I've Been Around This Great Big World, Yeah

So, earlier tonight, I found myself writing the following pretentious bullshit to a friend, about the merits of traveling single and alone, vs with a loved one:

"On one hand, you have this nagging feeling that you'd like to share certain experiences with someone special, but on the other hand, there's something intangible and wonderful about hording a special experience all to yourself. I can't really explain it, except to say that I did Dublin alone and grieving when I was 25, then did Paris on my own in the midst of my shipwrecked, alcoholic, self-loathing 26th year, and I know for certain that my time in both cities - alone, but not lonely, speaking to barely anyone for days on end - bookended two big turning points for me personally. By the time I was 31 my head was finally in the right place to share Budapest."

Wow, I sure love to hear myself talk. I would hate someone for writing that kind of esoteric crap to me.....seriously.

But since I am basically a self-important twit, I'll indulge the germ of an idea it gave me.....and you know, germs, they're icky.

I've got a story for each and every country I've visited, and some of them are even worth telling. Before I forget (because I'm at the point where if I don't write shit down its gone forever), here's a word on every place I've been:

Canada: fling

Mexico: drunk

Ireland: grief

England: friends

(no, no wait....can I change that to "pinching an Australian girl's bum?" No? Ok, I'll go with "friends" then).

France: forgiveness

Czech Republic: love

Hungary: romance

I hate myself when I write this kind of shit. I really, really do.

I Saw You

Me: Tallish, 30-something, blond, bug-eyed guy standing with mouth agape in the window of alley-facing apartment in Cleveland Park last night.

You: Tallish, 20-something brunette girl, walking around alley-facing Cleveland Park apartment opposite of mine last night, absolutely and completely buck naked.

Now, listen, I've fantasized many times over about having this sort of thing happen. All city dwelling men have. And you're a cutie....from what I can make out from here.

But I have to come clean here: You've got to stop. I am losing my mind. I can't really see any of the good stuff in any detail, but I can't look away because if I concentrate, I can kinda sorta make out your tushy and the shape of your hips. And that's pretty nice.

But, seriously, this has to end. I can't sleep to start with. This won't help. Please? Because in a masturbatory career that's had it's share of misadventures, I've never actually wanked in front of my apartment window. And I'd very much not like to cross that bridge. So why doncha put on a sweater and some boxers, mkay?

Thanks sweetie....Yer a doll.

P.S.: The guy upstairs from you has a really tiny wiener. Thought you should know.