Black Balloon Publishing. No coincidence.

To town

A few weeks ago, my daughter Annie and I went into Plainfield/Channahon for a visit.  We talked about everything and nothing, and as we drove into Plainfield and saw the “Welcome to Plainfield:  Mike Collins, Mayor” sign.  We joked about how surreal it was to see my dad’s name on the sign.

First to my mother’s house, where we admired her garden and visited with her and dad John and relaxed.  Then it was on to my brother’s new house in Channahon to visit with his kids and fur babies and my sister and her nieces.  It was unrushed.  We don’t often get to have visits like that one so we treasured every second.

Back to mom’s, where we had an amazing dinner of shishkabobs, all while having a watchful eye on the weather because it was going to pour later.

It was still light out when we departed for the 90 minute drive back to Rockford.  We headed back down route 126 heading to 47.

There are no coincidences.

As we’re driving, Annie looks out the window to her right and there is a solitary black helium balloon with a string floating across the field that will eventually cross 126.  If balloons could have intentions, I would say this one was determined to be seen.  As we passed it, we looked at each other, shocked. 

How random, Annie says.  What the eff was that all about?  What kind of sign was that supposed to be? 

Relax, I tell her.  It’s not a sign at all, just a balloon that escaped from someone’s Over the Hill party and happened to be blowing across the field right while we were driving.

But I can’t stop thinking about it on the way home.

Once there, I feed the husband and pet the dog; or was that feed the dog and pet the husband?  Either way, once I open my laptop, that black balloon is at the forefront of my brain and I immediately look up the term on Google.  It tells me there’s a song called Black Balloon, by the Goo Goo dolls. 

No, never heard of that song and I don’t like the Goo Goo dolls.  Next.

If I were dreaming, a black balloon would mean I’m depressed.  That’s not it either.

But then…guess what I came across.

Black Balloon Publishing. I click on it and the first thing I see is their motto:  “We Champion the Weird, the Unwieldy, and the Unclassifiable”.  In other words, stuff that I would write.

I don’t believe in coincidence, but I do believe in jumping to conclusions, and in this situation, I jumped higher than I ever have.

Immediately I “liked” their Facebook page and then went over to Twitter, where I began following them.  Unable to resist telling them how I found them, I sent a message.  What follows is pure magic.

swoon.

And to rachet up the squee factor a little bit more, when you click on the YouTube video they sent me, it’s Mariah Carey’s song “We Belong Together.”

Like I said, there are no such things as coincidences.

Blackhawks and blinders. How much fun can a human possibly have?

A while back, my stepsister Michelle asked my husband and I if we'd like to accompany her and her boyfriend Guy to a Blackhawks game.

Not just any Blackhawks game, though...this one was in a suite.  A penthouse suite.
Yeah, we're that cool.  Well, at least we know someone who's that cool.

We drove in from Rockford to pick both of them up, leaving our car in Willowbrook and proceeding into the big city.

Our first stop was at Frank's.  For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a shrimp house.  While in the car, our hosts decided that one pound of the fried shrimp would be adequate, especially if there would be food in the suite.  Joe and Guy went in while Michelle and I chatted in the car, and soon they were back with an enormous sack each of the biggest, best fried shrimp I have ever eaten in my entire life.

Thanks, you two, for ruining any other fried shrimp for me.  Forever.

After that, Michelle and I were instructed to close our eyes and keep them that way for the duration of the trip.  Why?  To protect us from the trauma that is his driving.  We heard several times on the way to the United Center, "Don't look.  Don't look."  When I dared to look I realized we were driving a six foot wide car down a five foot wide path.  How we managed to avoid knocking off our side mirrors or the side mirrors of other drivers, I'll never know.  Because I wasn't looking.

Once at the United Center, with our too-cool-for-school parking pass, we accepted the free Blackhawks binder given to us via binder night.  We then took the elevator up to the penthouse suites, found ours, and OH MY GOSH.

It was the most amazing thing.  Michelle greeted our host, while we all stared goggle eyed at the scene before us.



We're not in Kansas anymore.  We're much higher than that.

And food?  There was a hot dog station, a nacho station, an Italian beef station, and all the beer you could drink.  Mixed drinks.  And don't even get me started on the dessert cart, but I'll just say this...I had a turtle the size of a hamburger patty.  And it was delicious.
Going to the railing overlooking the rink was a little off putting for me, as I have some weird type of reaction to heights, i.e. I feel as if I'm being pulled off my seat by my crotch for a quick trip off the railing headfirst.  A quick consult with the sister found that she had the same problem.  I'm glad I'm not alone.



I couldn't actually take a picture looking straight down without gagging.  This is as close as you're going to get.

The Blackhawks won, of course. 

actual proof.

The game was amazing.  The company awesome.  The food delish. 


actual hockey players, although from our vantage point, they looked like black ants as opposed to Blackhawks.

The only fly in the ointment was sitting in the parking lot after the game waiting for it to clear, watching a carload of white trash punks pick a fight with someone who was not only probably 20 years older than them, but also an off duty police officer.  Who didn't need duct tape to hold up his car windows like the youngsters.

In this day and age of concealed carry, do you really want to pick a fight with a stranger?  I vote no.  Making it more difficult to watch and understand was that the carload of kids only spoke the language "motherfu*ker" and at one point told the police officer "congratulations on living past your prime."  I was certain there would be a shooting and ducked in anticipation.

That same carload of idiots realized they could get through the parking lot by backing up and driving around instead of cutting in front of the cop.  The only problem with that was that we were in the way.  We once again closed our eyes against the certain impending crash, but it never came...although that car was truly less than a half inch from ours.  If my phone battery hadn't died out I would have gladly recorded it for all of you.

Joe and I had such a great time.  Should we be so lucky to go again, I will:  buy more shrimp, wear blinders, and secure myself to a seat with a bungee cord.   Just in case my crotch should pull me over the side.