yobigman.com

I apologize for not getting back to you folks in a while, and I realize I’ve been slacking in the healthy department, but I’m back in the middle of the country… back home. The past few weeks have been filled with ups, downs, highs, lows, hallucinations, shady doctors who demand payment in US dollars up front, and possibly a nipple slip.  I won’t get into all the details, but let’s just say there’s a reason why I’m known in some countries as, “El Calvo Gorila”. (Disclaimer: That last line was just there for comedic purposes, as I do not fluently speak Spanish. I really do hope it does mean, “The Bald Gorilla”, but that’s as close as I can come to it with the multitude of internet based translation engines out there.)

To start with, Las Vegas is one of my favorite cities of all time, and I was lucky to have a client running an expo there, but throw me into the middle of Sin City a day before my wife gets there, and my first stop is a buffet line. Why? Even after waiting in line for a half hour, the idea of being able to eat crab legs in the middle of the desert just feels like some perverse entry on a bucket list that I just MUST check off!  The funny thing is, I did that exact same thing in 1995 and again in 2005, so why do I still have that need?

That following Monday rolls around, and my two compatriots in this endeavor make their way to the strip.  There is, of course, my wonderful wife Julie, and a best friend of mine from way back by the name of John. The three of us begin a hard day’s work at the expo, and realize that at a certain point, we are starving, and have plenty of time in a city where we know no one else.  John makes a living doing various things for trade shows, expos and conventions, so he knows his way around Las Vegas countless times over.  So, we find ourselves at a place called “Texas De Brazil”, which is the most amazing Brazilian Steakhouse I have been to.  You don’t know what Brazilian Steakhouse is?  Well, I’ll tell it to you this way…

MEN WEARING BIG PANTS… WITH SWORDS… FILLED WITH MEAT! (NO, NOT THE PANTS FILLED WITH MEAT, THE SWORDS!)

There’s really no other way to put it. Julie beat me in the “number of animals consumed in one meal” department.  I think I was at 6, and she was at 7.  This place was amazing… albeit not a place to find yourselves on a weekly basis.  I kept thinking to myself that old mantra, “What happens in Vegas, STAYS in Vegas” as some means of coping with my gluttony.

We are on our way back to the hotel, when a bunch of younger women (which is my polite way of saying, “bitches”) attempt to cut us in the queue for a taxi. At one point John and I instinctively have to step in front of my wife to keep one of these bitches (which is my polite way of saying “c*nts”… see? I can’t even put that word in its entirety here) from “throwin’ down”.  One of them even said something like, “Shit’s about to get real”.  I didn’t know where to even begin in disseminating what to do, here.  Thankfully a number of cabs arrive at once, and team “Vinnie” and team “c*nt” jump into our respective cabs.  All well and good, or so I thought.

Next thing you know, our taxi driver is asked to roll down his window, and one of these women… bitches… c*nts, throws a Chicken McNugget in our cab driver’s face.  Infuriating the cab driver.  Shit got real, indeed!  Of course, the thing I’m trying to figure out is this: If you’re in the most delicious of steakhouses this side of the Mississippi River, what are you doing with Chicken McNuggets?  My Julie explained it to me this way, those are pimp rations.  When walking the streets of Las Vegas, you need something to keep your energy up, while being small enough to fit into your purse.  OK. That makes perfect sense.  Spatially economical protein! (Which was my nickname in College – OK maybe not!)

Well, with several 16 hour days under my belt from Las Vegas, the last day there found me with a slight tickle in my throat just in time for our next stop on the world tour, Cancun, Mexico.  My Julie won the trip for us as part of a sales incentive through her company.  It would have been amazing, had it not been for the flu that I caught.  I felt like the villain at the end of the movie, “12 Monkeys” who traveled the globe in one day as part of his mission to decimate the population.  I know that I just gave away the ending to the movie, but (A) the best part about the movie was the performances given by the cast, and (B) if you still haven’t seen it in 17 years, then you probably won’t get around to seeing it.  SIDE NOTE: OH GOD I FEEL OLD NOW!

The first two days in Cancun are spent in an almost hallucinatory haze. The inner ear infection (from what my doctor back stateside tells me) caused the Dutch angles I saw reminiscent of the Adam West Batman shows.  Only this time, it was real.  I spent the most of those two days either lying in bed, or lying in the provided hammock, catching up on those “Hunger Games” books that Julie suggested to me.  I figured, if I was to be sick somewhere, Cancun would be the place.  It was warm enough and comfortable on the hammock, and if in my delusions I believed I could fly then I would already be on the first floor, and I would only land in shrubbery.  Plus there is a staff that was capable of bringing assorted fruit juices and chicken consomme directly to your door at most hours of the day.

I had recovered thanks to the guidance of the on staff doctors who provided me any number of chemicals.  Back stateside, I would eventually learn that one of them was a fancy term for the “Claritin” medication, and one of them is normally used to treat parasites in dogs and cats.  I would also be advised to stop taking them immediately, and throw them away.

That Wednesday night, however, I was outside of the lobby with Julie and friends / associates.  I cannot remember what we were talking about because at one point the world went away for a bit.  My eyes went dark for a brief moment, and my hearing disappeared for about three minutes or so.  My head became intensely sweaty and dizzy, and my heart attempted to beat its way out of my rib cage.  For a moment, I thought this was my first heart attack.  A man about my age moved over in a sitting area and instructed me to have a seat.  He extended his hand in a hearty manner and said, “London, England!”  He then began to talk me down out of whatever it was that was going on with me.  I kept thinking to myself, if I am to die, please do NOT let it be here.  My wife worked SO HARD to get this excursion together for us, and I don’t want her to be punished for this.  Thankfully (once again, as I’ve learned stateside) it was just dehydration from having the flu for the past two days before, and being in the sun as long as I was that day.  I did get the chance to thank the man I will only know as “London, England”.  Of course it was during my last breakfast there, partly consisting of French Toast with Nutella, cinnamon and condensed milk.  All the while saying to myself, DEAR GOD, WHEN WILL I EVER LEARN?

One little side note.  The people down in Cancun were some of the hardest working people I’ve ever met. Apparently, the minimum wage in Mexico (as told to us by one of the people we’ve met) was the equivalent of $7 US dollars a day, and these people were grateful that they were making the equivalent of $20 USD per day.  It’s an amazing, and somewhat imbalanced world, don’t you think?

I’m home now, thankfully. Back to work, and back to trying to understand this foul concept known as moderation.  Back to the day to day experience of taking a step forward, and a step backward.

As an example: My Cadillac finally gave way, and I traded it in for a Kia Soul.  I couldn’t be happier with that purchase.  The very next night, when Julie and I said, “We should take the dogs for a ride” our little boy, Frankie, had an inflammation of the right side of his face, and we ended up taking him to the vet.  He now wears one of those “cones of shame” until the swelling goes down.  Yes, it’s back to business as usual for now, but for a few weeks, we could say we were international jet setters, world travelers.