’ve. I am a moody Scorpio, and the moment was right. But like I said, when the song was over, so were the tears. Which really amazed Vito. Guys just don’t get it.

So after that, Bryan was bringing women up on stage to sing. It was at this point that we decided to leave, since Patti and Vito had to cruise back to the south side, and I had a Cub game to go to the next morning. Again, got home in one piece, watched some tv, and made it to bed by about 1-ish. Got up and was picking up Roxy, her friend, and her friend’s mom for the Cubs by around 9:30 (we had bleacher seats – had to get there early).

I planned accordingly and brought mini-fans, a spray bottle and about seven bottles of water for the game. Surprisingly, (and thankfully) I wasn’t hung over. Very VERY tired, but not sick or anything. We found a good spot in the front row of right field, and proceeded to sweat profusely while waiting for the game to start. There was a group of people from Peoria next to us, dads and sons, who were starting to get on my nerves. The kids were all about eight and had gloves and kept stepping on my foot and yelling in my ear while trying to get the players’ attention. They did catch a couple balls, though. Then as I was waving out to my man Jeromy Burnitz, he tossed a ball directly to me. (I obviously looked cute in my new Cubs hat – or at least mysterious.) As I waited with my hands out for the ball to land, the punk next to me shoved his glove DIRECTLY over my hands and snatched the ball away. Ok, I don’t care if the kid WAS only eight, I was ready to throw him over the wall. Even Jeromy kind of shook his head. And I think his dad realized it, because he told his son that although it was a nice catch, that ball was thrown to the lady. And he should give it to me since he already caught others. Smart move on dad’s part, since I was going to get that ball one way or another.

Finally the game started, and I won’t even go into details because the whole thing was a pathetic blur. My boys let me down pretty bad. But at least I got a ball.

When I made it home that evening, grateful to be alive, I showered and practically fell into bed. Lord knows how I made it to work, but I did. It was like cramming a month’s worth of activities into one weekend. At least, for me. But I’m not complaining, because I had a great time all around. I just think next time, I’ll try to space things out a bit more.