Drinkin' Out of Cups...

Continuing my stint of being a little bitch...I give you the latest chapter in the story...

I'll be one of the first to tell you, I've been a little depressed lately mostly due to things out of my control. It's kind of silly to say out loud because most things in life are out of our own individual control, but the things I've been attributing to my depression fit that particular bill.

I guess we could first define what I think depression to be and right now, that is a feeling of being lost and having a sense of no control in surroundings. Lately, that seems more of a state of being rather than a temporary thought/feeling.

The biggest factor to these new feelings would have to be based on what's happening at work. Back in late December, one of the managers I work with approached me regarding a position opening in his team which he wanted me to fill. Three months later, I'm still waiting and looking forward to the time I can put in my notice to leave my current position. I'm gracious for the new opportunity, but I feel enough is enough. I'm ready to move and to me, three months seems enough time to make this change. As with the last three months, the future will show its hand soon enough, so there is little I can do to change it.

Another factor to this depression mess is the news my significant other will require another shoulder surgery in late April. While not unexpected, it is relatively surprising since I'm the one who has been undergoing physical therapy for shoulder problems over the last few months. It's not a new issue for either of us, but the jump from “ow, my shoulder hurts” to “fuck, surgery scheduled for late April” was initially surprising especially given I was the one to avoid it for the time being after finishing a stint in PT.

In order to offset the incessant bitching in my everyday life, I do have a few things I'm looking forward to in the coming months: 1) a former roommate of mine is getting married in late March, 2) my annual “get the fuck out of the USA” vacation is scheduled for late April, 3) my brother Jared is getting married in August, and 4) one of my best friends recently bought a house.

1. My former roommate in London is getting married in Denver in a few weeks. I am very much looking forward to attending as it has been a fuck of a long time since we last got together. Granted, most of the night he will be busy attending to other guests, but it won't prevent me from dragging him away from important people for random shots of Jameson at the bar. Look forward to that, buddy.

2. The girlfriend and I have booked our annual “fuck the USA” vacation and will be headed to Costa Rica for ten days in late April for beach, surfing, and a shitload of sun (and sunburn for me). We'll be climbing volcanoes, walking around rain forests, driving tiny cars on tiny roads, and snorkeling with deadly animals. I can't wait...mostly because my work is required to leave me the fuck alone leaving me to actually enjoy time off. 
   
   
3. Jared is getting married!!! August is the time and it's going to be hot as fuck. I don't know a lot of details, but I'm really hoping he has a light colored suit like the last wedding I was in so I visibly sweat through the cloth. At the very least, I get to see my family and will have a few days of celebration, so we can all be thankful and happy for the soon-to-be married couple. 
   
   
4. Finally, one of my best friends bought a house recently and I volunteered to throw her a house warming party in the fall. She's one of the first I know who has taken the leap to home ownership and I think something of that magnitude should be celebrated. I know I'm nowhere near that kind of commitment to one particular city, so I can certainly appreciate the value of the decision. Way to go, Kate.

Much like previous posts, this isn't all that funny – so I apologize for it. Also, after writing and reading through the whole thing, I realize I don't really have much to bitch about. I would feel bad about it, but you really don't care anyway. It's all just based on frame of reference anyway, so things can always be worse.

Next time you'll know better...

Missing London...

Maybe it's the booze talking (it's probably the booze talking), but lately I've been missing my home away from home - London, England. I think there are a few reasons for this revelation, not the least of which my old roommate in shitty ol' London is getting married in exactly a month. The other reasons in no particular order: I watched a movie tonight that had a few scenes in front of Buckingham palace, a friend of mine is taking a holiday to London in a few days (and I'm jealous), we had some English visitors in the office this week, and I think about and miss it every fucking single day.

Now, don't get me wrong – I'm fully aware this is ex-girlfriend syndrome. There were some really shitty times I had when I was over there I would not wish to repeat. I would say I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy, but I would be lying. Eat shit and die, worst enemies! I think a lot of you know what I'm talking about here – weeks, months, years after you're broken up with a horrible excuse for a human being you've wasted entirely too much time on, you come to think of only the good times and tend to forget the bad. Right now, I'm extremely guilty of this. Just off the top of my head, here are my main “shitty” things to remember: having to reset the hot water every single morning in the other bedroom (waking the other two roommates in the process) to have a luke warm shower experience, getting paid much less than any minimum wage working much more than full time hours, “high speed” internet that worked maybe one time out of ten, and sharing a tiny two bedroom apartment with three other people.

I know – it sounds rough...you don't have to tell me, I was there. Despite my troubles, I had the time of my life and wouldn't trade it for the world. In fact, I've made it my life's goal to get back to London to live and work and be able to afford it. Recently, that goal has been made to appear relatively attainable due to a potential opportunity at my work. It's by no means a guarantee, but the position I'm looking at has the history and possibility to send me to places I want to go and leave Jacksonville far away. Granted, this won't be for a few years and I'm looking far, far ahead – but dreaming is what keeps us alive, so I'll allow it.

This is not to say I don't appreciate and enjoy my life in Jax, either. I'm employed and enjoying a salary that allows me to travel back to Ohio for holidays, have nice things, travel to exotic places, and not want for much. I'm struggling to word this in a way that doesn't make me sound like the biggest whiny baby on Earth, but, here goes. The problem is this: I want more; I want to be able to go back to the UK and experience everything I wasn't able due to lack of available funds. The funny thing (to me) is prior to my UK year, I gave zero fucks about traveling anywhere. I was happy to stay in my little house in my little town and not worry about anything except the next weekend. Now, I want to experience as much as possible and I have too many empty pages in my passport to fill.

I suppose the biggest issue I have is living in the future and not enjoying the present. I see people doing things, I'm absorbing media, and thinking of my own past and can't wait to see what the future holds. I need to slow down and enjoy the moment rather than think about what may happen next week, next month, or next year. It's difficult to do that when you're performing a job you don't particularly enjoy, but that will be my goal for the next few weeks: enjoy the moment. I heard a saying a few months back I made a point to remember and have tried to incorporate as much as possible in my life. It's embarrassingly basic and has been said too many times to count, but I guess it took that many times to sink in. One of the managers I work with said to“not sweat the small stuff. Life has a way of figuring itself out, so only worry about the things you can control at the moment. Let life live.” Words to live by, if you ask me.

So, for now I'm working to get the new job which will lead me to the job that takes me to my dream. I know I'm at least three years away, but knowing it's within my grasp is enough to keep me going. I'll continue missing my London home, but I know someday I'll get there...and even though it won't be the same as I knew with all the friends I had there, it will still be home.

Clearly, I Lied

Clearly, I lied.

The last time I left you, I was promising the world and failed to deliver like a deadbeat dad (small d) promising to lay off the booze and finally pay for Junior's school books. Unlike the deadbeat, I had good intentions and did actually write the first story (or chapter), but it was absolutely fucking terrible so I threw it in the garbage where it deserved to die.

As a result, I've come to a realization – I'm either really bad at writing about me (likely) or really bad at writing first person in general (even more likely). The first chapter of my horrible proposed book had to do with a story that happened the summer before I left for my year in London. Although I had the best intentions of being objective (you know...like FOX news), it ended up being a sob story of “why doesn't anyone like me???” and I just don't think anyone gives a shit, so I canned it. Trust me, we're all better off.

Therefore, the “book” has been put on hold indefinitely until I can figure out a way to write about my own life experiences and pawning it off as a fictional story with actual (made up) dialogue as opposed to a “this one time...at band camp” style story. Either that or find a way to write more effectively – which...let's be honest, isn't really in my wheelhouse. Being perfectly honesty, I feel like I've failed because it has been roughly two months into this experiment and I've failed to update a single time. Really, in a way, this is kind of your fault since you promised to badger me for said updates and I haven't heard a peep out of anyone. Not even a “hey, fucker – you promised!!” so you only have yourself to blame.

Anyway – in lieu of a story, chapter, etc., I'll instead bore you with my latest pain in the ass: physical therapy. About three weeks ago, I was diagnosed with what doctors call a “SLAP Lesion” which sounds like a fancy venereal disease, but is actually medical speak for a fucked up shoulder. Short story long, whenever I twist my shoulders the wrong way (when driving, sitting, jerking off, etc.), it feels like somebody stuck a shiv in my shoulder and twisted in revenge for me booting their dog off a bridge. As you can imagine, it's not a pleasant feeling.

In an effort to alleviate this ailment and prevent temporarily life-halting surgery, I've been undergoing torture (physical therapy) to strengthen the rotator cuff muscles. It turns out, after my initial screening and subsequent sessions, those muscles offer the same strength and resistance quality as a newborn baby's. As someone who has made a point of being physically active in life, I can personally attest to the embarrassment associated with having a physical therapist laugh at how weak your shoulder muscles have become due to poor form/lack of use. It's kind of like paying someone to kick you in the testes/ovaries and then laugh in your face because your arms aren't strong enough to retaliate effectively.

So, after a few weeks of PT, I have noticed a marked increase of strength and decrease in pain, so I suppose it's working. At this point, I'm optimistic surgery won't be needed, which is always a positive since I don't enjoy spending thousands of dollars on anything that would actually benefit me. As with any debilitating injury, prior to knowing my shoulders were as week as a T-Rex, I never realized how much I was compensating for their lack of strength with lifting even the smallest things like dishes or cooking pans. The bottom line is this: I'm a huge pansy and nobody should ever take any kind of advice about working out from me because they'll be laughed out of the gym and might eventually need surgery to fix my blunder. I should get casualty insurance – it's that bad.

In other not so depressing news, I have an ungodly amount of flights to purchase this year due to weddings, holidays and family events. March and August stand out as exceptionally expensive months which require multiple flights – so...that's fun. Boo hoo...I'm so popular people want to hang out with me...yeah, I know...

Anyway, that's your quarterly update from me: my shoulders are fucked and I'm going to spend an assload on flying all over the country for events where people want me to attend. I'm working on figuring out a way to write my stories without sounding like a whiny bitch, but I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one – you know how good of a writer I am. Would you expect anything less?

One last point: since it's Super Bowl weekend, I'll do the cliché thing and pick a winner. San Fran is getting 3.5 points last I checked, and I have SF winning 31-24 even though Kaepernick is a fucking douche for trying to trademark the bicep kiss. So – SF I guess. Don't use this endorsement to bet the game – I'm horrible at picking any kind of sporting event...

Time For My Yearly Update

Ok – here’s the thing: for as long as I can remember, people I know have been telling me I should write a book. One thing you should know about me is I have these grandiose ideas and all the best intentions in the world, but I simply don’t have the patience to undertake something as significant as an entire novel. Weaving one storyline into another and having it all come out at the end in one simple ending with a tidy bow is just not my style. Maybe someday…but for now, I’m going to give it a shot in the only way I think is possible: a book of short stories loosely based on real events. And when I say “loosely based,” I mean “actual events according to my memory with names changed.” To anyone who may be part of these stories, consider this your warning call and let me apologize in advance for my narcissistic view on life and my self-importance in things that in actuality have very little to do with me. What can I say? Not only are we our own worst critics, sometimes we’re our own biggest fans.

Anyway – there’s only one way for this to work and that is to be completely and utterly honest and forthcoming in these stories and adventures. That being said, there are a few things you should know about me:

1.      I like shitty music and it’s a big factor in remembering certain things about certain points in my life (yes, I know – we’re all like that), so occasionally I may reference a song/album/artist or nine to remind me to stay on track.

2.      A lot of these stories will only be interesting to me and those who are an active part of my life. I suppose they may be interesting to those who were part of the stories at the time, but I’m not entirely sure those people will be flattered by my opinion or perspective of them. As mentioned before, names will be changed, so unless you’re a part of the story I’m planning on writing, you may not even know it’s anything but a really boring tale.

3.      I’m selfish in a lot of ways even though I try not to be. I’ll do my best to go back and reread to make sure I’m not making any obvious mistakes, but to be completely honest, I’m really only doing this because I don’t know what else to do right now and I need an outlet. I can’t say for sure this will continue past this one post because my motivation is fleeting and many times it takes a lot for me to open up a Word file and put my thoughts on screen. I don’t particularly care if anyone likes or reads it – it’s merely an outlet for my frustrations and to help me get a decent night sleep.

4.      I’ll probably reference my previous travels a lot because Jacksonville doesn’t really have a whole lot going for it in terms of scenic, historic, or interesting sights. A lot of what I draw on happened a significant time ago and since that is the case, my memory certainly isn’t what it used to be, so I’m giving myself creative range to reasonably fill the stories as I see fit.

5.      By all accounts, I’m not a very good writer, so don’t be surprised to see unfortunate changes in tense, person, etc. Again, I will do my best to catch this, but the continuity effect is widely lost on me.

6.      These points aren’t really in order of importance, but since I have you this far, I think you’ll pretty much read anything I put on the page. I’m not exactly sure how long each “story” will be, but the premise is pretty simple: I have one of those calendars that has a witty saying for each month. So, for each one of those sayings, I’ll write a story it reminds me of. Many of them will be far-fetched and have nothing to do with the actual quote – but here’s where I say “it’s my book and I can do whatever I want, so fuck you.”

7.      I curse a lot. A lot a lot…so if that’s not quite your bag, I suggest you move along quickly. One of my general rules in life is to not censor myself in many situations that don’t require it. My day job is one of those unfortunate circumstances where I’m not allowed to say everything I want or how I want. I’m sure I would be fired by now if I took those liberties, so there’s not much I can do there. This book/blog/whatever the fuck you call it is an entirely different story. Granted, there are not a lot of people out sharing the same name, but anyone who reads this will have some kind of connection to me, so I’m not entirely worried about it. Besides – work is FUCKING BORING, so why would I write about that?

8.      My inspiration for this came along a few weeks ago. Apparently November is “write your own novel” month and the girlfriend said I should take a shot. I gave it some thought and went for a run. On my jog, I went through some of the stuff I would say in this opening and it was all much more clever in my mind than it’s coming out on the page (as is usually the case). In true Justin fashion, I planned out a very brief outline for what I might want to write about according to my little calendar scheme and promptly sat on it for 2 weeks.

9.      So, here’s the plan: tonight is my prologue of sorts and putting my intentions out there in hopes one or two of the people who actually read this will hold me to my pledge. I want to write one story every two weeks to post on this blog to potentially gauge interest and most importantly have an outlet for my personal rage that has been building over the last few months. Some of the best times of my life were described in previous posts in this page and hopefully I’ll be able to relay a few more in the coming months.

Kind of awkward to leave it at nine things, isn’t it? Oh well – can’t be helped, I suppose. Last thing before I leave it alone for now: as with all my previous posts, I’m always open for criticism (constructive or otherwise), so if you have something to say about anything at all, please do leave a comment. Hate it, love it, are indifferent about it – let me know and I’ll take it in, chew it up a bit, then see what gets digested.

As for next time, the first post/chapter is called “It may be the antidepressants talking, but I’m feeling somewhat optimistic about 2012.” Starting off in a nice contradiction, it will focus mostly on the summer of 2010 and my months leading up to the move to London. Some characters you can look forward to meeting: The Energizer Bunny and Twilight (has very little to do with the book/movie series, I promise). Until then…

When Am I Allowed to Bum Around?

When I started writing this blog, not when it originated (because it was a load of shit as a sports based blog), but when I really started writing, the purpose was to allow me to get away from my surroundings and make a little bit of sense of my life once in a while and blow off a little steam in the process. I have seemed to get away from that strategy lately and I think it might be time to fix it. Now, I don't want you to confuse that with a promise of regular posts, but I will make a conscious effort to feel guilty when I don't write a post once a week like I originally planned. Coupled with the fact my next few weeks/months are busy as fuck all, I don't think I could commit the time to write regularly and keep up with this smack habit I've picked up. Priorities, people!

Keeping with the format of giving you literally zero pieces of interesting and/or helpful information, here is a snapshot of what's supposed to happen in my life over the next few weeks. I give no promises of accuracy, though.

I'm fresh off a 12 hour work day (I know, b-o-o h-o-o, woe is me, blah blah blah – fuck you, I'm tired) so keeping that in mind, I'm really not looking forward to the next five work days for a few reasons. Monday and Tuesday (of this week) are the absolute worst days of my entire month when it comes to work related hell. Four times a month, I'm subjected to a torture known as “trap reporting” which means “cruel and unusual punishment” in Latin. Without boring you completely to tears - four times a month, I lead conference calls with all kinds of people who are excruciatingly more important than me with the purpose of making sure they fix the shit they say they will and finding out why they haven't fixed the shit they were supposed to fix. Monday and Tuesday are the more important version of these calls and the last ten days have been dedicated to making sure they go as smooth as possible. Let's just say I'm counting the hours until noon on Tuesday when I can officially be done with this horrific procedure for the calendar year.

After enduring my punishment filled week (or maybe two days, time will tell), my brother Josh and Ms. Hanni Berger will be making their way down from the frigid northwest to visit warmer climates for the weekend. Aside from the pops helping me move down here in September, this will mark the first visit of friends from Ohio and I'm looking forward to showing them around town. It will be a much needed break from reality and should be very beneficial to all involved. Let's hope for a quick work week and get on with the foolishness and shenanigans.

After the broseph and Berg leave from their weekend visit, I have one more week of work before I make my way back up North to the “fuck you, winter” cold of Ohio. This will be a bit longer of a visit than my trek last month, so I'm going to have to bring a few more articles of warm clothing to not freeze my bells off. It's not too late for you guys to come down here for Christmas, ya know! I'd be more than happy to “miss” my flight provided I don't have to freeze my ass off up there for a week. I'll let you think on that for a bit...just let me know. Anyway, after the reminder of why I moved South is over, I fly back to glorious, warm Florida to make my way to New Orleans, LA for New Year's Eve celebrations. The only solid plan I'm aware of regarding this trip is I will be in attendance as the Saints murder Carolina on their way to a playoff spot and probably a first round playoff bye. This will mark the first time I will witness Panthers action in person, so I don't really give a shit about the outcome, especially since they're well on their way to solidifying the #2 pick in next year's NFL draft ending the year at a stout 4-12. Oh well...at least they're not the Browns.

After New Orleans, it's another three weeks before the trip to China – but that's a whole post in itself, so I won't ruin the fun tonight. Oh, before you read this entire post, I just want to throw out a note that this isn't funny at all, so if that's what you're looking for you should probably move on. What's that – you already read it? Oops...guess I should have put that at the beginning. Suckers...

First Post From Jax

I had a few things on my “to do” list today. Writing this post was one of them, but then I started looking at Tumblr and it all went to shit. I'm not exactly sure what direction this is going to head, but then again, none of my other posts had a point either, so I suppose it works. Just to start things off easy again, I'll do my go-to format and do some kind of a list thing. So, here's what has happened in the three months since my last post:

1. After I left London, I moved to Jacksonville, Florida to work for Deutsche Bank. My job is nothing special, nothing glamorous, nothing spectacular, but it is a job – and for that I can be thankful. It pays the bills and then some, which is more than some people can say and I feel lucky to have it. On top of that, it's in fucking Florida, so I can hardly muster up enough gumption to bitch about it especially given the fact it's currently 65 degrees at 11 o'clock at night. Fuck. Yes. I went for a run today near my apartment while wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Outside. Yes, it is the end of November. No, my situation does not suck.

2. As a supplement to #1, I was just in northwest Ohio a few days ago for Thanksgiving and it was all I needed to confirm I made the right decision to move here. When I stepped off the plane in Detroit, it was somewhere around 40 degrees and colder than I have encountered in about eight months. I was ill prepared for the journey to say the least. I brought a few thermal shirts with me on the journey to the cold-as-fuck north as I figured it would be more than enough to keep me warm. Dead wrong. Not only was I shivering and swearing the entire time, I ended up sleeping in said thermal shirt to keep from freezing to death in my parents' living room. Then on a night out on the town, I was under the delusion I would be just fine in the “you-think-this-is-cold-just-wait-til-December” weather, wearing one of my flimsy shirts that would cause heat stroke down here. Lets just say I'm not looking forward to the trip back next month for Christmas. I'm starting my petition to have the family come down here for Christmas instead.

3. The only real gripe I have about Jax (for now) is the bitchin' traffic. I live something like five miles from work, which would take less than ten minutes to traverse in optimal conditions. On a good day, it takes around fifteen minutes to make the trek from my residence. On a bad day? Hours. I have never missed the London Underground more than I do while driving to work. The worst drive to work I have encountered was about a month and a half ago where there was an accident on every major highway/road around my area. Every single road had an accident taking up at least one lane, if not multiple. On this day, it took me nearly two hours to go five miles. I could have walked it in less time. Yes, I realize major cities have traffic jams and yes, I realize a lot of people have commutes that take an hour plus every single day. However, I do not care. It should never take two hours to drive five miles. Most days I long for the times when I could walk from home to work in fifteen to twenty minutes. But alas...

4. Traffic aside, I cannot think of a single complaint I have about this city. I'm within 30 minutes of nearly everything and there's always something going on if I feel the need to amuse myself. I suppose there is a striking lack of concerts here, but Orlando is about two hours away and has oodles of them for my liking should the need/want arise.

5. Future plans: I'll be heading to New Orleans for New Year's Eve (about an eight hour drive) and since I've never been, I'm very much looking forward to it. While I'm there, I will be in attendance as Carolina ends the season at 3-13 (linebackers or linemen in the draft, please!) and the Saints win the NFC South. Also, I'll be headed to Shanghai and Beijing, China at the end of January for the Chinese New Year...so who the fuck needs concerts?!

I guess the bottom line is this: I'm happy. It's been a long time since I could say that and actually mean it. I live fifteen minutes from multiple beaches, the weather kicks ass, and I have a great girl who is everything I've ever wanted and more. In short – life is good.

Last Post in London

Well, here we are: the last night in London. Fuck, it came quick, but that's what everyone (including me) said would happen. I guess I never realized how quickly it would come. Those last two sentences are just absolutely rife with sexual undertones...or is that just me?

One of the most common question I've been asked in the last few days is some variant of the following: are you sad? Answer: yes and no. Today was my last day of work at UBS for what I can only assume is forever. I have no prospect of continuing my employment for UBS in the States in the next few days/weeks/months, so the only logical conclusion is this chapter is closed and will stay closed. Sad? Not really. There are people I have met in the past year I will certainly miss, but those who matter won't really be going away; it'll just be months of potential planning to meet up which will eventually fall through and odds are I won't see a single one of them again. Always the optimist, I know. I do have some faith in a select few, though.

So, no...I'm not sad. I'm not really sure how to express what's going on right now, honestly. I'm at a loss for words. I knew this would happen eventually if I talked or wrote enough. At this point, it doesn't seem real. I know I'm leaving tomorrow and I know I'm going to have to say goodbye to some people who have become invaluable in my life. I also know I don't know how I'm going to react. The only solace is I know it has to happen and I can't do a thing to stop it. Every person I've grown close to over the past few weeks/months/year are from different parts of the world. Most are in the US which will make a meet potentially possible, but we're all going to be beyond busy the next few weeks/months and once we get around to it, it'll just be a “well...I guess I could, but why put in that much effort? Seems like a lot of work.” As with everything, time will tell.

Anyway, enough of that bullshit and more of the cynicism you come to expect from this page. Last night, I was at an event cleverly titled “leaving drinks” for a friend of mine. What happens at this event, you may ask? Well, drinks are clearly involved. The reason for the occasion? They're leaving! I know...I was stuck on that one for a while, too. It just so happened that this event was host to just about every person I have come to meet and loathe for the last fifty-ish weeks or longer. There are some I haven't seen or spoken to in months and there are others who I was friendly with previously where that friendliness does not exist anymore. I'm torn up about it, I swear. However, whenever there can be drinking and awkwardness involved...well, fuckin' eh, count me in.

I can sum this night up in just a few sentences: imagine being at a house party complete with three keg stations. In attendance are about two hundred people; one hundred and seventy of which you can't stand while the other thirty are absolutely shit-hammered while you're sober and trying to get to their level. Oh, and two keg stations just dried up.

Following the story so far? Ok, so here's what happens: you end up getting stuck in line with about a fucking million people you would rather have rusty, dirty knives shoved up your pee-hole than speak to, let alone be near in general. Sober. Fun, right? Here's what you can expect from this scenario: fake interactions with those you hate, some getting pissed you're ignoring them even though you've spoken maybe two words to them in your entire life, and fantastic over-the-top reconciliations from those you used to be friends with based on their having new people around them so they can save face and not look like a fuck/dick/cunt/bitch. Where are the people you actually care about, want to hang out with, talk to and see? Nowhere to be found...tumbleweeds. Get me the fuck out of here. Now.

Short story long: I left early after saying my goodbyes to the people I came to see. Shocking, I know...

So it's my last night...I'm done packing...all the flatmates are out of the house...and I'm sitting here contemplating the previous year in this fucked up thing we call life. Seems fitting, I think. This will be my last post written in London...next time you hear from me will be when I'm on US soil for the first time since April. I've said it before and I'll say it again...life's a fucked up ride. Hold tight, ride it the best you can (there's those goddamn sexual undertones again!) and see where you end up.

It's been a great year and for those who have stuck with me for this long, for those who have read occasionally, and for those of you who might be new readers, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. Here's to the next one.

Yeah, I Didn't Die

First things first...obviously, I survived Amsterdam. Sucks for you, that just means more pointless rambling and thousands of words you never wanted to read in the first place. But here you are anyway because I have a mesmerizing way of making you come back, time and time again, even though you really don't know why you click the link in the first place. Sucker...

My brief thoughts on Amsterdam:

1. It is fucking expensive. I was there for a little over two days and spent well over two hundred Euros and really have nothing to show for it. Before you ask, no – I did not buy a hooker and I did not buy any pot. As far as you know...

Seriously...ridiculously expensive. I also did not have a single drink bought for me...apparently I'm not the kind of guy gay dudes go for...oh well...

2. The easiest way to describe Amsterdam: think of Vegas on meth, coke, and ecstasy and throw in an alcoholic blackout session and you're getting pretty close. Then add hookers. Yep...that's Amsterdam.

3. Walking around Amsterdam was very confusing for me in many ways.

- First, there are so many fucking canals it makes it nearly impossible to know where you are without a map. Even with a map, it's pretty fucking difficult (as I found out Saturday night/Sunday morning) and as soon as the destination is in sight, it's like a ray of sunshine and rainbows and boners. I can't tell you how happy I was when I finally made it to the hostel on Sunday morning...I nearly wept because I was so happy after being lost for as long as I was.

- Second, that city is a total mind fuck for a man (or, let's face it...boy masquerading as man) because of the sheer amount of prostitutes in the red light district. Walking down a street or an alley is simply mind-boggling because of the nature of the profession. I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. Countless women standing in doorways showing off as much as possible in order to get you to drop your pants and what I can only assume is an obscene amount of money.

Between them knocking on the inside of the glass to get attention, the “come hither” finger curl, and the “fuck me” eyes, my mind could simply not process it. Call me old fashioned, but it takes more than a skimpy outfit, a sexy look and money exchanging hands to get this kid's attention. Okay, not much more...but still – a guy's got his principles. One of those principles just happens to be not paying for sex.

Enough about Amsterdam...I survived in one piece and of relative sound body/mind – just a little light in the wallet. It's vacation...that will happen.

Dammit! I always fucking do this...I totally had something else to write about after I was done with Amsterdam. Oh, got it!

London Riots:

Again, I lost what I wanted to say...I swear it was pointless and redundant, but I guess you'll just have to settle for me randomly rambling again. Basically, the riots aren't near the area I'm in at all and everywhere closed early because there were rumors of the riots coming near Old Street. Which resulted in my gym closing early, which in turn resulted in me being not happy and unfulfilled.

I really don't know what I'm talking about, but for what it's worth, it's really stupid that something like this has spun so out of control. I understand the reason for getting so pissed (for those who don't know, read the news instead of hearing my unsubstantiated claims) but it simply escalated to the point where the police could not handle it. Which made it spin even further out of control. Also, the looters and people setting the fires are complete fucks...we don't live in Columbus, Ohio, people.

Anyway, I'm pretty much done here, so do whatever you want now.

This Might Be My Last Post

Okay, kids...this might be my last post.

Before you get all teary eyed from sheer joy in never having to suffer through my ramblings again, I feel like I should explain. Tomorrow will begin my last trip in Europe as I have less than twenty days left in the UK. Since I have precisely zero days of vacation left and am rapidly running out of the pitiful stipend this company pays on a monthly basis, I simply don't have the time, finances or patience for any more visits to European countries. Therefore, it was decided a few weeks ago that my last trip this year would be to Amsterdam, Netherlands.

The reason this might be my last post ever is because I'm fully expecting to die this weekend. We leave tomorrow morning and are scheduled to return Monday evening, but I'm fully expecting to miss my return flight since I'll be dead. I have heard many stories about Amsterdam, but almost all of them involve painful amounts of alcohol and some other stuff as well. Before we continue, I feel like I should make one thing clear: I am not going to Amsterdam because a certain substance is widely rumored to be legal there. In fact, I have a very negative attitude toward this substance. I have never been interested in it and I don't think it's “cool” to brag about how high you are or have been in the past. This might be a surprise to some, but for those of you who know me, it really shouldn't be since I'm usually quite vocal in my opinion (shocking, I know). The reason I'm going is because I want my last trip to be as fun as possible and this seems like the right city to end on. Not only that, but I feel it would be socially irresponsible of me to be this close in proximity and not make a visit. It just seems...I don't know...it seems like you kinda have to go.

So why am I going to die? I don't really know...I just feel like it's a probability. I have no evidence to support my premonition much like the majority of my feelings and thoughts, but I feel like I have a pretty decent track record of my predictions. Ok, probably alcohol poisoning. Happy? So here we are, mere hours from my death...and I feel like I've given life a pretty decent ride. If it ends here, I'm good with it...I've done a lot and I can't point to anything I would say I regret, so I feel like that's a solid indicator of a good time.

On a side note, I was recently informed this weekend is gay pride weekend in Amsterdam (not that there's anything wrong with that), so that tidbit should make it even more interesting. Much like the majority of men in this world, I have never been in the circumstance where a woman who was interested in sexing me up buy drinks all night in an effort to seal the deal. As we all know, this is the man's job. That being said, I'm not above accepting some free drinks to make up for the hundreds (okay, dozens) of drinks I've bought for women in unsuccessful efforts to make me a tiny bit more attractive (let's be honest here, you can't polish a turd). Let me be clear here: I'm not expecting people to buy me drinks because that would be narcissistic and completely out of character (haha...riiight), but I will accept them without question. Before you get all judgmental, let's explore this for a bit. I can't tell you how many times I've heard this sentence come out of a woman's mouth:

“He's buying me drinks, so of course I'm going to keep talking to him. What? Sleep with him? Haha...don't be silly.”

Yes, I realize how sexist it sounds. No, I don't care. Because it's absolutely accurate. And none of you can dispute it. It's a widely accepted fact that men buy women drinks because they want to get down. If women have a problem with it, stop taking free drinks from strange men. Whoa...when did this get so serious? Ok...think of a dick joke...quick! Shit...I'm all out.

Anyway, due to the dubious amounts of alcohol I'm expecting to consume in the next 72 hours, along with the sheer dumbassery I expect to partake in, I pretty much expect to die. My liver will give out, my kidneys will quit on me, or I might get stabbed in the neck. Either way, I fully expect my clock to expire thus negating the rest of my travel plans and life expectancy. Like I said, it was a fun ride...and I very much appreciate all two of you who shared this experience with me.

By the way, in case anyone asks: Don't waste your money on a funeral or any bullshit like that. Just throw a gigantic kegger and pour one out for your ol' buddy Rufus. Oh, and Justin too...he'd like that. Also, make sure to hire The Used to play the wake...they might need the gig.

Later, fuckers...it's been real.

Alcohol + Awkward Situations = Hilarity

Holy shit! Two posts in three days?! Yep...better watch out, this might become a regular thing...and then you're all fucked.

Really, this shouldn't be a shock to anyone, but I've been drinking again (gasp!) and I have some thoughts on what just happened in the previous 6 hours. For the dense folks in the crowd (and new readers...could it be?!), the past 11+ months have seen me in an entirely different country than I am used to, living in London, UK (I swear, it's not a brag...this place kind of sucks) and working at an investment bank (sounds way more prestigious than it really is) while scraping a living and counting my pennies to survive. Tonight marked the celebration known cleverly as “leaving dinner” for the program I'm involved with and will be the last time I see or speak to 90% of the people I've come to loathe for the last year-ish of my life.

The point of this entire entry is the wonderful powers of alcohol. Inserted in the right situation (read: any) and consumed in moderation (excess), it makes nearly every situation tolerable. I had every intention of skipping this dinner since I have almost zero desire to see anyone in this program again, but I was persuaded otherwise by the promise of free booze. Turns out, the free booze was shitty wine (which I absolutely hate) and the only other option was a “half price” happy hour which featured prices one would only encounter in strip clubs of the classiest design. A regular bottle of beer cost a stout 2.40 GBP (roughly 4.00 USD) at half price. You're goddamn right I went straight for the wine with a hard and heavy fury.

Now, granted I'm pretty well off at this point, and there are a few people I do actually enjoy hanging out with who are scattered about...but for the most part I want nothing to do with anyone at this entire gathering. Don't try telling this to Rufus (my blacked out counterpart) because he's a fucking social butterfly. Just in case you're keeping track, a handful beers along with a few glasses of wine with no food equals Rufus. He doesn't give a fuck about anyone and will say any and everything that comes to his pretty little head. Suffice to say I had a bit of fun tonight with ol' Rufus' help and I can't imagine a scenario where they'll be sorry to see me go. The feeling is most definitely mutual at this point.

Now that I'm a few paragraphs into this entry, I forget what I was meaning to say. I don't remember saying anything in particular that would have pissed anyone off or that was especially inappropriate (unfortunately), but I do remember spending way too much money on overpriced alcohol. Those last few sentences make me sad...what good is a night out without multiple people absolutely infuriated with you over something you may not remember?

The lesson here is simple, as always: alcohol + horrible people + awkward situations = hilarity. Follow that simple formula and you can never go wrong. Trust me...would I lie to you?

Rules Don't Apply to Bicyclists

Okay, we're starting this way off topic, but my elation was just at a daily high and then squashed in the span of three minutes. What I was going to start this entry with was something along the lines of: “in this moment of time, for me, there are few things that make me happier than walking into a roommate-less flat.” For approximately three to four minutes, I was bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet like a spastic rapper at the thought that right now I am alone in this residence. Sweet, intoxicating solitude...but alas, it was not to last. Not ten seconds after I sit down to write this entry, one of the roommates struts in to ruin my happiness. Oh well...there's always hope for tomorrow.

Now, on to the meat of this entry: I hate bicyclists. I'm not exactly sure where I first heard this little anecdote, and I'm probably totally butchering it (I'm para-phrasing, here), but here it is: in regards to usage of roads and sidewalks, motorists hate pedestrians, pedestrians hate motorists, but fucking everybody hates bicyclists. If anyone knows exactly where this came from, let me know so I can properly credit this person/entity.

Anyway, from what I can tell, the rules do not apply to bicyclists in London. I'm not going to sit here and pretend I know anything about bicycle laws in this city or country. However, I'm pretty sure there are rules about running red lights, cycling in the middle of the road, cycling on the sidewalk, going down the wrong way of a one-way street, etc. I have seen each and every one of these instances on a daily basis on my walk to or home from work. I only know one person who cycles on a regular basis (I'm not sure he reads this, but I'm calling you out, Smitty), and I don't know if he follows the rules of the bicycle code, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Aside from the aforementioned friend of mine: fuck you, bicyclists...fuck you.

As with everything that happens on this page, a story prompted this entry. So here it is: while walking back from the gym tonight, I find my normal path through the graveyard has been closed off (early, I might add – you fuckers) so I end up taking the alternate route. As I'm crossing the street in a heavily construction affected area, I'm nearly completely decimated by some fuck-face cyclist. Now, here's where I would normally say “it totally wasn't my fault; that guy's a prick,” but I'm not going to say it. I might be completely at fault here, I don't know. I had my ear-phones in and turned up to “I'm definitely going to be deaf later in life” volume so I probably didn't hear his stupid fucking bell that all riders have (I'm so jealous though...I want one for walking so people get out of my damn way) to warn pedestrians they're about to fuck their world up. Also, I failed to look to my right to check for on-coming traffic because I was lazy and stupid. Basically, if this guy would have plowed his bike into me, I pretty much deserved it.

At this point you should be asking yourself one question: why is this guy a fuck-face? The answer, dear reader is the same reason why I'm taking partial blame here: I don't know the rules for cyclists, so I just assume he was breaking them. Here are the facts: I could be (read: probably) wrong, but last I checked, you're not allowed to drive the wrong way down a one-way street right in the middle of the fucker. Maybe cyclists are immune to that little-known rule. Also, after he nearly took my leg off with his front fender, he did not stop and say anything...nothing at all. If it were me on the cycle, I believe I would have stopped and apologized profusely even if it were not my fault. The least I would do is stop to make sure the person is okay and not having a fucking heart attack from their brush with near death. Not only did this guy not stop and see if I was mid-coronary, but he flipped me the bird while simultaneously pointing to his head profusely as if to say “get the fuck out of my way you dumb-shit pedestrian. I'm on a bike, you should know better than to get in my way because I ALWAYS have right of way.” At least that's what he said in my head. It may not have even been the middle finger...he could have just been pointing to his ear implying that I shouldn't listen to my music so loud or I could get destroyed by a cyclist. I don't care, I prefer the former. He's a dick.

However, after I got over my near bone-crippling encounter, I starting thinking about how awesome it would be if I was actually hit by that guy. I have nineteen days left on this continent and have yet to be injured in a way that would require a hospital visit. With less than three weeks left, it would be sweet, pure hilarity that I would probably, at the very least, have a broken bone or two after making it through the year relatively in-tact. I can see the headline now:

Stupid American forced revered British citizen to hit him with his bicycle. The cyclist is alive and well; we think the American is still in the road somewhere.

Okay, that's a long headline, but can't you just see it? I can...

Anyway, I'm done with the cyclist. I don't like him, he doesn't like me...but I'm pretty sure neither of us know the actual laws of cycling.

Side note: I've been meaning to write about this for a while, but have you ever noticed people with baby strollers can do whatever the fuck they want with no repercussions? Next time you're around someone with a stroller, pay attention to what they do and how little regard they have for others around them. I've seen this phenomenon in three separate countries, so you can't tell me it's just an American or British thing. The only example I have right now is what happened after that dick on the bike almost shattered my pelvis. Going down yet another construction riddled road (they're getting ready for the Olympics, so I'll allow it), a woman with a stroller and two kids in tow sees me coming up a very narrow sidewalk and busts it in there right before I get to her sidewalk entrance point. The next fifty feet are spent weaving back and forth looking for an opening like the driving scene with Borat and Will Ferrell in Talladega Nights. Zero regard for strangers...because she has a stroller. Seriously – next time you're around someone with a stroller, pay attention. I promise you won't be disappointed.

As always, questions/comments – you know what to do. I have seriously been lacking in responding, so my apologies. I promise I'll do better.

Get Over Yourself Already

It's been a while...too long, in fact. I've had a fuck of a day thus far, but you know what? Let's play “story time” because I have one to tell and you're bored enough to read it.

Fair warning: I've had a few drinks (of the alcohol nature – gasp!) and this might come across as a little more aggressive than I intend...but for those of you who have read before, it really shouldn't be anything new. So, without any further ado, the story of the night:

I went out for drinks with some co-workers tonight because a fairly important person was in London doing some business that has something vaguely related to a process I perform on a daily basis. Fine by me, I'm all about free drinks and making an ass out of myself after ingesting a few adult beverages. Prior to embarking on this adventurous evening, I was slightly nervous because this person could potentially have some kind of impact on my career in the future since he works in New York and has a little pull in who gets hired and who does not. I was naively thinking since I am one of five or six people in the entire world who know how to do this process, this person might have some interest in keeping my services at the company I currently work. It became extremely obvious early in the evening this would not be the case because there are very few positions available in the US, especially in my given area of “expertise.”

So, here we are a few drinks into the night (compliments of mystery NY man, thankyouverymuch) and I have yet to eat a single morsel of real food since lunch and the stories are flowing like a freshly discovered period. The people in attendance are Mystery NY man, two co-workers, and my boss's boss. At some point, Mystery NY man tells a story about his recent adventures on the tube (London's underground subway system for the slow people in the crowd) and how he was sweating balls carrying his unnecessary luggage around. Eventually, a random stranger (is there any other kind?) offered him a seat as he can be considered an older gent and might require a rest as to avoid a coronary. This prompts me to recall a story where something similar happened a few months prior involving an older (but not really that older) man when I was cursing myself for riding the tube back from Heathrow (fucking again) after depositing yet another visitor in the safe hands of Overpriced Airline.

I begin my story by saying I'm riding the tube back from Heathrow and some random woman notices a middle-aged man who might look like he's having a little trouble standing. Upon noticing middle-aged man, she turns to me (earphones in and turned up to near ear-bleeding status and reading a book) and tells me I should give up my seat because he looks like he might need it. As I'm recounting my story, I reference my boss saying “this guy was young, probably middle-aged like you” and didn't seem like he needed any charity in me giving up my seat. Not for nothing, but if this woman was so concerned about this guy sitting down, why not give up your own damn seat, you selfish bitch? End of story...except not really. Apparently “middle-aged” isn't a term thrown around lightly as my boss seemed fairly disturbed and potentially offended by the categorization.

As far as I know, my boss is late 30s and has a few fuck trophies (kids) as well. Let me ask you, dear reader...what would you consider “middle-aged?” From what I can tell, middle-aged is mid to late thiries to mid to late forties. Am I wrong? Please tell me...I beg you...I implore you...if I'm wrong – do tell. Give me a viable definition that tells me I'm incorrect in my assessment and I will walk into work tomorrow (or more likely Monday) and sincerely apologize to my boss for calling him such a dirty word.

As you can well imagine, the rest of the evening was spent telling stories with the preface of “Well, since I'm middle-aged” and “Oh, I can't do that anymore since I'm middle-aged.” Fuck. You. Get over yourself already. People get old...you're not special. Just because you're clinging onto your last semblance of hope of being considered “young” does not mean you are. Why not throw on some Dickies and a Quicksilver shirty with a flat-billed fifty-nine fifty Dodgers hat while you're at it? When I'm 40 and employing little shitheads such as myself and buying them drinks since they can't afford it themselves, I expect to be called old because I fucking am.

Do me a favor, readers (all two of you), if I ever lose what small sense of humor I have, especially if it involves me being old as fuck all, just kill me. Take a shotgun and blast me in the face. You'd be doing everyone a favor and you have my personal guarantee I will not press charges. Because when we lose our funny, we might as well be dead anyway...

I'll probably regret posting this tomorrow (whatever, at the end of the day, we're all attention whores anyway) but fuck it...it's written and I haven't posted anything in a while. Plus my last 15 posts have been depressing as shit anyway, so here's a little light hearted post to let you know your life is and always will be better than mine.

Questions? Comments? You know what to do...

You Can't Get the Pretty Without the Boom

When I left you last, I was on the cusp of welcoming the entire family to London for an entire week of visit-related fun. I really don't have much to say about it other than it went as near to what I expected as possible and I think it's safe to say we're all glad to be back to whatever level of normalcy can be expected from our daily lives. Without going into much detail, there were a lot of fun times, some yelling, a lot of annoyance, but overall a successful visit, especially since everyone made it out alive. If you want stories, ask someone who was there to give the top three moments (they're probably all the same) and I'm sure they'll have no problem giving their version of what happened...myself included. That's about all I have to say about that...

Anyway, other than the family trip, things have been fairly hectic for me as well. After finding out the work offer had been revoked (I swear, the last time I'll mention it), I started my own job search with a frantic quality only seen in meth addicts. In the last few weeks, I have secured my very own recruiter based in Chicago and New York, my bosses have massaged a few leads (also in those cities), I have acquired a UBS lead in Chicago, applications/resumes/CVs have been feverishly sent to nearly thirty jobs in about a half dozen companies in four or five cities in the States. As you would probably expect, I have yet to hear from anyone regarding an interview or even the slightest interest in my services. Insert the normal excuses about the job market, timing, relocation costs, etc...but I do realize I have a few months here still and shouldn't really be worried too much..at least not yet. But the word “yet.”

Lets get away from the boring job stuff now and talk about something more fun...or at least what I would consider fun. The last few weeks have seen me in more different countries than probably the last 8 months combined, which is nice and also annoying at the same time. It may sound strange, but I'm not really the biggest fan of traveling...at all. It just seems more of a hassle than anything and I enjoy my comforts of home entirely too much to leave them very often. However, as I now only have a limited time over here, I feel like I have to take advantage of it by going as many places as possible in the next few weeks before the job search consumes my entire thought process. As a result, a few weeks ago I went to Poland and the Czech Republic over a long bank holiday weekend and last night I just returned from Spain. A few highlights of each place:

Prague, CZ: I was in both Prague and Krakow for a few days over the last bank holiday weekend with two of my flatmates, Art and Brian. We left on a Thursday afternoon getting into Prague around 10PM. Upon arrival of the hostel, we discover there is a bar located on the ground floor where we sampled the local offerings almost immediately. Another member of our program had been in Prague for a day earlier and we met up with him near the bar area. About a half hour later, Brian was scanning the bar when he turns to Art and me and says he recognizes a few of the girls from the end of the bar. Turns out, a few girls he went to college with in Texas were randomly in Prague the same weekend we were and two of them are doing a study abroad program for a master's type degree, or maybe the CZ equivalent. Naturally, we end up meeting them at another bar later on where all kinds of madness ensues, especially since the Czech Koruna is an extremely weak currency compared to the British Pound, meaning a beer at a higher end bar/club is about the equivalent of a pound and a half. Madness indeed...

The next night we partake in a bar crawl which starts at our hostel, takes us to one of the same bars we were at the night before along with three others. On the crawl, we meet a multitude of people, many being from the US on vacation. Side note: casual readers of this blog who may not know me personally might not know what happens sometimes when I have a bit too much to drink. I have what I call an alter-ego named Rufus who kind of takes over my psyche under certain circumstances and generally speaking...it can be quite interesting. Rufus has his own back story that completely differs from mine and there are quite a few people around the Bowling Green and London areas that know me only as Rufus. It's almost like split-personality disorder, except I know it happens and allow it...does that make sense? Eh...who cares, nobody's listening.

Anyway, there was a particular person on this bar crawl that made it known she graduated from Penn State. It was at that moment that Rufus decided he graduated from the University of Michigan and took it upon himself to completely belittle and destroy this woman's Alma Mater and the opinion she held it in. Don't ask me why...it's just kind of what he does. Safe to say she's not a fan, but that will happen. Aside from this woman coming up and repeating the same sentence about fifty times (“I really enjoyed my college experience”), the night proved to be extremely fun. The last club on the bar crawl was a five-story joint right on the river which supposedly had a different vibe and type of music on each level. Needless to say, I didn't stay very long as it's not exactly what could be considered my “scene.” On the way out, we caught up with one of the crawl tour guides named Yon (not too sure on the spelling) and he decided we shouldn't be done just yet. He proceeded to take a small group of us to four additional places (all of which I couldn't find again if I were paid) which sent the night into a spiraling downward slide. We ended up so far from the hostel it was necessary to find a cab to get back, and we were given the tourist “discount” (a mere 500 Koruna!) to travel the mile and a half back. The next day we took it easy, did some tourist junk and caught the over-night train to Krakow, Poland.

Krakow, Poland:

The train was something out of an Agatha Christie novel all the way down to the seedy train operator and impending sense of doom. It was an experience...that much is certain and despite having a sleeper cabin, not much sleep was had between the three of us. No, not like that...perv. We didn't have much of an agenda and not much happened while we were in Krakow except the obligatory trip to Auschwitz. The entire reason we went to Krakow was because of Auschwitz and it may have been the most psychologically and emotionally powerful place I've been to in my entire life. There is no need to re-hash the details, but I will say this: if you ever have the opportunity or means to go...do it. You will never be the same. It is my opinion that every single person should be required to go and see this place because you will never interpret your life the same again. Whether you were personally affected by what happened at this hellish place or not, it will alter you in one way or another. Definitely a must in my book.

Other than Auschwitz, we had the required food staples: Polish sausage, perogies, and vodka. Being as picky an eater as I am, it was food heaven...you can't get much better than kielbasa, meat and potato filled perogies and bread. It gives me half-stock just thinking about it...

Barcelona, Spain:

Last night at 11:30PM, we landed at London-Stansted airport to weather one would normally expect from London: cold and rainy. Normally this wouldn't be a big issue as those who have been around this city for an extended period of time would know it's inevitable, but I had just flown in from Barcelona where it was an incredibly amazing mid-nineties and sunny every day. Three glorious days where I saw the sun in its full force for the first time in eight or nine months. Barcelona was just about everything you could expect from it: superb weather, great food and drink, and many relaxing hours on the beach. The events in Barca would take an entire post in itself, so again, the highlights:

I met up with friends from here and one of their friends from the US on Wednesday (they had been there since Monday) and we undertook the prerequisite bar crawl. Again, I won't go into many details (mostly because I don't remember, although I believe Rufus made an appearance again), but there were many bars, many drinks, many laughs and more embarrassing dancing than I would care to admit. The night ended with a long walk back to the hostel after most of my party were yelling at the crawl organizer for not taking us to the amount of bars he promised (he took us to four...and four were promised, for the record) while he was slinking into a cab. The two girls were staying at a swanky hotel on the beach while the two guys were at a seedy hostel in the city, so we walked the girls to a common meeting place (the backward statue of Columbus) and sent them on their beach journey while we stumbled back to the hostel. As we were walking up La Rambla, on three separate occasions, the hoards of prostitutes walking the streets decided to take their chances and see if I was desperate enough to get herpegohnasyphiaids and hand over some precious monopoly money. Sorry ladies...it wouldn't happen even if you paid me. Just a few blocks later and I was able to melt into my bed for the next 10 hours, attempting to ward off the inevitable headache and/or hangover.

The next day, we met up with the ladies and had a nice quiet day on the beach. Well...quiet isn't exactly the word. Literally every three to five seconds this was heard a few feet from where we were laying: “beer, cerveza, fanta, co-cola, co-cola light” or “massage?” by what seemed like hundreds of “vendors” walking the beach trying to make a quick euro. Fuck. You. Stop ruining my beach experience with your senseless chatter.

The night wasn't much better. We met for dinner (which was nice) and then went down to the beach where apparently the entire city of Barcelona met and set off obnoxious fireworks while getting loaded. Yes...normally it would sound like a pretty sweet time, but I was not in the mood for it and literally hundreds of thousands of people + alcohol + fireworks + me = not good. We walked the entire length of the beach (while one member of our party had her hands to her ears the entire time) and afterward, said our “see you laters” and made the walk back amid the firework blasts that sound oddly like gunfire. The only solace of the night was we were far enough from the beach where the fireworks didn't cost me any sleep, but that may have just been because I was so tired from the heat and walking a few miles that day.

The next and final day in Barcelona consisted of typical touristy crap, trying to kill time till the flight left at 10PM. After a long day of walking, we made it to the airport, waited, made the flight to London and discovered the cold and rain. Another lovely night in London...

Well, that's just about all I have on this today – it was a bit longer than I wanted, but if you made it this far down, thanks for reading and as always, any questions/comments/etc, go ahead and put them where you see fit.