MEMORY LANE IS SUCH A PLEASANT DRIVE

So Saturday afternoon was my 10 year high school reunion. All-in-all, it was a blast. I didn’t think it would be that much fun, but it was. For me, it was like having all of my favorite memories from my youth flash before my eyes and then sitting with those memories and asking them how they’ve been all these years. I had seen people I use to hang out with during Junior High and High School and was really glad to see them. It all seemed so natural. Like no time had passed between us. So, I'm really, really glad I went. And to think I wasn’t even gonna go at first.

WHY DO WOMEN LOVE LOUIS AND THE GANG SO MUCH?

He whispered “Louis” quietly into my right ear as I passed him on the street. Of course, he always does that when I’m walking by. As a matter of fact, he seems to do it to everybody, so I guess I’m really nothing special. I’m just another guy he wants to talk to for a minute. I mean, I don’t mind talking to strangers, but I find it weird that he carries a blanket around with him. It is kind of funny how fast the women come flocking to him when he stops and unties the knot at the top of his blanket. If I only had that type of magnetism. Of course, he is with his friend Louis. Louis and the rest of the gang of course. You know; Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Coach, etc.
So last week, as I walked through Time Square with Laura and Jenny, I wasn’t surprised when they were instantly attracted to the street vendors selling the knock-off purses. Yep, the ones I was just referring to that carry around a shit load of purses in a blanket and whisper name brands in your ear as you walk by them on the street. I mean, in a matter of 15 minutes, they managed to spend $150 on purses. Purses for thier moms, purses for their friends, and purses for themselves. At first I was shocked that they would spend so much money on purses. I mean, our pants have pockets for a reason damnit. But no...women need a purse for every occasion. Except for the clubs of course, becuase for some reason us guys always get stuck holding onto the driver’s license, lipstick and $20 bill.
Anyway, I come to find out the next day that my boss stopped by the same vendor. And she too purchased a nice little clutch that she proudly bragged about as we sat in the meeting with the client. And then...the client started to RAVE about how she LOVES going to Time Square for purses. Why pay $200, $300, $400 for a real Louis Vuitton purse when you can get one for $20 on the street.
Unfortunately, the purse epidemic didn’t end their. When I got back into the office on Monday, my boss managed to tell every female on my team about the low-priced purses made by the indigenous people of China. And of cousre, they all wanted a piece of the action. So, as my boss happily took orders for different types of bags (clutches, purses, wallets...etc.) she realized that she wouldn’t have any room for all that extra stuff. So what does she do? She offers MY suitcase to pile THEIR purses in. YAY!!!
Oh wait a second...I meant BOOOO!!!
So tell me, what the hell is the obsession with women and purses? Personally...I don't get it.

10-YEAR HIGH SCHOOL REUNION: when did i get so old!

Yep, that's right, my high school reunion is this weekend. I guess that's cool. But, kind of not. I mean, I really don't have anything to brag about. I'm pretty much the same irresponsible kid I was 10 years ago. Only now I have a receeding hairline and love handles. Actually, I always had the love handles. So what's the point.
My friend Steve said he won't go because there is no point. "Unless you're a doctor, actor, or lottery winner, there's really no reason to go see the people you didn't associate with in high school anyway."
As for my friend Mike, he wants to go to check out all the bitches he wanted to fuck back then, and try to fuck them now. Which isn't a bad idea either, with hopes that they're still attractive. I mean, I've seen a couple of the girls that were hot in high school, and they're not so hot anymore. It's quite unfortunate, but that's what happens when you go to college or pop out a couple of kids.
As for me, I guess I want to go just to see some old faces. I mean, I had some really good times, and good friends in high school that I lost touch with. I'm kind of hoping some of them show up. If not, no big deal. Nonetheless, it should be interesting to see how much we've all changed, and grown up through the years.
Or...it's gonna suck balls and I'll wish that I never went.

Sa-sa sayonara bitches!

Another long day at work.
No time to blog.
I'll get to it one of these days.
Lot's to say.
No time.
I'm home right now.
The Simpsons are on.
Must go watch TV.

Ch-ch-ciao bitches!

BLAAAAAAAAAAH!

I'm back! And I'm sick as a dog. Went to New Orleans for a bachelor party last weekend, then had to fly to New York on Monday for the week. To much traveling. Now I'm back in Chicago and just as sick as before. Had to see the doctor this morning so I could get more drugs. Which meant that I came into work late. Which means it's 8 pm on a Friday night and I'm still at work. Oh well, just wanted everyone to know that I am alive. And that I'm still here to write boring blogs.
Later!

SO THAT’S WHAT THEY MEAN BY LIFE IS LONELY AT THE TOP

Traveling for work isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. You spend hours sitting in airports, waiting for car services, and sleeping in beds that are often not as comfortable as you’d like them to be. Then you have to go see clients who don’t appreciate you or the work you do, and blame you for every little thing that goes wrong. But every once and a while there come a few perks...“Upgrades!”

Now, as excited as I was that I received the one bedroom suite at The Time Hotel in Time Square, I was flabbergasted when my boss called me up to tell me she received the Pent House Suite all to herself.

“Don’t go anywhere Kathy...I’ll be right up!”

There’s something oh so glamorous about walking into an elevator and pressing the little round button marked "PH." You feel somewhat special. Like you’re better than all those other fools who have to sleep in their cramped, little wholes-in-the-wall that the city of New York call “spacious” living quarters.

As the elevator doors spread open to reveal black marble floors and shattered glass walls with a Time Hotel logo in bright red lettering behind it, I became instantly impressed. Even the hallway was immaculate. When I rang the bell in the center of the stainless steel door, I waited patiently for my boss to let me in.

“Sorry, the master bedroom is on the second floor. It takes me a while to get up and down these stairs with my bad knee.”

I had absolutely no problem waiting those few minutes. Especially since what I was about to see was something straight out of a movie. This particular Pent House suite occupied three floors of the hotel. It contained a master bedroom, two full baths, each with a whirlpool and one with a sauna. Two balconies, one wrapping around the entire 17th floor and the other on the 19th floor overlooking the west side of Manhattan. There was a full bar, a living room, and an entertainment room with a 52" wide screen TV and Bose entertainment system. I was in complete awe.

“Serg...I don’t think I am going to be able to sleep here tonight. My knee is in bad shape and I won’t make it up and down those stairs. Would you mind switching rooms with me?”

PAYDIRT! Ladies and gentleman, I now was going to be occupying the Pent House Suite of a shnazzy hotel in New York City. Does life get any better than this. Mmmm...no!

Unfortunately, my envy of the rich and famous got the better of me. As the night progressed I began to realize how useless most of this stuff really was. Here I was, in a Pent House Suite, in New York City, all by myself. All by myself. Hmmm...all by myself. Alone...with no one to share it with. I’m 19 stories above all the peasants, the scum, the nobodies, and yet, I was all alone. I don’t know anybody in the city. I have no friends. I have no family. All I had was myself, my journal, my “Angels and Demons” book, and most unfortunately, my loneliness. It was then that I realize that I don’t like being here. I don’t like not having any friends or familiar faces to share this with.

So, I left. Yep, I left the Pent House Suite and joined the peasants, the scum, the nobodies on the street and enjoyed the rest of my night in New York walking the city and loving every last bit of my boring and mundane life. These were my people. This was who I am. I’m just like everybody else. And it was then that I truly understood the meaning of “Life is lonely at the top.”

However, when I returned to the room, I did enjoy a few minutes in the whirlpool. And maybe, just maybe, I ran up & down the stairs naked as I let my body air dry. And maybe, just maybe, I screamed from the balcony “I’m the mother fucking shit, bitches! How do ya like me noooow!”

Maybe...

IT APPEARS STUPIDITY IS THE COMMON THEME FOR MEN

Yes, Thursdays debacle was quite embarressing for me. However, a very close friend of mine decided to show me up and take male inebriated stupidity up a notch. Now, because a good friend of mine was getting married on Sunday afternoon, a group of us decided to take him out drinking Saturday night as a last hoorah. In keeping true to the unspoken rule of male ethics, I will not speak too much of the nights events. Although, one particular moment I find far too amusing not to share with others. The tale goes something like this. After hours of drinking, reminiscing and oogling at young, voluptuous women, one of my buddies decided to drive straight home and get a little booty from his wonderful and faithful wife. An easy enough task for any sober individual. However...when you're a little too intoxicated, a quick trip home turns into:
1) driving like a maniac into my parking lot and parking on the grass.
2) kicking my room mate out of his car and speeding off screaming BRRRRAAAAHHHHAAAAHHH! at the top of his lungs while screeching his tires.
3) pulling into his driveway at a 45 degree angle and blocking all the other cars.
4) stumbling into his bedroom and proceeding to urinate in his wife's purse, on her clothes, and all over the bedroom carpet.
5) and finally, waking up the next morning and not remembering anything from the night before except the fact that I offered him a condom if he wanted to take home the sexy girl with curly hair. Which he gladly told his wife for some odd reason.
Isn't life wonderful with alcohol!

I AM TRULY AN ASSHOLE!

My morning began like any other morning. I got up, took a shower, got dressed, and began to fix my hair. Unexpectedly, the door bell rang. Confused, I went to the call button and asked who it was. No answer. I had a feeling who it could be, so I rang the buzzer. As I unlocked the door, I heard the sound of pounding feet ascending from below. It was Laura.
As I greeted Laura with a smile and a pleasant gesture, she responded with a blank stare free of emotion. When I asked if she was OK, her blank stare remained with the exception of her brows arching forward and her eyes squinting with anger. I knew she was pissed.
Again, remaining speechless, she turned the corner, walked over to the table, grabbed her belongings and walked toward the back door.

7 hours prior: I stood alone against the wall watching with intrigue. He was wearing a red Care Bears outfit with little feet, a heart on his right butt cheek and a hoody with ears. Far be it from me, I was in no position to question his attire. I mean, he was far more talented than I will ever be.
Nonetheless, it’s always good to have a gimmick when you’re a cover band, but the purpose of the guitarists outfit was unbeknownst to me.
Finally, Laura and her friend walked around the corner to where I was standing and asked if I was ready to go. After four beers and a long day of work, I had no arguments with their request. Now, because I didn’t feel like driving, Laura was happy to drive my car back to my condo. While in the car, Laura and her friend began a conversation about her friends ex-boyfriend and the situation she was in now. I had little to say, for the desire to pee was building more and more with every minute that passed. As we pulled into the parking lot, Laura parked the car and continued her conversation. I politely asked her to turn off the car, hand me my keys, and let me go inside to pee.
I rushed to the security door, let my self in, ran to the second floor, opened my door, went inside, and pissed like a race horse. I swear to God, sometimes it’s almost better than sex.
Once I was finished, I went to my room, changed into my lounge pants, and waited for the girls to come in.

Alarm buzzing: As I awoke from a pleasant slumber by the sound of a rattling buzzer I looked around for Laura. LAURA...SHIT...LAURA’S STILL OUTSIDE!

20 minutes later: As Laura walked toward the back door, I asked her where she slept last night. Oh, by the way, the belongings she picked up from the table...that would be her purse, her cell phone, her keys to her house and her car. Oh yeah, it was also her friends purse, her friend’s cell phone, her friends keys to her house and her car. I mean, can you blame me for wondering where she had spent the night. Especially since she had no way of getting anywhere or calling anybody.

“You locked us out.”
“I didn’t mean to, I knocked out as soon as I lied down.”
“We rang your buzzer for half an hour! Then we were throwing rocks at your window for another 30 minutes! We had to walk to my house...in heels! I had to pee! You forgot about me! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!”
“Are you pissed?” (I applaud myself for the brilliant response)
As she clinched her hands into two tight fists I knew I was FUCKED.
“I have to go. Call me when you get home from work.”

As she walked out the door, I made one last attempt to apologize. Unfortunately, that did little for my situation. It was at that moment that I knew I was completely and utterly FUCKED! I am truly an asshole!

Can I get any more boring?

Everyday is the same for me.
Nothing changes.
Currently reading "Angels & Demons".
It's good.
Currently listening to Pulp.
It's good.
Just ate a bowl of cereal for dinner.
Honey Bunches of Oats.
It was good.