How Did I Get Here?

Thursday

Don’t even try to figure out my relationship with Sir Phil (as long as you don’t go in the gay direction. Then figure that you are going way in the opposite direction).

What I mean is that you would think two guys in Vegas would naturally stick together but this is not the case. When we go there, we tend to split up and do our own thing. Partly because Sir Phil’s own thing is getting up at 0400 to go walking in the dark, off of the strip. No, he’s not looking for something that will “stay in Vegas,” he just likes to wander.

I, on the other hand, was content to sleep even after he returned from his coffee hunt and left again for his lone Vegas adventure. This left me in the motel to wake up on my own, watch a little TV, and get ready for my own adventure.

First, I must admit that while flipping through the channels, I got stopped cold by something I probably shouldn’t admit: Charmed. I know what you are thinking: Alyssa Milano and seeing that I normally dig tall brunettes such as my wife, this wouldn’t be a bad guess. Just, wrong. It was this Piper character. I had never even felt the vaguest urge to watch an episode of Charmed mainly because I’m not a hormonal teen girl (although I’ve been accused of having such tendencies).

But I got sucker punched into watching this episode which, by the way, just reinforced my general belief that this show has a very focused demographic. It was pretty much one of the worst shows I’ve sat through. But I indulged not because of Ms. Milano who, while beautiful, would not motivate me to sit through such trash. And certainly not Rose McGowen who sickened me when I realized she was the half-dressed-for-the-Oscars freak on Marilyn Manson’s arm one year on the red carpet. When you out-freak MM, now that’s something.

It was Piper who caught and kept my eye and I soon realized why. At first, I couldn’t figure out why. Yeah she was attractive and yeah, she was brunette but the TV is full of such beauties. What I finally realized was that she reminded me of my wife. She was the oldest sister and kept the others in line with a take-charge attitude.

But this can last only so long so Piper or no Piper, this WAS Charmed so the infatuation was short-lived. I was in Vegas and watching a poorly done teenie-bopper program, for God’s sake.

I got ready and walked toward the strip where I ate breakfast at Cocoa’s, a place I had found just off the strip last year that served breakfast 24 hours. It hit me that Vegas is a weird place because of the casinos. All the attractive women get jobs in the casinos and that leaves the less attractive to vie for the off-strip jobs. I know that sounds shallow but it’s the truth. If they are attractive, the casinos snatch them up and there is even a pecking order there. The gorgeous ones get in the show. The next step down serve drinks. And so on, down the job ladder. What is left work off the strip in regular waitressing jobs and this spawned another line of thinking.

I have a low opinion of the whole Vegas Sin City thing. I don’t like gambling and I just can’t shake the feeling that everyone is after my money. It’s like they are desperate to take as much of your money as they can and I always feel on the defensive when I go there. This feeling leaks over to the people who work there because I see everyone as willing to do anything, moral or not, to part you and your money; a city-wide whoring of oneself for the almighty dollar and a pecking order based on wealth and looks.

So my thinking goes that if you were to see a beautiful waitress working off-strip, that would mean that she CHOSE not to participate in the Vegas Whoring scene. That would be the one you’d want to get to know. I know there is a lot of flaws in my line of thinking but that one seemed to make sense, although I didn’t see any Piperesque women offstrip to verify my theory. Or maybe that proved my theory.

After breakfast, I walked almost the entire strip. When I was younger, the Strip was a lot shorter than it is now. I could walk the whole thing but now, I was tired by the time I came up to the previous end coming from the other direction.

Luckily, I came up to a mall but most of the stores were not open yet so I wandered around until I found a Starbucks, bought a small mocha, and spent an hour reading the book I had brought.

Since I was on foot all day, I brought a Nike carrying bag with straps to carry all my supplies. Unlike Sir Phil, I cannot be roaming all day without supplies and I don’t like carrying items in my pocket when I’m walking, especially all day. I had already scored big by remembering to wear spandex biking shorts under my long shorts to prevent chafing. It was a protection to an unimaginable degree; something I had not thought of last year and paid dearly.

In my bag I had my book, my wallet, my cell phone, my camera, a bottle of water, my room key, and a tube of Blistex.

This last item was the cause of quite the emotional outburst I forgot to write about yesterday. When we got to the motel after walking from the airport, my lips were parched so I immediately dropped my bags and searched out my beloved Carmex.

But I was denied because for some insane reason, I had failed to bring even ONE TUBE.

OK, I have to explain this in more detail. This is like a huge issue for me. HUGE issue. You see, I am a Carmex junkie. I must have it and if I’m without it, it’s like Dantes Inferno for me. I go psycho as my wife and now Sir Phil can attest.

Sometime in the last few years I snapped when I couldn’t find my Carmex and in a very assaholic manner, explained the nuances of my displeasure to my wife. The only way I could fend off a reoccurrence of the nuclear meltdown I had was simple: buy ridiculous amounts of Carmex tubes and put them EVERYWHERE.

One, sometimes two in each car (we have 3). Two at work. One in the camera case. One in Carrie’s purse. One at my computer desk. 3 in my backpack. Plus, a few spares still in the package on my dresser and table by the door. If Buster wore a collar, I’d zip-tie one there too.

I went nuts and bought a dozen or so, putting them in every conceivable place I could imagine so no matter what, I would have access to my Carmex. I thought that if I went to a ridiculous degree, I could never be found without.

I found myself without.

As I furiously ripped apart both of the bags I had brought, I got angrier and angrier. It wasn’t pretty.

Why did I get so mad? Not only was I in need of the Carmex, I had specifically gone out of my way so that I would NEVER encounter this situation. I had irrationally overcompensated the number of tubes I would ever need so that I could never be found wanting. When I had placed all these tubes, I remember thinking that they would almost be in the way; that I definitely went overboard with this but the upswing was, I would never lack Carmex no matter where I was.

Sir Phil had to listen to all this, especially the part where I pointed out that there should have been one I use everyday in the front flap of the backpack, two spares I keep in the inner pockets, one in the camera case, and one I would normally carry on me, especially knowing I was going to Vegas in the spring. That’s FIVE! I was missing five and was Carmex-less despite a five-fold failsafe protocol!!!!

I was livid at this point at no one but myself. Yesterday, we had stopped at Von’s where, of course, they didn’t stock Carmex so I had to go with Blistex which is like saying they were out of condoms so I went with burlap sack and twine.

The Blistex sucks and is now a reminder that I managed to go from 5 to none in the Carmex department despite… see, I almost got started again.

OK, I feel better.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the mall.

I got a massage for $30. I knew the minute I saw them in the middle of the mall that it would be a good idea, with the whole marathon thing coming up and all. The money amount was not so hard to justify since I don’t gamble and $30 bucks would buy 25 minutes of massage or 5 minutes of gambling. I could get the “Full Tune-Up” for $30 so after making about a dozen circuits, scoping out the two different locations, I made my decision.

It was tough because at both locations, there were only male masseuses. I had reservations about this and kept trying to find a female but none were present. After having a little discussion with myself, it came down to this: why do I want a massage? To loosen the muscles and get ready for the marathon. Is there anything sexual about it? I hope not. What is the important factor? A strong massage. Who is normally a stronger masseuse? Male.

It’s not like a was looking for any kind of sensual encounter but at the same time, having a male masseuse just didn’t seem all that comfortable to me. But I realized that it was purely medicinal so I went with who I scoped out as the leader on the assumption he was an old hand at this. He was an older gentleman with powerful arms I figured would be the best for my purposes.

Where was the big burly German lady when you needed her? That would have been ideal because she would have the strength you wanted without the gender and/or attraction problem. I didn’t think that asking “Do you have a strong ugly woman on staff? Maybe named Olga?” would go over too well.

Melvin (yes, that WAS his actual name, according to his nametag) did a wonderful job. He obviously knew what he was doing and stayed away from any questionable zones. I just kept thinking of those old boxing movies where the trainer would be massaging the champ before a big fight, and other such manly examples where it was cool for one man to touch another (there are not many).

One of the things I enjoyed the most was that he was not a chatter. Not once did he try to impose his conversation on me other than asking if he was pressing too hard. I liked this, I could enjoy what this was intended for and I left feeling much more relaxed for the rest of the day.

On my way out, I saw a big girl come on shift and silently cursed my impatience. But I was still secure in my masculinity despite watching Charmed and having a man rub my body. Wow, put that way, I’m gonna have to go lift some weights or something.

Continuing my walk, I ducked into the MGM casino. I mean, I can’t come to Vegas and NOT walk through a casino, can I? I think it would be more appropriate to ask if I can come to Vegas and NOT get LOST inside a casino. And the answer would be no, I couldn’t.

I hate casinos. I hate the lights of the machines and the lack of lights overhead. I hate the smoke and the free drinks. I hate the sad example of people puffing away on cigarettes while sitting miserably in front of slot machines. I hate the hidden passageways and the lack of clocks, exits, and directions. I hate the dealers who look at you like you are on a Most Wanted poster somewhere. I hate the sleazy guys in suits and “hidden” earpieces like they are some kind of Secret Service stud.

And of course, I hate that I got lost and ended up somewhere in the labyrinth of the casino. I even found myself in the conference room wing trying to look like I knew where I was going. I was well aware that everyone around me had some type of name badge on and was just waiting for some earpiece sleaze to ask me what in the hell I thought I was doing.

I even had the vague thought of perpetrating into a conference. I fantasized about walking up to a table outside the conference and socially engineering my way into getting a tag and going inside. But I chickened out and really didn’t want a repeat performance of the whole Sarah MacLachlan concert fiasco which still affects me to this day. I don’t like to be caught doing what I’m not supposed to anymore. I guess it would be truer to say I can’t shake it off as easily as I could before.

I finally found an exit and ended up on the backside of the casino where I proceeded to pick the exact opposite directions that would lead me back to the strip. Despite all the big building as visual clues, I couldn’t place myself. As I was walking in all the back areas and loading docks, I kept thinking to myself that only I, Jason, could lose the Vegas Strip, arguably the most visually obvious place on the earth. Yes, I lost the Vegas strip and couldn’t find my way back.

I hate casinos.

When I finally did, I had experienced just about enough. I started to head back with the thought that I had four more things to do.

1. Visit the Bellagio
2. Visit Caesar’s Palace
3. Icee
4. Subway

The first two were just because I couldn’t live with myself if I came to Vegas and didn’t hit more than one casino, even though I hate them. Also, I had to redeem myself from the MGM goat-rope.

I first hit Caesar’s Palace where I reaffirmed my deep hatred for casinos. Power walking through the actual casino, I ran across the same characters I had seen at the MGM and who you would run into in every single casino on the strip. It turned my stomach.

I made it to the shopping area and since I didn’t want a $10,000 purse or designer clothes, there was not much to do but people-watch. There was the bridal party. There was the bachelor party. There were tired, bored kids. There were exhausted gamblers. There were old couples with horrible fashion sense. There were young punks looking for female prey. I saw it all and I thought I was the only guy who had flown from Virginia to drive to California to run a marathon in two days. Wait, there was Sir Phil but he was surely walking the Strip, likely nearing his destination of seeing the nuclear power Smithsonian exhibit.

After I escaped out of the Palace amazingly without incident, I got my Icee and Subway. I skipped the Bellagio because it was on the other side of the street and I knew it would be more of the same: amazing architectural sites, casino hell, and overpriced tourist crappage.

As I walked back to the motel, my legs and feet were killing me. I was carrying my Subway sandwich ($7 for 6 inches? Are you friggin’ kidding me?) so I could eat it in front of the motel TV but when I went into the AM/PM near the motel, I pulled the sin of shopping while hungry.

I came out with a bag of Doritos and two cherry Hostess pies. If you read my blog, you will recall my recent lamentations about my trip down the eastern seaboard where it must be legally codified that thou shall not stock cherry Hostess pies in any highway gas mart. So now that they had them, it was on. I noticed they changed the packaging but the inside was just as I remembered.

I got back to the motel where Sir Phil was resting. I went down to the motel bar and bought a Coors Light to eat with lunch and returning to the room, I ate while we watched an episode of JAG.

I don’t know what it is about this trip but for some reason, we ended up watching crap I would never and had never watched in my life. Just as I can blame Piper for my Charmed episode, you would think I could blame Catherine Bell for my JAG interest. But this was not the case, it was just that it had to do with terrorists and a Marine that caught our eye. With nothing much better to choose from, we ended up watching the whole thing.

I could create an entire blog around the inconsistencies and military inaccuracies of JAG so I’ll keep it to a minimum. Sir Phil and I made fun of it the entire time culminating with sending two lawyers to inform the parents of a dead Marine that their daughter was killed. It’s not like we don’t have casualty assistance officers and chaplains for such things.

After convincing ourselves of our own superiority when it comes to military matters, we decided to go out and get something to eat. And what would be the obvious choice? Why, In-N-Out burgers, of course. It’s Carrie’s favorite so of course I had to go and get me some but I refrained from calling her on my cell phone as I took the first bite, mostly because I accidentally left it in the motel room.

Sir Phil had never experienced In-N-Out so I had an I-A-O virgin (is there any other kind?) with me. He thought it was pretty good and I explained to him that it was the first one I had ever encountered that didn’t have a line out of the door regardless of the time of day. And, our helper (named Jason which is a really cool name) was very helpful which freaked me out. What was it with this place? It was like the Stepford neighborhood and while I’m not complaining, given my track record with the service industry, it just made me worry because there is always a balance or even a tippage in the “Screw Jason” direction. When would karma settle up?

Well, part of it was the fact that when we returned to our room after they cleaned it today, all my change was missing. There were also no towels so I went to the front desk to get some towels but chickened out of accusing the cleaning staff of swiping my change. I was only 90% sure I had a pocketful of change on the dresser so what was I going to say? But who does that? A maid that steals your change? Just the possibility and the fact I couldn’t do much about it made me very upset.

Oh well, we only had this night and tomorrow we would be off to Lone Pine. My legs were REALLY hurting today and I was even more worried because the marathon was in two days. Plus, my hamstring hurt but tomorrow would be a full day in the car so I would get rest then.

We would leave in Vegas what happened which, as you have read, is not much.

Free Advice for Today: “For emergencies, always have a quarter in your pocket and a ten-dollar bill hidden in your wallet.”