**Good news! I’ve single-handedly discovered the one sure-fire way to ensure you stop blogging completely. Just write a post about how you intend to write more.

Even better news!  Here’s a post I told my new friends over at Lux Delux I would write for them…a month ago. Enjoy.**

First, some background: You know me. You know I spent years wandering around North America living out of a backpack and sleeping on stranger’s couches. If you know me really well, then you know that for the last year I’ve been doing basically the same thing (…except now I get to create big urban adventure games at each destination and more often than not I get to shower).

Bottom line, you can’t travel that way, that often, without having a couple of close calls. Two in particular always come to mind, and both took place in everyone’s favorite city of sin. I won’t go into detail again but one of them involves an old man who walked into a seedy downtown bar with a few too many dollar bills in his hand on dollar shot night (and it almost turned into free black eye night for yours truly) and the second involves a con man, a cab to the airport, David Copperfield tickets and a goat (Okay, there was no goat, but doesn’t everything sound more exciting when there’s a goat mysteriously involved).

Take-aways? I travel like a bum and I don’t have the highest view of Las Vegas.

So you’ll understand that it came as a little bit of a surprise when I was asked to join Lux Delux for a weekend in Las Vegas last month. And an even bigger surprise when I realized they may have altered my views on not just Vegas but travel in general.

Turns out there’s something to be said for ridiculously comfortable pillows and the occasionally VIP treatment.

Here’s the shtick, Lux Delux is shooting to be that company that everyone thinks of when they hear the words, “unique experience.” For now they’re only providing service in Las Vegas, so they flew out a handful of social media experts and one vagrant (that’s me) to soak in all they had to offer. This meant steak, lobster and drinks came at us from all directions our very first night there, followed by a backstage tour with the Jabbawockeez dance crew.

Basically, we all got a feel for what it must be like to be an over the hill TV star from the 80s. We were important enough to get the best treatment in every restaurant, bar or club we set foot in, but didn’t have to be bothered with all that “being recognized” stuff.

Other attendees have already done a better job of giving the rundown on the weekend’s activities, here’s a post from Christine Martinez and another from Jim Hopkinson, instead I’ll just hit you with the highlights…er, actually, there were quite a few highlights. Let’s take this in another direction:

I saw Elvis’s GUN!

There we go. A completely random tangent. Home sweet home.

Seriously though, by far one of the coolest bits of the trip was meeting Warwick Stone, the curator of all of the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino’s MASSIVE collections. Show me another guy with one of James Brown’s crowns, a letter from Kurt Cobain and a plaster cast of Jimi Hendrix’s man-bits in his office! I dare you.

So yes, I had a great time and made lots of new friends! Do I think that the VIP life and bottle service at the most happening club in Vegas is for me? Not by a long shot. But, here’s what is going to make Lux Delux killer. How freaking awesome would it be to hit them up for THIS adventure.

It’s not all Grey Goose and Champagne. Sometimes it’s just about having a badass unique experience.

Here’s a link if it turns out you needed an invite to look at that last one.

Don’t say I never gave you anything.

I’m done.

Brett.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog post for Amtrekker, and what with TBEX going on in Vancouver this weekend I felt forced into evaluating why that might be. The easy answer is, I’m not homeless anymore…but that feels like a cop out. The truth, as usual, is a little more complicated and a lot sillier. (“Silly” as in “flippant” or “lame.” Do not expect clowns.)

At some point, while I was traveling around North America and living on strangers’ couches, a travel blog was born. And not because I was trying to write a travel blog so much as the concept of travel blogs started to grow up around me. In fact, it wasn’t until the tail end of the adventure, when I started having more and more contact with other travelers who wrote for the web, that I realized travel blogging was even a thing. Up until that point I just thought of blogs as a fairly personal thing and that some folks, like me, happened to be doing a lot of traveling, ergo their writing was largely travel centric.

(That may have been a confusing sentence. But rather than trying to fix my slapdash writing I’m just going to blame the confusion on the use of the word ergo. So, to clear things up, “ergo” is just fancy-talk for “therefore”…which is in turn fancy-talk for “so.” All better?)

Here’s the bottom line. I liked my original view of blogs more. Once I started thinking of Amtrekker as a travel blog and not just a(n extraordinarily narcissistic) peek into my life, it started to feel like if I wasn’t in the middle of a trip then I shouldn’t be writing.

Now this feels like an especially dumb view since, arguably, there are many more personally exciting things going on in my life today than there were back when most days were taken up with trying to figure out where I was going to sleep that night.

That said, let it be known that I’m going to give taking Amtrekker back to its roots a shot. At its heart all I ever wanted it to be was a blog about my experiences (…I just happened to be traveling constantly while creating those experiences). So if you’re wondering what Brett’s up to nowadays, this is the place for you. If you’re interested in reading about some guy’s adventures in trying to publish his first comic book, stick around. If you’d like to know more about the amazing/hilarious/fun world of The Go Game, keep reading. If you’d like to hear about a guy with zero development experience trying to put together an iPhone app, I’ll save a seat for you.

HOWEVER, if you’re looking for stories about my travels…actually, y’know what? There just might be plenty of that too. I’ll be in Seattle this week and Vail the week after. Stay tuned.

Also, this.

I’m done.

Brett.

I’d love to call where we stayed that first night a hotel, but as the Internet’s resident hobo, for me the word “hotel” usually conjures up images of that one room garbage pit with stained carpet and a lonely Queen-sized bed that I get offered every time a flight gets cancelled. (Thanks again, AA.)

Graycliff was significantly more unique. As sad as I am to constantly have to revert back to Disneyland anytime I want to draw analogs to a unique location…it really did remind me of New Orleans Square. (For those super Disney nerds out there, it really struck me how similar it looked to Angel Alley, my all-time favorite place to just sit and relax at DL. Bonus points if you know what the hell I’m talking about right now…)

I could totally bore you guys with a description of the grounds but there are plenty of pictures right here, besides, the aspect of this former pirate mansion (seriously) that really sold me on the place had nothing to do with landscaping and everything to do with one of the most eccentric people I’ve ever met.

A lazier writer might call Graycliff’s owner, Enrico Garzaroli, “colorful,” but that would be doing such an immeasurable disservice to all the hand gestures, sound effects and mispronounced curse words that for once in my life I will attempt to forgo being that lazier writer…

This guy was fantastic! I didn’t get to spend as much time with him as the rest of the group did, but I spent every second he was around soaking up his barely intelligible stories. A man whose every movement belies a life well-lived, he still manages to be surprisingly down to earth (like anyone who has spent the last 40 years in the Bahamas would be, I suppose).

A big guy with a penchant for well-made shirts, fine wines and hand rolled cigars, Enrico owns a room when he walks in…granted, he very literally owned every room I saw him walk in…so there’s that. Other things he owns regardless of whether or not he walks into them: The third largest private wine collection on Earth, an award-winning (and the Bahamas only) cigar factory, my heart.

As usual, I’m a sucker for stories, and that’s where he won me over. Each tale of debauchery and excess he tells is punctuated by hand waving, the world’s most infectious belly laugh and a face/noise that, without fail, would remind me of Harpo Marx’s “Gookie.” (Of course, the stories were then followed by curious looks around the room as everyone listening attempted to piece together the portions of the story they were able to make out with the bits that other folks understood.)

From what I was able to gather, his father invented seamless pantyhose, he’s driven just about every sport car imaginable, he loves Iceland and the Bahamas and he once hunted and killed a family of spotted unicorns using nothing but his bare hands and a toaster oven…again, he was very difficult to understand.

Bottom line: There was a lot of fun to be had in the Bahamas (and a lot more to write about) but the one thing that could get me back to the islands faster than anything else? The promise of getting to sit in the Graycliff lounge listening to Enrico tell an endless array of stories I have no hope of understanding until 3am, one more time.

I was on the phone with everyone’s favorite triathlete, @katymoe, making sure the hatches were all battened down (whatever that means…) at the homestead when I hear over the LAX PA system, “Attention passengers of flight 276. Unfortunately we are overbooked by about five passengers on tonight’s flight to Miami. If anyone would be willing to take a redeye through Fort Worth tonight, you’ll leave about two hours later but I’ll also provide you with a $300 American Airlines flight voucher. If anyone would like to volunteer, please come see me at the service desk.”

I practically hung up on Katy. I already had a four-hour layover in Miami so I figured if I have to sit around in airports all night anyway I might as well make a couple Benjamin’s (that’s what the cool kids call hundred dollar bills) off the deal.

“Excuse me, what time does this money plane land in Miami?”

“9:45. Do you have a connecting flight.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t take off until 10:45.”

“Let me see your ticket. Ahh…it starts boarding at 9:45, that’s cutting it pretty close. Why don’t we just hold off and see how things go here?”

And that’s where I made my fatal error…

Why, oh why, did I not just insist that I didn’t mind? I mean, really, who cares if I miss one of the fifteen daily flights to Nassau from Miami?! Come on, Brett! $300!

Nope, instead, by not being greedy enough, I set into motion a chain reaction resulting in out and out travel rape by none other than the patron saint of travel bungles, AmericanAirlines.

Shortly after the aforementioned PA announcement, a second AmericaAirliner came in over the loud speaker, “Hello everyone, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but it seems there is a mechanical issue with your airplane tonight and it won’t be able to fly. The good news is we already have another plane gassed and ready to go at gate 48.”

Cue the mass exodus of 200 bright-eyed and bushy-tailed travelers toward gate 48.

Two minutes later another voice comes over the PA, “Passengers of flight 276 to Miami, I’m very sorry but your substitute aircraft is actually waiting at gate 45. (Fun Fact: thanks to some well places shops gates 45 and 48 at LAX are farther away from each other than you’d think.)

After finally boarding our plane we sat. That’s all…just sat.

Thirty minutes later we were informed that the reason all we were doing was sitting, was that all of the catering was still on our first plane. Which had now been moved to the hanger. So now it would be 30-40 minutes before they would be able to get the catering from Plane 1 to Plane 2.

Eventually, to the sounds of muffled cheering, we taxied back from the jetway and toward the runway. Where we sat. Another 45 minutes passed before we got word that a fuel pump was out and despite having four of them “it’s probably a good idea to head back to the jetway and get this one checked out.”

Meanwhile…we sat.

An hour later we got the good news, “Looks like we’ve got a new fuel pump and the maintenance crew is done. We’ll just be here another 20-30 minutes to take care of some paperwork before we can take off.”

The timing couldn’t have been better, I had just about made it to the end of what had once been a severely backed up RSS feed and was more than happy to drift off into a quiet oblivion once we were in the air…

…which made the news that much harder to take when, 40 minutes later, the pilot’s voice came through the PA one more time, “I’m really very sorry, folks. It seems the fuel pump wasn’t the problem and the maintenance crew is taking another look right now.”

Cue 200 sighs.

Maybe all these “30 minute laters” are getting tough to follow. Here’s some context. Plane 1 was scheduled to take off at 10:40pm, at 4:00am the pilot finally said, “I don’t know how to tell you guys this, so I’m just going to say it, there’s no way this plane is going to leave the ground tonight. The good news is, there’s a new plane waiting for you at your original gate all gassed up and ready to go (yay!). We just have to move the catering from this plane to that one (boo!).”

Despite my ridiculously long layover in Miami it was now clear that 1. there was no way I was going to make my connection and 2. I was going to not-make-my-connection without an extra $300 in my pocket. Bummer.

To add to that bummerdom (please get off my back about these made up words already), after gathering our bags and showing up to the new/old gate with all of our things we were greeted with yet another message that finally boiled down to, “This just ain’t gonna happen, folks.” The cockpit crew had reached the point in their shift where, if they hadn’t already taken off, they weren’t allowed to begin a new flight.

It was heartbreaking news for more than a few people and I’d be lying if I didn’t say there was plenty of yelling going on in that terminal. For me, it meant that I would miss out on a couple of activities and I’d have to wait another 12 hours to begin my free vacation, but I literally felt sick for those families that had spent a whole year saving up vacation days and money so that they could take this one week off for the adventure of a lifetime. Cruises were canceled, trips to Borneo aborted, some folks just gave up and went home, resigning themselves to spending the remainder of their vacation in quiet repose and/or crying themselves to sleep, curled up in the fetal position in an undusted corner.

On the upside, after a little over 24 hours of travel, I did eventually make it to Nassau and the Bahamas adventure got off to a quick start…stay tuned.

Enjoy the New Year’s Eve shenanigans! Here’s my gift to you (inspired by a desire to vindicate myself in the face of that crazy SOB William Shatner).

“Amtrekker travels to Beulah, MI to create a crop circle!

Failures and ethnically insensitive impressions ensue.”

I’m done.

Brett.

Cruise ships are not a form of transportation. They’re more like huge freaking hotels that you’re locked inside of for 16 hours at a time with a few thousand of your closest friends (provided you don’t have many actual close friends), and when they finally open the gates, you’ve been mysteriously teleported to yet another strange city. I guess teleportation is technically a form of transportation…but let’s not dwell. Here’s my point:

You can’t go around comparing cruise ships to airplanes just because it makes your environmental impact argument sound better. Hell yeah it takes less fuel to fly from Ft. Lauderdale to Grand Cayman than it does to take a boat. Know why? Cause you’re transporting 200 people…not five THOUSAND people in a huge freaking floating city that allows for more entertainment and adventure in exotic locales than the average working class family would have the opportunity to experience during their one and only week of vacation a year by any other means.

And for those people, cruising is perfect. I can’t imagine a better way to get a smattering of everything a great vacation has the potential to offer. Not everyone can drop everything and travel for extended periods. (And for that matter it would be kind of a bummer if they could…who would sell you all the knick-knacks you don’t need at various ports if everyone were off globetrotting?)

In my case, although I had a great time on the cruise, it’s tough to get out of the Amtrekking mindset. I probably got just as much out of wandering around Ft. Lauderdale watching passed out drunk people pulled off of buses while I make phone calls trying to figure out where I’m going to sleep. Once a hobo, always a hobo?

It’s really tough to explain. I think it comes down to chaos. I crave the unknown and live for those moments when the New Jersey beach patrol skids to a stop on their ATVs to tell me that I need to find a better place to sleep than underneath their pier. I’m not going to pretend that those are always fun times. In fact, for they most part they REALLY suck. But…that’s where the best stories come from.

Enough rambling. In short, are you traveling with friends and/or family just trying to relax and maybe see a few sights with your limited time off? Are you looking for an easy all-in-one solution to getting trashed with friends and not having to drive back to the hotel? Do you love seeing new sights but would like to have your hand held in the process? Take a cruise.

Want to explore the world, learn a little more about humanity and collect stories? Want to contract an especially virulent form of drug resistant tuberculosis? Take a bus.

I’m done.

Brett.

I’ve been sitting here staring at this blank page for a little over twenty minutes now trying to decide what I’d like to write about the Princess Cruise that a handful of twittering travel folk were invited on (and I got to tag along for some reason). I think one of the big problems is that I had more fun than I expected. It’s a tough blow when all of the stupid cruise ship jokes you have prepared don’t quite fit the situation any more. (Case in point, I didn’t get to spend all week fighting sunburned, overweight old men for the pole position at the buffet so my Formula-1 joke is out the window.)

Most importantly however, I’m just not used to writing about great experiences. You guys know better than anyone that 90% of the content on this site is a direct result of me having done something colossally stupid and the mad scramble to either rectify the situation or, barring that, at least come out relatively unscathed. If I have any complaints it’s that I kind of felt like I had my hand held for a week and I wasn’t given the opportunity to fall overboard, flounder at sea for a few days and finally get rescued by the Coast Guard just shy of losing my leg (and/or sea mammal virginity) to an over eager Caribbean dolphin.

It’s not that there isn’t plenty to say about the last week, I just felt like I should probably start with an overview. So here it is:

My Overview (in haiku):

Met some great people
Food, folks, fun and alcohol
…lots of alcohol

Bahamas were dull
But I won a ping-pong match
Ha! Take that, David

At Cayman Islands
Snorkeling distracted me
From offshore account

Cozumel is home
To some huge Mayan ruins
And the biggest effing mosquitos you’ve ever seen in your life! (How many syllables was that?)

Roatan has ghosts
I’m told they steal people’s pants
For sure the best stop

May have ADD
Beaches get old fast for me
…what was I saying?

More to come, friends! I’ll try to write a post for each stop, one for the ship, maybe even one on the environmental impact (if everyone else is doing it then I should probably jump on the bandwagon), AND…maybe I’ll get Justin a weirdthings.com post on those pant’s stealing ghosts.

I’m done.

Brett.

I could have made this post WAY longer than it would need to be to satisfy everyone’s curiosity and, as such, it may not make a ton of sense (Let’s be honest, how many of these do anyway?) but at least it was cathartic. As always, thanks for listening.

Hey Team,

I hate Best Buy.

I know what you’re saying, “Brett, you’re such a nice guy. I can’t imagine you being judgmental enough to not be willing to walk a mile in their shoes and try to see things from their perspective. Surely, they aren’t as bad as you would have us believe. In fact, I would venture to say that you are jumping to hasty conclusions and that you’ve probably had perfectly respectable encounters with Best Buy in the past and somehow you must be letting a single negative experience color your views of a fine upstanding company. Frankly, I expected more empathy from you, Brett.”

To you, I have only three things to say.

1. You talk too much.

2. You sound pompous.

3. I HATE Best Buy.

You guys already know that I’m currently somewhere in the middle of the Caribbean thanks to a generous offer from Princess Cruises and Gary at Everything-Everywhere.com. What you may not know is that I was REALLY looking forward to putting some videos together for both the Amtrekker site and Everything-Everywhere.com (and who knows, maybe even WeirdThings.com). It’s well documented that the video camera that served me so well during my Amtrekker travels met with an untimely demise so I figured now was the time to finally put out the dough and upgrade from a worthless pile of parts to something a little higher end.

Traveling through TSA with electronics is kind of a pain but luckily inspiration struck! I could use Best Buy’s brilliant buy-it-online-but-pick-it-up-in-store policy and instead of picking it up in California I could just pick it up in Florida and save me an entire trip across the country with a new piece of equipment. Genius!

Things went wrong pretty much from the beginning. I couldn’t find my credit card so it seemed like the perfect time to try out Bank of America’s “Safe Shop” service, which generates a one-time use credit card number so you can make “safe” purchases online and not have to worry about anyone stealing either you card number or identity.

Sounds great, right? The big problem there is that when you show up at a Best Buy in Florida and give them your credit card (an apparently MANDATORY part of the process) the number wont match. Furthermore, it turns out that arguing with successively more important employees (up to the corporate level) for an hour and a half wont help. Also, opening your computer, going to the Bank of America website and SHOWING them the “electronic credit card” (WITH MATCHING NUMBERS!) wont work. Instead you’ll just get progressively more frustrated as you stare at the video camera you’re dying to try out that is less than four feet from you and yet, forever out of reach.

Finally, in a fit of impotent frustration I decided that it was a lost cause and I was willing to do whatever it took to get the camera. The only option? Cancel that transaction and repurchase the camera in store. BUT, you know what happens when you cancel a sizable purchase? The authorization stays on your card thereby using up enough available credit to prevent you from running through a second, equally sizable, purchase!

The most mysterious/so-frustrating-I-wanted-to-gouge-out-a-complete-stranger’s-eyes part? If I wanted to ship it to my home I wouldn’t have even had to SHOW my card. But I wasn’t in California. I was in Florida. And jumping on a cruise ship the next day.

I hate Best Buy.

I’m done.

Brett.

You know who’s amazing? James Randi. Now that I think about it, I suppose that’s why he’s called The Amazing Randi. Huh. Go figure. If you don’t know who I’m talking about then let me give you a couple broad strokes. Randi is a retired performer who used to be a magician and a mentalist and currently heads the James Randi Educational Foundation. You may have heard of his Million Dollar Challenge, which offers a prize to anyone who can prove under scientific rigor that they have some type of extra-sensory perception. All you have to do is be able to say what it is you can do and under what laboratory conditions you can perform said talent. It’s been available for decades now. Guess how much the foundation has given away in the name of the challenge. That’s right. Zero.

Pretty awesome right? It’s great to know that someone is out there trying to prove that “real” psychics are more often than not, ridiculous amoral performers preying on people who miss their dead relatives deeply. In short, James Randi is one of my personal heroes.

And…I got to meet him at dinner the other night! It was a pre-Carl Sagan Day dinner in South Florida filled with skeptics and snapping dressers. (I was wearing a t-shirt. I probably should have been at the kid’s table.) My childhood hero was looking a little haggard but still impressively spry and hip considering not only his advanced age but also the fact that he is neck deep in a radiation battle with colon cancer.

I sat about eleven people away from him on an ‘L’ shaped tabled and spent most of dinner either talking to a painfully pompous guy next to me or candidly watching Randi’s every move. Finally, dinner ended and the time for the group to mingle was upon us.

I met a few very cool people (whose names escape me right now but I none the less enjoyed my conversations with) until finally I had made my way around to the man of the hour. Justin, the friend who took me to the dinner (and editor weirdthings.com) had worked with Randi recently on a couple of projects, so he made the introductions.

Up close Randi looked even more fragile, but considering the amount of respect and reverence I was carrying with me he might as well of been ten feet tall and dressed like the Beast Master, primed and ready to kick the collective asses of any people that dare insult his ferrets. Our lengthy discussion went a little something like this.

Justin: “Hi, Randi. This is my friend Brett. He spent two years traveling around America crossing crazy things off of a fifty item life list.”

Brett: “Hello!”

Randi: “Oh! Look, they have food over there.”

(That’s what he said as he walked away…)

I’m done.

Brett.

There’s a lot to say about the Boston trip (and I’ll post most of it over the next couple days) but the real action happened during the cavalcade of errors that was my trek back to California. With that in mind…

After an early morning flight from Beantown, USA, I landed in San Francisco around noon with every intention of being back in Fresno by 4pm at the latest. Unfortunately, it was shortly after landing that I discovered I had hit the first of many snags in the day to come. You see, I’m not exactly what some folks would call “a planner” or “intelligent,” and as such, even though I knew this trip was coming a month in advance I still never thought to see if I had a ride from SFO to my car (which happened to be a full 45 minutes away from the airport).

During the glory days of Amtrekker I wouldn’t have thought twice about slinging my backpack over my shoulder and walking to the nearest public transportation, but this time around there was a new wrinkle. Arizona, my seven month old pup and the world’s greatest mutt, had escorted me to Boston for the week so suddenly I had to navigate the world with a backpack, a dog and a very awkward travel crate.

After a few phone calls I managed to find a ride into the city but technically no closer to my actual car. That’s when I decided to suck it up and head to the BART station. Apparently, however, they have a no dogs allowed policy…unless it’s a Seeing Eye Dog. To compensate, I put Zona’s backpack on and hoped it would confuse people long enough to jump on a train and watch the doors slide shut.

And that was the last time things worked out in my favor.

Eventually the train stopped in Pleasanton, CA and I realized I was still about 4 miles from where my car was parked at a friend’s house. After a long doleful sigh I thought to myself, “What the hell! I’m the freaking Amtrekker! Let’s do this!” I slid my pack on, tied Arizona’s leash to the waist strap, slung the crate over my back and started walking. I’m pretty sure it was less than a half-mile before I started hating life.

Arizona kept wanting to tied up my legs by running around me in circle sniffing everything in sight and the crate, despite the laws of physics, continued to get heavier and more awkward…but I trudged on. Then, what did I see?!

A bus stop, yes, but more importantly a Wal-Mart shopping cart just sitting there beneath the shelter begging to have a back pack and crate tossed inside! Then I though, “Why not?” and tossed Arizona in for good measure. Suddenly I was freed from my burdens and with a spring in my step and wheels beneath my feet I started to use the shopping cart as an impromptu skateboard. Now I was making great time! Suddenly the world got a little brighter.

However, being the responsible and loving dog owner that I am I started to get concerned that Zona didn’t have enough space in the cart to lay comfortably while I skated us to glory. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and started trying to shove my pack underneath while making sure AZ didn’t make a break for it. I was pretty engrossed in the whole process. Which explains why when I looked up I TOTALLY wasn’t expected to see a cop standing over me.

“What are you doing?”

My only response was hysterical laughter. How exactly DO I go about explaining this?

“You know it’s an arrestable offense to take a shopping cart.” More laughter from my end. “I know it sounds silly but these companies lose a ton of money to stolen carts.”

“Well, to be fair officer, I didn’t so much take it from where it was supposed to be as move it slightly further from where it was supposed to be…”

“You’re in possession of it. It’s right here.” He pointed down emphatically. “With your dog in it.”

“I think I see what you’re saying.” I smiled again, hoping to keep things light.

I spent the next several minutes relaying how I came to end up there with my dog and her crate in a shopping cart while he had my ID checked to make sure I didn’t have any warrants out for my arrest. (Good thing I got that thing in Utah all cleared up. )

Eventually he decided I was mostly harmless and called me a cab. I hate cabs.

Luckily my friend that wasn’t able to pick me up earlier showed up right before the yellow van did.

Problem solved.

I’m done.

Brett.