A friend’s bachelor party was awaiting me this past Friday. In Vegas. And to top it off, they somehow managed to book the high-roller penthouse suite at fricking Bellagio. Chuck asked me if I was going.
I said no.
What the hell just happened to me? I just turned down the opportunity to go to a bachelor party in Las Vegas.
Could it be that I’ve actually become tired of Vegas bachelor parties? Not possible. Like the bejeweled Faberge Eggs, each one is extraordinarily precious, unique, and filled with hot naked women. And yet, I had absolutely no desire to go whatsoever.
I thought about this for quite some time. Perhaps I was subconsciously telling myself to take it easy before my epic two-week return trip to China in June. Perhaps it's because I was hungover from my morning visit to the massive sensory overload known as E3, the videogame industry convention. Or perhaps it was because I just wanted to stay home and rent “Serendipity?”
Something’s not quite right with me.