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, personally, I made a complete idiot of myself in front of 400 people. Hooray! I’ve spoken in front of a crowd before, so I don’t know what happened. All I know is that I climbed the stage, approached the podium, looked up, saw over 400 people staring back, then blanked out. I forgot three sponsors names. My face was flush and hot. I giggled uncontrollably.  I nearly wet myself.

Listen to this: picturing people in their underwear doesn’t work. That’s a damn lie.

It was a disaster, but I have survived. Fear not! I passed a couple during the reception who said, “Oh you were so CUTE up there!”

That’s nice of them and everything and it’s far better than, “Wow, your performance was bloody offensive to us! You should die!” which is *totally* what I was expecting –but I don’t know that I was going for “cute” either.

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.

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.

I’ll tell you what really looks good right about now: a cardboard box under a big, old comfortable bridge. That’s what. Who needs a house? Or heat? Who needs clothes and food and a cable bill? Not me, no sirree.

Now that that’s off my chest, let me just tell you: things are a-changing around here. It’s too bad my therapist has taken a dive and the only head shrinker I’m seeing these days is for duets cause it’s hitting the fan & and I have no clue what to do. I can’t say anything except, you know, I’m not dying. No one’s dying. At least, I don’t think so. It’s just work-related, career changing kind of stuff. I mean, I’m not really changing careers either. I’m just — oh stuffit. I can’t say anything because then I’d be saying something! See why I need my therapist back? A person like me shouldn’t be out roaming the streets without close supervision.

Tonight I was worrying while making dinner that if I somehow didn’t cook the rice long enough the kids could get sick and die from it. I know this is true of meat. I reasoned that if it could happen with one food group, why not all of them? This niggling little doubt consumed me the entire time I was otherwise engaged in preparing an otherwise healthy and delicious meal of carne asada and tacos. I tried desperately to conceal my guilt and horror while chopping garlic and simmering tomatoes. I cursed myself silently for attempting to make Spanish rice in the first place. I labored over their eventual deaths in my head, even through the warming of tortillas and setting of the table. It wasn’t until they were tucked safely in bed tonight that I felt I had dodged the bullet. Maybe. I’m not a hundred percent on that one though. There’s always a possibility that undercooked rice takes a little longer than undercooked meat. I didn’t write the book on this one. Anything’s possible.

So you see? A sane person doesn’t think those things. I really should have my therapist back. I should make some calls. Someone should probably ought to call someone.

I have stress.

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?

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.

so yeah, i’m back. hooray! i slept in my own bed last night. simple pleasures. the boys are back from california as well. they talked my ear off for the past 24 hours about disneyland, universal studios, californialand, the jelly belly factory, blah blah blah. so while i was melting in 199 degree heat working for the man, they basically had the time of their lives. nothing makes me happier. at least i had the girls, twoll twoy and butch’s stories to keep me entertained. who needs a magical kingdom when you’ve got a smokey bar and unlimited material?

i’m beyond tired. i don’t think i’m well. i’m off to get my PT checked and restock the groceries in the house but i’m sure i’ll be back in no time to regale you all with my fascinating words of wit. haha! i’m so bored already.