Bleah weekend you have too much in you.
Complaining about how busy one's weekend was doing fun, awesome stuff feels like disguised bragging that you got to do fun, awesome stuff, so let's just skip to the part where I fell asleep in a park and drooled all over the back cover of my book, shall we?
Lincoln Park's on the -- what I consider -- northside of Chicago. My church is there, and I was meeting friends there for dinner at Super-Old People Time (i.e. 4:30), so I figured I'd just hang out for a couple hours. I didn't quite realize that, what with Midnight Harry Potter and then Apartment Party Time, coupled with Ouch I Have Cramps Ow Ow Ow I Can't Sleep, if I attempted to read in the park while laying down, I would most certainly pass out. By the time I realized things were heading in that direction, I didn't care, and the next thing I knew, I woke up to several cawing crows and my cheek pressed against Gods of Manhattan, considerably damper than I had last left it.
No one let me give that book away. Or at least not with the slipcover.