So today journal I got into work late...again. This time I came in at about 11am. I tell you, I am going to stop going out on Sunday nights...it's just not good. The dreams due to drinking are bizzare (I can't even go into it here), and I am usually so exhausted that I spend the rest of the week trying to make sure for the weekend, and then throw the schedule all off again beginning on Thursday.
So, I am in the process of making friends in Stockholm. The people I meet are very very nice, and I think that I am going to have a wonderful time here. But none of this has anything to do with what I wanted to tell you. And frankly, I get the feeling that you, dear reader, are tired of you telling me how I am doing and how much I like Stockholm and how much fun and yadda yadda yadda...so...moving on...
I was coming back home for the evening (it was 04.30am) and after gaining entrance into the hotel (they secure the doors at night, lest those non-existent vagrants enter the hotel...but I understand, the hotel is in the heart of downtown), I went to the elevator in order to go to my room and call it a night and get ready for the work day. Once I stepped off the elevator and turned the corner, there were these two women in the hallway talking. They were beautiful. And this is what all your pre-pubscent boys dream about in math class instead of studying trigonometry (except for Rich Bozzuto, he was actually studying). But they started talking Sweden and as you know, I can't speak Swedish yet. So I just said "good night", which must be a prostitute-speak for "me love you long time." You know they are hookers because let's face it girls, when was the last time you said to yourself "you know, it's only 4am. How about going to expensive business hotels and troll for guys at least twice our age? You know, just for shits and giggles?" I would say you have a better chance finding the your dream date at www.fatchicksinpartyhats.com than ever having the scenario above come to pass. So, I tried to keep walking, but they asked me if I wanted to see them naked because they wanted to see me naked. So I looked at them and said "girls, as Shakira said 'underneath these clothes, there's and endless story'." "What?" they replied. I responded "yeah, and the story was written by Steven King, you know it's a horror story." "What?" one of them said again. Well, being drunk and having my humor go unappreciated, I just told them that I wasn't at all interested and went to me room. Which was all well and good, until they were outside my door (you know this hooker-recession is creating the need to make new business opportunities by any means necessary). Then I called security. And then I can't remember anything else because I passed out.
Oh well....just another day in Stockholm...well, I have to back to work now...love you journal.