I'm in a current 10 day period I am deeming Spring Break. Last weekend I went to Park City next weekend I'm going to San Diego for a music festival. I'll be posting sporadic stories the next couple weeks that are tangentially related to Spring Break.
This story didn't take place during spring break but it might as well have. It was the summer of 2008, I had just returned from an outrageous semester abroad. During my time in Europe I began writing; I visited 20 countries (you can read about these adventures on my old blog fratitaly.blogspot.com) and I even started a charity to fund a drug fueled return to Bloomington for Little 5. It failed.
I spent nearly my entire inheritance from my grandmother's estate. I regret nothing.
By the time I pulled up to 2334 Clarendon, a five bedroom house on the outskirts of Wrigleyville, I was ready to rip up the Chicago summer. I was more or less told during my first week of a Philip Morris internship that I probably wasn't going to get a full time offer (but I would make $25 an hour all summer) So instead of trekking into the city every day to sell cigs, I would typically wake up at 10, work for about two hours and then play a quick 9 at Waveland during the afternoon.
It was paradise.
A few weeks in, I get a call from one of my friends.
"Hey, have you hung out with Pete yet?" (Name has been changed)
All my buddies had become really good friends with a new guy while I had been living in Florence. We had hung out a few times before I left, but I didn't know he was living in Chicago. I hit him up one day and found out he was living right down the street.
Pete also didn't really care about his summer internship and was focused mainly on partying all summer. On most Tuesday nights you could find us blacking out on two dollar tequila shots at BARcelona and then taking batting practice upstairs at Sluggers.
On one such Tuesday, Pete's roommate assaulted a pizza vendor for attempting to close 2 minutes early. (This was completely justified, if you are going to market yourself as late night pizza, you sure as shit better not close at 1:58am) Aforementioned roommate ended up getting arrested over the altercation.When he got home the following morning at around 6am, we all decided to call of work and take the day off similar to one Ferris Bueller.
We started drinking heavily around 9am and made our way to the Cubby Bear by noon. Not wanting to slow the party down at all we stopped by the 7/11 just before first pitch of the Cubs game to pick up a fifth of vodka each. Remember this was 2008, Wrigley security was incredibly low.
With nearly a gallon of liquor in tow we made our way to the bleachers and began openly drinking from the bottle. We were pretty rowdy and became quick fan favorites in our section. Of course we received some sideways glances from a few of the families in attendance, but this was Wrigley, in the bleachers, the threat of animal behavior is always implied.
The game was pretty boring, but close. In the bottom of the 7th inning it was 2-2 with the Cubs coming up to bat.
Pete's roommate had gone home, deciding that he was too drunk to continue. Any further partying could put him at risk for a second consecutive arrest. Pete and I decided to move down to see if we could get to the front row, right on the wall.
When we finally got all the way down, there was a pretty rowdy group of chicks next to us. They too had blown off work for a day game and were all too eager to take pulls of our Smirnoff Razz straight from the bottle. Around this time I saw a little glimmer in Pete's eye. I had no idea what he was about to do, but I had a feeling it would be epic. He looked at the girl sitting directly in between he and I.
"Do you know about the Leez Reez?"
"No," she countered, still smiling.
"It's this thing, it's big in the south. What happens is you pull your tits out. I'm going to suck on your left titty, and Moel man over there, he's going to suck on your right titty. It's awesome."
I was aghast. I mean, I had heard people make aggressive plays when they're hammered, but this was pretty bold, even for Pete who oozed with charisma. Fortunately for us, these chicks seemed cool enough to laugh it off.
To my horror the girl next to us smiled and said 'go for it.' She pulled her top down and Pete dove in for the left titty. I froze.
Like, I FROZE.
The moment you realize you are going to get in a bad car accident, that feeling when someone pulls a gun on you. Everything stopped. I looked around and saw mothers shielding their children's eyes. I saw the girl's friends rolling with laughter. I spied some shirtless men cheering on Pete, all in the middle of a god damn baseball game.
This is real life.
Pete popped up, a momentary respite from his mammary mission.
"Moel man. Right Titty!"
I stood up and left the game. It is still to this date, the hardest I have ever choked under pressure, but I remember having my Scarlett O'Hara moment as I shamefully walked down Clark Street.
"If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God as my witness, I'll never fuck up a lees reez again."
Pete also didn't really care about his summer internship and was focused mainly on partying all summer. On most Tuesday nights you could find us blacking out on two dollar tequila shots at BARcelona and then taking batting practice upstairs at Sluggers.
On one such Tuesday, Pete's roommate assaulted a pizza vendor for attempting to close 2 minutes early. (This was completely justified, if you are going to market yourself as late night pizza, you sure as shit better not close at 1:58am) Aforementioned roommate ended up getting arrested over the altercation.When he got home the following morning at around 6am, we all decided to call of work and take the day off similar to one Ferris Bueller.
We started drinking heavily around 9am and made our way to the Cubby Bear by noon. Not wanting to slow the party down at all we stopped by the 7/11 just before first pitch of the Cubs game to pick up a fifth of vodka each. Remember this was 2008, Wrigley security was incredibly low.
With nearly a gallon of liquor in tow we made our way to the bleachers and began openly drinking from the bottle. We were pretty rowdy and became quick fan favorites in our section. Of course we received some sideways glances from a few of the families in attendance, but this was Wrigley, in the bleachers, the threat of animal behavior is always implied.
The game was pretty boring, but close. In the bottom of the 7th inning it was 2-2 with the Cubs coming up to bat.
Pete's roommate had gone home, deciding that he was too drunk to continue. Any further partying could put him at risk for a second consecutive arrest. Pete and I decided to move down to see if we could get to the front row, right on the wall.
When we finally got all the way down, there was a pretty rowdy group of chicks next to us. They too had blown off work for a day game and were all too eager to take pulls of our Smirnoff Razz straight from the bottle. Around this time I saw a little glimmer in Pete's eye. I had no idea what he was about to do, but I had a feeling it would be epic. He looked at the girl sitting directly in between he and I.
"Do you know about the Leez Reez?"
"No," she countered, still smiling.
"It's this thing, it's big in the south. What happens is you pull your tits out. I'm going to suck on your left titty, and Moel man over there, he's going to suck on your right titty. It's awesome."
I was aghast. I mean, I had heard people make aggressive plays when they're hammered, but this was pretty bold, even for Pete who oozed with charisma. Fortunately for us, these chicks seemed cool enough to laugh it off.
To my horror the girl next to us smiled and said 'go for it.' She pulled her top down and Pete dove in for the left titty. I froze.
Like, I FROZE.
The moment you realize you are going to get in a bad car accident, that feeling when someone pulls a gun on you. Everything stopped. I looked around and saw mothers shielding their children's eyes. I saw the girl's friends rolling with laughter. I spied some shirtless men cheering on Pete, all in the middle of a god damn baseball game.
This is real life.
Pete popped up, a momentary respite from his mammary mission.
"Moel man. Right Titty!"
I stood up and left the game. It is still to this date, the hardest I have ever choked under pressure, but I remember having my Scarlett O'Hara moment as I shamefully walked down Clark Street.
"If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God as my witness, I'll never fuck up a lees reez again."
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