... not pursuing a possible threesome with hot, drunk Asian chicks that crazy night at that club in Florida, who proudly proclaimed Once you go Asian, you're ready for any occasion!
... not getting any crazy, art-student tang from my tenure in the Art program at GSU.
... not, on that same token, getting a chance to use the pickup line "I would love to draw you..."
... not taking a drunken road-trip to Vegas and picking a fight with Justin, since he's probably the only person I know that can break a man into about 1,001 pieces, drag him to a pub, buy him a drink, and then philosophize over what had just taken place.
... not taking a drunken road-trip to Canada to stomp a few mudholes into the collective asses of Guardians of Order after paying for a publishing license, only to have them go out of business some time later. Actually, I should probably thank them, as it's given me more time to refine the setting of Glenshire Abbey. Still, the mudhole stomping would have been fun.
... not going to the Formal portion of our 10-year reunion in order to pull off the "F*ck you, f*ck you, f*ck you, you're cool, f*ck you, I'm out!" speech. Actually most of those guys were pretty cool, but it'd still be funny.
... not being taken under Jeff's wing and learning the arts of bartending at a strip club, as every man should be exposed to crazy, diseased stripper-cooch at least once in his life. I suddenly regret making that last statement, because that's just plain nasty.
... doing whatever the hell it was I did to get us thrown out of Club Europe that night. Actually, I just regret not remembering whatever the hell it was I did to get us thrown out...
... not taking a cruise while I was single, and not being taken advantage of by some nice cougar at the bar looking to make her boyfriend/neglectful husband jealous. Hey, I'm young and pretty, it could work.
... not breaking Cornbread over my knee in a fit of sheer, testosterone-driven rage for ruining a perfectly awesome girl-on-girl make-out session at a party at AWA so many years ago. Much love to the Fujikoma crew, though!
... not Sparta-kicking a former coworker at the videogame store for his BLATANT cock-blockery while I conversed with a young lady, who would later be confirmed to be a certified skank. Come to think of it, perhaps I should thank him. Still, cock-blockery is cock-blockery.
