Yesterday was fairly interesting. Sam got to my place around 11:45 and I started drinking around noon. When we realized that Steve Ryan wasn't going to make it, we called Matsuo as a replacement. He got to my place at the time the Cubs game was scheduled to begin. We shotgunned a few beers before hopping in Aaron's car (he was driving to Lincoln Park and offered to drop us off on his way).
We stayed at Wrigley for a few innings before it became unbearably boring and expensive. Emma was on our car on the train ride back north-- it's always a pleasant surprise to be seen really drunk by co-workers. At Loyola, she headed to Stella and the three of us headed back to my place. Walking down Sheridan, we took a left at... whatever street Chipotle's on. The street curved and became Lakewood, and as that intersected Northshore we spotted two pairs of jeans. Kevin decided to kick them in my direction, repeatedly. His final kick was the strongest as I had gotten ahead of him by about 15 feet. In mid-flight, the jeans coughed up a wad of cash.
We were pretty drunk, and had we not been it's unlikely we would have kicked street-jeans. Thus, it was only appropriate that we spent most of it on beer and whiskey-- Warsteiner and Jameson, particularly.
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