Things change as you grow older, wiser, more aware. Leaves fall, you close the book, you say goodbye. Goodbyes to high schools, goodbyes to friends, goodbyes to hometowns. You find yourself walking down a new path, one that is paved with college roommates and sweaty one night stands. Ah, life as a student is a sweet one, is it not? Sure, there's the head ache one gets when they find themselves under the pressure of ten textbooks and a week to finish five new essays, but there's that relief you find yourself breathing in once you have a break. There's new friends, new emotions, and new beginnings. Then, years later, you wake up and realize the cap and gown are gone and you've found yourself alone. Where did all the keg stands go? Why am I in a huge office? How high up in the sky am I? Where did the time go?

You're older now, and very much alone. On the way to the top, you forgot your friends, you left behind the free flowing beer and body shots to try and make something of yourself. You wanted to be rich. To be powerful. To mean something. But you fucked up. As you stare down at the jumbled mess of papers, binders, and reports on your large oak desk you realize that this isn't you. This isn't the Erik Cartman that was raised in a small town filled with rednecks. This is a lie. This is only comfortable for a small time; it doesn't replace the warmth a woman can give at night when nothing is working out right and the weight of the world is on your shoulders. This doesn't replace her. That's what you've been trying to do all these years, huh? Replace the one that wouldn't give you the time or day if you tried to be sincere to her, but give you every second of her spicy attention if you even thought of something hateful. Wendy Goddamned Testaburger.

You slowly lean back in your leather chair and look down and yourself; look how you've changed. You shed that weight that held you back all those years ago in gym classes. You left the red jacket and blue cap for designer suits and loose fitting leather jackets. For what? For style? For hype? To impress women that you could easily buy for half as much as this Gucci bullshit? What a waste. You slowly grab your smart phone and begin to look up . Would she even be a Testaburger anymore? She's probably married to Stan the Douche with beautiful children filling up her time. You scowl at the image of her hair being pulled out and tangled up in Fruit Loops. That's probably the case though, she is 29 already. Some lucky guy probably already scooped her up and is only giving her half his attention. What a waste.

Scrolling down the page, you find that there are 27 Testaburgers in the country. That's not too bad, you think to yourself. Hmm, only five are W Testaburger. Even better. You could call all of them before your 11:30 comes in with the quarterly review.

Ring. Ring.

"Hello? Who's this?"

"Wendy Testaburger?"

"No, my name is William? Who's calling?"

"Never mind, sorry to bother you sir."

One down. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Helllooo?"

"Wendy?"

"Nah, dude, I'm not Wendeh, I'm Wanda. But I got a dimebag with your name on it, man."

"Shut up, you fucking hippy."

Dial tone. Ring. Ring.

"Helloo? Who's speaking?"

"Is this Wendy?"

"Sorry, you must have the wrong number, this is Whitney."

"Goddamnit!"

Click.

Let the head ache begin.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hello."

"Please tell me this is Wendy Goddamn Testaburger."

"Depending who's asking with that tone of voice, I might actually not be her."

"Wendeh?" Only a small gasp could be heard on the other line as you smirk to yourself. See, it wasn't that hard.

"Cartman? Is that you?"

You try to clear your throat but find that it's already drier than a desert. What are you getting so worked up about, it's only your high school crush.

"Hello? Are you still there? What did you want?"

"How's life?" Yeah, that was smooth.

"Look, I'm very busy right now. I have a client coming in at 11 and I can't waste my time with someone from over ten years ago wanting to make chit chat so if you have anything important to say, spill it."

There's the fire and spit that you've been missing in your life.

" I only wanted to see if you were available next week for coffee, ho. Don't need to get your panties in a bunch."

"I'm in New York, fatass. Don't waste my time."

Click.

New York huh? Well, it can't be too hard to find that hippy bitch with that last name. You hit the intercom button that connects to your secretary, Linda.

"Cancel all my appointments for the next two weeks. I'm taking a trip to New York for a while, so get Jeremy to pack my bags and tell him to make sure they're ready when I get home."

"Alright. Should I tell the team it's business or personal?"

"Oh, it's personal alright."

"Very good. You haven't taken a vacation in years, this'll be good for you."

It better be.