When Jen and Ron got married a couple of years ago, the Jersey boys (plus Darren, minus Ray) came to town. After they left, Kevin wrote this great list of his favorite memories of the weekend. If I was as funny and concise as Kevin, I’d make a list of 83 memories, too. But I’m not, so I’ll just write about a few.
Unfortunately, the second that the boys pulled into St. Louis, their van broke down. They had been joking during their whole trip about the van being haunted, so maybe the ghost realized he was in the city where “The Exorcist” went down and bailed. Or the transmission blew. Whatevs. They happened to break down in the Hellmouth of the city where every single major road and interstate comes together, so it took a while to figure out where they were. All I have to say is, I hate Lee’s Fried Chicken:
Frank: We’re at I-44 and Gravois, in front of a Lee’s Fried Chicken.
Me: But those both run east and west. You can’t be. What else are you by?
Frank: Um… Chippewa? I-70? There’s a Citco, a 7-11, and a Lee’s Fried Chicken.
Me: The hell? What road are you actually ON?
Frank: Um… Lee’s Fried Chicken?
Me: (sighing) Can I just talk to someone who works there?
Steve: Okay. Steph. We’re at Jefferson and I-55, right by a Lee’s Fried Chi-
Me: Yeah, I’ve heard ALL ABOUT Lee’s fucking Fried Chicken, okay? Got it.
A few days later, we were crossing the street at the Loop and I caught Steve staring forlornly at the Church’s Chicken on the corner. “I miss Lee’s.” He pouted.
For some weird reason, people from the East Coast are obsessed with the Midwest and our farms. On the ride to St. Louis, the boys apparently got into a big fight about the art of cow tipping. Since St. Louis is one of the biggest cities in the country and considered actual civilization, we couldn’t help them test out their theories. The closest thing I could give them was a plastic cow at The Science Center:
That was the touristy day (a.k.a. Big Friday). We also went to Pin-Up Bowl at the Loop, ate awesome sandwiches in The Hill, explored Forest Park, etc. Hopefully Ron, Katie, Joe and I proved that we’re from an actual city full of awesome things to do – and no cows.
I live a couple of blocks away from Global Foods, which is this fantastic international grocery store that sells all of my favourite candy. Before the guys came to town, I went there to buy Frank a bunch of green Aero Bars for his birthday. I figured I’d get something for Steve and Ray, too. So, I gave them Giant Pocky, which I think gave Steve a boner:
Later on, they went with me back to Global for some Walker’s and McVitties. While we were there, we spotted the Yorkie Bar. IT’S NOT FOR GIRLS! Apparently this is a pretty popular campaign in the U.K., but we’d never heard about it, so when we spotted it on the shelves, we cracked up.
The back of the bar also insists that IT’S NOT FOR HANDBAGS. Needless to say, we bought one for Jen because she is hardcore.
Speaking of hardcore, we played Cranium one night, and even though Frank and Steve were one question away from winning, Jen and I swept through with a vengeance – proving once again that Team Papoose ain’t nothin to fuck with. Eat It!
The day of New Year’s Eve (which is always a weird thing to say, but that’s what it is), we relived the 75th Annual Thanksgiving Ultimate Frisbee Extravaganza. However, instead of Pilgrims vs. Indians, it was Pirates vs. Ninjas. Despite my love for ninjas, I was wearing my “Go Pirates!” hoodie, so I kind of had to be on the Pirates’ team. Unfortunately, we lost 2-1, but that just kind of proves my theory that ninjas are superior. That, and a 5’2 girl should never be forced to play against Frank and Ray.
Frank was the MVP, and he also won (lost?) for the injury of the year when Steve kicked him in the chest mid-air. Check out how effing hardcore Frank is:
We also stopped by my parents’ house for a brief history lesson. Steve is wearing my Dad’s Christmas present, I am wearing the greatest hat in the history of all time, and Frank and Ray are making Peter jealous because they have permission to play with the swords.
After dinner at Blueberry Hill, Jen had the awesome idea to go get gelato at a new place in Rock Hill.
When Jen, Steve, Frank, Ray and I went to Italy, we discovered the manna that is gelato. We ended up spending so much money on it that we were in danger of blowing our food budget. We unanimously decided to eat PBJs for the rest of the trip as to not interfere with gelato time.
I don’t have a pic of that night, but it looked kind of like this:
Afterwards, Niki had a great idea to check out Laughs on the Landing, an improv bar where my friend Mikey works, along with The Danger League. I’d never seen Mikey in action before – he was absolutely hysterical. He coined the catchphrase of the week: “Kittens are real and they’re everywhere!”
Finally, Jen and Ron had an amazing New Year’s party once again. The DJs were spinning downstairs, a big fire was burning outside, and I was surrounded by the majority of my favorite people in the world.
Ray’s goal was to get Frank drunk enough to make out with the Christmas tree by 11:45. Alas, Frank’s casual observance of drunks over the years has made him smarter than us. Maybe next year. The boys had a big toast for the East Coast New Year… but hopefully, we showed them that the Central Standard Time Zone rocks just as hard. It was great to ring in the New Year with them.
And check out this fucking insane picture of me and Conor! Agh!
All in all, the past two weeks have been the best that I’ve had in a long time. I plan on keeping this vibe going for the rest of the year.
And Ra, thank you so much for everything you said last night. That was awesome. I miss you a lot, and it was perfect having you in town for a while.
Also: Don’t blink, Ra. Ready? Don’t blink. Okay, one… two… don’tblink…