Stuck in the Middle with You

I had several little stories to write tonight ...

1. Larry calling me at the office earlier this evening (where I was diligently working, being the good lad that I am) and saying let's go out.

2. A trip to the Eagle's beer blast, where the DJ had obviously been watching VH1's I Love the 80s. A whole lot of bald, big bellied, bearded boys bopping to 80s pop, and yet I was the only one singing along to The Boss.

3. The acquaintance who was "only out" because his partner had to fly to Jordan for his father's funeral. His concern for his father-in-law was slightly outweighed by this simple question: "What do you think The Park will be like tonight and what's happening on Tuesday?" Love's a funny thing.

So many stories (not including the nine I had to walk up), but I've just spent the past hour in an elevator, stuck between floors of my apartment building. Yes, the police were called, as were the fire department and the elevator repair company. Chelsea is nothing without a little drama. It could've been more fun, but I forgot to hit the washroom before leaving the beer blast. It's really hard to pace and squeeze those Kegels in a 4x5 foot space.

P.S. Chi Chi LaRue would have cast the emergency personnel a whole lot better.

Now I need to get some rest before my 6 a.m. conference call.