Okay, so here’s the way it usually works. I agree to go hang out with people and I am fine with it until the day I am supposed to go and socialize. Then I start to play with the idea of not going, complete with reasonable excuses as to why I could not make it. I start to get antsy, feel all self-defeating, wonder if I am actually welcome, wonder if my presence is going to be a burden. I start to suspect that the invite was more pity and courtesy than it was honest invite, and I half-convince myself that everyone would be happier if I just stayed home. I start mulling over any negative changes in body image, I concern myself about what is acceptable attire; will I show up under or overdressed? I wonder if I am going to get ditched (which has happened, so it isn’t exactly unfounded) and weigh the disappointment of staying home with the much shittier feeling of getting stood up.

Then… I go.

Wait… what?

Yeah, I go. See, I don’t like to be a flake. I know I will not flake unless I absolutely have to do so for real, honest reasons. So if I say I’ll go somewhere or do something, I’ll follow through. I can’t stand the feeling of getting stood up, so I try not to stand other people up. I guess you could say that I play my own personal honor against my social insecurity, and my honor wins the battle.

I didn’t always do that, though. There was a short… erm… 10 year period… where I just did not go out. I still didn’t flake very much, but that’s because I never promised to do anything in the first place. Honor maintained, but social insecurity totally inflated and exacerbated. It was, in retrospect, a fucking retarded thing to do to myself. I mean… past self-deception aside, I really do like being around people I dig. I might still feel weird and awkward and out of place at times (okay, often) but I have fun and damn it, I’m working on that awkward bit too. I actually speak when I go out now. I mean… dude. But even still, it requires mental gymnastics to get to the point of actually going out and having fun.

Yes, I know. I’m a freak.

Enjoy Confession Thursday.

Do you think you would be friends with yourself? i.e. If you met yourself…well, a self identical to you…do you think you would get along with them?

Wow. I want to say yes, but I suspect that the answer is no. See, I have met people who share some of my mental traits and know that depending on the traits they share, I either like or dislike that person instinctively. I have a lot of bad habits that I picked up using the Internet as my primary means of friendship that translate over into real world interaction that just don’t work well. For example, I am used to conversing in parallel; I can start responding online while someone is still writing. In real life, that just does not work out too well; I come across (and rightfully so) and interrupt-y and rude.

If I were talking to me, that might shut down our getting along right there.

I also have a tendency to stick to people that I know, even in social settings. I suspect that I come across as stand-offish when I do, but it is more of a comfort thing. If I were doing that to me, though, I would probably take it as, well, stand-offish and rude and I would respond in kind.

Lastly, I tend to be overly sensitive when it comes to what I perceive as disses and insults when it is either completely unwarranted or it comes from someone I actually like. I would likely give myself the impression of having been dismissive and insulting and, as I would be someone who I could relate to, it would bother me more because I would want to be liked (and like) me.

The best part? I have issues communicating my anger, so I would continue on not liking me and neither of me would communicate that fact.

Excellent question!

I will be screening the apps and filling seeing what sort of team we can form given the materials at hand.

I’ve been composing my new “things to do / accomplish” list in my head, and one of the more frivolous items on the list is to visit and spend at least a few hours exploring all 50 states. My criteria? The visit to the state can’t be a quick travel stop or an overnight with no exploration (so no rest area breaks or hotel sleep & drives,) and it can’t be in a  ”culture neutral” zone (so no airport or train station exploration.  To the right is my list of real, honest to goodness visited states.

If I were to, say, include all of the states I’d been through, my map would look more like this other map. Driving through isn’t really visiting, though, so I can’t see including those states in my total. It looks like I have 15 so far… 35 states left to go!

So… I couldn’t wait. I just could not do it. I got some nifty new Vibram KSOs today to avoid the lovely sandpapering of my feet when I run on the beach. Given that a) I had something new and b) I actually want to get back to running, I decided to do an easy mile to give them a spin.

Initial thoughts?

They aren’t exactly like barefoot running, but they’re damn close. I can already see that they’ll take some getting used to, but this may be the perfect compromise between absolutely bare feet (and the bloody pain that brings) and running in full shoes.

I guess, though, that one might be wondering why I would run barefoot in the first place.

Simply put? It’s a hell of a calf and ankle workout. I can’t seem to get the calf workouts right at the gym (either that, or I’m just doing it wrong) so the sting of barefoot running is a way to double up on tasks. Running? Check. Calves and ankles? Check. If I could do it, I’d just run barefoot and leave even the Vibrams at home. Alas, while asphalt is giving enough, people tend to leave broken things and scraps on it and every other surface. Rather than scrape and cut my feet, I’ll settle for the middle ground.

I don’t feel that it’s fair to review the… sandals? Shoes? Foot condoms? Just yet, so I’ll leave that for later. First impression, though? Great.

Vegas was, in a word, brilliant. Neither Jennie nor I had had a vacation since back in 2001 or so… not that we hadn’t taken time off, but we’d not just gone and vacationed without worrying about money, work, or responsibility. Even our mini-vacations had been somewhat conservative in nature, with the potential for overspending always on our minds. This, then was the first time in… well, ever… where we could just do whateverthefuck we wanted to do, without concern for money or time.

Well, within reason.

A brief overview of our week? Absolutely!

Friday

We left at something like 2:30 in the morning to catch a 5:30 flight out of Richmond. The roads were clear and the weather was fine, giving us a clear shot to the Richmond International Airport. Upon arrival at the airport, we were greeted by an extremely bored and friendly shuttle driver, who took us promptly to the terminal. So far, so good!

Alas, a small hitch. US Airways, our carrier to Vegas, was taking their sweet ass time getting their booths open. I’ll not go into excruciating detail, but they were quite rude. Wonder why people don’t want to fly your airline, guys? Look at yoru attendants. After dropping our bags off with the dumps, we again waited for the TSA to get their shit together and open the gate. We both expressed honest thanks that we’d not arrived the recommended 2 hours ahead of time. We finally got into the terminal around 5am, catching the flight to Charlotte. I half-napped most of the flight, so all I know is that my white noise app worked well for drowning out children!

Charlotte was pretty easy… cut across the terminals, grab a drink, get on the plane. Both Jennie and I -suspect- that the plane was delayed a bit, but we were both KTFO and only knew it through a hazy sort of sleep. Despite the initial delay, we made it to Vegas around 9:45. I didn’t have jet lag at all (great thing, that) but I did have a feeling of being outside of normal reality.

It’s not reality, it’s Vegas!

After breakfast and a quick wander (including some pre-noon alcohol) we got checked in and did the exploring thing. Drinks at the Venetian, discussion of what to do that night, and finally an awesome Drew Carey show that was a dirtier, more awesome version of Who’s Line, in which we learned that Drew hates Brad Pitt due to his apparent perfection. That, and Brad’s large penis.

Whaaat? That’s what the man said!

A bit of wandering about and fun having and we headed back to grab some sleep for the first time in two days.

Saturday

Saturday was officially “Beatles Day,” in that it was the only pre-booked event we’d arranged. Having experienced the awesomeness that was Fry’s through the lense of frustration back in Houston, I wanted to both experience it again and show Jennie the Wal-Mart of electronics stores. Thus, we monorailed it down to the end of the line and explored Fry’s, where I got my “teh sex” battery pack for my iPhone.

On the way back, we stopped at In-N-Out Burger, proclaimed by many west coasters to be the holy of holy burgers.

Lies. All lies. It was okay, but it wasn’t holy fucking shit good. West coast fail.

After heading back, we realized that we’d misread the show time. 7:00, not 7:30, so we were rushed a bit. Aside from me being a slightly angsty little bitch at one point over the time crunch and whatnot, we made it (barely) on time and grabbed our seats. Does Vegas know how to put on a crap show? Yeah, probably… but Love was damn awesome. Not what I expected, necessarily, but awesome nonetheless.

After the show and some merch shopping, we went to check out the Revolution Bar, but neither of us were feeling the crowd or the music. Thought: Beatles themed bar and club… appropriate music is hip-hop? I don’t think so. The girls dancing in 60′s-ish outfits were interesting in an Austin Powers sort of way, but eh. The crowd was “Pretentious Twentysomething,” which just isn’t my bag. Baby. *ahem*

Both of us had sore feet and whatnot, so after some fruitless wandering and a kickass cover band at Bill’s, we called it a night.

Sunday

You know what’s delicious? Indian food. You know what sucks? Overeating.

You see where I’m going with this? No? Okay. We had Indian Food for… fuck it, call it breakfast. Firstmeal. We overate. For me, I also rehydrated, making my stomach a land of bloaty pain. A stop in a slightly amusing gift shop was possible, but then we both headed back to “lay down for a bit.” Cue a 3-4 hour nap.

Somewhere in there, I booked Penn & Teller tix for the evening, though, so a stop at Ross (conveniently located next to the Riviera for all your stylish last minute needs!) and a shower and we were both ready to head out to the Rio for a late night of Penn, Teller, and Mike Jones!

Great show, with some familiar tricks and some new ones. I’ll not spoil it for anyone by telling you the specifics… only that Penn & Teller & Mike don’t know how to put on a bad show. If you’ve never been to Vegas and you only have the time or money for one show, this should be the show you see.

The rest of the night was spent trying to find a decent club (Voodoo was trying too hard to be cool and failing, the Playboy club looked… well, figure.) We finally gave up and headed back to the Riviera to do the sleep thing, which we’d done infrequently and randomly. We were like cats in our sleeping habits, more or less.

Monday

Fremont street and more wandering! Fremont was pretty cool… more like the old Vegas (from what I understand) and more accessible by far. Things were definitely cheaper down that way (we both ate dinner for $13, which is, like, a bagel on the strip) and the specials were flowing freely. Wandering was fun, the pictures were great, and the skyvision thing was cool… up until it started feeling like a City Council sponsored “good family time.” When the old white people started dancing, it was time to leave.

Alas, we rode the Deuce (bus) in… and again, it was a mistake. The Deuce was crowded and completely crap. Do not ride the Deuce unless… actually, fuck it. Don’t do it. Do drugs, have unprotected sex, stab your eyes out… but DON’T RIDE THE FUCKING DEUCE.

…I may be exaggerating. A little.

Anyway, we headed back to the room for a quick chill and then went out for the night. Alas, time flew as time tends to do, and we partied well into Tuesday morning. Which is why…

Tuesday

…at 5:00am, after an hour and a half of sleep, we were up and headed down to catch the bus to the Grand Canyon. fuck. Were I at home, I’d have kicked myself… but all responsibility and sense was left at home. An hour and a half of sleep? WHOO!

Apart from the bait and switch breakfast (hint: continental is more that a packaged danish and shit coffee) the Grand Canyon tour was badass. A nap, a quick stop at Hoover Dam for pictures and noms, a longer nap, a bleary eyed note of the Joshua tree forest on the way, another nap, a bus change, and some offroading out to the canyon.

If you’ve never been to the Grand Canyon… go. I’d always been ambivalent about seeing a bit gash in the ground, but… words fail. There’s something about looking almost a mile straight down, with noting in between you and the edge but 12 inches of rock, knowing that if you stumble you’re going to have time to think about how awesomely splatterific your death is about to be. Bad. Ass.

Back to the hotel and some more wandering… including take two at the revolution bar. This time around, Revolution was better. Not awesome, but… better.

Wednesday

Up at a real time, breakfast, shuttle to the airport. Waiting around, waiting around… flight to Atlanta.

Atlanta Airport? Sucks. Krystal Burger? Decidedly okay, in my book.

Land in Richmond. Drive back to Norfolk. Reluctantly return to real life.

***//***

So, am I happy with the trip? Absolutely! There are things we missed that will require a return trip.

1.) Star Trek experience was closed to be moved. Bummer!
2.) No Elvis Impersonator! It was on the list, but got bumped.
3.) Next time, we shall get remarried in epic fashion!
4.) No winning, though gambling was light.

Did I leave things out? Perhaps, perhaps.

Any regrets? Nope! I ate too much, had too much to drink, spent a fuckton of money, and didn’t sleep nearly enough. It was great.

Any epiphanies? Sure. I realized that I need to re-initialize my plans of world domination being rich. Having absolutely nothing to worry about except for where to eat and when to leave to be on time for the evening’s entertainment is how life ought to be lived.

Instead, I’m going to put my intention of running in the Shamrock Half Marathon in print on the internets. In fact, I’ll register RIGHT NOW.

…and done. No refunds. 13.1 miles. March 21st, 2010.

So now… time to train. I have 28 weeks in which to get my maximum mileage up from around 7 miles to the requisite 13.1 miles. I’d also like to do at LEAST 10 minute miles, because that would show an overall improvement in long distance ability without losing speed. Heck, 10 minute miles ought to be cake. I hope. Hell, how am I supposed to know? I’ve been a short distance sort of guy thus far.

Training begins on September 7th. Wish me luck!

No, I am not bragging. Bear with me.

Being in this position has caused me a bit of a problem, though. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not content with a good performance in anything, not long term. There is always room for improvement. It’s that damned neverending staircase again, except that there are limits to what the human body can handle, and what the time I can allot to fitness can accomplish. While Iunderstand this, logically speaking, the emotional chunk of my brain keeps whispering that I’m not done yet, I need to do more, I could be better.

Fuck, I could be better. That stupid whispery son of a bitch is right.

That’s what I mean. Were it simply a matter of time, or limitation, I might be content with…. *herm* …I might be able to accept that I had gone about as far as I was going to be able to go. That’s just not true, though. I’m in a lull (if you call getting up at 5:30a to work out a “lull”) because I’m sort of evaluating my options. I’ve thought “triathlon” (no bike and I’m not exactly the sort to take off half of my clothes in public), I’ve thought “martial arts”… but really, the easiest thing for a traveler like me is running… so I have to look at what I can do with the resources I have available. After all, nothing is so maddening as a beautiful plan foiled by chance. So… given my resources, let’s call my next milestone a half marathon. That’s only 13.1 miles… I’m already doing 7, so what’s another…

….erm, 5. Yeah. Let’s not do the math. Let’s just go with the “only” misrepresentation before my naturally lazy ass rebels.

So there. I said it. A half marathon in March. Now that it’s public, I suppose I’ll have to do it.

Anyone have a montage I can borrow?

Incidentally, I have lots of new pals… so here’s a before/after for ya.

Stairs, stairs, stairs. It does get tiresome sometimes, I admit. Sometimes, I just want to throw my hands up and step onto a landing forever, content in what I’d perceive as my own pinnacle of mediocrity. On the other hand, I know me well enough to know that it would not last. Inevitably, I’d be looking at those stairs and wondering what I might find at the next landing. And eventually, I’d step back onto that never-ending ladder and trudge upward, feeling the sense of personal fulfillment that I will never get while treading water.

In short? I do things because I fucking can. Because deep down, I don’t believe that is anything that I can’t do, if I am willing to expend the effort to see it through.

You know what, though? I believe that of all of YOU, too. I think you all have it…. it, goaddammit, that it that took us from slinging poop and screeching to exploring space and sending pulses of electricity across the planet to say “you’re an idiot” in one of our hundreds of languages using technology that would make us gods to our ancestors. Yeah, you have it… but most of you aren’t using it.

I have my theories on why… but that’s a blog for another time.

And not to make excuses, but I did work in government for quite a while. Secrecy in my profession was pretty much required… so after six years of it being easier to simply… you know… keep things to myself, I just sort of applied it to life in general. After all, it’s easier to make sure the secret stuff stays secret if you’re not sharing anything, right?

Problem, though. I don’t abhor company, and I do enjoy good conversation. Being anti-social is a hindrance to the way I’d prefer to live life, so the choices are a) suck it up or b) do something about it. Being the sort of person that prefers to take a limitation and nuke it into the dust (my cure for my extreme discomfort of heights was climbing the mast of an aircraft carrier,) I’ve chosen option B. Of course, my natural reaction to unplanned, open-ended social events (“kill it with fire!”) tends to get in the way sometimes, but heck… I’m giving it a go.

Which is why, of course, I changed my mind last night concerning a local get together. I’d initially intended to skip it, but I was out, I was in the neighborhood, and heck… if it went well, that would be one more experience to build on when out and about. Alas, it did not go well. What I thought was going to be an informal hang-out was instead transformed into a heated political debate. Combine politics, one of many topics that I’ve got a pretty detailed opinion on, with a belligerent gentleman determined to badger, bully, and belittle anyone who disagreed with him… and a crap time was had.

Apparently, mispronouncing profitable is just cause for snickering ridicule, to name the specific crap moment that still stands out.

Yeah, yeah. I’m bitching. But this is my blog, to bitch in if I like. I don’t expect to be coddled, but I generally assume that other human beings understand basic civility.

Hell… I understand those rules and I’m an anti-social jerk!