The drive out there was long, but the food was worth it. (The service, though, could have been a bit better.) Many of us discovered the joys of fried cheese curds along with various other fried foods.
The newly-engaged couple
Possibly the best sign ever
Because what goes better with tacos than brats???
After stopping to take a picture of the Best Sign Ever, Jake, my husband and I all went on the search for postcards and other items. We were introduced to the wonder that is ShopKo, and scored two flannel blankets for $2.99 each, on sale from $11.99. Woo! DEAL! I also bought a beautiful cigar box (that still smells heavenly) to possibly make into a purse.
The shopping was short and sweet but effective and we all headed back to the hotel to relax a bit before meeting for dinner.
Ahh...dinner. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life. Leave it to us to not only have dinner at a fancy schmancy supperclub with beautiful views and candlelight and old people as far as the eye can see, but to play "Marry, Fuck or Kill"* while there. I'm actually quite surprised that none of the other patrons fell over dead of a heart attack after hearing "fuck" that many times. (Not to mention the reasons people listed for choosing certain people for certain things.)
Then again, it's Wisconsin. They probably make the seniors hardier there than they do elsewhere.
After a decent dinner and an absolutely fantastic dessert, we jumped into the lovely Eric's car so he could take us back to the hotel. I needed to change into something sluttier, you see. It's been so long since I've been to the bar that I felt the need to go all out.
Well, maybe not ALL OUT since I didn't try to cram my ass into the faux leather pants I had unearthed from a pile of clothing in the laundry room, but close enough. After all, I had to have room for all the booze I'd be drinking. And, you know, oxygen.
We arrived at the bar and met up with Carissa, Penny and Steve. They passed out glow bracelets and necklaces and my husband and I started the drinking with a Mango Bomb shot. (Mango juice and red bull and PURE EVIL.) The incredibly HOT bartender (known in Weet's diary as Hot Nancy) poured herself a shot along with ours. If I had been totally heterosexual, I think I would have been questioning my sexuality at that point. My husband and I had a plan at one point to kidnap her and take her home with us.
After a little bit of drinking and talking, the rest of our group arrived.
We had the bartenders take a group picture for us.
I'm not entirely sure why people's mouths are open. I think they were making us yell something, but I wasn't quite quick enough.
That's when the Boone's Farm started being distributed and passed around. The Strawberry Hill totally reminded me of drinking in high school and the Melonball was incredibly tasty. REALLY, REALLY tasty.
After that my husband sort of made off with my camera, so these next few shots are his.
Carissa, Weetabix and Penny performed a lovely choreographed dance to Dancing Queen. I wanted to learn it.
I (because I'm totally innocent) have no idea what this is referring to.
Hmm...except I currently have a sticker sheet with some interesting pictures on it in my car. (It was in my Weetamix CD case, thank GOD. I was afraid we'd left it in the hotel somewhere.) They were like trading cards, dammit! Everyone had to have one of everyone else! Those without sticker sheets simply made do. With their chests.
What? They're THERE. Why would you not stick things to them?
At one point I realized that knowing nearly every lyric to nearly every song ever made does not help even one iota when playing "It's Elvis, Fuckers!" No one would give me points, even when I offered to tell them all the words to a particular song. Or when I said, "but I know who it is! It's the guy! That one! With the hair and the...eyes...and stuff. You KNOW!" I must study up on song artists before my next trip to the Bad Bar.
Hey look! It's Jake and half of my husband's head!
I think it was the free Boone's Farm, not the one beer or all the mango bombs or all the vodka and Red Bull's, that was my downfall.
I started out the evening a happy drunk and ended up an angry drunk for some reason. My loving, understanding husband and I walked back to the hotel around midnight-ish. Unfortunately, we missed some of the entertaining-sounding times that occured later on.
You see, I was busy making really good friends with the toilet in our hotel room. (Hi toilet! I miss you! Call me!)
All in all, it was an EXCELLENT night and a very good example of how the Bad Bar got its name.
*Since I was asked, here is an explanation of Marry, Fuck or Kill. Someone gives you three names, for example: Pricipal Skinner, Ralph Wiggum and Marge's lesbian sister (Patty? Selma? I still don't know.). You have to choose one to marry, one to fuck and one to kill. When you're playing, you just assume that everyone is living, for the sake of not having to find out your friends are necrophiliacs. You also can't fuck the one you marry. It's a fun, fun game. Especially when people explain their choices.