Going for the Gold!

I may be a man, but I don't really follow sports. Or at least, not the traditional ones that most Guys-guy's will follow.

I understand baseball, but couldn't name a player outside of the 90's Blake Street Bomber's on the Colorado Rockies, and a handful of various "legends" of my childhood. Though, that list now seems more like the resident roster at some penitentiary.

Basketball I loved, not that I watched in on TV, outside of the 1992 Olympic Dream Team. The team that was made up of Michael Jordan (prior 2 retires, and when he was THE number 23), Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, etc. The ones that went on to leave legends, and rule the world with other Fast Food Commercials, like "Nothing but net."

Football. Ok, I think I may get football. Not really though. I am from Denver. I will always root for the Broncos. Not that I'll watch football, I don't understand it, other than "Touchdown" and "Field goal". But, so help me, let my donkey's play, and I'll be happy. Is Elway still on the team? Elway is a football player right?

No, my sports, that I follow-ish, are the Olympics. I'm really too competitive to actually play a team sport. You're not supposed to be better than your team mates, unless they're individual sports teams, like swimming, cycling, running, skiing, skating, snowboarding, gymnastics, etc.

Usually the drama is kept to a minimum. The competition runs high, but the sportsmanship is in a class all on its own. You don't see fights and shit talk going on between elite athletes at the World Games. Ok, short of Tanya Harding's little freak show, there usually isn't too much. Usually, all of the competitors gracefully take to the ring, and dutifully do their best, before wishing their opponent well. Of course in their mind their hoping for downfall, tragedy, maiming and anything else that could eliminate any other opposer to besting them. But outwardly, elite athletes kill each other with kindness.

Of course lately, with the shattering of records constantly, as we keep testing our athletes for any sort of "performance enhancing drug". I understand this, and hope that the athletes are setting all of the examples that they can, to push themselves naturally and responsibly to be the best in their realm. They are setting this example through their chivalry towards one another, I could only hope that transpires to all aspects of their game. I will admit, I don't think nor count pot as anything the committee's should be even thinking about. But, fuck Phelps, keep it off camera!

Now, I was quite invested in the summer olympics a few years ago. I watched Phelps take every gold medal he earned in 2008. I refused to leave the bar when he was up for his last medal that year. I'll never forget, blowing off my family to move on, because I refused to be in the car during the event. The bar, dead silent, and collectively holding their breaths with Phelps as he swam. Swimming. My sport of choice. Have you ever been to a swim meet? Yeah, no one watches swimming, except for that week.

 The summer games are typically more my events. I have been a swimmer my whole life, and I wanted to be the Mark Spitz. Only I can't Butterfly to save my life. I lived on my bicycle through most of my life as well, hence my first tattoo being a mountain cyclist. Hell, I even found myself watching Speed Walking at 4am during the 2008 games.

But, this year, these games, it seems like something is going on. I don't know if the games were tarnished and cursed by the unfortunate passing of the Luger, Nodar Kumaritashvili. I don't know if we're just more aware of it for the exaggerated and exponential growth of information available to us by every possible means out there. I can't tell if people are trying to beat the uploading of cell phone postings to Facebook, Twitter, their blogs, TMZ, Adam4Adam, cutekittens.com or what, but it seems that this year there's a lot more going on than just the games.

You've had at least 2 epic fuck-ups with the speed skating. One competitor disqualified for listening to an apparently confused coach, as to which lane he was to be skating in. Which I ask, who's at fault? The racer, who's been practicing and knows where he's supposed to be (in that tight ass spandex) sprinting along the ice? Or, the coach, who's been training olympic skaters for decades, and knows where everyone is supposed to be? I mean, I understand getting caught up in the moment, and both guys are trying to maintain some composure, and not to totally just go ballistic. The coach is just kind of taking it, but even the awarded-medalist admitted that it was the racer's fault for forgetting.

The other Speed Skating incident, the kid didn't have his phone on, so he missed the race. Yes, he was the 1st runner up, should someone drop out of the race, so he wasn't INITIALLY supposed to be on the ice. BUT ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! You've been training probably more than you've been sleeping for years. You've made it to the Olympics. You are the 1st runner up. FUCK! If I was the 4th runner up (which ironically IS who competed), I would have been suited up, ready to go, jumping on the bench like the kid from The Sandlot and the MadTV UPS guy's love-child. "Put me in coach, I'm ready!"

But, no. The kid had his phone turned off. His sister couldn't even find him. Everyone was looking for him. For the love of god, tell me he was fucking or solving the cure for cancer. If he was at least creating the gift of life, or practicing with whomever he wanted to, then he almost has an excuse for missing that kind of opportunity.

How many people have fucked themselves up on the slopes? Skiiers, Snowboarders. You have showboating going on as soon as they realize they fucked up. Hell, you've got medal awarded athletes showboating after the events are done. Can you blame the kid for using the medal as a phallic inuendo? At the bar? Celebrating? The Stanley Cup winners drink champagne from the trophy itself. Soccer players strip and streak through the field after winning amazing goals. A snowboarder takes funny photos with his medal, which we all know he invested more into than probably anything else he's ever done. I'd be fucking with that medal attached to my neck for a year. Maybe he's just setting the new standard; don't bite the medal to make sure it's real, fornicate with it and really spread that love.

Everyday that I pull up the news, I seem to see some other pitfall with the games. Unfortunately, another death, this time an XGames contender, C.R. Johnson, passed away. I get it though, to be the best, you have to push the boundaries of natural physics and sanity. I commend the Olympic committee for starting to return some of the sports to minimal enhancements, such as the return to speedos, plain speedos, for swimming, not the dolphin-NASA supersuit that repels more water than oil.

I know that there's a bit more finesse necessary to compete in the winter games. You are typically hurling yourself at un-natural speeds, through terrain and environments that were never meant for life to experience. No living thing can only live in snow and ice, right? Not that I know of. Some have adapted to it, but typically everything avoids the frozen air, and especially the slick surfaces that try to kill you. We, in our infinite wisdom, designed products that not only glide and thrive on them, but speed up, and give Darwin really something to think about.

I only found it somewhat fitting that the Russians entered the Opening Ceremony arena, dressed like they were Team NASCAR. I'm hoping that none of them crash, but let's be honest, most of the viewers nowadays, are looking for that epic disaster, that pumps adrenaline into all of us alike.

On that note, I'm out. I'm heading up to Big Bear this weekend, and hitting the slopes. Something about the winter and especially watching and hearing about the games, that makes me really miss and need to strap my board on, point down the mountain, and shred some gnar.

The Stupidest Things You Ever Survived.

We all have them, the list of things that we have to do before we die. Of course, half of this list is also the exact same thing that may kill you in the process as well. There's the things that you plan to do: Jump out of an airplane, SCUBA Dive with Sharks, Hike some astronomically large mountain, to the point that you have to stop at "Checkpoints" to prove you're still holding on to that last ounce of life you have in you. Or that you died, and they should notify your family to proceed with the arrangements. 

Then, there are the things that you've done, that you look back on, either at a completely different point in time, when you're recounting the story that it involved, and your friends tell you, "Are you fucking kidding me?! How the fuck did you survive?", and you think back to it, and even admit, "Yeah, I don't know. That was pretty stupid." Let's not lie either, we all know that most of the occurrences come with a flowing river of alcohol, and friends with whom you've bonded to a level that you all trust each other with your lives and hope that the other person is acting within your best interest. But since when was that the actual case? 

I won't lie, my list is short. I've done most of the stupid shit that I said I would. I've tried like hell for some of the others. Getting bit by a shark, that's on my list. Not exactly something that you can really plan for, and set out for. Especially when you start thinking logically about it. A shark is a brutal killing machine. He's probably not just going to bite, leave the mark, and not any permanent damage beyond the superficial wound. Where do I want this bite, I'm not sure. I love both of my arms and legs, and would like to still be able to use them for some time to come. I can't show the scar and the story if I get bit in the ass. My torso kind of holds a lot of vital organs, and there's not a whole lot to protect them from falling out, should said shark be so inclined to try the flavor that is Jeremy Bilding blood. Now, which is worse, that this is my dilemma, and not the fact that I'm thinking about being attacked by a shark? 

Struck by lighting. I want to do that. I think it could be quite enlightening. Probably put a good spark in my life, you know? Just a little extra something something. 

Travel the world, bicycle the Great Wall of China, hike the ruins in Greece, Italy, South America, Central America. I want to go into, and climb the outside of the Great Pyramids, all of them, all over the world. Yes, half of these feats may kill me, or imprison me, or I need special permission and guidance. I want to be the 1st person to walk on Mars. That one is going to be hard though. I want to swim with penguins in the Antarctic, and I want to belly sled with Polar Bears in the Arctic. Though, I hate the cold. 

But, these are all the things that I want to do. There's the things that I have done: Swam and wrestled sharks, hiked 14,000ft mountains, camped in most of the environments seen around the world. I've jumped out of perfectly good (arguable for one of them) airplanes. I've rode my bicycles more miles than I've put on cars. Though, that number is rapidly approaching one another. Don't know how I feel about that. 

I've been hit by cars, but never been in a car accident in a car. I've fully come to appreciate a mantra of mine personally: "Bring your motion to the ocean, but not the ocean to the motion. No Water In Sex". This mean, no waterbeds, hot-tubs, pools, lakes, rivers, the ocean (you lose all sensitivity in the water), and especially the beach. Save yourself the trouble, grab an 80 grit piece of sandpaper, and have at your cock. Standing, sitting, on a blanket, on a parachute, whatever, it doesn't stop the sand from finding it's way to your happiness, and thus creating no fun. 

I can't even think of all the things that I've ever done, that I'm still surprised I survived. This may be because either I just figured I'd survived, so why worry about it, or that they really weren't so impressive to me to recount later on. Ask me specifics, and I'm sure that I'll be triggered into remembering a certain event though. 

I think, though, of the most recent of stupid things I could have survived from, was a hike that I did with a buddy of mine, when we were both living in Colorado. This is how that adventure went:

"Dude! You want to go for a hike tomorrow? Then we can grab some lunch. The Program Director really kind of wants to talk with you too, maybe we can get him to lunch, see about actually getting you in at the station." Kris had excited blurted out while we were off air.

"That'd be awesome, all around. Where you thinking about hiking?"

"Devils Head Tower. Down in Rampart. You'll go? You're the only one I know that would actually go hiking with me."

So, it was set. We would meet at the radio station in the morning, and head down to the trail head, about an 30min away, get in the hike in the morning, then head to lunch, where afterwords, Kris could get ready for his show, he was the 7-Midnight DJ, and I could get ready for my shift at Red Robin that evening. 

For those of you not familiar with Rampart and the surrounding area, you want to go south of the Denver metropolitan area, take a right, drive past Bum Fucking Egypt until you reach the nothingness that is the creepy woods where people disappear, then go about 5 miles further. This comes with bonuses and downfalls. Bonus: pure, natural beauty, untainted by any modern convenience or civilization. Downfall: No means of communication, short of 911 calls from any cell phone and smoke signals (i.e. massive forest fire draws a lot of attention real quick too).

We arrived at the trail head around 8am, figuring that we could easily get the 4 1/2 mile hike in easily before noon, or pretty close to it at least. We had researched the night before that the 10 mile road leading from the "main" highway to the trail head was closed form roughly 1st snow, or November of every year, though the following beginning of April, or until the snow had melted off the road. the Trail was officially open though the beginning of April. We had figured with it being April 10th, we were in good standing. The only problem was, there was a large metallic barricade at the point just off the highway, leaving us to hike 10 miles to the trailhead. 

I had started to put it all together, the barricade, a triangular swinging gate apparatus, that was roughly about as thick as a telephone pole, was totally going to win in blocking us from driving to the trail head. I had also surveyed the options for us driving around the gate, and wouldn't you know it, the Colorado State Parks and Recreation Services had done their job, and figured out just how to prohibit any other such idiot from doing to the same. 

Now, I may work out a bit, and I have done my fair share of out door activities, and I knew that I was up for and able to do the hike that was now before us. I had started discussing the situation with Kris there, and he had said that he had pretty much taken that into account as well. Unfortunately for both of us, we're not exactly what you may call "Morning People", and as a result, were obviously not making the wisest decisions we possibly could have. Mind you, it was 8am, we didn't have any definite plans until both us had to be at work that evening; Kris at 6:30 at the latest, me at 6p for our shift. So, a bit of a longer hike was really not that big of a deal to us a the present moment. 

The sky was clear, the weather was warm, the birds were starting to come out, and I was there, cruising the lonesome road and trail with a good friend of mine. You really couldn't have asked for a better morning. We were even down to just t-shirts. We were going along, and surveying the beauty. The red dirt road we were following. The evergreen forest that was around us. Hell, it wasn't until about mile number 4 that we discovered there were road markers telling us just how far we had gone. 

This was a little alcove we stopped for pics at around said mile number 4:

We had been talking, and really getting to know each others past. My training in wilderness survival and my experience with that which so many call the "Great Outdoors". I also came to find out a bit about Kris, and how he had gotten to where he was. We laughed at the coincidence and the fate that brought us together at the station, as well as the small world instances that may have brought us together regardless of our somewhat professional relationship. Hell, even I had mentioned that I would love to get struck by lightening and bit by a shark. I'll admit, I didn't calm his nerves any, when we actually saw the remnants of a lightning strike along the path. 

Right about mile number 5 my blood was flowing, the sun had charged me, and the hour's worth of hiking we had done, I had deemed us to be at "The Point of No Return". Yes, mile number 5 was 1/2 way to the trail head, and was therefore the point that we would cross into committing to finishing the entire hike. We could have turned around at any point before mile number 5, before we locked ourselves into a (almost) marathon. Of course, it was at this point that Kris had also informed me that he was Hypoglycemic. 

Now, I had dealt with a great deal of kids throughout the years, in various situations, that had a variety of medical issues that needed constant addressing. Hypoglycemic people are not uncommon, and are easy to keep up with. I had assumed that Kris knew what he was getting into, fully, and was well prepared in making sure he would have everything that he needed for the trek we were making. After all, Kris is a college educated, professional man, and not a high school teenager, and my teenagers knew what they needed for such activities. 

You know that timing, when it seems like you're not in real life. You find the plot twist, and you really can't miss it because literally the whole setting is changing around you slowly. Well, that was kind of happening. But, being the headstrong, idiot that I am quite known for, I had to complete. "The Point of No Return" was well behind us, like 1/3 mile. I asked Kris if he was going to be good and he had assured me he was good to go. Not to mention, we could see Devils Head. Yes, that is it on the horizon; you know, the several hills off in the distance.

As you can see, we were starting to get visitors as well. Our clear skies were becoming not so much, but they weren't turning for the worse. It was just enough to push us to move up a little quicker. I did do a survey of our supplies. I had an extra jacket for rain just in case, 2 liter bottles of Fiji myself, and 2 Cliff Bars for sustenance just in case I would have needed it for my 4 1/2-5 mile trek. Yes, I had prepped a little much for a 5 mile trek, and I knew that I could withstand the 20 additional miles to make it work, and spread my stuff as minimal as need be. I assumed that we'd be fine. I knew that I would be, and my buddy had given me the impression that he was good to go as well. 

We continued out discussions, and joked along the way. I couldn't even really tell you what all we had talked about, but I know that there were the more common of things that you discuss when you are stripped of your element and setting, and you find common ground. The floodgates open, and you spill so much information, especially when your in the seclusion of the woods, and don't have to worry about anyone eavesdropping. 

I had left my phone back in my car, knowing that with no service, all I was asking for by bringing it was for me to somehow break it and lose it. Technology and I don't get along. There's a reason that I love the outdoors, you fuck up a tree, you've probably messed yourself up even more. I stopped wearing watches back in 2003, and while I was pretty good at telling time by the sun, we used Kris' watch to keep us posted. We did finally reach the trailhead around 1030am. Probably not where we wanted to be at that point in time. 

As we started up the trail, we came to find out why the gate was probably still closed, there was quite a bit of snow. For 10 miles there had been nothing. Now, after we made our first bend in the trail, we were in varying depths of the cold white shit. Though, when you put two people together, that had already been traveling well out of any sort of good decision or logical reason, we were still bound and determined to finish our trek, and reach the summit that we had set out for that morning. 

As with any other task that I take on, I had promoted to Kris that we keep the mentality positive, and that we just turn some of the ordeal into really just an Adventure. This was definitely becoming a tedious adventure. We totally lost the trail in the snow banks, we could barely see where we were supposed to heading with the forest and everything in front of us. There was no sign that we were supposed to be where we were, and even if we were near what we thought was the mountain we were supposed to be climbing. 

Occasionally we would come upon a clearing, and could somewhat triangulate our location, and by that I mean that we could clearly see then that we were just fucked. We joked, we pushed each other along, we laughed at our own stubbornness to complete and hopefully not die. Though, that was becoming more of an option we thought amy hit us, seeing as how there were no tracks where we were, leaving us to assume that we were the 1st ones up the "trail" that year. This of course, was assuming we were still on the trail, or in the vicinity of where we needed to be. 

We most certainly couldn't say that it wasn't pretty. Though, one of the prettiest things to appear within our sightline, was the oncoming storm. You can kind of see it forming and approaching there. Not that either of us were surprised. Colorado has that awesome weather (that I'm discovering the whole country contends with), that you can have a 70 degree morning, and have a blizzard that afternoon. I was hoping that this wouldn't be a blizzard. I just knew that no matter what, weather wasn't going to help out cause at all. 

We kept our search for the elusive Devils Head Tower, figuring that with it being a fire watch tower, it would most certainly be at one of the highest points. So, as long as we kept going up, we were bound to hit it sooner or later. We were watching time slip away also. Oh, and water. Awesome.

You know those scenes in your head, where you and your buddies are in the middle of no where, and there isn't a soul to hear you, ok there's deer and birds and raccoons and mountain lions to hear you, but they're not going to help you either. That's about where we were. There was nothing. Then, there was barbed wire fencing. The other kind of scene that plays to the solace. So, now there's no one to hear us scream, and help us, as we come up on Hannibal Lecter's portrayal of the love-child between the IT clown and the Unabomber. Again, there was no saving us now. You could preserve our bodies and dispose of the blood easily with the snow, we had already covered our tracks by back tracking so much, and randomly getting lost, and now we were trespassing on Whoville. Cue the violins. 

Figuring that we had nothing else to lose at that point either, we went ahead and crossed the fencing, and continued our trek up the hill. Of course at that point a small hut/cabin would come into view. Fortunately, there was no smoke or sign of life coming from it either. As we rounded the "house" we did come to realize that it was a visitor's center of sorts, and was actually the base for the Devils Head Fire Lookout Tower. From there we could also see the staircase leading up to the tower itself, and the outlook. 

I'm not going to lie. I will have to admit that I came to laugh a bit, and also become terribly scared for all of my decisions that morning, when Kris had admitted to me halfway up the stair case (to the heavens) that he had vertigo and was now terrified of the staircase and was turning around. Kris had asked me to come on this Adventure to hike up a mountain, knowing that he may have to add 20 miles to the trek, to climb a staircase that he was terrified of, to come within 100 feet of the actual tower and overlook itself, only to watch and look at it from below, and my pics. I laugh, not out of being mean, or thinking less of him, but for the humor in the situation. He'd pushed himself that much so far, and had to have known what he was really getting into, I say do it. But, he reached his limit, and I respected that, and took the pics for him. 

Both of those pics were taken from the top at the tower. Both were over looking the range to our west. Both were taken within 5 min of one another. We were now about to have to deal with a lot of weather from the looks of it. Our beautiful morning hike, was definitely turning into something out of Darwinism. 

With the skies turning and the time running, we decided that we really needed to make a break for the car. We were literally at the half way point, and had about 12-12 1/2 miles to get back to the car, and it was now nearing 1p.

About half way down the actual trail we stopped because Kris was in need of some food. Fortunately, as I said before, I had the extra Cliff Bars. He had already eaten his food on the way out, and I hadn't touched any of mine. I gave him mine, and we took a good water break. Though, I could see that there may be problems arising and we had some ground to cover. 

We did make it down the trail in good time, getting to the road again by 330. This meant no more snow to deal with, and that we were still 10 miles from the car. 3 hours to get Kris to the studio, and 2 1/2 for me to get home, shower, shave and get to the Dirty Bird. I for some reason kept hope that we could do it. Somehow, maybe it's the light at the end of the tunnel thing, but somehow you always seem to do the return trip in amazing time. I was hoping this was the case. Kris was not as optimistic, and had tried to send a text to one of his co-workers that he may need some one to cover for a short while as we made the trip back. No cell service did not really allow for this message to be sent right away. In fact, it took 30 min for us to find out that it did send, and then his battery died. 

If there was ever such a thing as Shit Creek, I was starting to hope that we were only up that, and not fueling it's rapids. 

While we were recouping at the bottom of the trail, Kris was also starting to deteriorate in energy and seemingly consciousness. I still had one Cliff Bar left, and we had plenty of water. He was already wearing my extra jacket, or really shell, so we were kind of protected from the weather. I felt confident that we'd make it. But I will be honest, I started to figure out a couple alternative plans. 1- Literally carry him, fireman style to the car. 2- leave him and run to the car, somehow break something down to get the car around all the obstacles and get back to him. 3- Run back to the car and call 911, get flight for life (this was really the LAST option possible) and 4- build a lean-to shelter, start a fire, have him gnaw on stuff we could find to keep him going until someone were to come by. Option 4 was really just about as probable for his survival as me finally getting my Superman powers and flying us both to work on time. But, I was truly preparing myself to have to perform either option 1 or 2 should we (he) not make it. 

We were doing fine. I gave him my Cliff Bar at about mile marker 8. He was stumbling along, complaining of his knees hurting, staring off into the distance in front of us, openly wishing that the car was closer. Several times he had me give him a pep talk, and keep him going. Fortunately, we both remembered that around mile marker 5 there was an 1/2 full, yet unopened Pepsi sitting at a Picture Opportunity spot. We both kind of figured that the risk of drinking the somehow 1/2 empty, yet magically unopened can would be safe and good for the zombie that he was becoming. 

We stopped several times, trying to get him into shape to tackle the next leg of the trip back to the car. We had been watching the time rapidly slip away as well. By 5pm we were just rounding the 4 mile mark. It was also here that Kris needed to lay down. Over the course of the next 30 min our conversation went as so:

Kris: "The sand is soft here. I'm taking a break here" Then he fell into the sand like a sack of potatoes. 

Me: "You shouldn't stop. We should keep go... you're already on the ground."

Almost immediately Kris also fell asleep, so seeing that he was actually fine, I let him get in a small nap. Of course I was worried, and I was looking for things to either make a splint to drag him to the car in, or summon the strength to dead-man lift him and sling him over my shoulder to carry back to the car. But then, he awoke after 15 min and our conversation continued:

Kris: "Yeah. Ok. I'm going to need a motivational speech to finish this hike. Let's go, Captain."

Me: "Motivational speech? The fuck. Ok. Well, let's look at it this way, you've already done over three-quarters of the whole hike. We're only a few miles from the car. It may suck right now, but that sense of accomplishment is going to be the best you've felt in years when you actually sit down in the car, and think, 'I made it. I did it. That was awesome.'"

Kris: "Hmmm. Ok. I'll tell you what, you can just leave me here."

Me: "Kris, I'm not going to leave you here."

Kris: "Just leave me here. I'm ok with that. I can even see the headlines now: "DJ Dies Peacefully After Hiking To Death."

Me: "'Dies Peacefully After Hiking To Death', you crack me up. Speaking of peacefully, I can smell the snow coming, and the dark is falling on us. I don't think that you're going to pass 'peacefully' anytime soon. On top of that, I think that these are mountain lion tracks right here."

And just like that, Kris was on his feet. "Mountain Lion tracks? You sure? Let's roll."

Amazing what a little motivation will do. Though, I didn't mean to motivate like that. I was serious about the mountain lion. 

I shit you not, I was herding a zombie. You just pointed him in the right direction, and he just went. I don't think he was really even in control of his own body. It wasn't really walking, but it wasn't that Zombie "my left foot is broken" stumble/walk. But, it was kind of like those old rubber band toys. He would inadvertently kick his feet out, and the whole leg would just snap into place where it was supposed to. Because he was weak, his knees weren't really locking, so as his balance and weight would shift, we was still going forward. Glazed over face and look. I was singing the "My Buddy and Me" song, but had slipped and said "My Zombie and Me" a few times. He did not like the humor in that. 

It was kind of amazing though, Kris didn't stop from that point in the sand, until we were about 600 yards form the car. Though, one of the more comical things to us both, was that I was still in survival mode, and trying to make sure he didn't die on me. It was this that caused me to search for anything that he could refuel with. I would take a couple paces ahead of him, and scour the ground. I did find berries, and yes they were the safe to eat kind. I picked them for him, and he would eat them out of my hand, the way a squirrel or raccoon would pull something out of your hand and eat it as well. This definitely helped us quite a bit. 

Then, tragedy struck. It was dark, It was cold. It had been trying to snow for hours on us. I knew we had to be close, but I wasn't sure just how close we were. Kris needed to sit. He could barely speak. He was obviously sore as hell. So, he just stopped. This was pretty much the point that I knew I was going to have to choose one of my backup plans. He was sitting, so slinging him over my shoulder shouldn't have been that hard. But, for shits and giggles, I hit the door lock button on my key FOB. 

Well. I'll. Be. A. Monkey's. Uncle. 

The car was in view. Right there in front of us. You could see the lights through a handful of trees. You could hear the "beep" as it let you know the doors were locked. I showed him. Told him there was gum in the car (sugar free, but I was pulling for placebo effect at that point) and that the gum would help. Kris lunged. 

We made it. We survived. 830pm. A full 12 hours and 30 min later, we were saved, by our own will and determination, we tried to kill ourselves, and we failed there. But, we succeeded in pulling one of the stupidest ideas we could have. I picked up my phone, no service, but some texts had gotten through. About 13. 

Figuring that Kris was supposed to be on air a hour and a half earlier, stopping at Wendy's to get the boy some "real" food wasn't really a problem for either of us. I was supposed to be at work 2 and half hours prior, and seeing that I had only eaten a banana prior to picking up Kris for our hike, I could have eaten my car. Ironically I'd have eaten my car before eating Wendy's, but maybe that was because I worked at Red Robin at the time, and had to show up there before I did anything too. 

I had 10 calls and voice-mails from the restaurant wondering where I was, another 4 from my boss on her personal phone even more so genuinely concerned, the few from my family wondering what I was up to, but without any concern, knowing that I do stupid things consistently, and have been known to disappear randomly. 

Maybe it was that the situation that I had just survived, easily, had almost taken out my buddy. I think that was what put me into shock a little. While I kept him alive, I didn't help in putting him in the line of fire to begin with. Though he asked me to come. 

I dropped him off at the station, he did one cut, and was at least sounding back to normal. Though, I did come to find out that the mid-day DJ had taken him home, soaked him in her tub, rubbed him down, and cared for him like of like Annie Wilkes a la Misery, minus the sledge hammer of course, and he was back the next day for work. But, he admitted that he was a little scared to me once. 

I went into the restaurant, finally getting there about half an hour before close. I still had the muddy gear that I'd been hiking in. The kids that were still there, knowing that I had "no called/no showed" (a first ever for me) somewhat gave me the cold shoulder, though they were really intrigued by my appearance. Fortunately, I really did look like I just rolled in out of the mountains like I was lost for a while. My boss was pissed, scolding me for having leaving them hanging. I had already apologized to the staff, and had told her that was the only reason that I was there, to do so in person. Of course I was also starting to get my appetite back, and a fucking Royal Burger, you know, the 1/3lb burger, with the fried egg, bacon, cheese, lettuce, tomato and onion. Yeah, that one, I could have eaten about 3 at that point. And the fries, totally could have gone for a few baskets of fries with a small bucket of ranch. But, I told her that I just wanted to apologize in person, and that my morning hike, the one that was supposed to only be a little 4 miler, got a little out of hand, and that I was still in shock a bit from it. I also had stated that if I needed to be "written up" that I understood, and it would only be the right thing. (my stupidity did cause the hike to continue some 12 hours before...)

I swallowed my pride, and a little residual mud, and left the restaurant, burgerless, and still starving. So, I went to Chili's. 

I still think back to the hike, and all that it was. You know what I kind of came to deduce? Whenever I make any future decisions, I'm just going to say no to anything that has "devil" in the title. 

Penis Acting 101

I had a couple buddies ask if I would help perform for them a comical mock on how Hollywood keeps flicks entertaining for the consumer.

This was the product. I think it's ridiculous. But, it's funny.

It is harmless. It's ridiculous. But, it's all for you, since YouTube took it down.

Without further adieu, I share with you the masterworks of Olivier Lebourg and Captain Lucky

Penis Acting 101 - watch more funny videos

When Boy Scouts do Vegas

Every few months it seems, my fellow Scouters from the camp that I worked at get a need to surround themselves with a handful of our friends/co-workers/family from the camp. Typically, the largest of these reunions happens in the middle of October, originally surrounding a large college's homecoming or biggest rival football game. As of more lately, and with the scenarios that play out, it's usually in some small town, with not a whole lot going for it, for reasons that include but are not limited to: we aren't really going to leave the house any way, other than to find more alcohol or some food; when more than 3 of us are in public somewhere, we are still in our own little world, and are likely to be arrested for attempted shenanigans that are perfectly fitting for Lord of the Flies and "Neverland" (not the "ranch", but the fantasy land of Peter Pan).

This past weekend was one of those such occasions that a small handful of us decided to convene somewhere closer to the Western United States. Originally, it was to be a "Girls Weekend" (yes, I was to be invited to that as well... go figure).

My bus driver, and the base mom of sorts, my friend/co-worker and girl I'd spent more Christmases with this decade than my own family, and a handful of the other female counselors that all had banded together had decided to take a President's Day weekend break for their non-camp life jobs, and play together somewhere. This particular weekend, it happened to be Vegas.

The plan had always been for me to come and meet up with them at another employee's house in Vegas, we'll call him Shorty, seeing as how that's how I know him. Several of the girls had to pass on the trip, but Hurricane (Xmas girl) and Momm were still sure as hell coming out. Fortunately, I had a Ft Lauderdale appearance fall through for Valentines Weekend and was able to make it. Though, that wasn't without threats by the two to harm and torture me for skipping out on the reunion.

As is the case with all of my fellow Mates (our actual title at the camp), a couple of guys had caught wind that we were going to be in Vegas, and happened to be free that weekend. Also, a fellow Mate currently going to Law school in San Diego had the weekend free, and his childhood friend who happens to be a pilot, was looking to take the plane out somewhere.

Somewhere between the hours of 7pm Fri night, and my arrival at 6p on Sat: Hurricane, Momm, Foreman (kid sounds just like Eric Foreman from That 70's Show), Heath (looks like Heath Ledger), Tucker (Law School, but he's going to be living the Tucker Max route I think) and Pilot all met up way south of the strip at Shorty's place. The following story is what had happened over the next 36 hours:

While I was driving en route from Orange County and my adventures down there, The 1st half of the group decided it was a great time to go on a Dam Tour. They were still getting their bearings together, and were coming out of the "real world' work and life mentality and slowly started to head towards Island Kids. This would soon be short lived, like a drunk remembering directions to any location that he's been drunk before. Soon they were terrorizing the Dam with only the rights and beliefs that a camp counselor has, that we can go anywhere, do anything, and we are The Shit. Heath decided to push these envelopes a little. I can't see what he's touching, or reaching for, but I'm sure that rail is there for a reason, and his face is showing that he's not supposed to be doing that.

 

Now, I know that this is the part where I was missing. Yes, this is the tame and collective part of this adventure. This was the warm up. Not that it got crazy, we're pretty good kids, but it is in this pic, the cliche touristy "We were here." Oddly enough though, I remember talking with Foreman when this pic was taken. He was a bit excited to see everyone and wanted us all there that moment. It was here the you can see Foreman telling me that "Bilding, you need to hurry your ass up. We're ready to DRINK." 

Now, I will never call myself "refined" or "with class" I am more at home, living without modern conveniences and off the natural land. My friends and I share this. By all means, we can and do enjoy a dinner with more flavors and textures than you reasonably know what to do with. While we are more comfortably showering once a week, sleeping on the ground or in a hammock, donning Off or Cutter as our preferred cologne of choice, with a water bottle and knife being our favorite accessories; we thoroughly enjoy a great night on the town, with all the glitz and glam. Pretty much, I knew that I was walking into an adventure we should probably title When the Lost Boys Go Hollywood.


So, it was no surprise when I was 20 miles out, that they had called me again, getting ansy. Tucker and Pilot had arrived just as they left the dam, and they picked up a ton of Papa Johns for dinner. Of course, when I finally walked in the door, they were all 3 drinks in. 3 very potent drinks. The counselors from my camp have a particular drink that they prefer. I had been introduced to it years previous by an employee, and had passed it along to all those that wanted to try it and whom typically became hooked. Of course, people all living on an island, our drink is that of Rum.

It used to be called a Three Rum Monty, but, look it up, you probably wont find it anywhere. Also, when ordering said Three Rum Monty, guess how many you were usually handed? This is hence the "used to be called". So, we renamed it (so spread the word on this as well). I call it a "Munson Fish Bandit". The MFB used to be the pirate/ninja code name for the Mates at our camp, when out causing trouble, or when in the field of the eternal Prank War we seemed to always be in. We are scouts and are therefore good and sweet. But the MFB are sneaky little bastards, and will take you down like a 2x4 to the forehead. So is the drink.

Recipe for Munson Fish Bandit:
Bicardi Rum
Captain Morgan Spiced Rum
Malibu Rum
Cola
garnish it with a lime, seriously.

Yes, this is just a rum and coke, just made with 3 rums. They are smooth. They are good. But they will sneak up on you, and, one minute your sober, or having a good time with your buddies, the next, you've just woken up to find yourself sandwiched between those cuties from the bar, on top of a Subway Sandwich shop. It happens. Pace yourself. My buddies were drinking the MFB outside of our natural Key West setting, and in one with the largest slide you could ever imagine; and that bitch is lit up for fucking MILES! (hello Luxor, I will be riding my magic carpet down you soon). Oh how the night was going to progress.

Fortunately for me, when I walked in, to be molested by my 6 Mates (because friends and family cannot describe the bond we have for one another appropriately), and Pilot (whom I'd never met, but he was able to tolerate being the outsider of a very close group, and hung quite nicely, and therefore will get honorary Mate status. And the guy flew an airplane to come play. Yeah, he's ok in my book), they were all quite content, not drunk yet, and peacefully engrossed in the movie they were watching: Harry Potter. I think the first one, I've only seen 2, and didn't recognize this one, and there was a stone in it that seemed to be important.

As is with any child that you usually are around, and especially when reuniting with good friends, the anxiety to hit the scene, and do our thing was running rampant amongst the group. Unfortunately for them, I had been in Vegas roughly every 5 days for about 3 months running. I'm not saying that I'm over it. But with their enthusiasm to hit the clubs and bars, Pilot and I reminded them that at least 7 of the 8 of us had to shower before running out and into public; and that while the booze is flowing, it was only 8pm, and no club was even open yet.

Pilot had a connection at Tao, and everyone seemed to recognize the club's name at least. I had one too, but was also looking to see where all they were really wanting to go. As you can see from the picture, they were starting to get ready. Though, Foreman did need to borrow some clothing for going out in the clubs in Vegas. I slowed them down by waiting to shower last, after having recovered from the drive from OC to LA to return my little step-brother's sunglasses and packing for Vegas before driving out to them. Of course, holiday weekend traffic was on my side... Which reminds me, if Mercedes has a damn car that will let you know that you're falling asleep in addition to 42 other random alerts and operations, literally, where in the flying fuck is my flying car?!

Now, if you've ever dealt with a 5 year old, I'd like you to remember that when I describe to you how I was to handle most of the people at Shorty's place. They had been there for hours. No one had been in nor to Vegas in at least 6 months. They were ready to go and the fact that I wasn't was like trying to wake up your parents at 6am on Christmas day to open presents. The most well behaved tantrums were happening. They knew better. Fortunately seeing as how they were also with each other, and drinking, they were quite content but just didn't like that it was being pushed back later than now.

Foreman, in his anxiety, forgot how civilization worked. "What do you mean I have to do my hair?", "I showered yesterday before leaving Utah.", "They won't let you in to the club without a collar on your shirt? Where are we? I thought you could do anything in Vegas?", "Ok, I'm all rinsed off. How do I do my hair? Does anyone have any of that gel or cement stuff for it? Bilding, you need to make me pretty. You can do that right?", finally we got, "You have literally torn me between my 2 favorite things: Harry Potter and Gambling." This last one was when we told him that if we went to the casino he could gamble then, because the club wasn't open yet.

Fortunately, Shorty being a local of Vegas, Tucker being kind of a party kind of guy and living in San Diego, and Pilot being another Hollywood area LA resident, and frequent Vegas visitor, I had help in keeping the others at bay. There was a great deal of commentary on the amount of clothing we were all wearing, and the fact that there were buttons and close-toed shoes. Something we all seemed to forget having seen each other in, ever. By the time 10 rolled around, 5 of the 8 were fairly buzzed, Tucker was sufficiently more so, though he still had the sense to grab the bottle of Kettle One for the car before hitting the club. Shorty and I were sober and were driving.

While the drive to the strip should not have been anything to write about, I will have you imagine that you are a 50 year old Asian man driving your minivan down the highway at 65 miles per hour, you would be passed by 2 trucks, on either side of you, traveling roughly 80mph, having a "Salute" war. To us, we were merely "saluting" each others cars while playing leap-frog up I-15. To the poor Asian man caught in the middle, he was being Mooned on both sides. For the record, shoving your bare ass out the window, in the middle of February, at night, at 80mph, does leave you with a bit of chapped, frozen "cheeks".

Shorty managed to cross several lanes of traffic to jump on an exit I had been wavering whether or not I should be taking to get to the Venitian. Of course I missed and we toured the area surrounding the strip, discovering several other places that get you no where. I will point out, while Vegas is usually quite easy to navigate, I believe it to have been designed by and for drunks. This theory was only pointed out and validated futher as Tucker proceeded to drunkenly and seemingly randomly yell from the back middle of my Nissan Pathfinder, the exact coordinates of not only our current location, but where we were heading, and how we needed to get to the casino. Fortunately, we had him to navigate, and the bottle of Kettle One to keep him powered.

This is when the shit-eth hit-eth the fan-eth. Well, not entirely, but kind of. I attribute it to the fact we were wearing way more, and much nicer clothing that we were used to, like to be in, or every don with one another. Seeing as that we arrived at the casino 20 min apart from each other, we had to reconvene by the club. Also, Pilot's "in" at Tao, came with the stipulation that we could gather about 4-6 girls for the line and our group. I called my friend, and she promptly put us on said list, with our only mandate being finding "Jordan".

The Venitian Shoppes entrance, by Tao, was quite packed (came to find out Kim Kardashian was there, and with it being the Chinese New Year, Valentines Day and President's Day weekend, everyone and Momm was there). But, knowing that with such a crowd, the easiest way to find someone is to stand still, and out of the way, we immediately did so. This was the first time security came up and asked us to move out of the way. While texting and calling Shorty, Heath and Momm, we were asked to move out of 3 different locations: the open wall area just next to the doors outside; the empty corner of the railing by the stairs, in the 1/3 of the area where no one was waiting for anything; finally the hidden corner in said 1/3 area. At that point, when Self-Righteous Security guard asked us to please move, I had asked/stated/retorted, "I'm sorry, we're waiting for our friends. I thought we were out of the way. Oh, this isn't out of the way, I'm sorry, where would be easier? I don't know which line or if we're getting in a line, that's why I'm... Oh. So what you're saying is we should just leave. No, we're going." and I proceeded to lead Hurricane, Foreman, Tucker and Pilot out the doors outside. No, we weren't leaving, and I know that he could really care less if I stayed or not, but he didn't have to be an ass about it, constantly singling us out, and consistently moving us and coughing an attitude for no other reason than he'd probably been dealing with conceited-holier than though pricks all night long.

Momm, Shorty and Heath had all gotten margaritas while waiting for us, so they were still doing the buzzed thing when they showed up outside. We had told them what all was going on. They still wanted to go in. Tucker was now in drunken state, and was getting boisterous. He was slurring a little, but not so much that you'd want to walk him home, or to McDonalds. Pilot was getting a little worried, knowing the night was early, and we hadn't even gone inside yet. Not to mention, Pilot didn't really know any of us, outside of the bafoonery stories that he'd heard from Tucker, and I think was looking to still have a sane link between all of us, and Tucker was slipping away rapidly.

Though, I will admit the scene that my Mates and I really belong in would really be O'Shea's casino, the Rock Bar at Imperial Palace, The Double Down Saloon (by Piranha), and pushing it, at the Hard Rock Hotel Clubs. Tao was really one of those places always sounds like a good idea, and one of the "I've been there" experiences, but my guys, if we got in, would last about as long as they could chug their drink and high tail it back the fuck out. Pilot and I were even starting to bet as to how long the group would want to stay. He said 4 minutes. I like Pilot, he's pretty smart. The problem with my Mates, is also the best thing about them in the world: once they put their mind to doing something, they will do it. Saturday night, they were doing the glitz and the glam, and they were going to a club. Foreman was wearing a blazer. Foreman will probably be wed in a ratty t-shirt.

So, after we passed around the margaritas, and I fully figured out that it was "Jordan" by the Brookstone that I was looking for, we adventured back into the building. I walked up the the biggest guy in a suit with the FBI ear-piece I could find, and asked him for Jordan. He pointed me over to another guy in a suit. I walked up to guy2, he said he wasn't sure, and pointed me back to Gigantor. I walk back to Gigantor, where guy3 next to him says that there are 2 "Jordans" and to talk to MrClean in the shiny valor blazer. Shiny-MrClean asks me which "Jordan" as there are 4 "Jordans" who work there. I said I wasn't sure, and that my friend had called in to put my friends and I on some list. Shiny-MrClean stuttered, but before I could even hear what word he was going for, and with the feeling that my friends were getting tired of the runaround, I simply stated "You know what, Thank you anyway, but since I'm not sure, we're good. I think we may be better off at another place." This was not with any sarcasm or attitude, I was simply stating just that rather than give him more of a headache trying to run around. He could see that my Mates really were not going to be comfortable in the Tao setting and that we'd be that much easier on everyone involved at that point, if we went to a different club. I already had one in mind. 

However, as we stepped out of the way, and Shiny-MrClean look pleased to move on to the next person, my Mates and I stepped just out of the hallway and into Brookstone to figure out our gameplan. We had 8 of us, 2 cars, and it seemed as though I was stepping back into the leader role, having to tell them where and what we were doing. I could see some of the alcohol fading on some, and really kicking in on others. The MFBs were doing their job and kicking in. Problem was, I knew that no club on the strip was really going to work for them. Fortunately, I had a friend heading towards Blue Martini, and knew that would be "club" enough for them, and glitz and glam enough for them, without the chaos that was Tao. 

However, it was then that my Self-Righteous Asshole Security guy came walking back up. 

"Excuse me, I need you to move out of the way."

"Ok, sorry, we'll step back."

"No, either you need to get in line or move along."

"Oh, no, we're not getting in the line, sorry. We're just tyrin"

"Then I need you to move along."

"Sorry, we'll step back." I turned to my Mates "Ok, so do we want to go..."

"No, sir, you need to move along."

"I'm sorry, we're not in the hallway, we're actually in the store front, off the tile." I was rapidly losing my ability to censor myself, and not let my sarcastic, cynical side come out.

"No, you need to move along."

"I'm sorry, man. I thought we were in the store, in Brookstone. Is this now Tao as well?"

"You need to move along."

"I've heard you. We're trying to figu..."

"You need to move along."

"Is this now Tao as well? I thought we were in the Venitian, not the Tao. I'm trying to figure out..."

"Listen, you need to move along."

"No, you listen. We took multiple cars and are going to figure out where we're heading before we split up. 

We're not in the way, we're not in the hall. We're not going into the club. We are going to figure out right now where we are going before we 'Move Along'." My blood was starting to get a little heated and I knew that I would have to point out other things soon if he kept pushing. 

"Do you want to get kicked out of here?"

"Excuse me? Kicked out of where? We're not in anywhere."

Then Tucker and Momm spoke up "Yeah! Kick us out! Where you gonna kick us out to, jack ass?"

"Fine, I'm kicking you out." and he started talking on his little walkie-talkie thing.

"Ok, well, while you're on that, we're going to figure out where were going. So, there's this Blue Martini place that my friend is at. Or, do you guys want to stay here and gamble, since were already here? Or, do you want to do a different kind of club or a more simple bar?"

Foreman and Heath were already pacing nervously about 10 feet into the store, pretending to browse and shop. Hurricane was listening, but was waiting for the cops I think. Pilot was very calm and collected, but secretly cursing all of us, especially Tucker for mouthing off. Momm and Tucker were ready to pounce on Self-Righteous Security like kittens on a butterfly. Ferocious, but harmless. Shorty was already starting to walk towards the outside doors. 

"You guys have to leave. I just kicked out out."

"Oh, is that what just happened?" Tucker mouthed off again.

"What? Well you said you were kicking us out, I didn't know it worked like that." Momm retorted in unison.

"Fine. We're leaving. You're a bit rude and it's kind of a bit ridiculous that we couldn't stand out of the way, in the casino shops hallway. We're going. Have a great night." While trying to be composed and generally nice, though I know my sarcasm was coming out and there was a little venom dripping in the air around us all. 

I herded the Mates outside, and we opted for Blue Martini. There was the after-the-fact commentary about Self-Righteous being useless, and that he really just needed to push someone around. "How could he really control the club, if he couldn't really control us?" one of them had commented. I just kept quiet the fact that we did leave and we were in fact finishing our conversation and everything outside, as he was pushing for us to do. 

As we walked back to the car, I had a feeling, that the night was going to be a good night, a good good night. ;-) 

But, really, as we were passing the gambling tables in the Palazzo, I turned to Hurricane and Pilot and told them I had to do something really stupid. They didn't get it. They still didn't get it when I walked up to the roulette table and pulled out my $100 bill from the show I did an appearance at the previous weekend, and put in on the table. When I put it all on black, Hurricane told me I should just do 1/2. She's a teacher. She and I have gotten obliterated together, at Disney World. I trust her with my life and secrets. I played only half that spin. I won. Then I put the other half on the 3rd 1/3 of the board (I don't know if that's the correct terminology). I won. $100 to $250 in 3 minutes. Done. Cashed in, walked away. Tucker was dumbstruck. Pilot was trying to figure out what just happened, and whether or not we were actually gambling. Hurricane just smiled. Foreman wanted to touch me. 

Of course, I took the wrong turn out of the Venitian, and we proceeded take Tucker's drunken directions to get us out of there, and off the strip. Honestly, Drunk Tucker is better than any Tom-Tom or Garmin when in Vegas. I highly recommend him for your future trips.

Needless to say, we were late getting to the Blue Martini. I couldn't get a hold of my friend that was heading there. Shorty I could get a hold of, but barely. He was waiting outside. Heath needed to pee, and didn't want to pay the $10 cover just yet so he had gone in search of a restroom outside the club (I feared that meant just outside. The Town Center has a huge parking lot with trees). Momm was already inside. Tucker had enough rum and vodka in him to kill tuberculosis, so he had a date with a urinal coming too. Hurricane was sober, and comparing the rest of the group to her 2nd graders in Texas, therefore desperately needed a drink and a shot. Pilot was just getting frustrated, but I attribute that to him sobering up as well. I was ready to grab a drink, hit the dance floor, and just enjoy whatever new adventure was coming our way. (I think that was the thing a lot of them were forgetting. Difference between Ordeal and Adventure. We had to be on an adventure)

Have you ever taken a 5 year old to a toy store? Ever given that kid a Hershey's bar before walking inside? This is what I was dealing with at Blue Martini. There were cute girls everywhere for the straight boys. There were good looking guys there for the the girls, and Shorty. I was going to be preoccupied with the whole lot. Only, Shorty and Foreman never came in. I kept going back and forth waiting for them. We were still missing Heath. Tucker was looking for more drinks, a man on a mission to have enough liquid courage in him to either find a date, or forget Valentines day really. Pilot needed a drink or something to loosen up and relax. Ditto. Momm, well she was just doing her thing, and laughing with Hurricane. 

Shorty, Heath and Foreman slipped away while we were waiting for them, and went to try their shot at the tables at the M Resort. Meanwhile, back at the BM, we had come to the conclusion that we were in for the long haul, and that we'd have to prove to each other that we still had it, and that we could still do our thing. Not that we knew what any of this meant anymore. One round of drinks, with nothing to write home about there, other than Tucker. Of course Tucker would fill in our voids of the night with his antics, though not nearly as entertaining as whom I've named him after. 

I don't know why Tucker wanted the new MGD 64 lite (which just seemed redundant to me) but he enjoyed it, so it seemed, and the cocktail waitress seemed to enjoy him as well. We all sipped on our drinks, and she would come by and single him out. Ironically, he was looking for some fling for the night, and to not be single for Valentines Day. He's been single for a couple weeks now, and looking. I say ironically, because he sure as hell didn't seem to realize that she was gunning for him every time she came to the table. I say this with certainty, because I was paying the tab, with cash, so I know she wasn't doing the flirt with him for a better tab, well cash, she was certainly going for tip all right... We definitely all laughed at this situation playing out. 

Then, when the beer in his bottle had just hit the top of the main label, the MGD 64 Lite Promo girls came around. Apparently giving out free MGD 64 Lite to anyone wanting to try it. (Funny, the one on my tab wasn't free) I'll admit, they were cute, with their cheerleader make up and hair done, the cut-off t-shirt with the torn in cleavage and the knot just under their breast to really make that white millimeter of cotton just that much tighter. They totally fit in at the Martini Bar.... (I have got to figure out how to write in a manner that shows my sarcasm) They started giving their speech, though with it being the end of their evening, they had that forced smile and enthusiasm to try and bear through it as Bon Jovi blared through the bar too. We smiled like we could hear them, and shook our heads like every other bobble headed male would do. Then they noticed mine and Tuckers beers, and bee-lined it for our input and potential "sale". I was pretty good with my Bud Light. Tucker however, proceeded to attempt to flirt and get free booze.

"MGD 64 Light, nooooope, never heard of that. Iz it eny gooood?"

"Well, it's really good, you'd never even kno... you're drinking one hunnay."

"I am?!" Looks at the bottle he aparently forgot was in his hand, "Whoa! Yeah, thiz is pretty good stuff. So are ya givin' those out too?"

"You already have one though, that you just started."

"So? It's good. Come on, for me?" and he batted his eyes. It was beautiful. Like when you blow in a dog's face. Blinking meets drunken sexy eyes. Yeah, I had a regular Rico Suave on my hands. 

But, he got the beer. And, despite Hurricane and Pilot reminding him that he had just started the other bottle in his hand, that he just put down for the only reason so that he could open the new one. Then realized he had the other one. Like a kid with the prize at the bottom of the cereal box. This is why I usually call these guys "kids". Pilot pretty much conceded and slumped in his chair, Tucker was a lost cause. Then Tucker was just lost. He took Hurricane out to the dance floor. We hoped for a little burn off of the alcohol. 

I won't lie, the dance floor was awkward, but it was fun and we all made it our own. No one could really dance. It was pretty much the island of misfit toys out there. But hell or high water, Tucker was getting his dance on! It was kind of tragic, but as is to be expected from a drunk white boy, right? Hurricane was making it work. They had taken primarily to the back wall, I can only assume and hope this was to cause minimal damage to themselves and anyone around. Momm and I joined up with them, and Tucker tried to start a dance off. Momm kind of wanted interference run on Tucker and Hurricane, but they're just cute. I just wanted to do my thing. Tucker finally got his wish, and I danced with him and around him. But, it was kind of like the blind leading the blind, neither one of us had any business being on that floor. 

Then Beyonce came on. I don't know what happened, but by the power of Destiny's Child the Tucker had rhythm. It was magical. I don't know where he learned the choreography for that. I don't know how he contorted his body, and kept his balance, but it was amazing. To see a grown ass man move in that manner, controlled, in such a stupor was inspiring. Even the girls dancing on the stage next to us stopped to take a seat and watch all that was Tucker and Bootylicious. And it was Bootylicious. He shimmied. He bounced. He dropped it, but I'd say like it was luke warm, which was appropriate. All the while, he sucked in his cheeks, and kind of had a Michael Flatley look to his demeanor. 

Tucker also came to the realization that the button on my shirt were actually snaps. For the next half hour I, for the first time in over a year, had to fight to keep my shirt on. Weird. I won't deny there was a lot of opposition to my fight, but I figured we were being quite well behaved to be kicked out. Not to mention, we were all having so much fun at that point, including Pilot. 

That's when Pilot and I hard our moment. We had been jamming to Michael Jackson Billie Jean and some other song I can't remember, but you can't help but dance to, awesomely; when a group of girls started to migrate through the crowd on the floor and towards the center of the group, sandwiching themselves between Pilot and I, throwing the third towards Momm, Hurricane and Tucker. About 30 seconds into the movement, simultaneously Pilot and I discovered exactly where we were, and what was going on. We had been trying to figure out the bar's feel and aura. We had noticed the scenery being good and all. We had somehow failed to realize until that moment, that we were in a Cougar Den! 

Fucking. Hell. Yes.

I don't know what it is. I don't know why. It's beyond me. It's also apparently beyond Pilot. But the Cougars were on the prowl. We had been somehow shielded from noticing for an hour that the majority of the bar were of this particular nature. What we still don't fully understand, is that why it's these women that are AWESOME to Pilot and I. No, we weren't going home with, nor taking any of them home. It's hard to describe the Cougar, besides the obvious and typical description. But essentially it's like a lot of the gays that I meet around the country. They're very open and fun women, that are all about having a great time that night, that know what they're doing and are comfortable enough within themselves to take up their prey, and lead without leading said prey to cut loose and just have fun. Needless to say, the rest of the evening was a bit of a blur, and I didn't drink. 

I did find this on my facebook page though the next morning, Tucker snuck this in at some point:

Oh, as I look at that, that's pretty close to the Destiny's Child face he was making too. 

Anyway, Shorty texted me at the end of the night, organizing a group picture at the Vegas sign. Our obligatory  tourist shot. How we were going to wrangle 6 people to get the 8 of us there, to take a picture, at 2 am was beyond me. Then I remembered, there was still Papa John's at the house. So, told them we were going for pizza, and to grab their shit and we were out of there. I don't know how Shorty lured the others away from the table, but I'm sure it had something to do with their lack of money flowing anymore, as we all heard about as they approached the sign, dropped trow, and then flipped off "Vegas" for robbing and raping them blind.

If you've ever worked or been to camp, you find real quickly that especially the employees have learned a few things about meals. 

1- grab what you can as soon as you can, cause it won't be there in 5 min. 

2- eat what you grabbed as fast as you can, so no one can take it from you. 

3- all bets are off.

So, it did not surprise me to see Foreman and Heath coveting half a pizza between the two of them as we walked in the door. They had forgotten their garlic sauce, so there were bargaining chips to be played. Also, a frozen Digiorno made everything a bit easier. One of the other Harry Potter movies was thrown on, and within 1/2 an hour, the domino effect had taken over, and everyone seemed to be passing out on one another down the line of the couches. Some milled off to bed. I had woken when it was just Tucker and I on the back couch. After his profession of his man-crush for me, I did expect to wake up Sunday morning to us spooning with one another. 

Well, Sunday morning I woke up to heartbreak. I was alone on the couch. It was 8 am, and we were all moving and up. Sunday. Valentines Day. 4 hours earlier 6 of them were pretty good and drunk, now Shorty was making Blueberry Pancakes? I love my life. 

Unfortunately, as is the case with every time the Mates get together somewhere, they have to leave. Heath and Foreman had to get back to Utah, and back to living in the woods. Foreman needed to put on his real clothes, take the crap out of his hair, and jerk off in the comfort of his own tent, or something of the sort. The rest of us took Pilot and Tucker back to their plane, so they could get back to So. Cal. It was really kind of cute, and really kind of cool. Mates have now met each other by hitch-hiking, carpooling, bicycling, trains and now having flown their own plane. Well, like I said, honorarily. 

Shorty, Hurricane, Momm and I all went back to the strip, unintentionally for cheesy souvenirs and then lunch. I can never remember the name of the place, but the burger sports bar in Paris is awesome. Not that pricey, and really quite good. I crave their burgers. I can go without Red Robin's. (though Red Robin Ranch dressing.... hhmmmmmmglaaaaahhhhh *drools*) We also toured the City Center complex. Shorty is and was on the inspection team for the project. Though, due to it's size, he was limited to the area around the Convention Center, so he hadn't been in Crystals (the mall) yet. It was cool getting to see some of that stuff. Especially learning where the cameras are missing (no where near where there's and money, but not in a couple spots you expect them to keep an eye on. I have ideas people, give me a camera. It's going to be good)

The other three were heading off to see Cirque du Solei Mystere that evening. I ended up running into a friend, who had also talked me back to Aria for a hot minute. During that time, I got that same stupid feeling from Palazzo, and went to the roulette table, and played the same thing. Black. Then I chose the 3rd 1/3rd of the board. Then, and hour later, and having only guessed wrong twice, I decided it was time to quit. I was on a hot roll, and could have done more damage. But, I had set a goal with another buddy of mine a previous time I was there, to get the Yellow Chip.

Well this:

Equals this:

I tried to keep my calm. I prevented myself from passing out. I wanted to just take the chip and frame it. But, let's be honest, that's rent next month!

So, after conversing with my friend for a few hours, at 2am I drove home to LA. Beautiful night drive. iPod playlist seemed to just be perfect. At 4am, when I was 30miles from anywhere, I had to pull over. Not because of anything bad, but because the stars were so clear and bright, and abundant. You could see the Milky Way's edge split the sky in two. Nature Break is what I call them. I feel like Ferris Bueller, but sometimes you really do just have to stop and look around. 

Vegas and I are taking a break. It's been a great time these past couple months, but with the support of my Mates and the experience that weekend, getting home at 630am and passing out was the perfect conclusion to an amazing holiday weekend and the push I needed to back away from that relationship. An even better ending to an outstanding Mate Reunion. I don't care how much she tried to kiss my ass and lure me back in, with burgers, and money, and the closest friends anyone could have. I'll see you in a few weeks Vegas. 

But, in all honesty, it was a great weekend with my Mates, and truly couldn't have been any better. It was a very calming weekend by nature, with minimal eccentrics. Just what was needed for all of us there. 

BLUEBERRY PANCAKES!?