In more ways than one, this week’s drinking issue signaled the pinnacle of my professional and personal lives.

It wasn’t just the opportunity to drink expensive cocktails with my boss, Wm. Steven Humphrey (which is a treat I highly recommend you accept if it’s ever offered), nor was it the ensuing baseless ridicule I endured in print, nor was it the excellent, dapper photo of me that appeared in the paper:

It was none of those things. I realized how far I had come in my short 29.83 years when I opened up this week’s Mercury and found out who my new neighbor was (after the jump, for those of you suckahs whose bosses can’t handle a little nudity):

Hello there, naked dude in the Rock N' Rose ad. When the paper is closed, your bare ass rests on my hip, and my elbow caresses your upper back. I have no idea who you are, but there are tens of thousands of pairs of us, smashed together, floating around the city tonight, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. For the sake of our families, if you ever see me out in public, do us both a favor, and pretend you have no idea what I'm talking about.

But when I grab your ass, just play along.