There is something icky about waking up to someone bashing on your front door, wanting to get in and remove window screens. And you feel even worse when you look at the clock and realise that all of this is happening at 3pm on a Thursday. Um, where did the time go? And HOW ON EARTH did I sleep so long?!
The sad thing is, I actually know the answer to both of those questions. And the answer is: SHOTS. Yes friends, I ignored every ounce of common sense in my body the other night and slammed two shots with Jems and our fellow barfly friends. Ugh. It was pretty messy (for me particularly) and we ended up removing ourselves from the bar when it closed at 4am.
In a twisted way, we both felt pretty cool for having such amazing staying power. The night actually started at 8pm at Marche, a gorgeous French restaurant in the West Loop which was celebrating its 15th Anniversary party that night. Burlesque dancers, cocktails, the whole bit. But we didn't stay very long because there were way too many people, and way too few appetiser trays.
Jumping in a cab, we flew to Old Town and had a quick pasta dinner at Topogigio - a place that me and Dr G have come to love. Our favourite bartender wasn't working, and the Obama/McCain debate was screening outside, so we sat inside instead. The pasta we scoffed was delicious, ditto the chocolate gelato and the limoncello digestif.
Ugh and then it seemed going to the Boystown bar was a good idea. Enough said...
But this morning we have emerged at a reasonable hour and actually have a full day of activities ahead. We're walking up to Wrigley Field, then brunch on Southport, then a walk through the neighbourhood before a pizza dinner tonight with Lex. And no shots. No matter how good the idea seems at the time.