the ocean

It's Air & Water Show weekend here in Chicago, or as I like to call it, %#@&^%. Hundreds of thousands of people come into the city to fail to make right turns on red, amble aimlessly directly down the middle of the sidewalks, and presumably watch an air show of some sort. Parking in our neighborhood becomes an absolute nightmare, as opposed to its standard fever dream, and every Walgreen's line becomes clogged with people trying to haggle over the price of sunscreen. In short, it is a grand affair.

This year, one of my friends had a party, because her new place has a gorgeous rooftop in an excellent location for viewing. Because I will take any excuse to drink rose in mass quantities, I attended, and on that score it did not disappoint. I did spend the majority of the actual air show program hiding inside my friend's condo and consoling her terrified dogs, but I pretty much got the gist of it from the ear-splitting flyover noises.

Afterwards, I tripped over the sidewalk and scraped my entire forearm against the side of a building while trying to get to McDonald's and order a chicken sandwich. May there be many happy returns of this day.