In Memoriam: Gene Frenkle 1950-2000

Two blogs two days in a row?! Wowsers.

I am kinda in a rush to catch up, because there are potentially blog-worthy things in the near future, such as a Badger game, Halloween, and my mom coming up to Milwaukee to go out.

Anyway, there were, first of all, a couple things in last night's blog that I left out.

One is that I have a shoot coming up on Sunday, and am curious as to if anyone has any amazing ideas for me. Send me some links or pictures or ideas, please!

Second is that I don't really know what to be for Halloween. Hook a sista up with one of those ideas, too!

Thirdly... In yesterday's blog, I put an asterisk by a couple comments.
Well, I absent-mindedly forgot to explain the asterisks. Asteri? How in hell does one pluralize such a word?

Anyway, what I said was that my hand was cold, or that my hand was freezing.

Lemme splain.

So we were out one night in Madison with this chick we know. She is a friend to some of us. I think she's tolerable, but probably wouldn't elect to spend too much time with her.

Anyway, we all got our first drinks at the same time, and were standing in the bar, holding them, and talking.

Well, all ol' girl could think of to say was to complain about how cold her hand was.
Excuse me?
We have all been holding the same drink for the same amount of time. Switch f'ing hands or something! No one cares how cold your hand is! Shut up, or you'll be complaining about how much your face hurts when I break it because you're being so lame!

Anyway, we later were discussing how absurd the whole situation was. In time, it became something to say when we just didn't really have anything else to say, and wanted to laugh (at someone else's expense).

THEN it became a way to complain or express discontent in general. An example being in yesterday's blog when I said that my lack of a successful cheeseburger search made my hand cold.

LL and I frequently ask eachother how our days are by asking about the temperature of eachother's hand.

Also, we've begun to refer to some people (and things) as gloves. Gloves are things that make our hands warm. People that make us happy. There are a few people that come to my mind that are always making my hand warm.

To the gloves in my life (and you know who you are, or at least I hope you do!): I love you, and thank you!

By the way, I think I would kill a man (and then bury him in the desert, haha) for an Orv's supreme pizza right now. Just sayin'!

So.... Today's blog should've been out months ago.

Sometime this summer, (I believe that it was the weekend before the Racine Wedding that was about the Hampton's of the Midwest), I was informed that Del was going to be getting married, and that my presence would be honored at the reception.

Del. Del went to highschool with my mom. He was a paratrooper, and now he's an enforcer for the Highriders.

The High Riders are a "motorcycle club." An enforcer basically beats the shit out of people, I think.

I used to babysit for Del and his first wife's child, Jake.

It was time for Jake and I to have a reunion. I'm pretty sure that he's 18 now.

I decided that Danielle would be the perfect date to such an event. Don't you agree? Of all people, who would feel the least comfortable in this environment?

D and I arrive at the reception, which, of course, is at a biker bar outside of Racine. As we roll up, we see HUNDREDS of Harleys in lines. Think of the scene from PeeWee's big adventure where he goes to the biker bar, and multiply that by about 20.

Now, I have some weird disorder. I'm sure it's in the DSM. I've seen that thing, and it is about as thick as ever.

Anyway, here's my issue. I think that every biker on the planet is somehow friends with or affiliated with my mom and stepdad. As it turns out, this is not the case.

As we walked up, some biker dude approached us and started talking. Basically hitting on us. I asked him if he could help me find Vanessa and Marv, assuming he knew them, and he said he didn't know them, but that he'd help us find them. No thanks, kind sir with the fingerless leather gloves and bandana. I'll be able to find them just fine.

So I was able to find a few people we knew, and then came upon Marv, who gave me a hug (hope this doesn't ruin his tough guy street cred - haha). Shortly thereafter, my mom showed up. Apparently, she was off taking jello shots. This was due to the fact that someone had made sure that there were hundreds (yes, that's right, hundreds) of these treats available at the reception.

Shortly after my greeting with my mother, she offered to buy me a drink. You see, tap beer was free, but mixed drinks you had to pay for.

I ordered a Captain and diet. As I watched the bartender pour my drink, I pretty much handed my keys over to Danielle. It was just about the strongest drink I had ever seen in my life. And, in true Racine county fashion, it cost my mom about fourteen cents. Gotta love that!

So soon after, I was reunited with little Jake. I decided that it would only be appropriate for us to do a shot together, and everyone else around was in. Tequila, of course!



On the far left, we have Jake, the kid I used to babysit. Yeah, he looks like someone I could keep in line, right? Next up, in the purple shirt and black leather vest, is Marv. Then you see a hand holding a shot, with a leather jacket on. Then me, then my mom.

That hand... That's Joey Marcott. He's one of those people who always goes by his first and last name, at least as long as my mom (which translated quickly to my mom, Danielle, and I) are concerned.

He took a serious liking to Danielle. He talked her up quite a bit, and even picked her up numerous times. Boy oh boy, Danielle hates being picked up!

But goodness gracious, don't they look cute together? Match made in heaven!

Danielle looks incredibly comfortable, doesn't she?

Anyway, after hanging out with Joey Marcott for awhile, we decided to adjourn outdoors for awhile. It was outside that we encountered a man who claimed to go by the name Napoleon. Once again, my little biker connaissance disorder was in full effect. I thought this absurd man, who claimed to be studying gynecology, was a friend of my mom's. I was just talkin' away, and letting him get away with some heinous ass comments, thinking that if he is my mom's friend, that gives him a little license to get so familiar with us. I also thought that, being my mom's friend, I should've been nice to him.

Turns out, once again, no. This man was not one of my mom's friends. He was just a man who stepped across the line, habitually. He was a habitual line-stepper.

He also claimed to be some kind of photographer. He had a very cheesey camera, and thought he was some kind of professional. Bru-tal.

So we freed ourselves of Napoleon and went back inside.

One thing that was amazing about this particular reception was the live music. It was performed by one of my mom and Marv's favorite groups (and coincidentally, the winner of the Best of Racine award given by the Journal Times), Mean Jake. They are a blues band. In hanging out and doing Jello Shots earlier, I happened to notice that the lead singer (whose name is not Jake, but rather Doug or something like that) was playing the cowbell from time to time. It was at this point that I expressed interest to my mom in playing the cowbell. I am sure that most of you know that my inspiration came from the Saturday Night Live video. I'll try to embed the video into the blog, but in the even that that doesn't work, try THIS LINK!

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Anyway, of course my mom has the hookup on making this dream come true. So she tells Doug, or Roger, or whatever about my desire to play cowbell. And of course, for whatever reason, he is ready for me to join the band.

Here's a picture of the lead singer of Mean Jake and I, discussing our future collaboration!

And here it's going down....

Look at how amazing we look? Clearly, I am a natural. And let me tell you, I was a hit!

Now it may look like Marv is just some tough guy that walks around scaring people or something, but in a strange turn of events, Marv is a dancing machine.

He has a dance move that he has invented himself called "the Merv."

This involves putting your arms to your sides with them bent at right angles and moving them up and down with your forearms parallel to your body.

It's hard to resist doing the Merv, especailly when Merv itself is doing the dance of his namesake.

Here's a family Merv performance for your viewing pleasure....
Don't we look like we're having fun? It's because we are. ;-)

You can only do the Merv for so long before you get a little parched.

While Bruce Dickinson (the cock of the walk!) has a fever, and the only cure is more cowbell,

we had a thirst, and the only cure was more jello shots.

As you can see, my BFF from Mean Jake had to join us. And the guy with the froggy shirt? He is Greg Mastos. And he was more dedicated to the Jello Shot cause than can be described in mere words. And this man showed his dedication by bringing ONE OF the coolers full of Jello Shots over to the table at which we were seated, so that we might be able to indulge in said shots without having to move very far. Saweet!
I apparently decided at this point that it was time to take a picture of one of the cutest couples ever, my mom and marv. These two are awesome together. Best friends. Hard to believe that such "rough and tumble" individuals can be so cute, but it's true. Damn. I'm ruining Marv's tough guy image and street cred again, aren't I?

What I meant to say is that he is NOT a teddy bear. He is more like a ravenous scary bear. Yeah. I am scared of Marv. Yep. Sca-ry.
Anyway, if you thought that my disorder of thinking that my mom and Marv are friends to all bikers was not healed yet. We'll see if that biz-nass ever goes away.

So at some point during the night, we met Shawn, another man that I thought was friends with my mom, but actually did not know her. Yet. Don't worry, I'll introduce ya.

When you picture a biker, just randomly, off the top of your head, Shawn is exactly who pops in your mind, I'll bet.

I've met more bikers than an average person has met, I'd bet (ha, that rhymes!), and when I picture a generic biker, Shawn is what comes to mind.

I mean "generic" in the nicest way possible.

I believe that what I told Shawn was "quintessential." And when I say that, I mean it.

Of course, for the blog, I had to take a picture with the quintessential biker. Here we are! Pretty much looks like a picture of me and most of the guys I am attracted to, except for he's pretty much the opposite. Haha.

Another part of the reason that I posed with Shawn on his bike was to make Danielle feel more comfortable doing the same. I figured she could send this picture home and tell her parents she had a new boyfriend or something.

What's funny about that is that my mom would be pumped to see me with such a man, whilst Danielle's parents would probably have several heart attacks between the two of them. Holla!

Here's the cute couple! Man, Danielle was just some sort of Biker Playette that night!

Also notable about Shawn is that he had one of the coolest necklaces I had ever seen. It had a bunch of skulls on it. I tried to get him to give me such a necklace, but he wouldn't he said that he'd give a different one, that was a little too small, to my Mom and Marv the next day, as he was planning on coming to look at Baby, which is Marv's old bike (I am pretty sure it's a 1977 Shovelhead, whatever that means), which Marv is looking to perhaps sell. I still lack a necklace. Now Shawn, if you're out there, I am still waiting for my necklace, damn it!

One thing about my mom and Marv is that they are not really night owls. I am pretty sure that we were hitting the 9 or 10 o'clock hour, which pretty much meant it was time to turn into a pumpkin. AND! I was already hammered.

On the drive back to the Mil, whilst Danielle was propped up on blankets so she could see over the steering wheel (LL, you are probably familiar with this move, as you have to do it daily), my cousin called. She was out in Milwaukee for Summer Soulstice with her husband and college roommate.
So we decided to meet up with them at Mo's Irish Pub on Wisconsin Ave. after an attempt at hitting up the North Ave bars (before we were even serious regulars!).
Christine's husband, Adam, was a delight, as usual.

One special thing about both Mo's Irish pub locations, as I learned only this past Friday, is that they are complete with a library. You know, just in case you feel the need to do some leisurely reading. I can't count the number of times I've been out and really just sat there wishing I had a wide selection of books to read. Adam must've felt this way, too, and he was in luck!

Then we ladies decided to take a group shot. Aren't we lovely? Look at our earth tones. So coordinated. I can't wait to hang out with Christine again! It has been far too long. Remember when I lost my purse? Left it in Jo-Cat's? I blogged that. That was the last time. Damn!

Christine, by the way, is the one in the picture that is right next to me, who is not Danielle. Gorgeous! Danielle, too, but you are used to her. And Christine's roommate is also very pretty.... Oh man. Haha.

Then, of course, we had to get a group pic of all five of us. I have no idea why Adam felt the need to be the shortest person in the picture, but I am ok with it, as it adds interest to the picture - haha. Lovely!

As for the rest of the night, I wish I could say more. I am pretty sure that I drunk dialed and texted a lot of people. I seem to remember Broseph being one of them. Wouldn't be shocked if Ous was on that list, too. Poor Ous!

Another great night. And two blogs in two days. Maybe it'll be a streak! How many days does one have to blog in a row to make a streak?

Ok, time to finish this glass of Cabernet Sauvignon (my favorite kind of wine) and hit the hey.

Hope you enjoyed!