"How's the marathon training going?"
From age 13-17 my dad and I didn't really see eye to eye, we didn't have a lot in common. He doesn't like to travel, party, watch movies, read or write. A while back though we found common ground on our distaste for fat people and an enjoyment of staying physically fit, now we talk almost every day.
"Well it hit a little snag, I, um injured myself."
In the past year I broke both my wrists, caught a bad case of runner's knee and I also get blacked out and wake up with mystery ailments all the time. This time though, I was pretty sure I knew what had happened.
Flashback to the previous Thursday, after softball I had gone straight to a party downtown. I had packed a change of skinny jeans, fun socks and probably a plaid shirt or some bullshit (east of Lincoln) what I had forgotten was an extra pair of boxers. 'Fuck it' I thought, 'I'll just freeball it.'
Well this was all good and well until someone spilled a drink on my crotch (which I ignored) and proceeded to dance all night, rubbing my dick up against wet denim and a zipper.
This is bad. This hurts. I'll spare you the details, but in the morning when the booze wore off, I thought my dick was going to fall off.
"What happened? Are you ok?"
"Well it's kind of a man problem, you know below the belt? Did you ever see There's Something About Mary? Similar."
"Oh Jeez, better take a few days off."
"Yep."
So there I was, taking a few days off, walking was painful, riding a bike was out of the question, but then other shit started happening. Again, I won't get too graphic but a few days of panic later I convinced myself I had Chlamydia and took the following steps.
1. Called an old friend and demanded a Z pack, no questions asked.
2. Took the Z pack.
3. Went on with my life.
You may say, "Why wouldn't you just go get tested?"
Have you seen the fucking degenerates at Planned Parenthood? They're one meth bender away from the grave. I am white. I have sex with white girls who have a dad in one of the two top tax brackets, surely I couldn't have an STD. Z pack is a cure all, why waste a Saturday afternoon at a clinic when I could go do coke in the bathroom at bungalow? Plus I'm an out of sight out of mind guy.
A week goes by and my problems have not gone away, I start to panic that it must be something far worse. There was that Coachella girl, there was that Townhouse girl, I don't know how much money their dads were worth. My God, what if I had AIDS.
I finally crawl into a clinic and bathe in the shame of my actions, ready to accept my sentence, ready to write a long letter to my parents apologizing for them having to live with the shame of a son that died of AIDS.
"You have a urinary tract infection. Take this and drink a lot of water."
It was a miracle. I wasn't grinding too hard in ill fitting jeans, I wasn't having sex with someone of poor breeding. Some bullshit bacteria was to blame for this whole mess.
Jesus Christ that was stressful...I need a vacation.
********
When I graduated college, I asked my dad what my graduation gift was.
"Your gift is that you graduated debt free, now go find a job."
Looking back, that is a pretty kick ass gift. Most of my friends make a mortgage sized payment every month and they don't own shit. Predictably though, I was upset. All of my friends were planning this epic trip from Vegas to San Diego, all the way up the coast to SF and eventually finishing up at Lake Tahoe. The trip was going to last 29 days and they were calling it Ferris Bueller's month off. I still hear fucking stories from that trip and I was pissed I didn't go.
If I knew then what I know now about personal finance I would have opened a credit card, maxed it out on that trip and declared personal bankruptcy as soon as I hit my $10,000. By 29 I would be reset and you know what? You don't really need good credit before age 29.
Regardless, I had my own adventures that summer, desperately looking for work in New York and LA before finally settling for Chicago.
The next May, a new group did Ferris Bueller's Month Off...this crew even got matching tattoos that said FBMO, GOD I was so fucking pissed. 29 days of FOMO had me literally clawing my eyes out whilst watching the clock at a job I hated.
In the 6 or so years that have passed, I've taken lots of fun vacations, I've moved to LA, made new friends, a lot has changed. One thing has never left me though; the burning desire to unplug and go off the fucking grid for a whole god damn month.
I had missed my window, I never thought it would be possible...until now.
August 7th at 6:30pm my current television show will end and I will be "laid off." At 6:31pm I will be eligible to apply for unemployment to 'keep me on my feet while I look for another job.' August 8th I am going off the fucking grid for a month and because I know how to game the system there will be $2000 waiting for me when I get back. Hey guys, I didn't make the rules...
Knowing this, there is really no motivation for me to worry about leaving at such a pivotal moment in my life. Sure that money is probably intended to buy baby food for struggling families, but I don't see it anywhere in the rules that I can't blow all of my savings and then use what they give me for rent when I get back. Ah yes, I know I am a piece of shit, but I am a piece of shit who is about to have the best goddam 29 days of his life.
EUROPE
August 8th I fly (on Ethiopian Airlines, this should be exciting) to Dublin, Ireland. My plane leaves at 1130pm in the evening. Prior to booking I corresponded with the Ethiopian Government about in-flight amenities. (EA is wholly owned by the government) They assured me that an unlimited supply of beer and wine would be complimentary.
Norwegian Airlines (a cheaper flight by $200) did not make me this guarantee. Thus, I do not fly Norwegian Air.
Sunday August 9th, at 630pm, after drinking what I imagine will amount to 14 glasses of wine on an African Dreamliner, I will be set loose in Dublin for 24 hours. I have a shitty hostel, I have a reservation at the Guiness Storehouse and the Jameson Factory. I also imagine there will be ample time for crushing Smithwick's at Temple Bar. There isn't much to do in Dublin, 24 hours of drinking should be sufficient.
Monday August 10th, if I am able to stand after drinking whiskey and stouts all morning, I will board a plane for London. It's Ryan Air. There will not be free booze. A glass of ice water will likely cost 15 pounds. It is also a 50 minute flight. These are the only 50 minutes of the trip I do not plan to have a drink of some type in my hand. Monday night I will check in with a couple friends from IU/Chicago. While most of you have been growing up, these two are living the life you wish you had. They're at Yacht Week right now. They were in Hong Kong the week before that. I think they went to Casablanca a couple months ago just for the fuck of it.
I am terrified. When we lived together, our partying was on equal footing. I fear I have been surpassed.
Also arriving Monday night is a friend of mine who booked her trip on a whim after reading one of my Facebook statuses. She will be my primary partner in crime during this trip. Our social media updates will be obnoxious. You're going to love it. I'll be blogging the whole time, it will be like when I blogged from abroad in college, it's going to be awesome.
After doing a bunch of touristy bullshit in London Tuesday, we board a train for Paris on Wednesday afternoon.
I have never been. I reckon I can knock out Frog-ville in 24 hours. That is plenty of time to see a tower, an art museum and consume 4-7 bottles of Rose. Once in Paris, I leave my lady friend behind so she can shop and eat French bread or whatever the fuck people do there after their Eiffel Tower tour is over. I head back to London and that's when the party starts.
Thursday-Sunday in London I plan on doing nothing cultural unless you consider screaming insults at a Tottenham match to be 'culture.' I will be breaking into the Soho House pool, I will be chugging Fireball. I will basically be reverting to a Sophomore in college, if anyone has any advice on local spots where this type of behavior is encouraged, please let me know.
Sunday night I take a midnight flight back to the Dublin airport where depending on my hangover anxiety I will either take a cab into town to keep partying or go sleep it off at Baggage claim. Monday morning I head back stateside.
I actually do fly back to LA for a couple days after Europe. Will I unpack? Will I search for a job? Nay! A couple days is just long enough to get down to Tijuana and pick up a fat stack of Viagara for my trip to the midwest, so I can drink myself into a grave without worrying if I can perform for some of my old flings. Will I get busted at TSA? Maybe, would it be a legendary story if I did? Definitely.
Midwest (Indiana/Illinois)
At some point, the week of the 22nd I will fly somewhere in the midwest that is in the general vicinity of Indianapolis...probably Chicago. I don't have a flight. I don't have a place to stay. I'm sure it will work out. I would like to go on a boat. I would like to get drunk on a rooftop. If you or someone close to you can make this happen, let me know! I will probably not be back in Chicago for at least a year and I haven't been back in the summer since I moved away in 2011.
Eventually, I will have to figure out a way from Chicago to Indianapolis so I can raid my parents fridge and potentially do some laundry, but this is where the fun begins, because Thursday, August 27th I have a bachelor party...in Bloomington...on Lake Monroe.
Ah yes, the whole reason for the trip to the midwest is for a good friend's wedding. I'm in it! That's a first! What a mistake by him! And it's in Bloomington? During fucking WELCOME WEEK?
My God, I will be at Kilroy's ordering Cooks I don't give a fuck how old I am, I WILL shack in the dorms.
So on the off chance I survive Thursday's Bachelor Party, Friday's Rehearsal Dinner and Saturday's wedding...
Side note: I wrote a while back about post traumatic party disorder. I had banned myself from partying in Bloomington at least for more than 24 hours or so for a game. This is going to be a full fledged 3 day bender and I fear for my life and the lives of everyone else involved. This is a frat wedding. I'm pretty sure there are about 100 dudes from the house going...meanwhile the bride was a DZ, and well they know how to party.
Ah yes, If I survive. If I survive, then
Wisconsin
The first week of September is going to be rough. I will have been out of work for three weeks, partying my dick off the entire time. I will likely be running low on funds and have extreme anxiety if not flat out depression creeping in. I don't know where I'll spend the week between the wedding and the 2nd bachelor party. At my parent's house in Indy? Too stressful. In rehab? Maybe. Or perhaps I'll crash on someone's couch in River North and since Chicago summer is ending we'll go out every night to squeeze the last bit of sun out before the 312 reverts to the arctic tundra that is so often is.
Oh that sounds terrible. How about a nice quiet house in the suburbs. With a pool? Anyone in Wilmette live at home still? Can we share a basement for a few days and just play video games or something? Lock ourselves in the dark and just watch the entire series of The Wire in like three days?
Wherever I am, I know Friday that I'll likely be picked up by someone and we'll head north to Wisconsin for a lake house bachelor party.
I'm only CC'd on like half the emails, so quite frankly, I don't even know where it is. I don't know what we're going to do. Boat around? Pick up townies at a bowling alley? Drink? Drugs? Ya, probably a clean sweep on that.
I don't know what to expect, I just imagine that by the time Breakfast is served on Labor Day 2015, I will be a shell of a human being. I'll probably cobble together the remaining $300 or so to my name and take an Airtran flight back to LA. I'll be so broke when I land that I'll have to take a city bus back to Venice and then I will sleep for 3 days straight. I won't be able to process to stupidity of taking a month off of life.
I'll check my email for the first time in a month. There will be rants from my old boss about something I fucked up on my last week and how unprofessional it was for me to have an out of office that said.
"Hey I'm backpacking through Europe right now and am completely unreachable, looking forward to reconnecting with everyone upon my return."
My room will be messy because obviously I waited to pack until the very last minute. The girl I have a crush on will be dating a new guy.
Everything will be in shambles.
But then a few days later, out of the blue I will get called about a job starting in Mid-September. I'll take an Adderall and clean my room. I'll get back into the swing of life. And some day, months down the road, I'll open up a folder of the 2000 pictures I took on my world road trip and I will smile from ear to ear because then I'll know it was worth it; those memories are mine and no one can take them away from me.
I'll be fat for a while because I will eat like shit all month. But eventually everything will be back to normal, I'll even finish that half marathon with a respectable time for a beginner, and then come mid-November I'll be ready to do it again. Where are we going for Christmas and New Year?
It always works out.
SO...
That said...
Dublin, London, Paris, Mexico, Chicago, Indianapolis, Bloomington, Unspecified Town in Wisconsin
I'm coming for you, I'm up for whatever. I'm bringing a positive attitude, a backwards hat and a flask of whiskey. I'm bringing my laptop along so I can write and I always protect the names of the innocent (or guilty) that come along for the ride.
It's been a long time coming, but I'm finally taking my Ferris Bueller's Month Off. Hope to see you out there.
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