Just Got Back from Chicago and All I Got You Was This Crappy Post...

So, yeah, the trip was pretty much what I said it was going to be in my last post:

Got in late - check

Couldn't sleep in - check (next time a see a fucking leaf-blower, I'm shoving it right up the blower's blowhole)

Hellish drive to office - check

Awkward seeing co-workers in person - check

Dinner with friend - check but no sushi... went for crappy bar food instead. Southwestern Chicken Salad + Bad Merlot = Corn-studded midnight crampy dumpage.

Dehydrated in morning - not so bad, actually. Just a little parchy.

Hung out with 'rents - nice

Set up for wedding then hung out for five hours waiting to play - check

Ate at T.G.I. McDoogleDicks - actually, ate at a nice little boite... not a bloomin' fried vegetable in the place

Stomach cramps/diarrhea - No?!!! I couldn't believe it. And that was after a P.B.R. and three cans of Schlitz?! What the Schlitz?!

Reception Hall Manager told us to "Turn it down!," not the bride's mother. [We turned up.]

No Granny asking for polka BUT, we did ACTUALLY PLAY polkas with the bride's grandfather who just happened to bring his accordion! Best moment of the whole trip! The dude was about 85 years old and played the fuck outta that thing!

The band sounded pretty darn good, I must say. Strangely good. Eerily good... BOO!

Drunk sorority sisters of the bride coming onstage to sing - check, but no one spilled/vomited into my backpack... Bonus! But one of them did pull the afro wig off of my head and wear it for the song. [*Note to bridesmaid who wore my afro: you might want to burn your hair and slather your now boil-ridden scalp with some sort of salvy balm. That thing hasn't been washed since the Truman administration.]

Got back to my folk's house at about 2 a.m. but had no problem falling asleep.

Had breakfast with the 'rents, got some bagels, hit the road, no Bears traffic, no Levi's outlet, made it home by mid-afternoon, played with the kiddlies and that's it.

I think the greatest thing about the whole trip was the fact that I basically didn't stop talking from the minute I got there until the minute I left. It didn't matter who was in front of me, I was a goddamn Chatty Cathy the entire time. I'm tellin' ya, there's nothing better than talking to REAL people without the assistance of a keyboard and/or a webcam. I must have seemed mildly insane, but it felt great to just gab. "So, how many seats you think we'll win back in the House?" "Wow, the office sure looks different! Look at all these desks!" "Boy, you can't get food like this in Michigan!" "Yeah, I got these new socks from Old Navy and they are surprisingly comfortable!" "You know, sometimes I just sit my cold, darkened basement and sob uncontrollably." "Hey, do you have an IM address? We should IM each other... every day!" "Hey, you want to see some pictures of my kids?" "I love talking, don't you? It's so FUN!" "Sure, I have lots of friends... kinda... and sometimes they even leave comments!"

People were polite and usually let me ramble, their faces contorted into a half-smirk of equal parts pity, beffudlement, unease and revulsion. Kind of like the look one might give someone who is seated naked, in a pool of their own urine, eating their own gangrenous foot. I'm kind of getting used to that look.

But I do feel strangely refreshed and ready to start making a few changes. I've got to get out and meet actual people above the age of eight. And I've got to find some people to play music with, too. And I've gotta get TiVo. And I think I need to change the oil in the car. And I might want to wash my afro before the next gig.

And I've gotta get some more of those socks from Old Navy.