Peter is cracking up, “be sure and ask for extra peanuts”. F*ck you, you sl*t! I’m detailing to him my travel schedule for the next 3 weeks. It’s going to be continuous non-stop travel. Tomorrow, I’m off to the West Coast, hitting a couple of cities ending up in Las Vegas Thursday night (be still my beating heart). Then off to Europe to roam around winding up in Berlin and finally, back to the U.S. and immediately out to Scottsdale, Arizona for a big conference at a swank hotel. If I make it thru this unscathed, it will indeed be a miracle.
Peter is giggling that despite status on 2 major airlines, I’m going in coach on the long haul portion. I’m refusing now to fly on airplanes older than I am with signs on the outside that read “attack here”. Sorry, United, I’m not gonna do it anymore. Peter isn’t worried about that, he’s got a pool going instead for where I run off the road. “You’re definitely not making it past Vegas without some incident.” Obviously, I’ve been talking about Krave, the large club attached to Planet Hollywood (2:1 odds) or was it the Latino Backdoor Lounge (only even odds on that bet). I get confused.
This will be the longest time period away from home since my story began. Now did I pack everything?