So I just got a last minute gig that's kind of amazing. I get to travel all over Europe for 1-8 weeks depending on how soon I blow it, and I get to see amazing sites (and sights), eat amazing food, I'm rolling with a great crew of guys that I really like hanging out with who will bring out my A-game because that's what they bring every day. But right now I'm sitting in the Tom Bradley Terminal at LAX, flush-cheeked, red-eyed, a tad teary eyed too, because it means that I will have to be without my sweet Brooke for this entire trip. Brooke, my amazing fiancee, so beautiful, so smart, so kissable, so worldly, so strong, so wonderful, and I'm a big pussy who can't stand to be away from her for so long. In addition to that, I will be without my sweet doggies for just as long. I feel so blessed for this opportunity and certainly, the compensation is fantastic and I'm so excited about the trip, but I feel that every time I experience something special, I will think of Brooke and how much she would enjoy it and I'll be sad. Trust me, the folks curbside got quite an eye-full when the 6'8" tall guy stood crying as he kissed his pretty tall redhead goodbye, even Brooke cried a bit (trust me, I'm totally the chick in the relationship, I cry when friends have babies, I cry when pets die, I cry when I hear a sad song, I'm a huge emo pussy).
Anyway, 90 minutes until takeoff and I have exit-row seats for my entire trip there and I'm giddy with excitement at the prospects, but I'm sad as shit that I can't experience it all with my soulmate by my side. Photos to come as they happen. Bon Voyage!
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