Party Hard

Ok, lots to tell. Now that I'm working downtown more, updates may be less frequent but still chockful o' good stories. Lower quantity, higher quality. You can think of my website as your favorite shot (Redheaded Slut, perhaps) rather than a series of beers paced throughout one evening.
Thursday: Post work, I prepared myself for an exciting night at the Jackhammers game with Megan, Nancy, and Mark. I could hardly wait to see what Joliet's newest tourist attraction (located in the heart of downtown Joliet, no less) and I was not disappointed in the least. The excitement began on the ride there, when we saw a red pickup truck with some pretty nice hydraulics. I have a feeling that the driver of that truck may have chosen the "Low Rider" option for his class ring, perhaps with "Yo" on the other side. We saw many local street performers in the area of the stadium, including yet another Tom Petty lookalike, who, shock of all shocks, was singing "Last Dance with Mary Jane." We arrived at Silver Cross Field and got our beers. Unfortunately, the stadium only sells Budweiser, and despite my exciting trip in years past to St. Louis and the Budweiser Brewery, I'm a Miller fan, but I sucked it up (literally). Ready for some baseball, we got to our seats and sat down to watch the Jackhammers play the Fargo-Moorhead Redhawks (hee-hee "Moorhead." Yes, I'm twelve).

At this particular game we were treated to not one but two badly costumed mascots. First, the Harris Bank lion "scampered" about (rarr!!!), and, last but not least, we were treated to "Jammer," the mascot of the Jackhammers. I don't know how to describe the hideousness (if that's a word) that is Jammer, but I'll attempt. Picture a big blue fuzzy creature with a nail for a nose and the end of a hammer sticking out of the back of its head, and that's Jammer for you. Not only is it scary looking, it's scary acting. Jammer does this disturbing, Elvis-like pelvic thrust (if it has a pelvis) that made me shake with fear and revulsion. Unfortunately, since we were sitting directly behind the dugout, and Jammer uses the top of the dugout as its stage, we got thrusted at quite often. Surprisingly, I didn't see too much Whiskey Tango at the game, despite some older men who gave us some lecherous glances. I made friends with a six year old sitting in front of us, named Allie, who decided to hang out with us for most of the game. She sat on our laps and told us stories about how her dad, a local fireman, had been attending to some flooding in the locker room at the stadium and had seen the Jackhammers in their "undies." She also invited us to come over to her house for a hot tub party, but I think it was an empty promise. Many local favorites, such as readers Deb and Mark of Joliet and Legal Larry, came out to the game, as well as several JCA alumni, including an Incubus lookalike. As for the actual game, the Jackhammers, including 2nd baseman, Clay Snellgrove (with a name like that, I had so much fun cheering for him that Allie asked me, "Do you play with Clay?" Not yet, Allie. . .) managed to squeeze out a 7-6 victory in seventeen innings, though we left a while before that. A little advice to the Jackhammers franchise: though I enjoyed the between inning entertainment, particularly the race between Dairy Queen cone, parfait, and blizzard (Parfait won it in a heartbreaker), your "Funstruction Crew" needs a little more "Fun" and a little less "Struction."

We headed back to Nancy's after the game, and Megan and I went over to Heroes. Quick note: The sign outside St. Ray's advertised that Sunday's picnic as the "Last chance to dance with Father Stan," which not only reminded me of "Last Dance with Mary Jane," but also disturbed me due to the current Catholic climate. After waiting literally a half hour to get a drink, we made our way around the bar and socialized with many JCA alumni, including one who tried to dance on me in a manner quite reminiscent of "Jammer." He'd also been at the Jackhammers game, perhaps he did pick up some moves from the fuzzy blue guy. Our visit to Heroes was less than exciting, though I did see a Jesus lookalike, and a girl wearing a teeshirt that said, "SEXY doesn't mean you have to have sex." Thank you, Jessica Simpson. . .

Though we may not have had the most exciting trip at Heroes, apparently there was some drama going on. . .


Man slashed outside Jefferson Street bar


JOLIET — A man relieving himself in the parking lot of a West Jefferson Street bar was beaten and slashed early Friday morning.

The 26-year-old was treated at Provena Saint Joseph Medical Center for three large cuts to the side of his head and a black eye he sustained in the 1:40 a.m. attack outside Heros & Legends. He was driven to the hospital by friends.

The man told police he left the bar in the 2500 block of West Jefferson Street and urinated near some parked cars.

Two men then attacked him, hitting him in the head and slashing him near his temple with a sharp object, possibly a beer bottle.

Scary stuff, and we were probably in the parking lot around that time. Now I know for sure that it's a good idea to wait till I get home to relieve myself.

Friday: The day itself held little excitement, as for the night, I went out to Naperville with Shanny, Joe, and Courtney for a night on the town. Listening to some Andrew W.K.on the way, particularly "I Love New York City," prepared us for a "Fun Night." We went out to a few bars in Naperville but really didn't see too much interesting stuff besides the leaky ceiling at Features. As the only bars that served food were closing early, we headed out to Downers Grove to go to Omega, where we feasted on some not too tasty food, observed the Eugene Levy-esque manager, and got waved at by some eager high school hombres.


Saturday: after a visit to the Louis Joliet mall (surprisingly Whiskey Tango free, though I noticed that the shaggy mall janitor had cleaned himself up a bit. . . no word on the status of his shaggy protege. Also, the short bespectacled man with facial hair who always wears wrestling shirts at Tuckaway was spotted near FYE.), I headed out for a night of graduation parties. First was Kelly's party, where we chatted and listened to the long-belated birthday cd I made her several months ago, then Leslie's, where we did a lot of shots of whiskey and Goldschlager, but matched them with enough cheesy potatoes to keep us from a drunken stupor.
Sunday:nothing to report except that that Bachelorettes in Alaska show is damn funny.
Monday: I had some great adventures on the train. On the way there I saw both JCA legend "George" and a guy with a tattoo reading "Carney Power." I really, really hope this was referring to carnivals, and that this man indeed knows the "Carny Code." As for the way home, a large African American woman repeatedly sang, "Fatty Girl, Fatty Girl, Fatty Girl. . ." and then said to her companion, "Don't hate, appreciate!" Words to live by. . .

Finally, the infamous "Tanya" is back in action. She left me the following comment in reference to my last posting: "No more tales? That's how I spell it. Why do you spell it TAIL?" Apparently Tanya, though new to this country, has a pretty decent grasp of the English language, though still not knowledgeable of the world of Whiskey Tango. Again, anyone with info let me know, I must unmask this foreign fiend before it's too late!