If It Feels Good Do It

I’m going to break some rules. I’m not going to tell you what happened at the bachelor party on Saturday night though.

IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES, IT WAS THE WORST OF TIMES

Sunday morning was the worst of times. It was the after effects of substance abuse. It was being single and alone in a hotel room for the first time in a long time. It was flying solo at The Wild Wild West Hotel but not being a coke dealer or a cheap hooker and therefore not fitting in with the rest of the clientèle.

I extracted myself from my room only once, and it was to buy coffee. Then I drew the curtains, watched television, emoed out, and slept until dark.

TROPICANA’S WHERE I LOST MY HEART

At 9:30 p.m. I had a few hours to burn before meeting up with my ex-ex-girlfriend’s girlfriend for dinner, who lived in Vegas, and supposedly could drink as much as I could.

Some of you may be thinking that given the nature of the previous paragraph, my state of existence was due for a drastic state of improvement. Some of you may be right.

I happened to see a “custom t-shirt” shop so I had four custom “ifitfeelsgooddoit.com” shirts made. I predict you will see a sample soon. Like in this post.

During dinner I drank as much as my ex-ex-girlfriend’s girlfriend did and I got totally fucked up.

Clearly she knew the way to my heart.

The only downer was when we parted and I had to face the fact that I didn’t actually live in Vegas.

NOON ON MONDAY AT THE TOP OF THE WORLD

But emo time was over. Well, I mean like, twice. I had a new found appreciation for being Ian Bowman. Even showering was exotic.

I couldn’t get enough of myself and I needed commemorate the moment with something big. Or something high. Or both. Or whatever. Okay, let me just get to the point.

I headed to The Top Of The World to eat brunch.

Some people say it’s lonely at the top. Some people are right.

But then these three girls from L.A. walked in and sat down at the table next to me. They weren’t just looking good, they were joking around and seemed cool. They seemed like my kind of people. I walked up to the table and asked if they minded if I joined.

THINGS TO DO LIST

1. Drop out of the software engineering profession and become coke dealer.

2. Live THE REAL BIKER LIFESTYLE.

3. Date girl from L.A.

The only one at the table that didn’t have divorced parents drank about three glasses of champagne in the second ten minutes of brunch and discussed her passion for adios. She also discussed exciting ways to drink it. Adios is a notorious mixed drink that once sent me into a blacked out, barfing on my shoes, existential discourse with my friend Herb’s dad in front of his house at 3 a.m.

Another girl talked about how her mom had developed a taste for the wild side and started smoking pot after dating this one guy.

But in the group, I’ll admit that I had a favorite. I’ll just call her A. A casually discussed emergency room disasters, how she formally used copious amounts of Valium, and what liquids she did and did not want to have in her “hoo-hoo.”

God damn. Finally some women I could relate to.

DEAR A

I’ll visit you on my Harley (like, after I get one) and we can ride off into the sunset together. We’ll get some coke. We’ll drop some Valium. We’ll go swimming in a substance that is friendly to your “hoo-hoo.”

Or we could just go get some coffee or something.

IAN BOWMAN, 2008

At one point in the conversation I said “She put the capitol H in Hershey highway.” I’m not going to provide any context for that statement. It’s probably not what you think, though. It’s probably worse.

Sometimes I underestimate the impact of the words that come out of my mouth. The girls started laughing hysterically. One of them set “‘She put the capitol H in Hershey highway.’ -Ian Bowman” as her chat status message. It was the first time in my life that I had ever been quoted. What a great quote, too.

EXCUSE ME, YOU FORGOT TO AIRBRUSH THE @**&! OUT OF THIS PHOTO

A woman walked by and took a commemorative photo of the event. Here it is.

Our Father, who art in heaven, thank you for this moment.

But why on today of all days do you have me looking like a mix between Ron Jeremy and someone even more perverted? Why is the skin on my arm the color of the tablecloth?

Just kidding, it’s my own damn fault.

It’s gotta be the facial hair. In my next new life, which started about five seconds ago, I shaved that scruff off.

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