Wish me luck. Wish me safe travels. Wish me happy flight attendants and no delays. Wish me home safe again.

I’ll do the best I can.

And I respond thusly, “Pfffffthhh.”

Vegas isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s loud and dirty and crowded and people act like they are the only living thing on the planet and woe be unto you if you get in their way or impede their desires in even the most minute way. I’ve seen multiple car accidents and one pedestrian struck by a car. The other cars were honking – HONKING – at this man who was fallen in the crosswalk. How dare he not to continue to walk right on out of their way after being struck in a crosswalk? How dare he stand in their way? He should have crawled on hands and knees the rest of the way through the crosswalk, so as to not delay them even one minute. I despair for the human race, I tell you. My fingers to God’s ears, we’re a sorry lot sometimes.

The stench of cigarettes, booze and desperation hangs thick in the air. The con artists and smut peddlers are out in full force. It is most definitely a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. Brimstone. Sulfur. Burning. Ash. What’s NOT to envy?

But it’s a living and it was only a week and  I get to leave Sunday. So I won’t complain about that anymore.

Instead, I’ll show you this article entitled The Art of Giving Up by Dyske Suematsu because it’s a good article and you should read it and then tell me what you think.

Thank you and I hope you are well and good night. Be home soon!

Anyway, that’s not important. The important thing is that the Nationals is over and I can have a couple months of relative sanity before it all begins again. And it will begin again. And again. And again….and so on and so forth until the day I die because, oh my god, the economy is so bad, y’all! We ain’t never going to get to retire.

Yeah. M@ is asleep and I’m feeling a little lonely and manic and chatty. So you have to just suck it up and deal with it. You’re my sounding board.

Where was I? Oh yeah. So nearly three weeks out of town really sucks. I don’t recommend it.

I keep worrying that maybe this isn’t how things are meant to be. I think work is so soul crushing. Maybe it’s just my work, but it seems like that’s just not enough. I get this overwhelming feeling sometimes that we’re supposed to be out creating and experiencing and running barefoot through flowery meadows or some such shit.

But flower running doesn’t really pay the bills, thus, we work. I totally don’t know if that comma usage was correct back there. But I get all tangled up in it because commas stress me out. So I vow just to not go back. It’s better that way. Let it lie. Or lay. That’s another one that always does me in.

Anyway, I’m saying “anyway” too much.

Uhm, what else? That’s all. Just that every once in a while I wish it were different.

The sweet words only came up because we were having a …well, a disagreement? I guess? It was one of those …disagreements…that comes about as a result of someone, namely me, stumbling on something, namely a long and sordid email chain, and then getting angry with someone, namely matt, all over again. You follow? No, I don’t either.

Okay. So I found an old email tonight. I mean, old. Not like three weeks ago old, more like 5 YEARS ago old. It was an argument between me and Matt, long since resolved. But I got angry. I was surprised cause it just sort of welled up in me, but whooooo boy was I pissed! Matt’s sitting across from me in the living room, blissfully unaware of what’s about to hit him, smiling serenly, not a care in the world. Then KABOOM! I’m all like,

“Oh you BAStarD! I loved you so much and you treated me SO bad. You were HORRIBLE TO Me. HORriBle!@”

And he’s all, “Uh, come again?”

And he’s got that look on his face. That deer caught in the headlights look that means, “Oh frick. I’m in trouble and I don’t know what I did— QUICK! What did I DO!!!?”

We took it out to the garage. I was all like, “Blah blah blah remember that one time you did that one thing in that one place!?”

and he’s like, “Uh, what?”

“And then remember that time you broke up with me in front of the TANNING SALON? RIght in front of the tanning salon! It was broad daylight, Matthew! Broad DAYLIGHT. Not night time. Not on a dark and stormy night when these things are supposed to happen, but in the daytime. ON a TUESDAYYYY!”

and he’s like, “I was — You were — We –uh, what???!??”

“And you just kept breaking my heart and then everytime I tried to get away from you and keep away from you and block your calls and refuse to see you or speak to you or think about you, you ALWAYS had to worm your way back in!”

and he’s like, “….”

“And you took long enough. Holy Taco on Asian Tuesday you took forever! You horrible bastard. Shame on you. SHAME.”

and then he muttered some more and finally, in a last ditch effort to somehow turn this thing around, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what this thing was or how he got in the middle of it, he decided to go all,

“Oh come on, baby. You know I’ve always loved you. You know I couldn’t stand to hurt you….something, something, something, something, drug to me, something, had to have you, something something.”

and then I forgot why I was mad in the first place and then I was fine again.

UNTIL NOW. NOW I see how he does it. All these years. I’ve been such a fool.

If you doubt me, just go to your local airport, hop on a plane and go somewhere. Anywhere. The destination isn’t the point. It’s getting there. It used to be half the fun. Remember that?

Oh boy, I do. Seriously. I remember long road trips and sticky car seats. I remember no air conditioning. I remember resting my head on the open window, the air rushing through my hair. The heat of the sun beating down on my forehead. I remember watching the world rush past my eyes. Trees and cars. Mountains and rivers. Cheap and tacky tourist traps. Beautiful spectacles of nature. I remember the thrill of a flight. The romantic notions I had. The exotic feel of it all. The luxury! I remember feeling so privileged. I remember reading books and stretching the limits of my imagination inventing new license plate games. I remember actual conversations with my family. Discussions. Debates. Arguments. Jokes. Silent Treatments — without the aid of a game boy or an iPod.

And that’s the thing. I saw this comedy thing with Bill Maher. He made some joke about minivans now, how they all come with a dvd player standard in the headrests of the front seats. His punchline was something like, “Because, I shouldn’t have to be forced to talk to YOU, dad.” and isn’t that just a little bit like the truth? Not that we’re so innocent. Dad could spend a little less time on his cell phone and a little more time talking to Junior. But who am I to preach?

There’s all this stuff, it insulates us. It keeps us separate from everyone else. What do we care that what we say or what we do that might be rude or even downright hurtful to someone else? How does that negatively impact us?If the answer is not at all, then what are you all up in our grill for? This is me having a stern argument with myself. I don’t expect it to make any sense to you.

The point is this, I went to Santa Fe this weekend. It’s nice and all, but I expected it to be….uh, I don’t know. Nicer? It was sort of a bleak place is all. There was this weird division of classes there. There was outer Santa Fe which was pretty rundown and ugly. There were a LOT of homeless people and just a very general air of desperation.

By the time we got to our hotel however, the scenery had changed. The buildings were nicer and the streets were clean. I saw only a couple homeless people and instead there were throngs of disgusting rich old fucks walking around in their stupid hippie outfits. They wore their turquoise jewelry and over-tan skin and shopped in the trendy art boutiques to support the “local” heritage. Holy hell, I’m telling you. You could choke on the hypocrisy in this place.

It was like this place, the part of Santa Fe they call the “Historic District”, was this capitol of a poor, third world country and they were the benevolent (yet secretly evil and exploitive) dictators to the poor masses who resided beyond its walls. Beyond its walls being the rest of Santa Fe, of course.

So take that for what it’s worth. But Santa Fe isn’t the point either.

Look, I realize this post is already three days long, but whose session is this? Yours or mine?

The point is, I went to Santa Fe and I had to travel by plane to get there. As I have well learned, travel by plane should be avoided at all costs. Let me just sum up for you how horrible an experience this one turned out to be:

1.) Up at 5 a.m. to catch first leg of flight. Out the door. Everything is going fine.

2.) Horrible rain.

3.) Horrible traffic.

4.) Construction.

5.) Am now worrying about missing my flight.

6.) Finally arrive at airport.

7.) Construction at airport.

8.) Short line at ticket counter. (very rude agent)

9.) Long line through security. (very rude agents. plural.)

10.) Finally make it to gate.

11.) Flight is delayed due to heavy winds.

12.) Flight is still delayed. I am now worried about connections.

13.) Flight arrives, we pile in.

14.) HORRIBLE turbulence.

15.) Pilot tries to land, but can’t. HORRIBLE turbulence.

16.) Pilot tries again to land, but can’t. HORRIBLE turbulence.

17.) Pilot tries a third time to land, but can’t. HORRIBLE turbulence.

18.) Pilot announces after flying around in the air in the HORRIBLE turbulence for twenty minutes that he will have to contact air traffic control for alternate flight path as this one has some HORRIBLE turbulence.

19.) Fly around another twenty minutes until Pilot announces that he has to fly around the airport again and then we can land. Am now DEFINITELY concerned about connections.

20.) We finally land, but I come shockingly close to losing my lunch from the last 3 weeks.

21.) We rush off the plane but some freaked out woman goes rushing out to the terminal and trips an alarm. The door closes shut and we are now locked in the long walkway from the plane to the terminal. Whatever that thing is called.

22.) I don’t want to name any airline names so I’ll just say a Schmelta Airlines Agent OPENS THE DOOR to tell us that she’s getting someone who can COME OPEN THE DOOR. Seriously. Then she closed the door again and left us standing in there. Good old Schmelta Airlines. They LOVE to fly. And it shows!

23.) I run at breakneck speeds to catch my plane. They are holding the plane for me. Thank god.
24.) Okay they weren’t actually holding the plane for me. They can’t take off because of the wind.

25.) I sit on the plane for 35 minutes with no explanation or announcement.

26.) Someone finally complains.

27.) We get an announcement.

28.) They announce that it’s windy.

29.) We leave nearly an hour late.

30.) We make up time because of the tailwinds.

31.) I arrive in New Mexico and I turn on my cell phone. It rings.

32.) It’s Matt telling me the house we really,really,really,really wanted was sold. To someone else. Not us. We weren’t the ones who would be living in it.

33.) I said some very un-christian things in a very loud volume in a very crowded place.

34.) I cried for five minutes at the baggage claim.

the weekend happened.

35.) Back at the airport there was a lady in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank. I watched an agent wheel her to my gate.

36.) And leave her there.

37.) The plane was boarding and no one helped her.

38.) No one.

39.) She tried pushing the wheelchair and the oxygen tank.

40.) I grabbed my bags and put her tank in her lap and pushed her to the agent at the front desk. She looked perturbed when I insisted on her attention.

41.) The flight was long and boring.

42.) I was all the way at the back and I waited until the plane was almost empty to get off. I was too tired to fight a crowd.

43.) The 91 year old oxygen tank lady was back there too.

44.) They effing FORGOT HER. AGAIN.

45.) I asked her if someone was coming for her. She was scared.

46.) I went up front and got an attendant.

47.) They came rushing back and I went to get my stuff.

48) They pushed me out of the way. I forgot my ipod on the seat.

49.) I didn’t discover this until the next flight. Asked the flight attendant about it. She said, “Oh yeah. If they find it they’ll turn it over.”

50.) The guy next to me laughed and remarked that I would never see it again. He looked at me as though I were crazy. I asked him if he thought I should have just left her there. His response to me was, “They would have found her eventually.”

Eventually? Like when? When they were sweeping up napkins and tossing the half-read issue of USA Today left in the seatback? SHE’S A PERSON. Not leftover refuse.

51.) When we landed I had to fill out a lost item report. If I understand this correctly, I’m supposed to trust that Schmelta Airlines will return to me the iPod if they find it — but they couldn’t even keep track of a living, breathing person?

52.) When I got my bag and headed home I couldn’t find my parking ticket.

53.) When you can’t find your parking ticket, you don’t leave the garage. Unless you pay them an amount equal to one year’s salary.

54.) Although it was now well after midnight at the end of the best weekend of my life and I had been looking for a half hour, I still can’t find the ticket.

55.) I found the ticket.

56.) I paid the ticket, left the airport and drove home in the rain to fall into bed exhausted just after 2 a.m.

I wish I could say this is an anamoly. I wish I could say nothing like that has every happened to me before. But sadly, this is becoming more and more common in all my travels. What the hell ever happened to that half of the fun? Who took it, what did they do with it and what do we have to do to get it back? Come on, cut me some slack here. Enough is enough.

this series of signs right before you start the drive up the mountain also set off a sense of foreboding:

Chuckanut Drive (Hwy 11) is an alternate route from where we live, north to Bellingham. an alternate to the freeway, i should say, where you’ll only see cars, billboards and guardrail. it takes you on a very loverly, scenic route alongside the pacific coastline through the town of Edison where the famous journalist Edward R. Murrow was born, in and out of towns like Allen & Bow, Bayview — barely there, quaint little places with B&Bs, seafood restaurants, antique shops, and art galleries.

then you continue the drive along the rock shoulder of the Chuckanut Mountains and neighbor, when i say along the rock shoulder, i mean ALONG the rock shoulder. we were close enough for me to reach out and touch the rocks by my window at several points along the way.

how this stuff doesn’t just continually fall off on people’s heads as they zoom around the corners of this drive is beyond me.

oh, but that was a clear shot. most of the time, i actually saw the rock more like this:

you know, zooming by. and yeah, that’s my mirror in the lower shot of the frame. amazing it didn’t graze the wall at any point. you know? the wall we passed in a blur? sort of like this sign:

that one recommends a speed of 25 MPH. in case you were wondering, because the shot was so blurry? we were going slightly MORE than 25 MPH. around corners like this:

still, when i wasn’t praying for my life to be spared or covering my eyes in horror, there were some lovely sights to be seen. this tree really struck my fancy, for some reason:

in fact there were a lot of cool, old trees up there.

it sort of had an other-wordly feel to it. like stepping out of the car into a fairy tale world. the drive continues on along, overlooking the San Juan Islands.

finally it ends up in old Fairhaven in Bellingham. lots of eclectic restaurants, shops, etc. that’s where we stopped for dinner before i suggested an alternate route home. it’s not that i’m a chicken. or that i’m not willing to suffer for art. it’s just that it was getting dark and i was worried about the dogs cause, you know, THEY seemed a little scared and — okay, i am a chicken! i’m not willing to suffer for a few pictures! i’d rather live! are you happy now? it was that damn burma shave sign! i’m very susceptible to gimmick bill board advertising. but look, i’m alive to tell the tale. that’s important, right?

taking a vacation is wonderful. until you come back. that’s when you realize no one was doing all your work for you while you were gone. when you’re laying on the beach in the warm sun with sunshiney goodness beating down on your face thinking, “this is fabulous! why don’t i do this more often?” you don’t think about that. it’s not until you get back and find your in-box buckling under the enormous weight of every super-urgent, must be dealt with yesterday matter you left behind that you remember you even have a job — but by then it’s too late, the damage has been done. you may as well get out the shovel and start digging.

we had a fabulous time at the beach. even the drive was decent. not much traffic. no construction. the boys counted this:

27 big rigs blew their horns for them when they did the little elbow-bendy horn-honky thing at them
1 nosepicker
21 wave returners
14 cell phone blah blahers
11 eaters

they kept a log. it helped pass the time. but it disturbed me. little bit. not gonna lie.

i miss the beach though. will you just look at this sunset?

the boys miss it too. they can’t do this in the backyard:

or this:

i can’t see this from my office window:

is that too much to ask? is it really? i’m going to just sit here and sigh. sigh and look at my pictures. tomorrow really is friday, right?

we’ve only been here two days and already so far, these things have happened:

• we visited the tillamook cheese factory where people apparently don’t mind waiting in abnormally long lines for a tiny sample of cheese. we didn’t want a sample of cheese. we wanted to take the self-guided tour and watch through the glass as they churned and sliced and wrapped cheesy goodness for the masses. this was made more difficult as the self guided tour wove its way through various sample lines and those people were rabid and determined not to leave without their sample cheese cube on a toothpick. the ice cream made all the work well worth it in the end though.
• the boys went boogie boarding on some killer, gnarly waves, dude.
• a guy at flamingo jim’s engaged me in conversation and later, after asking my name, told me he was going to “google the hell” out of me when he got home.
• two old bitches kicked the boys out of the lighthouse at cape meares for doing something a third park guide told them they could do. i lost my cool and told them to fuck off after calling them nazis. then i burst into tears. in front of god and everybody in a tiny lighthouse visitor’s center. i blame pms.
• 18 holes of mini golf.
• i only checked my work email once so far. it brought me low. wish i hadn’t. i’m starting to hate work.
• i’ve been making most meals in the beach house, but tonight we went out for seafood. jacob ate bread, clam chowder, prime rib, fish, a twice baked potato and peanut butter chocolate cheesecake. he then immediately went swimming in the ocean. i wish i was 13.

tomorrow we’re going for a 90 minute ride on a steam locomotive along the coast. should be fun. so long as i can keep the pms at bay, no pun intended.

i can imagine how utterly fed up with restaurant food you must be. it all tastes the same and the endless stream of faceless, nameless, apathetic wait staff must haunt your dreams. airport terminals make you queasy. the thought of another night in another hotel with stiff sheets and flat, foreign pillows just makes your skin crawl. i bet by now you’re praying for the creature comforts of home and an end to this nightmare of life on the road. i am too. i understand, i do. i feel your pain.

but i must request, most humbly, that you take into consideration your fellow travelers. you are not alone. not figuratively. not literally. when you leave out of your room at an hour no man was ever meant to see, is it really necessary to slam the three ton door of your room so hard? you know, i don’t know this with any certainty, but i’m fairly sure they make those doors so heavy for your protection. so baddies don’t break it down in the middle of the night and make off with your body and all your worldly possessions. it’s thoughtful, right? their heart is in the right place. i mean, you know, if that’s why they make them that heavy. for all i know it could be to cut down on door replacements after having them open and close fifteen million times more often than a “regular” door. i don’t know. nonetheless, we agree the door is heavy, yes? and because the door is heavy it makes a very loud, very distinct crash when you slam it at a specific time in the morning when the devil in hell is his most happiest, because the humans walking the earth, the ones awake, are the most miserable.

now normally this wouldn’t be a problem. not if you were in your own home, surrounded by your lovely wife who sings like an angel and cooks like a dream; all your creature comforts spread before you. but you’re not in your own home, as we’ve established. you’re in a shared purgatory with me and the other 400 or so traveling dead. and we’re tired. so tired. when that door comes crashing closed it wakes us from our slumber, the one and only time during a business trip we’re actually enjoying ourselves. that door, that heavy, heavy door crashes closed, reverberates off the long halls, echoes through the hotel and comes back again, shattering our minds, you dirty door slammers. have you no shame? you’re denying us all that little slice of heaven that might mean the difference between making it home okay and taking out a terminal full of passengers with a post it note folded into very sharp corners. don’t do this. don’t allow that blood on your hands. you, too, may have a trip with blessedly little to do on a particular day. a late meeting. perhaps even, though it hurts to dream it, a day off. if you should luck into this during one of your business trips, you most certainly don’t want to awaken at the asscrack of dawn because 25 other sad schmucks didn’t get the same break and decided to wake up, get dressed, drag ass out the door, slam it as hard as they could and then proceed to talk very loudly in the hall for five minutes, outside your door, before heading to the plane. the meeting. hell.

in conclusion, i hope your flights all arrive and depart on time. i pray for your safe arrival at your destination. i wish you cheerful wait staff and decent food. i hope the meetings don’t run long and you don’t get stuck with a broken projector during an important presentation. i hope the cab driver doesn’t get lost. may your room be syringe and cockroach free upon check-in. i wish for you a smooth, easy business trip with as little torture as is possible when traveling on company time. just please, please close the damn door quietly as you go.

thank you.

matt & i shopped for the trip by going to a neighborhood grocer that we thought was going to be the cheapest around. and it was. that’s because out of nowhere, it’s going out of business. seriously. one day it’s there and functional and there’s chef boyardee on the counter and then the next day it’s a vast, desolate wasteland consisting mainly of dustbunnies and tumbleweeds, five for one dollar! what little bit was left on the shelves was being picked over by some rabid looking people wandering the aisles. they reminded me of zombies in a stephen king book. sort of vacuous stares out of empty heads searching for brains. but they found only nothing. prices were marked down between 10 and 75%. fortunately for us we only needed a couple things and they had most of them. we only got sidetracked by the candy aisle. cause it appeared as though, everyone in their haste to find brains, had totally missed the candy aisle. so there we are in a row of candy bar after candy bar at 75% off. danger! danger, will robinson! we ended up with a few essentials for the camping trip and about 3 grocery carts filled with m&ms, wonka bars, starbursts, and gum.

then we came home, loaded up the kids and the dogs in the motorhome, and headed east to the snoqualmie national forest. and that’s about where the fantasy ended. we had a really hard time finding an empty campground. then we finally found one and it was nowhere near the water. then we unpacked and it was hotter than hell. there were mosquitos everywhere. it was really bad. so we decided to start a fire to drive them away. which worked. somewhat. the dogs were crazy. they barked a lot and kaileb was scared in the motorhome so we didn’t sleep well. by saturday morning i was ready to go home. i had enough of nature. and so i said it. i’m ready to go, i said. and the three of them looked at me like i had two heads. and then i said it again in case they didn’t hear me. “i’m ready to go now. let’s pack!” and then i made deals in which i agreed to let them fish first before leaving and then promised to take them to the movies later. so we fished and swam and then booked it home.

and i was glad.

so we go to the movies, okay? and we’re going to see talladega nights. matt went in to find us seats because we got there a little late. i order popcorn and drinks. because two shopping carts of candy won’t sneak through the theatre usher very well, i hid 7 different kinds of candybars in my purse to avoid paying $19 for one at the snackbar. as it was i ended up having to take out a second mortgage just to pay for the admission and popcorn.

this guy taking the orders at the snack bar? i kid you not he died two months ago and just hasn’t gotten around to falling down yet. he was so slow i wanted to pull my hair out, jump on the counter and run back and forth screaming at the top of my lungs.

plus, the two women in front of me were ordering one of everything. the old one leaned over the candy window and went, “ummmmmmmm……ummmmmmmmmmmm” for about 45 minutes before i finally said “oh for christ sake!” and then she woke up and said, “you don’t got any chocolate covered peanutsssssss? and they didn’t so she just ordered a reese’s candybar instead. and it took him another 30 minutes to get that out.

i headed into the show about when the end credits were running. i finally make out matt and the boys waving like loons at me and start the arduous task of making it past the 76 other people in that row. i’m balancing a tub of popcorn bigger than a small planet in one hand and a soda only a smidge smaller in the other hand trying to avoid sticking either my tits or my ass in someone’s face or step on any toes that refuse to move. i get nearly there, like 1 person away and this smell hits me. it’s like someone died and lay in the sun for six months. it’s like rotting eggs. it’s like the worst smell ever. ever. and i gagged and yelled, “OH! ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THE BODY ODOR???!!??” like that. that loud. and every head in the theatre snaps up and looks directly at me retching and grimacing in pain. jacob reached for the soda, matt reached for the popcorn and pulled me into the chair. i apologized and tried to avoid vomiting. i pulled my shirt up over my mouth and stayed like that for the entire movie.

then matt tells me this kid, he’s kicking jacob’s seat and it’s pissing him off. i look behind me and there’s a kid behind jacob completely absorbed in the movie. he doesn’t even know where he is, much less that he’s kicking his chair. matt asked him to stop. he did. for about 10 minutes. then he started again. we kept giving him the, “dude, stop kicking the chair or we’ll beat your ass.” look, but he wasn’t buying it. his parents were also oblivious. i watch matt and his temperature’s rising. he’s gone completely into “gotta protect the family!!!” mode and there’s no reaching him now. something funny happens in the movie and i laugh and say, “did you hear that?” and he looks like he’s about to go through the roof. he tells me he can’t concentrate cause this kid won’t stop. and that pretty much went on until the end of time.

we get out of there and head home. we’re in the car and we laugh and we talk and we tell each other our favorite parts of the movie and the night flies by the window outside. then we get home and not five minutes, literally not five minutes after we walk in the door the boys start fighting. they don’t fight all the time, but when they do it’s nasty, noisy and annoying. so off to bed i pack em. arguing and pleading and bargaining all the way. but i stick to my guns and make them go.

then i went to my room and decided i was completely mental and must never endeavor to do anything fun and spontaneous as long as i live.

(however, the mountains were beautiful, the swimming was a blast, the water was clear and cool and sexy, the dogs swam, even rufus who is scared of water, and the movie was hilarious. lest ye think it was all bad.)