Silicon Valley!**

I forgot my toothbrush. This was the first indication I was not adequately prepared for the weekend in Palos Heights.

Arriving at O’Hare with a belly full of air and stars in my eyes, I was greeted by a significant flight delay. After unsuccessfully trying to muster up the courage to use the airport bathroom during that time, I was greet, upon entering the plane, with the news we would be delayed another hour on the tarmac. Apparently the weather in New York was bad and flights were backed up. The New York weather did not cross my mind, at this point, of being a problem.Four fucking hours later, I landed at La Guardia –or as I now call it “Shittier Midway-” and learned the bus only takes metra cards or coins. No bills. So I had to go back into the airport and find a metra card machine. Of course, being an airport where thousands of people arrive from out of town every hour, the airport doesn’t have a metra card machine. So I had to get quarters from the change machine which, of course, was out of quarters. So I had to walk to the other side of the airport just to get 2 dollars in quarters.

When all was said and done I got into Manhattan around 1-ish in the morning, I mean 1-ish in the fucking morning.Upon exiting the subway I learned why my flight was delayed: it was pouring fucking rain and not only did I not have an umbrella, I didn’t even bring a change of clothes. It rained for the next 2 of my 3 days there.

When I finally met up with The Wife and An Doof Ass, we went out and drank away a large wad of cash and caught up on each others latest suicide attempts. We left that bar around 4 am and Heather went back to her Midtown –next to the Empire State building- digs and I bought a half rack of Coors Lights and An Doof and I headed to his Bronx –next to parking lot and a chain link fence- digs. That night turned out classy: An Doof and I sat on the couch talking current affairs over Coors and, though I was soaking wet, I was happy to see his vaguely familiar face.

After getting up with a splitting headache and spending the next 9 hours in Manhattan trying to stay out of the fucking rain –unsuccessfully-, An Doof and I went to Penn Station with freshly purchased handles of bourbon to pick up Peter from England. As luck would have it Peter, having recently finished a master’s degree in All of Philosophy, was on his way to a job interview and decided to catch up with fellow Keble Collegians for the weekend. Within minutes of his arrival the weekend become pretty blurry and genuinely debauched, vacuous and distasteful. I would say more but how does one weaves together: attempted abduction, vandalism, death, false arrest and a Mexican birthday party, just to name a few, into a coherent story? i have no fucking clue.