I had a rather interesting Saturday. It started off by rolling out of bed, a bit sluggish. I wanted some more sleep but I wasn't going to get that laying around in bed. So I moved to the couch. That lasted about 3 minutes when I thought I should go play some poker.
Two hundred dollars less later (which I would win back later in the day), I moved back to the couch to watch the Badger football game. Good to see them get their act together after a rough 1st quarter and run like only the Badgers can run. I don't think they will be going anywhere in the bowl season with the way that defense played but they have time to improve.
After a quick shower, I was out the door to go tailgate before the Brewers game. For some God awful reason, a friend had Corona Light (who drinks this swill?) at his house with no better beer choices. I did find a High Life but was forced to drink the other stuff. Of course we were heading to a liquor store before we got to the stadium.
So we are sitting out there, grilling away, drinking beer, shooting the shit, when someone points out some kid puking on the median. I look over just in time to see him empty his stomach. It looked like someone puking in South Park. He had a good solid stream going. We start yelling things at the kid for a bit until I notice that he wasn't drinking and actually was with the family just to the right. He had puked a bit by a chair there, and then behind another car as he tried to get away from everyone. He was also wearing some kind of Jesus shirt- and no, it wasn't a Drinking for Jesus 2005 tour shirt. His dad walked over to make sure he was ok and to give him some napkins to wipe himself down. The family soon packed up and headed into the game.
Our attention went back to drinking as we had about a half hour until game time. Then we were grossed out. It started with just one, then the horde was there. Seagulls. The seagulls came swarming in and start to eat the chunks in the kid's puke. It was beyond disgusting. And yet I kept watching this spectacle. Morbid fascination strikes again. As much I it revolted me, I kept looking back. Thankfully the game was about to start soon and we headed inside.
The Brewers got their ass kicked. For a bit there, I thought I would too. The guys sitting behind us were from out of town, FIBS I believe. We were talking with them earlier about foul balls. I got a foul ball last night, second time in my life. Note: I said I "got" a ball, not "caught" a ball. After deflecting off some hands- and a boob- it fell on the floor right next to me. I picked it up and tossed it to the kid down the row. I have no need for that and the kid will enjoy it more than I will. Best yet, he thanked me at the end of the game. Though he needed some prodding from his father, it is good to see some people can still be polite.
Anyway, it was in the 7th or 8th inning of this ugly game. One guy a couple seat down made a stupid comment. Filled with alcoholic courage, I lit into him. It was easy. He was wearing a Griffy Mariner's jersey and a Finley Maverick's hat. I told him to update wardrobe since neither of those players were with those teams. He laughed it off. But then one of the bald guys behind him shouted "Rickie Weeks, you suck!" Without a thought I shot back:
"Hey, Mr. Clean, no need for you to pipe up!"
After saying that, his friend laughing, I said, "Oh great, now I gonna get my ass kicked!"
Instead Mr. Clean said- and if anyone can explain this to me, please do- "When you go back to your factory, slice off a piece of cheese for me."
Huh? I looked at Mr. Clean with a confused look. What does that mean? I have no clue if I have actually been insulted or not.
I look at my friend Corey and ask him "What does that mean?"
Corey replied "Never question Bruce Dickinson!"
I thought I was gonna lose it. Too funny. If you don't know the reference, too bad.
About the only thing of interest during the game, besides the chicks below us, was spotting the puker in the crowd. Though we yelled out to him, he didn't respond.
After a couple more beers in the parking lot, and a few back at Corey's house, I decided to call it a night.
Or so I thought.
When I got home, I see my tenants sitting outside. They are locked out. Not locked out because they lost keys. Somehow, the lock broke. The deadbolt was moving. It is midnight on a Saturday and I am buzzed up, thinking about how I am going to get into their apartment. Not good. There are two solutions. Break the window on the door or get in through the porch. I don't want to break the window because the lock need to be removed. I don't want someone crawling over any glass. I go back outside and explain the dilemma. I grab the only ladder I have and prop it under the porch. The only chance is to climb up, grab the bottom of the porch and monkey my way up and in.
I may have been buzzed up but I wasn't drunk. After looking at this I got off the ladder. I needed an extension ladder to get up there. I guess this is where leasing to vampires comes in handy. I see my tenant on the phone hooking me up with a ladder. Best yet, it is only a couple miles south of where we are. Next think I know we have a ladder sticking out of my Explorer and we are driving along Lake Drive. Get the ladder up, climb it, hop over the rail and I am soon in disassembling the lock.
Hopefully there are regular hours for the hardware stores today. I also need some potato salad for the Wilson cookout. I also need to call the airline to see if we can catch an early flight. Keep your fingers crossed for me.