Monday, March 17, 2014

Blog Reader Appreciation Part 21:
Cafe Ba-Ba-Reeba

It's taken me almost 24 years to admit it but I think it's time to give it up: I'm not the "going out" type person.  I've always had my suspicions but this weekend, the weekend dedicated to corned beef and binge drinking, just sealed the deal.

I should have just admitted defeat 9:30 Saturday morning, when I was getting ready for a run while my neighbors below me were half an hour into their raging St. Patty's party.  But no, the only thing I thought after coming face to face with a man wearing a beard and Lucky Charms suspenders (who was drinking his Miller Lite on a roof three feet from my bedroom window) was: "We could use some curtains."

I went for my run, came home to shower and put on my lime green leprechaun pants, and was back out the door to celebrate the great American-Irish holiday.  The plan was to drink with my friends until Derrick got off work, then drink some more, then go downtown so Derrick could see the river dyed green.

A few hours, a few Irish Car Bombs, and a green beer later, Derrick and I decided to head downtown on our own.  We needed to stop by the apartment first though, because I had been a little too optimistic with my leather jacket and needed a coat.

We got home and sat down on the couch "for just a second."  We woke up an hour later, both of us having passed out.  Turns out that our Saturday afternoon nap had come for us, Irish Car Bombs or not.

We never made it downtown.

While the rest of Chicago continued to drink and throw up in the back of buses, we were running late to indoor soccer games, eating pizza at 9 PM, and realizing that we might as well just accept it for what it was.

So this one is for all of you out there who are realizing who you really are.  If ripping shots isn't your thing, just go to RedBox already; there's no judgement here.

So put down that $3 green beer and stay calm, because no matter what you're finally admitting to yourself, I've got something here for you.

17 Things You Suddenly Start Doing When You Get An Office Job

It might be possible that you're just doing it wrong.

25 Pets Who Don’t Understand How Furniture Works.

That's okay; they make recipes for people like us, too.

#1. Easy Mini Bagel Pizzas via The Comfort of Cooking
#2. Easy Potato Skins via I Heart Nap Time
#3. Banana Oatmeal Cups with Chocolate Chips via Green Lite Bites

37 Slogans For College Majors If They Were Actually Honest

It's okay; we all are.  Just read this hilarious but sadly true article written by my fellow Chicagoan blogger, the witty Taylor of the Daily Tay.

Inside A Woman’s Mind At Target

The 58 Yellow Smiley Emoji, Defined

The first step is admitting you have a problem.  And I definitely have a problem.

It had been three weeks since my last Bloody, and I was getting the shakes.  The thing with the Mary Shakes, though, is that a sub-par to standard Bloody isn't going to be enough.  If you want any hope of recovery, you need to go big and you need to go hard... which is why I needed the Bloody Mary bar at Cafe Ba-Ba-Reeba.

I had been there before with Derrick for my birthday, back in the days when sleeveless was an option.  Back when I had a tan and the sparkle of someone who hasn't yet admitted defeat.

Derrick is a sweet man and sucked it up enough to eat at a trendy tapas joint as my birthday treat (tapas being another word for very small portions for essentially the same price).  I'm not fooled by their little ploy either but I absolutely have never had a Bloody Mary as good as the one I've made at the Ba-Ba-Reeba Bloody bar.

Derrick, on the other hand, doesn't like Bloody Marys and refuses to pay $13 for half a stomach full of French toast. ("Give me Denny's, or give me death.")  So instead, I went with my friend Emily.

The thing with brunching with someone who hasn't seen you walk around in underwear and pimple cream is that you're a little more hesitant to stop all conversation for a breakfast cocktail photo shoot.  That said, I don't have a ton of pictures, sadly.  You're just going to have to take my word that my Bloody shakes are gone, and my hash brown eggs benedict was worth every layer of butt fat I got out of it.

It was hard not brunching with my regular brunch co-pilot, but it was also nice enjoying some eggs with someone who understands the true agony that has been training for the Boston Marathon this winter.  (I met Emily through a running group I used to run with and she has similar feelings towards the weather this winter.  Those feelings being a soul-sucking despair with a touch of fury.)

But if the only reason you read my blog is because of Derrick, don't worry... He'll be back in full force next week.


Want more tea? Have a second cup!
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