Euphoria --> Rock Bottom --> New Zenith --> Rock Bottomless

I want to first apologize for not getting my post in last week. After getting a brief, school appropriate, run down on my week I think you'll not only forgive me but possibly even commend me.

Background:

Last week I was in Lagos and Lisbon, Portugal and Barcelona, Spain. I was out of the country for two weeks total - the first week was a school trip (yang) which, if you are really interested in, you can read about on my travel blog at the URL listed below. My second week abroad, however, I elected to indulge myself in some of the finer things in life (yin.) If you know me personally please stop reading now as you will likely lose respect for me. If you don't know me personally but, for some reason, have some respect for me thus far after reading my first three blogs, please stop reading now, as you will also likely lose the little respect you might have for me.

I may have mentioned that when I decided to get away for a while a few of my boys caught wind and decided to jump on board and join the party for the second week. When I am at home with these kids we pretty much get down with the get down, killing it on a regular basis. The utter debauchery that ensued when we met up in Europe, however, is something that I am still attempting to wrap my head around.

Euphoria:

Perhaps it was something in the water where we were staying. Perhaps there was a different chemical make-up in the air. Perhaps we brought it with us from the States like a foreign virus wreaking havoc on the local society; OR Perhaps it was the fact that we were in another country, staying in hostels that said things like: if you do not like to party 24/7 you should look into staying at a different hostel in town, OR if you don't get laid here you're definitely gay, who gave us our own room (which they would later regret and make us pay for), where we had too much dough, not enough sleep, 1 Euro absinthe shots, 1 Euro beers, a member of the crew that put $5,000 down on black at a roulette table his first bet during his first night in Lisbon and doubled up who made it his nightly mission to, from henceforth, put at least one starving agave plantation owners child through school at last call (not to mention several other children throughout the night), partying with a throng of attractive females from the States, studying abroad in Seville, visiting for the weekend who had been with the same boring dudes for the past month and half, in a city where the male to female ratio favored us damn near two to one, where a paradigm shift had occurred leading to a complete role reversal between sexes, where men now get hit on, competed for, and 12 euro ($18) drinks bought for them by the most gorgeous women on the planet all concentrated in one central location, where it is legal to drink in the street in broad daylight, where partying doesn't truly start 'til 3 am and clubs don't close 'til 7 am, where the women lying on the gorgeous secluded beaches with turquoise water lapping at their toes have already done half the work for you by removing their tops.

Likelihood has it that it wasn't any of these factors individually but a combination of all of them that led to the unmentionables of the next seven days. The details, as I've mentioned, are not appropriate for this blog. I can let you know that I had a hell of a time and I would (and will) do it again. Most all of the stories from the week sing to the same tune to varying degrees until Thursday, October 15th.

Rock Bottom:

Every body - actual human body, that is - has a breaking point. Mine was roughly 40 hours before the finish line of a 14 day marathon. After partying all day, everyday for 12 days strait with roughly 3 hours of sleep a night, my mind was tellin' me yeah, but mah boddddyy . . . mahh boddyy was tellin' me NOO.

I'm sure most everyone has woken up and, for at least a brief moment, had no clue where they were. The majority of you likely experienced this due to being woken up in the middle of sleep and not quite being awake yet. The rest of us have other, less legit, reasons so don't judge us.

I woke up Thursday afternoon at 2:40 PM in a bunk bed, barely being able to breathe, with a half eaten apple pasted to my face and an official looking piece of paper laying next to me in bed. For a solid 5 minutes I had absolutely no idea where I was. I knew two things for sure: 1.) I had not been this sick for nearly a decade; and 2.) the last time I slept in a bunk bed I was probably 8 years old. Time travel perhaps? Everything came rushing back to me very quickly as soon as two of my boys came into the room. Barcelona hostel, breakfast apple, almost got arrested "last night" for public intoxication at 9 am. Grossly sick and hungover I make my way down to a pharmacy with my boy Koce. I try to buy the recommended cold/sinus remedy with my debit card. Declined. Koce gives the cashier money and we walk out. I borrow his phone to call my bank. 30 minutes later (at $.99 a minute) we're on a pier in a nice section of Barca and I've found out that when I was in Lagos I put my card into an ATM that someone had put a "skimmer" on and thus lifted my card number. Bank of America informed me that my card was now frozen and I would not be able to access my account until I got back to the States. 12 hours left in Barca, zero cash, ridiculous sick, nearly arrested the night before. I think to myself: Self, how much worse can this get? I pull out my cold remedy, some sort of throat spray, and spray it, as directed, three times into the back of my throat. Clearly affluent, nicely dressed couples all around. First spray: At the same time my mind is thinking "HOLY PEPPER, VINEGAR, ACID HATE," my body is physically rejecting what has just happened. I run the 5 steps to the edge of the pier hacking up what I've just sprayed into my throat and eventually hurl over the side, and I am NOT a quiet puker. As several disgusted heads turn my way a cop heads towards me with a vengeance, presumably to arrest me, and is intercepted by Koce. Fortunately, Koci speaks Spanish well enough that he convinced this cop that I wasn't drunk in public (again) but just got something caught in my throat. Just then the disgustingly overcast skies start to pour. I quickly realize that we are no longer in Lisbon, where it is 85 degrees and sunny, so my jeans and tee aren't quite going to cut it in this 60 degree rain.

New Zenith:

Later that night, after an absolutely dismal day, I managed to get back to the hostel and lay down for 30-45 minutes before we needed to get ready to go out - Koce didn't want me staying in my last night so he threw me 200 euro to go out that night and to get home. After showering up and getting fresh to death we went downstairs to the hostel bar to try to meet some kids staying there. As if by magic (see paradigm shift in 3rd paragraph under "Background:" heading), within 45 minutes we were all a few beers deep and had met two groups of girls (two from the States and two from Australia.) After a few more beers and redbull vodkas it was time for us to go - the hostel has worked out a deal with several area nightclubs where every night at 1:45 am anyone from the hostel interested in going is welcomed to come along to the club du jour where cover is waived and your first drink is free. Tonight we were going to Catwalk (read: god's gift to man.) When we arrived at the Catwalk all of my boys quickly realized that it was 2:30 am and that I had to catch a plane at 6:30 am at the Barca airport 30 minutes away - they were staying another 2 days. For the next hour the drinks and shots that ensued were of a monsoon like nature and kids were raging with a reason. I left Catwalk at 3:45ish with my friend Steph, from Australia, and went back to the hostel to grab my things. . .

Rock Bottomless:

I made it to the Barcelona airport by 5 am, far from sober, fortunately making it to my gate 5 or so minutes before closing. The plane from Barcelona to Lisbon was cake - an hour and fifteen minutes. Board my flight from Lisbon to Philly just in time, once again, and grab my aisle seat in the back with no one sitting in the seat next to me - this journey is going to be cake . . . not so much.

I do not sleep on airplanes. I cannot sleep on airplanes. I have been known to try to medicate myself with Dramamine and booze in order to sleep on airplanes and once or twice I've been successful. Half way through my flight I decide to look at my dying phone to check the time . . . 2 hours into an 8 hour flight. Half way? Not so much. Breakfast and a few repulsive E! Celebrity programs later almost half way through. Somebody please figure out a way for me to end my life. Plug the headphones into the BlackBerry possibly allowing myself to lullaby myself to sleep. Almost all the way through an album the phone dies and I wake up . . . 20 minutes later. . .

Excuse me could I please have a Canadian Club and Ginger ale? Uh, It's pretty early let me see if we're serving that. Sorry sir the current time is 11 am we don't serve alcohol 'til noon. Sir, I understand you probably deal with a lot of assholes in your line of work and I'm not trying to be one of those people but I left the club at 3:30 am and got strait onto a plane in Barcelona and strait onto this plane. Where I come from it is still nightime. Would you mind asking again? . . . Here's your Canadian Club, sir. And would you prefer Canada Dry or Schweppes Ginger Ale? Schweppes please. Absolutely, here you are. You are a scholar and a gentleman thank you. 5 CC and Ginger's later: Sir you're not driving when you get off the plane are you? No ma'am. Do you promise? Sure do, I gotta go to Baltimore still!

Looking out the window I see land - we can't be that much further. This notion gets me through the next 45 min - hour until someone explains that the land is Nova Scotia. What the eff are we doing over top of Nova Scotia going from Lisbon to Philly? The logic I now understand but was simply not having at the time. A few airplane magazine's later and we were starting our 40 minute descent into Philly. "I'm free at last, I'm free at last, I'm free at last, I'm free at LAST, I'm free at last." Coming into Philly I was 20 minutes late as we needed to circle around the airport and come in from the opposite side due to the weather. I figured this would put me in with just enough time to catch my flight to Baltimore. Rushing to get to the opposite side of the airport to catch my flight I almost miss it only to find out that it has been delayed due to the weather. Please just get me home!!!!

I was originally due home at 4:10. At 4:25 my plane from Philly to B-more takes off. This flight is, in theory, only 13 minutes long. This is the longest 13 minutes of your life when you are sitting next to George Costanza's mom - seriously, an old jewish woman with horribly died red hair who is a Florida snow bird from New York and is SERIOUSLY off her rocker.

The following is to be read in a Jewish, New York, Grandma's accent with less than 3-4 seconds pause in between each statement/question:

The propeller's aren't moving yet. Why aren't the propeller's moving? We're going backwards, shouldn't we be going forward? If we're going to get where we're going we need to be going forward. How is the plane turning the propeller's aren't moving. Our seats are directly underneath the wing. Our seats are underneath the wing. We're slowing down. We're stopping. We're stopped. What'd they want with your bag? (This is a tiny express jet that only allows small hand bags as actually carry-ons. All other carry-ons get checked before boarding, placed in the berth, and are returned upon your exiting the plane.) Your going to lose your bag and then you won't have any underpants like last time. You should go find out what happened to your bag. Old man not wanting to hear the noise anymore unbuckles his seat belt and tries to stand up and make his way to the front of the plane to ask as to the whereabouts of his bag (which I personally witnessed 2 airline employees explain to him in depth for 5 minutes a piece already.) Sir you cannot get out of your seat right now the plane is about to take off! Please get back to your seat and buckle your safety belt immediately!! As the man is making his way back to his seat his wife staring outside as if the previous conversation between them had never taken place: The propeller's are going full speed. The wheels are moving. The propeller's are going full speed. Our seats are directly underneath the wing. We're going fast now. We're taking off. The wheel's have left the runway. We're in the air. Where are we going? How many flights have we been on today so far? It seems so silly that we need to travel up to Philadelphia to go down to Baltimore. Our seats are directly beneath the wing. Pilot coming over the PA: Welcoming to US Airways flight number 4263 with service into BWI. We will arriving in Baltimore in approximately 10 minutes. I hope you enjoy this short flight with us today and thanks for flying US Airways. Welcome? How am I supposed to feel welcome when they won't even turn on the lights? (significantly louder now as if trying to talk to an airline staff) HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL WELCOME WHEN THEY WON'T EVEN TURN ON THE LIGHTS?! Who booked these flights for us anyways? Amber did. Has she ever flown before? You would think that Amber of all people would book. . .

This continued for the next 20+ minutes, through landing, taxi-ing to the terminal and departing the plane. I apologize for putting you through half of that if you did indeed read all of it. However, at this point in time I am about 2 seconds away from yelling bomb just so TSA will come on board and I can swallow one of their pistols.

These small aircraft don't get an actual gate at BWI, instead you step out onto the tarmac, grab your checked carry-ons and get on a bus that takes you to a terminal. 7 more minutes of this woman talking - seriously thinking about jumping out of the bus and pulling the old tuck and roll but think better of it as I'm holding my guitar, worth more than my life.

My bag is the first out - praise god from whom all blessings flow - I grab it and roll OUT!! "I'm free at last, I'm free at last, I'm free at last, I'm free at LAST, I'm free at last." I throw $1.60 into the MTA light rail machine, grab my ticket and dip. HOLY RIDICULOUS COLD McSIDEWAYS RAIN!!! I jump on the light rail and sit . . . and sit . . .and sit. 15-20 minutes later we begin to move. My stop is the Cultural Center 13 STOPS AWAY!! Breathe in, breathe out. Float like a butterfly sting like a bee. 1, 2, 3, 4, . . . Don't do it, it would be a shame to kill yourself after all of that.

Finally I'm off at the cultural center. Only a 5 minute walk to the crib, you can make it. Over the next 5 minutes my fantasies about opening the door to my apartment, dropping everything I have in my hands and removing my smelly, club sweat in, plane sweat in, haven't showered in too long in clothes on the way downstairs to my bed become damn near orgasmic. When I get into my house I do just that and when I get downstairs I instantly remember the worst decision that I have made in years:

I told one of my boys that he could have a party at my place while I was gone for his birthday. Knowing that it would get rowdy I locked the door to my bedroom. The door had been kicked in, the room was a wreck, my bed was completely torn apart, my mattress was still brown and glass still on my floor from where a full handle of van gogh espresso vodka had exploded.

It is currently 7 pm EDT. I have been up since 3 pm Barcelona time the day before (a full 36 hours now.) During that time I: realized I almost got arrested last night, would've gotten AIDS from the girl I was about to hook up with if the cops didn't hassle me for being drunk in the streets, realized my credit card number was stolen and thought I was going to be stranded in the middle of Europe S.O.L. indefinitely, got the worst illness I've had in a decade, almost got arrested again for puking from the medication which was supposed to alleviate the pain, got cold rained on in a t-shirt on the top of a city tour bus while sick and the most miserable I've ever been to date, sucked it up and partied my last night in Barca getting entirely too tossed for my own good, hooked up with a fine Australian girl almost causing me to miss my flight, traveled through 6 time zones from Barcelona to Lisbon to Philly to Baltimore over a period of 18 hours, got hungover again, got more sick, put a quick CC and Ginger band aid on it, listened to the equivalent of 18 hours worth of the most piercing old grandma, jewish, new york accent you can imagine talking about literally nothing, came from the 85 degree, sun-drenched, beaches of Lagos to the 35 degree, sideways "little stinging rain," concrete jungle of Baltimore and all I want right now is my bed. I am almost jovial right now that no one is home because I would strait lose any relationship that I once had with anyone if I came into contact with them.

Tony Robbin's:

If the moral of the story isn't apparent yet "just go ahead and ring your call button and we'll have Tommy Boy here come hit you over the head with a tack hammer, because you are a retard!!"

When life (read: the universe) speaks to you listen. If you don't pick up on the message the first time it will get sent louder and more clear (read: much worse for you.) If you can navigate your way through the small lessons you'll never crash and burn on the big lessons.

I didn't say that I take my own advice. I just give it - it's much easier said than done.

Remember kids: Be well, do good work and always know your dealer.

Cheers,

Miles.

P.S. If you've made it this far in my absolutely ridiculous rant then there's a chance you're actually somewhat interested in what I write. If you simply can't get enough check out all of travels on my blog: milestoportugal.blogspot.com