Last week I worked really hard at work all week. So fucking hard, that today--Martin Luther King Day--I hardly have anything to do (which explains the creation of the post you're reading).
On Friday night I dined at a Turkish restaurant on the north side called
A La Turka. A La Turka is the shit. I went with my hot girlfriend. We smoked some bud in the car and then searched the front seat for change for the meter for 6 minutes.
Inside we were seated at a table near the back. Our waitress was super stupid. I was admiring the ugly poster of two fisherman in the sunset, and the cheap frame in particular. She came over and dropped some BS story about how the poster was a picture from her homeland, the boundary waters between the middle east and europe and how badly she missed it, etc. etc. etc.
Yeah right, try the boundary waters between minnesota and canada... I could almost make out the Old Milwaukee logo cut out of the corner in the frame.
I drank Turkish beer (it tasted like Michelob) and sipped Turkish red wine (it tasted like sand) and sample some of my hot girlfriend's chicken kabob. It was excellent. I had made the mistake of eating two deep dish slices of pizza after work, and wasn't hungry.
I had to piss, so I waited in line in the back. I got a chance to look at all of the autographed pictures. The collection was bizarre: nearly every senior official of the Turkish government with the owner ("Josh"), and then pictures of Josh with
the killer Don King and the head bouncer of the
Jerry Springer Show,
Steve.
About 9 o'clock A La Turka raffled off some $15 gift certificates and then the belly dancers came out. One was fat and Turkish, one was dumpy and white trash, and one was a stripper with huge fake tits, no body fat and a spastic tweaked cocaine shake. They danced to Turkish techno for about a half hour.
After dinner we walked over to the Lincoln Tap Room and drank two beers before calling it a night at 11:30 because we are pussy adults who are tired from working at our adult jobs where we have to take shit from baby boomers all week long. Baby boomers should chill the fuck out.
--
Saturday night I had my friends over to the apartment for some beers before the Peanut Butter Wolf show at the Abbey. I told 3 of them to bring over a CD boom box without telling them why. Pat's 1991 era CD boom box had "weight room" written all over it, with stickers dating back to 1991. After I got everyone good and hi, we turned on
The Flaming Lips: Zaireeka... the release that has 4 CDs that you play at the same time... it's a musical journey.
Later we drove over to the Abbey to catch the show. Unfortunately hip hop has never really taken off in Chicago. I think that Chicago is too conservative and too midwest. Peanut Butter Wolf's set sounded fucking excellent, but in the meantime, fat girls got on stage, someone kept spilling beer on the soundboard guy, and improbably a plate glass window was broken. beats me.
I ended the night very drunk on beer and whisky.
--
I finally got up about 1:30 p.m. on Sunday and drank a glass of iced tea. Iced tea always cures my hangover. My hot girlfriend juiced me some carrots and apples... damn that sweet shit is good.
Later we went over to my friend Todd's place to watch Carolina take the Bears out of the season. I'm from Wisconsin, so I couldn't care less if the Bear ever win another game again, in fact there's something sweet about watching them wreck... In all honesty I just don't ever want to hear about the
'85 Bears again. Stop talking about them, it's pathetic. It was (now) 20+ years ago, and Jim McMahon was eventually a 3rd sting QB on the Packers.
After that we caught the 3rd period of the Blackhawks game with the free 13th row off the ice tickets that Todd got from work.
Later, I crashed.
