Tonight, I’m doing something I haven’t done in nearly six years. The last time I did this, The Lord of the Rings was number one at the box office, Saddam Hussein was alive and in charge, and we were all still wondering if our beloved boys of summer would ever, ever earn themselves a ring.
Are you ready for this? Tonight I’m planning a vacation. See, I’m what you might call a workaholic. For the past six years (I’ll pause for a moment to let that sink in), I have been on a professional crusade that has transformed me from a mall-time graphic designer to a big-time, caffeine-addled, cigarette-smoking, columnist/creative director who twitches in bed at night and cries uncontrollably during Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. And to think, my high school guidance counselor said I’d never learn how to apply myself. Who’s laughing now Mrs. Kennedy? Who’s laughing now? No, really. Who’s laughing? Did you hear that? Ugh. Damn voices. I need some time off.
Okay, so let’s think about this. Where the hell should I go? I’m definitely going somewhere warm, that’s for sure. We’ve seen more snow this year than Lindsay Lohan’s bathroom vanity, and I’m downright sick of it. Bring on spring already! If I have to listen to one more schmaltzy, adlibbed television commercial for Wachusett Mountain, I’m going to beat myself to death with an ice scraper. Yikes... sorry about that. Like I said — I need a vacation. Okay, somewhere warm it is.
Maybe I should go to an island. Or maybe I should go on a cruise. I could go golfing, but the thought of drinking nineteenth-hole beers with fat married men who want to eat steak every night isn’t really my cup of tea. I’ve always wanted to see Rio de Janeiro. I hear the women and the food are both quite spicy. However, I have to admit that as I get older, getting laid while on vacation is like eating Halloween candy. If it’s placed right in front of me, I’m more than happy to have a piece or two, but I’m not going to run all over town trying to find some.
I wonder where I put my passport? And while I’m at it, where the hell is my suitcase? The last time I saw that thing, it was housing a collection of old porn and an electric frying pan. What? I like to make pancakes when I watch old porn. There’s just something comforting about it. Feel free to insert your own maple syrup joke here.
Ok, I gotta go. Trying to write this while navigating this travel website is nearly impossible. If I don’t pay closer attention to what I’m doing, I may end up vacationing somewhere in the Midwest. It’s not very warm there this time of the year, but maybe I’d get lucky and bump into Ty Pennington and his band of emotionally unstable subcontractors. I can spend my time building an overly themed bedroom for a kid who sort of likes airplanes. It’s all about giving back folks. Now where the hell is my megaphone?
I’ll be gone for only a couple of weeks (assuming I don’t meet an island girl, take up whittling, and decide to stay). I’ve asked a good buddy of mine to look after this column while I’m gone. He’s perfect for the job. He’s slightly crazy, totally cool, and has more fun on a Saturday night than a six-year-old does at Chuck E. Cheese. Actually, I think he went to Chuck E. Cheese this past weekend. For entertainment value (and legal reasons), I’ll let him tell you the story. Take it away Chris. Seacrest out!
