You know, I lived in Chicago for a dozen years, and frankly, I feel like nothing ever happened. Everything from my return to the city in 1996 from the wilds of Texas until my departure last August for LA blends together.

Don't get me wrong. There were amazing, life-changing, fence post moments - I met my wife and got married, saw a couple of other good pals get married, and wrote and co-directed a feature film.

But the rest of it is a definite blur. I couldn't tell you when I started taking classes at Second City, or when my first or last days of work at Lakefront SRO were. They were good years, sure. And there were great events. But barring those major-major kinds of moments, I wouldn't be able to tell you exactly when things happened.

Life in your 20s and early 30s is a lot like one of the sitcoms you watch in syndication. If you're a fan of SEINFELD, you might remember when George's fiancee died from licking the poison envelopes, but you might not know what season it was when the Kenny Rogers Roasters restaurant started shining its neon sign into Kramer's apartment.

Or if you're a fan of FRIENDS, you might know when Chandler and Monica got married, but when did Ross get stuck in the leather pants he wore on a date?

So while I can remember the exact day that I met my wife - and the night we went on our first date - I couldn't for the life of me tell you when we did our show "Junior High" at Donny's Skybox. Or when the "Party Fiction" extravaganza was held on Lawrence Avenue. Or the night that I stole Schumann's money for cab fare.

Just good episodes of a great show, now in syndication.

Which is one reason that I'm a little shocked that twice in one week, I am assailed with major-major news coming from my friends in Chicago. Where was all the excitement when Our Woman in LA and I were there?

As you read last week, my pals Greg Rolnick and MJ Lippman are with child and have a new home in burbs. Big news, that. And, as a reminder, the name Wieland makes a great baby's name. Especially for a girl.

And now today I learn that none other than Rob Schumann is ENGAGED! He's finally tying the knot with longtime girlfriend Heather Eyrich. Couldn't be happier for the both of them. It's a great match.

It's also the end of an era. You can solidly close the book on the era of blur, as far as I'm concerned. See, Schumann occupied a role that all guys in committed relationships need. He was BACHELOR PARTY GUY, the guy who really knew how to throw that final bash before a man becomes part of a couple. He was the guy who stripped naked at a 4th of July celebration and dove into the Lake. He had a Cubs hat with a glowing red C, a convertible, and a fondness for the hops.

Hell, a few years back (I can't tell you when, because it's a blur), a bunch of us even suggested that he should make a business out of throwing bachelor parties. He could do infomercials, we suggested, that would show late at night on cable sports outlets. Women would hate the ads, sure, but guys would - privately - love them.

But today, Bachelor Party Guy hangs up his cape and cowl (and hopefully his tights). We guys may miss having someone play the role of our craziest friend, but then again, Rob served his time with relish.

And truth be told, those days are gone now. When you're at a college football game and you would tear down the goalposts, but you realize it might be dangerous, the days of crazy are done. When you start thinking about not drinking as much because you have to drive AND get up in the morning, they're kaput. When you no longer think it's a great idea to celebrate a holiday weekend with a "morning shot" of peppermint schnapps or Jagermeister, it's time to close up those old ways.

Bon voyage to Bachelor Party Guy and the days of yore. They were fun (what I can remember of them). But these are good days, too. Adventure lies ahead. Congrats to the Rolnick-Lippmans and the Schumann-Eyrichs.