Seven Thousand Feet Up in Book Four: Ichi-no-Tani 2017

So much to write, so little time.
Thursday early morning, I flew out of Des Moines to Phoenix, then Phoenix to Jackson, Wyoming. I live in Iowa. I have lived between 500 feet and 1100 feet elevation for my entire life. Jackson is at 6,000 feet elevation and the Resort where we were staying prided itself with the tag line “Almost a thousand feet above Jackson!” Plus… the last time I was on an airplane was 1L year of Law School 5 years ago. So, I suppose it should come as no surprise that when I stood up on the plane in Wyoming; I collapsed. Into a woman. Hurting her. It was embarrassing as hell. Then I check my phone and… 5 messages, 9 e-mails. All clients or prosecutors. All the prosecutors basically said either (1) what the fuck are you doing, asshole? or legitimately (2) I don’t have to produce evidence, I’m charging your client with this and good luck, asshole, because I don’t need to prove my case when people are prejudiced! And that summarized that Thursday especially.

I couldn’t catch my breath all day. My heart was racing. I felt… off. It was… significant. And then? Well… Night One of a Destination Bachelor Party! Plus… the people I was with. My cousin, the groom, comes from a CEO of a Fortune 1000 company… lived in China and Africa… works for Tesla… has his pilot’s license… so, well traveled… loads of experience… financially successful. His best man number 1? A 6 foot 7, flowing brown haired, near genetic clone of Bradley Cooper living in Portland. He had just left a successful job paying $96k a year to become a Personal Trainer. The guy had lived all over, had traveled extensively, was charming and genuinely empathic. Just standing next to a guy like that makes me feel like everything I have or will ever do will pale in comparison to that which he could accomplish in a lazy afternoon. Best man number 2? Kind of a… Matthew McConaughey meets Scott Caan looking guy. He had lived in Africa, Australia, traveled all over Europe and Central America. Currently the project manager for major construction elements in California. So… yeah. The entire parking lot/structures for LAX need work? He’s the guy leading it all. Then there is my brother. A man that many of the women I’ve known or I’ve dated (or married) have mentioned how he is more attractive than I am, in better shape, more intelligent, and these days far more successful. So… the best way to summarize that feeling is… I was surrounded by the successful, the attractive, the experienced… it was a group of guys that were both fun and made me want to brutally murder myself as I’m an absolute Mentally Deficient Ogre of Poverty and Lifelessness comparatively.

That first night, the night I was really realizing how Elevation creates Issues. We all drink HARD. Like… a lot of us to the point of way too much. Add in the elevation shit… me to the point of blackout. I remember everything from dinner, I remember everything from the Cowboy Bar where we met up with a bachelor party, I remember getting into the cab and driving to the front of the resort village area, I remember some jackass (not me) saying we should “cut through the field to get to our side of the resort area”, I remember my legs just NOT working… I remember my brother basically grabbing me by the arm and forcing me through (mocking me that I was “so drunk your legs stopped”)… of course, the fibromyalgia pain and drinking and elevation issues couldn’t have combined to create that issue… and then he lets go… I try to stand, and fall (hard) fast first into a large pile of brambles. I remember the extreme pain, all the cuts on my body, being angry, and not being able to see (as my glasses had flown off my face). This being very late at night, in a field, in Wyoming… I start to panic. I start shouting for people not to move (they don’t listen) and start screaming “Where are my fucking glasses?” Before someone says, “In your hand.” Against all odds and statistics, as I fell and my glasses flew off my face… I had caught them. That is the last thing I remember.

The next morning, I wake up. Naked. Sprawled across our cabin’s murphy bed. And the guys say most of the night that we were still up, I kept threatening to mouth rape everyone.

Next day, another of our group is to join us. The groom’s cousin from his mom’s side; but as our family always promotes family… it is a young man I’ve known from before and get along with. Granted, we don’t see each other much. Maybe once every 10 to 15 years… but he is a smart guy that likes Cosplay, Dr Who, Starcraft, Rick and Morty… we have a lot in common, so I was looking forward to him joining our little menagerie. But first… Cliff Jumping. Not anywhere professional or previously scouted or anything. Just… a place that was known for it. We get there and it seems like we’ll be going two at a time. Cousin and Best Man #1 go. Brother and I get ready for our turn and as I’m getting ready, Brother just leaps off. Now solo… I try, I get a bit of a start and… my legs go to COMPLETE nothingness. I want to jump. I am trying to get them to move. And I can’t. My brain starts saying, “You wanting to do things and the body not letting us is one of the few reasons you haven’t killed yourself yet.” Empathic Bradley Cooper is wearing a Heart Rate monitor watch and (he claims) watching my struggle sent his heart rate to 136. He was kind enough to join me, though, and we both leapt off together. The climb back up was a nightmare bitch and I was wheezing half way through. Everyone else went again and I said no to that. At that point, I didn’t care if they thought I said no out of fear… I said no because that climb back up would have killed me!

Then we go get Maternal Cousin. He’s stayed attractive and in shape… after all, he lives in Los Angeles and works for his Father In Law’s software developing and Steel Structure business. He is also super well traveled, highly experienced, and financially successful… but at least he’s quiet, nerdy, and bookish like I am! That Friday night, we all stay in and have a relatively tame night watching Beerfest as we had an early morning.

Saturday morning… we all pile into the car and drive to Snake River to learn how to fly fish. Three boats, two guys to a boat… and in a completely unsurprising move the boats went: BOAT 1- Best Man 1 and Best Man 2, life long friends. BOAT 2- Groom and Brother, as they had been fishing together since forever. BOAT 3- Maternal Cousin and Me, because of course it was. The experience was.... fun, frustrating, aggravating, and I could have done without it. But it was an experience. After that, we went back to the Ranch and some took naps, most worked (4 of the 6 of us had to do work for at least 45 minutes at some point on this trip), and we left again for Dinner and our last night out. It was… fun for most. At dinner, the waitress takes everyone’s order. Comes back ten minutes later to tell me that they don’t have what I ordered. I ask to see a menu to re-order. Ten minutes later, she brings a menu and I order almost randomly. Five minutes later, everyone else’s food comes out. Five minutes after that, the waitress comes back to ask if I needed a menu. I remind her I’ve already ordered. Twice. Ten minutes later, everyone is finishing their food. Five minutes after that my four appetizer sized tuna tostadas arrive. I finish them (they timed me) in less than 90 seconds. We go back to the Cowboy Bar. I’m famished, so I order something from the grill there. Everyone in the place sounds Russian so I tell the cute Slavic looking girl who takes my order “Spasiba.” She says, “Did you just say spasiba? I’m Romanian.” I tell her that I’m an immigration attorney and I think it would be worthwhile to learn how to say thank you in every language. She asks if I know how to say it in Romani. I tell that I don’t and she says it for me. It is “mulțumesc”. After that, we all start playing Billiards. I noticeably impress my inebriated brother who rarely sees me play one of my favorite games. But when I start getting hungry and thirty minutes have passed; he gets belligerent, telling me to be more aggressive and demanding. He approaches the cute Romani girl and barks “So one of those things on that tray is for him, right?” Of course they were. I was given a number… 6… and she had just delivered to Number 5. But… whatever. After that, we took a cab home. I was tired but not drunk as I’d only had beer. We all watch The Hangover and go to bed.

Sunday comes and we pack everything up before going back into town. We go to a cute little dinner that is VERY busy and order breakfast. I’m the third person to order… the last to be served. This time it is just by 5 minutes. My brother notes his feelings by jokingly asking “What is wrong with the way you order that makes this keep happening?” After food, we part ways. Brother, Maternal Cousin, and I have flights to catch later in the day. Maternal Cousin finds an in-door archery range and it is a blast. I love archery and, while my aim may not have been the best (probably something to do with the glaucoma and terrible vision) both companions mention my form and quick release are impressive. We get to the airport and fly to Phoenix with no issues. But when we get to Phoenix? Maternal Cousin’s flight is on time. Brother and I? Delayed. By 2+ hours. So… we weren’t anticipated to arrive back home until 2 a.m. My first text messages: 1 to Wife, 1 to White Boss. We all three kick around the terminals for a few hours before Maternal Cousin departs. Our flight is expected to leave at 8:30 local time, boarding to begin at 8:10 local time. Both Brother and I are famished and get in line for food at 7:30. Ten minutes go by and Brother grabs a Convenience Store Sandwich. 7:42, I ask how long would a burrito take. I am told 10 minutes, 12 tops. I order it. Brother looks at me annoyed and says, “You shouldn’t have done that. Our plane is going to board early. I have a feeling in my guy.” Fifteen minutes pass. Brother has been doing what he does best. It is a form of harassment where he isn’t antagonizing; but letting you know that you are wrong, he is right, and he should always be consulted and listened to. I’m famished. Remember, I haven’t eaten anything at this point for 8 hours of travel. I go back to the food counter at 7:58 AZ time as Brother grabs his gear and gets into line saying “Look, they’re boarding early. Get your shit!” I grab my food (noting that the receipt specifically says ‘Order Time 7:42’) and race to my Brother. He then grabs his gear and steps in front of 10 other people. Annoyed, I tell him, “No matter how mad you are at the delay, there is no reason to cut in front of people like a dick.” He retorts that he was looking at their tickets and we have higher priority then condescendingly tells me to calm down. The flight home goes off without a hitch and Brother and I get back to our respective homes safe and sound.

As I told Boss, I came into work late today so I could get a little more sleep. I stroll in around 9, 9:30. Chinese Boss says she didn’t expect me in until the Afternoon. I let her know that one to two hours late is all the “late” I like being. She gives me stuff to do and it is again off to the races. Not a great day of work. But an interesting one in some ways.
I got a coffee mug of our firm, Company pens, a NICE looking Business Card Holder and a large stack of the Professional Business Cards. So it looks like they want to keep me. But like any weird relationship… mixed signals. They give me that stuff then Chinese Boss tells me that she is tired of asking me for something (that I am able to quickly give her in 15 minutes) and White Boss (appropriately) tells me how amateur and shitty a Civil Lawsuit thing I wrote is. So… welcome back to the grind, right?

I have a LONG and likely challenging day ahead of me tomorrow. And Wednesday. But tomorrow, I also go back to the Eye Doctor for a follow-up appointment. Fingers crossed.

Seeing the pictures from our trip? OH, Holy Hideous Hephaestus! I am a fat, short, round, disgusting looking little man. I have never been more certain I need to lose 60 pounds or more. And yet… food? Exercise? I’m trying. I am trying. We’ll just see, I guess. But.... yeah. I was thinking, “Wow, man. When you were a kid, you felt like a monster but you were attractive. AND YOU NEVER TOOK ADVANTAGE OF BEING ATTRACTIVE! Mad at you. And now? When you actually want people to find you sexually stimulating.... you look like this! You, sir, are a Tinder Joke.”

So… enjoy the following Tinder Jokes
16 Tinder Profiles You Should See