Vegas, baby, Vegas.

I've decided at the last minute to fly to Las Vegas to meet up with some high school/Miami buddies for my friend Josh's bachelor party.

I almost bowed out of the endeavor, being that I'd just missed a week of work due to illness, that I was recovering from pneumonia, and that I'm a complete pussy.

So my flight's booked. I need to find someone to take me to the airport. I don't know where I'm staying once I get to LV, but I often don't know where I'll be sleeping once I get to any Nevada destination. I haven't had a drink in 10 days. I haven't eaten much, either. I'm healthier than I've been in a long time, in time to go to Vegas to fuck it all up. To cap it off, I have a Monday morning physical scheduled.

"Mr. Gallucci, your triglycerides are high, your cholesterol is off the charts, and your blood alcohol content is high enough that you'll have to take a cab home from the clinic."

Aw yeah.

But it'll be good to hang out with the guys. Everyone's moved away or got married. Seldom is there the opportunity to hang out anymore. Casually stopping by a friend's house to watch TV or grab a beer has given way to planned, structured events. "Adult play dates." I haven't succumbed to the whole "family" thing. I have a cat and a mortgage; it's all the responsibility I can handle. I'm sure I'm missing out on some joys of family life. I can't think of what those joys could be, but I'm sure I'm missing out nonetheless.

I'm out.