Chicago Part I: Wherein MysteryMan makes me laugh so hard I almost pee my pants, but instead decide to write on napkins.

I’m running on about four good hours of sleep right now, which hasn’t been a sufficient amount of shuteye to keep me functioning like a normal human being since sometime back in college. I also quit caffeine three years ago so I can tell you all that at some point during this post I’m going to go incoherent, and at least everyone will know why.

The lack of sleep stems from the fact that our train back from Chicago was about an hour and a half late, which you won’t hear me complain about because lord knows it could be worse. We were four hours late getting there, and it was only supposed to be a four hour ride.

We made up for lost time (after walking 2.3 miles to our hotel) by hitting up almost every drinking establishment within walking distance starting with a place called Rock Bottom Brewery, which seemed a bit ironic.

Caveat: I just have to say before I tell this story that MysteryMan is in the top five smartest people I know. I am also in the top five smartest people that I know, but I also have this little thing we like to call the “Draheim Gene” which comes from somewhere on my moms blonder side of the family and occasionally makes the most ridiculous things pop out of my mouth. From somewhere in his family tree, I’m pretty sure MM got a Draheim gene too…)

Anyway, on our way two the second of five fine distributors of adult beverages, MysteryMan has a revelation. The place is called Boston Blackies Restaurant & Bar, and as I’m veering toward the entrance, MM grabs my elbow and none-to-discretely keeps my ass moving past the door, while whispering “I remember this place from the last time I was here and we can’t go in there, look…”

He’s dragged me around to the side of the building where there is a six-car parking lot and is pointing triumphantly at the sign posted on the side of the building. It reads:

FOR BOSTON BLACKIES PATRONS ONLY

I blink at him for a minute like this might be a joke, and then finally say, “Yeah, like if you go in Boston Blackies to eat, then you are a Boston Blackies patron… and can park here. Right?”

At which point he blinks at me for a minute like this still might be a joke, but something finally clicks and he says, “Ohhhh, Bud and I walked by this place before but we though the sign meant it was for an elite group of people. You know, like a moose lodge.”

Priceless. Absolutely priceless.