It was SUCH a nice day out. I wanted to walk to a restaurant and sit out on a patio. So I came home, and forced my hungover roommate to go on an Uptown adventure with me. We walked to Pat’s Tap, and ended up sitting inside. The patio was in the shade, and it’s just not that warm yet. They have good bloody marys.I’m SO ready to live alone, but I sure am going to miss this girl.After our bloodies, we walked to Uptown Tavern, my stinking gravity hole of bars. I always end up there, and I am rarely impressed (I think it’s just a vibe thing). For the first time ever, we ventured to the “game-y” section of the bar where we played big game hunter (I’m obsessed with this game!) and beer pong. Then we walked back to the apartment to watch Frozen. And we found a cat along the way.
Weekends can be sort of stressful because exciting activities are expected. When I got home from work, I wanted to lay down and be lazy, and maybe go to bed at 8 p.m. But, I had to do something “photoworthy.” So, my roommate told me to take my dirtbag self and shower and get ready, that we were going to suburbia.
Spencer picked up some flavored vodka and sparkling water (fyi, this is a delicious drink that makes you stay hydrated too!), and came over. Then we tripped it out to the burbs (stayed at her sister’s house), and trekked to Wild Bill’s.
It was like an Ed Hardy explosion.
At the end of the night, Elton John and Sweaty Cowboy showed up. Initially we tried to get a sneaky picture (“I’ll stand behind them, just pretend you’re taking a picture of me”). Then I just jumped in there. I tend to force photos on strangers.We danced our butts off, sang (poorly…I really don’t know the lyrics to any songs), glass-clinked, and hip checked people who came too close to the hurricane that was us.And then we returned the next day for a bloody mary (which was pretty good). But really, we weren’t hungover–only tired. We think this is because of the drinks with water (instead of pop), the dancing, and the giant Toppers mac & cheese with bacon pizza we devoured before bed (and holy crap was that good).
Time to go raid the leftovers…
I’d never been to a meat raffle before. Naturally, since it is a midwestern (and often unheard of) activity, I had to add it to the “Slice of Bliss” list.
So I tagged along with my coworker/friend Heather, to Cy’s Bar and Grill.
How it works: You buy a $1 raffle ticket. They spin a wheel, and if it lands on your number, you get to pick out a package of meat. Tada! And you keep playing until all the meat’s gone. They do this at CJ’s every weekend. I’d go all the time if it was in my neck of the woods. (So I’m going to have to do some research.)
Heather, was the meat raffle queen.
She won three times.
And I won a free drink.
A couple of weeks before the holiday break, I met up with my old friend Stephanie. We grew up together (she calls me Katy Jo, an indicator that she’s known me awhile). Our friendship sort of dissolved when we got impatient with each other a few years back.
And then time passed, and we realized that it was time to reconnect and forget about the foolishness of the past. Good friends are hard to come by.
So tonight I met up with Stephanie again, and we went to Cowboy Jacks for some drinks and an appetizer.
It was packed when I got there. Stephanie was running late due to traffic, so I high-tailed it to the bar. Then I just stood there awkwardly, too dazed from the pace of things, trying to shake off the computer-coma from work, shrug off my uber long scarf, and take off my faux-fur coat that was making me self-conscious in this low-key place. Luckily, some lady at the bar got the bartender’s attention for me, and the beer helped me relax while I waited.
When Steph showed up, we got a booth (after our buzzer finally went off), and we ordered some nachos.
And all this was topped off by our front row seats to the bull-riding.
Oh, and one more thing.
I’m doing the Polar Plunge with the Cowboy Jacks team this year. The event raises money for the Special Olympics. I need to raise at least $75 to get the reward of jumping into a frigid winter lake. So, if you have a dollar to spare (every.single.bit.helps.), please pledge my leap here.
Last night, for day 4, some buds and I headed to the Ice House to see a Bluegrass band.
There was an $8 cover, and the drinks weren’t cheap (but it was my own fault for committing to some very extreme pinot noir guzzling).
The venue has a real nice ambience, the low lighting that helps you stay off your phone–because when you look up from the extreme screen brightness, you are temporarily blind–and instead be present with your company.
I think this place would be great for a date.
We started upstairs, where it was harder to see/enjoy the band, and the waiter was slow and disengaged. He used an electronic phone-like device to take orders (when he rarely did take our order), and I was convinced he was texting right in front of us. Kids these days.
There was a hole in the wall next to our table, and after I searched it for any notes (there were none), I wanted to know what was on the other side of that mysterious wall. So I stuck my camera through and took a picture.
And we danced.
I twirled strangers, laughed and swayed, and after the band’s last song, we yelled ENCORE! So, for the grand finale, the band came out on the floor with us. I couldn’t stop staring at their fingers, moving so easily between chords. I also couldn’t stop staring at the main guitarist’s flesh-colored mustache.
As we waited for the cab to pull up, the bartender shot whiskey in our mouths via a mustard bottle. He also cured Krista’s hiccups. And again, I was fascinated by facial hair. I just couldn’t stop complimenting his beard.
I mean, it’s Friday.
My coworker wasn’t able to make it to my birthday party, so she wanted to buy me a birthday drink. Naturally, one drink turned into a few, and we also opted for some mussels (when we intended to order oysters), and an egg, all courtesy of The Lowry, a restaurant/bar I’ve never been to.
The Lowry: Burgers, Whiskey, Oysters, Eggs…this is what they do.
We looked at the fancy drink list, and I of course chose one with gin.
I love Gin. Ginny, Gin, Gin. Here it goes down, down into my belly…
Nice picture huh?
It was pretty, but after a few sips, I didn’t like it (too syrupy tasting). (Drink snob moment #1)
So, when I saw this (and boldly claimed that I was now going to come here every morning), I once again became the girl who orders a Bloody Mary at a weird time.
Another nice picture huh?
The Bloody Mary came, packed with a pickle, a little olive, and a big chunk of cheese. I enthusiastically took a guzzle, only to realize that I had just drank the second worst Bloody Mary of my life…and I know Bloody Marys. (Drink snob moment #2) I wasn’t too concerned with this double drink dissatisfaction (you like that alliteration?), because our bartender swapped out the blech Martini for the blech Bloody Mary for free. The bartenders were quite wonderful.
When the guy bartender brought out this plate, he said “Did somebody order some mussels?” in a lisped voice, displaying the plate with one hand, and lifting the other to flex.
They were delicious. I could eat an entire bowl myself next time (but instead of all the sausage, just bring me five more pieces of that bread).
These eggs were delicious (yes that is bacon on top), and while men were walking around with perfectly quaffed hair and shiny loafers, we were running spoons and fingers along the plate’s edge to get all of this messy “decorative” goodness.
And, as a finale to the night, we got to play with a wind-up toy.