On the eighth day, god created Awesomefest.

Just laid to rest another successful Don Juan/Gates production. Here's how it went down:

PART ONE

*For the purposes of her mom not finding this blog again, from this point on I will now refer to said party as "Don" or "Don Juan" or "Dmbmeg".

Thursday, August 30

8 p.m. Make the drive from my office to Midway airport. Get in line at Arrivals ramp, cursing peak travel times.

8:45 p.m. Finally inch my way to the Delta Airlines terminal.

9 p.m. Make call to Don Juan, explaining she better sprint her ass to the front after baggage claim because I am not going around the ramp again.

9:05 p.m. Call again, threaten to take the guy standing next to my car home instead.

9:10 p.m. Spot Don and immediately start waving frantically so that Chicago airport cops stay the hell away with their whistles.

10 p.m. Arrive at home, ready to kick off Awesomfest8000 with a bang! Tequila shots! Male strippers! Gutter naps!

10:15 p.m. Order Chinese and On Demand movie.

Midnight: Tuck Don in, ask her to sing me to sleep like she did in college. She replies, "No dude, not tonight. I'm too tired."

12:02 a.m. Cry myself to sleep.

Friday, August 31

10:45 a.m. Awake to the soothing rubber against skin sounds of Don on the air mattress and my phone vibrating next to my head.

11:00 a.m. Don ambitiously goes for a run. I shower and wait for Kate to make her way through Cubs traffic.

12:30 p.m. Don Juan and I are showered and ready to drink. Kate arrives and we hop in her car and head to Wrigleyville all the while I bitch and complain that we won't find parking and we just should have walked.



1:15 p.m. Concede victory as we pull into unoccupied metered spot outside of Redmond's.

1:20 p.m. Cubs game starts, make cheesy ceremonial toast to commemorate another Awesomefest. I order a chicken sammie and tots. Don opts for the mozzarella sticks. Either way, excellent bases for a full day of drinking.



2:30 p.m. Kate drops us off at the Cubby Bear where we meet up with Don's brother-in-law, Pat. She whispers to me, "Don't worry, he'll pay for everything."

2:30-4:00 p.m. Proceed to drink 12 Miller Lites each. High five each other every ten minutes. Precede every sentence with "Dude".



4:00 p.m. Head over to Murphy's where we hang out with a lot of married people. We both comment that "this blows".

5:00 p.m. Take a lap around the back bar when suddenly Donn shouts, "Yo dude! You can't spell cocksucker without OSU!" to a guy in an Ohio State t-shirt. Introductions ensue, drinks are bought. Unwarranted fondling of my boobs takes place and I act offended.



5:30 p.m. Don spots a guy in a cow costume and calls him over. She proceeds to tell me to take a photo while she inappopriately handles his fake udders while onlookers gather.



6:00 p.m. Decide to head back home. I make an excellent drunk meal of pasta and Don has a hot pretzel. She proceeds to ask me for a Tylenol PM, so that she can be "on her best game" for another even more full day of drinking tomorrow.

6:05 p.m. I come back into the room with a Lunesta. She insists on taking it at 7 p.m., even though I tell her that's way too early.

7:00 p.m. We both agree that showering tonight is a must. Don hopes to finish shampooing before the Lunesta kicks in. She shouts from the bathoom, "Let the race begin!"

8:00 p.m. Don is passed out. I continue watching Hitch on WGN and then take my usual drug cocktail and join her in my room. I'm pretty sure I hear her mumble something incoherent sounding curiously like the Iowa Fight Song in her sleep.

Saturday, September 1

7:30 a.m. Alarm rings. We both lay in bed and groan in between bouts of "I don't waaaannna!" And "It's too eaaaaaarly...!"

7:45 a.m. Get in a cab and head over to Sedgwick's fully expecting a sea of black and gold outside the bar.

8 a.m. We pull up to the bar and there are two other people besides us waiting. Fuck! We could have slept two more hours!

9 a.m. The bar opens, Don Juan and I race to the front to sign up for the bus to Soldier Field at 12:30. We order a shit load of Bloody Mary's and opt for the Sedgwick's Game Day Breakfast. It's too early even for ESPN Game Day to be on TV. The scramby eggs are fantastic and I switch to mimosas.



10:30 a.m. People start to shuffle in. We are already fully drunk.

11:30 a.m. The bartender announces that the first bus will be leaving at noon. We immediately run out to the front to be first in line. The driver suspiciously stumbles out of the alley behind the bar.

11:45 a.m. Don and I storm the bus. I shout, "I get the one-seater in back!" Don screams something out getting drunk on a school bus as she slips her Bud Light into a brown paper bag.




12 p.m. We take off for Soldier Field. The bus driver wildly maneuvers around Lake Shore Drive and we hit game day traffic somewhere around Grant Park.



12:20 p.m. I look over at Don. She has a pained look on her face. "Gates, I gotta pee!" I mention something about being there soon, but she just waves me off.

12:30 p.m. I see Don ripping into her Bud Light can with her apartment key. She looks at me, "Gates, I GOTTA GO." I tell her she better not piss in that beer can on the bus as she shouts for our friend Mel to shield her.

12:45 p.m. I stare out the bus window as if nothing is going on. Meanwhile Don yells loud enough for the entire bus to hear, "I got stage fright! Somebody make a noise like running water!" I bow my head in shame.

12:55 p.m. We enter Soldier Field from the south (oh wow, that sounded dirty) and make our way to the stadium. The bus screeches to a halt as Don, in her I heart Kirk Ferentz t-shirt, sprints to the front and demands that Smitty our driver (I just made that name up, fyi) let her off there "Dude, I can't hold it anymore!!! I gotta peeeeee!"



1:00 p.m. Smitty pulls over and Don runs out yelling, "I'll meet you up the road!"

11:30 p.m. We get off the bus and immediately get in line for the port-a-potties. Considering people have been drinking Old Style and eating six different kinds of grill meats since 10 a.m., these are the most horrifying toilets you've ever seen.

2:00 p.m. I throw up in my mouth a little as I step out of the port-a-pottie. Don is nowhere to be found. I text her to meet me at Gate 9. She does, we rejoice.

2:30 p.m. We climb the 90 degree angled stairs to the top of Soldier Field to our seats. I am sweating profusely and amazingly, Don already has a beer. "Wasn't I with you the whole time? Where did you get the beer?" She is nothing if not resourceful.

2:45 p.m. Kick-off. We go nuts. Don drops her keys she is waving frantically on the woman in front of us.



3:00 p.m. I make the best decision of my life to stop drinking. Don forges ahead like a champ.

3:45 p.m. Iowa finally scores and Don buys her first order of celebratory nachos. By this time she is 14 beers into the day and I am fully impressed at her ability to not tumble the 3000 feet it is to the field below. The fat guy next to me is eating peanuts all over me and is using his binoculars practically on my lap.

4:00 p.m. Iowa scores again.

4:30 p.m. We revel at the romping of NIU as we make the long trek out of Soldier Field to Michigan Ave. to find a cab. Don grabs a random guy and argues with him about how Michigan losing makes the Big Ten Conference less credible. I smoke a cigarette while she verbally abuses said random.

5 p.m. We finally successfully hail a cab after walking halfway home. Enter Clark Dog. Exit diet.

6 p.m. We get home and immediately take our places on the couch.

6:15 p.m. Don leaves the couch for what I assume is the bathroom, but doesn't return. I check my bedroom and she is face down, passed out on my bed in full Iowa regalia. There are bead marks on her face from the black and gold beads we got at the bar at 9 a.m. I feel a huge sense of pride in the astonishing drinking ability of my friend and head back to the couch.

9 p.m. We rally and walk up to Durkin's for a $15 all-you-can-drink deal. Don assures me that she's "taking it easy tonight".

9:30 p.m. Don does her first of many Jaeger Bombs.

10 p.m. We spend two hours kicking ass at nudie touch. More Jaeger Bombs and sexy, 80's music video posing in front of the massive fan by the bar.



11 p.m. Things start to get hazy for me here. I decide its not cool to wear my shirt as seen below and belly up to the bar for another round of shots. Don Juan is still hanging in there with me, drink for drink.



PART TWO

TO BE CONTINUED BY I'M QUIETLY JUDGING YOU....