Look at me. I'm wearing a vintage brown "Boomer's Boxing School" t-shirt under an even darker brown, single-breasted sport jacket. Hell, the damned thing even has peanut-butter colored pinstripes; which, sigh, match the laces on my shoes.

My name might as well be Pierce or something. It's pathetic.

Even worse, I'm hanging out with a bunch of dudes tonight. Indeed, it's my friend Mark's birthday. Poor bastard.

So here I am, looking Euro-Trash as all get out--a phrase that has its roots on the  fair continent-- and I'm not even seeing my girlfriend.

Sucks.

***Hmm...I just re-read what I wrote. How many of you were tempted to start singing "Misty" after the first sentence? Just wondering.