While my rancor towards a certain piggy software monolith is perfectly justified (viral marketing comment b.s. from monolith weasel-flunkies notwithstanding), I had found myself getting a wee bit cranky in general. Too much work is usually a good thing for me, especially when it involves a mix of the design and the acting varieties (the latter still pays better, by far), but too much holiday merriment and too much sunshine can only mean one thing: time to go to Chicago.
Right on cue, Chicago stepped up to the plate. When we landed here on Friday, it was overcast. When we left the hotel to train it up to Old Town for dinner, it was raining. When we got off the "L", it was, I shit you not, hailing on us. And when we finally tromped out of the steakhouse a few hours later, it was snowing like Christmas at the North Pole.
How can you not love it here?
Despite offers from my plugged-in friends to procure tickets to various carnivals, cultural events and carnivals masquerading as cultural events, I stood firm: I am here to stuff my face, see my friends, and purchase enough giardiniera to last us through the next trip back. This being Chicago, home of bar on every corner, or, more accurately, four bars at every intersection, there has also been a considerable amount of sport drinking, but the BF and I are kind of maxed out on alcohol now, so we'll probably just glut ourselves on Italian beef and Kalamata chicken (oh, god...that chicken...) for the rest of the stay.
What has been most lovely about this here stay (why is this visit different from all other visits?) is, I won't lie, having the BF in tow. (Or, on some occasions, being in tow of the BF.) Partly because it is wonderful being able to close the circle between your old friends and your new, but also partly because that boy takes some A-number-one photographs with his fancy-ass camera.
Photo of me wearing all of my clothes at once by the BF.