Tessa and I took separate cars from the farm down to Brooklyn today, except that I’m a poop-stepping moron and left my medications upstate. I realized this about halfway down the Hudson, so I had to return back, spending an hour in the car for absolutely no reason. There was a day when this would have been no problem, but since I have kidney stones (300mg allopurinol) and I’m nuttier than a brick shithouse (30mg Celexa), I’m forced to marry myself to my toiletry bag. I often have daydreams where I’m in the Peace Corps, and I’m only allowed to carry a certain amount of personal affects, and I have to decide which ailment I’m going to endure.
This fuckup meant that I couldn’t meet Rick Gradone in the city to look at suits for the wedding, meaning that I still don’t have one. Tessa had her dress by May of 2002.
Tomorrow afternoon, Sean, Scott and I are beginning our southern trek to my bachelor party in New Orleans, and I couldn’t be more psyched. My favorite place in the world combined with my favorite people in the world. Well, except for my absolute favorite person in the world, who will be up here in the city for her own bachelorette shindig. I doubt they’ll have crawfish, beignets and Cajun prostitutes where she’s going, so HA HA HA!