Yoshi's just a better racer, that's all.

Turns out, the "dive" bar we went to on Friday night was actually a sweet little Korean place. Sure, it wasn't the Cape Cod Room at the Drake...(as so few places I go to are- in fact, none of them are the Cape Cod Room at the Drake. I've never been there. But it sounds so nice!) It was quite fun nonetheless. The bartenders, a mother and daughter team, actually thanked us each time we ordered a drink. A copious amount of thank yous went around! The karaoke machine played muzak versions of a bizarre cross-section of "popular" songs. I sang Roxette's "Fading like a flower," only to be joined for some intense emoting by a guy I had never seen before in my life. The machine had a crazy grading system and we received a 91 out of 100. I felt we could do better! Later in the evening he joined me again for Roxette's "She's got the look." 97. (I'm rather certain some people thought we were Roxette. I did nothing to negate this belief. I've always liked Roxette.) P.J. did a great Johnny Cash, but then again, he always does a great Johnny Cash.

On the way home we decided to run by the Wiener's Circle. Yes, Mom, that's the real name.

En route, we experienced the Clark bus at its finest; a very large woman with a mohawk and a predilection for nose-picking, a girl with great yellow heels (P.J. correctly identified them as "pumps") who inexplicably began crying while her boyfriend remained oblivious, and a frat boy who ran in FRONT of the bus (joined by eight hundred of his frat brethren) yelling "I am a pedestrian!"

But on to the Wieners. Best late night dogs + attitude in the city for my $2.49. Char-cheddar red hot with everything! If you tried to offer me celery salt, neon green relish or a bizarrely tangy cheese sauce in any other facet of my life I would laugh. And wonder why I was being offered condiments. But in Chicago and on a fabulously charry dog and at 2am it just hits the spot in that "I'm 28- aren't I a little young for heartburn this fierce" way.

On to Saturday! We decided to ride our bikes to the beach to continue with our No Longer Planning A Wedding revelry. Limey, my lime green 10-speed with its '82-'83 Greenfield, WI permit sticker (they make you register your bike in Wisconsin? It must have been a Reagan thing) drew many an envious stare. Perhaps it was the streamers.

SO. It was a four mile bike ride to Montrose Beach and when we got there we not only noticed that the beach was quite full, but also the water was quite empty. We forgot to check the bacteria levels online, ha HAH! After calling the Park District hotline we discovered the Montrose was the only beach affected by high bacteria levels (I think it may have had something to do with the dog beach being RIGHT THERE, but I'm not going to dwell too hard on that. I love Montrose Beach.) So, we rode north another mile to Foster. A beachtacular time was had by all (and a family size bag of Cheetos.) Ten mile roundtrip ride! Limey is now in the shop pleading exhaustion, much like a starlet in rehab.

Later I went to the Old Town Art Fair, but as the Brown line took an hour and a half to get me there, (usually a 25 minute endeavor, but north and southbound trains were sharing the same track. How fun AND dysfunctional!), I got to Sedgwick just as the artists were rolling the sides down on their display tents. Sigh. A vendor gave me a bag of Fritos, though, so the trip wasn't a complete bust. However, as it was my second bag of chips that day I was at a very real risk for scurvy.

Met up with some friends at Midsommer's Fest up in Andersonville and got a seven dollar gyro from the Andie's stand. (I really needed some citrus or some greens at this point.) And then a coconut shake. (Oh well.)

P.J. met up with us as we made our way to another lovely pal's birthday party at her pretty, pretty apartment. (It doubled as a housewarming party even though they'd lived there for a couple of years. Maybe they were afraid of our group of friends? They needn't have been. We all behaved.) At least six theatre companies were represented which, as anyone knows is the mark of a superb party. I did have the intense joy, however, of meeting a girl so dense that she repeatedly lectured me on a show I worked on for a solid five months AND told people that she could explain it more concisely...on the basis of having seen it twice. But, as this is a family blog, I won't dwell on that negativity. I calmed myself with some excellent canapes.

The evening was so warm that we decided to walk the eleven blocks home. The beauty of the moment was only slightly marred by the car that raced by, shattering a parked car's side mirror. (I tried to get the license plate, I swear I did.)

Sunday! Lollygagged in the a.m. (see? It's relevant!) and then headed over to St. Ben's. Rode our bikes over to the bike shop to deposit Limey and then had a divinely fantastic brunch at Victory's Banner. This place is sublime. Blueberry streusel French toast with a lemon marscapone filling! (People unfamiliar with me on a personal level may, upon reading these posts, assume that I weigh roughly three hundred pounds. I assure you this isn't so.) P.J. got a Neatloaf sandwich. For the restaurant is vegan. But again, you don't miss the meat. And again, I love meat.

Then, like the millionaires we are in our minds, we went to an open house for a home that we could pay a fraction of the mortgage for if, say, I sold a kidney. But we joined the mailing list!

Back home, same day. P.J. did actual yardwork while I pretended to garden. (I'm truly awful at it. I have a black thumb.) But the strawberries are thriving despite me! And the lettuce, peppers, tomatoes, sugar snap peas, lilies, oregano, dill, parsley, basil (okay, the basil needs a little TLC), chives and assorted hearty li'l flowers! I picked all of the edible things into a big bowl and made quite a good side dish for the bacon-wrapped hot dogs P.J. skilleted up. (It must be a midwestern thing.)

And then...mojitos. And then...Mario Kart! (I realize that eventually I have to go back to the obligations and stresses of my previous year, but until then...Toad and Yoshi.)

So, now it's Monday and I'm taking care of my rockstar two-year old guy. This a.m. we strolled (literally, in his stroller) to my house to inflate the kiddie pool his parents gave me for just this purpose and fill it with frigid water. ("Kiki, it's chiwwy.") We made makeshift boats out of his tiny Crocs and floated miniature Ernie and Elmos around the pool, then picked strawberries from the garden which he promptly dunked into the pool. ("Winse!") I figure that the strawberries are healthy (no pesticides) and the water was added only moments before from the hose, so...I'm practically helping to raise an organic child. I drew the line at tossing Goldfish crackers into the water, no matter how clever I may have thought it was.

He started to nod off on the six block walk back to his home and was asleep on my shoulder before we reached his crib. (Sometimes I wonder who has more fun with my days, the under-6 set or me.)