Well, there it is.

There is no doubting it. Carlson has finally grown up.

Somewhere between ages 26 and 40, the big lug: 1) learned math, 2) got a clue, 3) conned a chick into thinking he had some kind of charm or charisma (i.e.: rhymes with “flung like a force”) or money, and we’re still not sure which it is. And now this.

Somehow the gods have shined on his soul, opening his mind to wonderful new heights, opportunities that he can now challenge to grasp. Add on to this list of things most humans go through in their first 12 years on earth the ability to make coherent jokes, the one thing on the list he’s had the most trouble with.

Well, he’s arrived. Because he did just that when he bitch-slapped my ass and called me out for not blogging on Tuesday.

Fucker.

But I’ll look past it. I’m a better man than that.

Nah, I don’t buy that either. When I’m not as cool as the Most Interesting Man in the Word, I’m bitter, mean-spirited and at times, down-right an asshole.

And I’m fine with this.

This will be one of those times, however, that I’ll let it go, just drop this cause and move on. Not because he’s right, that I should have blogged yesterday since I said last week that I would every Tuesday and that you 12 readers should call me out if I don’t. No. He’s not right. In fact, he’s completely off base.

But I’ll let it go because I’m drinking orange vodka and sprite and am in a good mood. Alcohol cures all.

I’ve learned this maxim on many occasions, mostly when on the road traveling for work in my former life. And that brings me to the topic of my Tuesday Memories: road trips.

During the past week, I’ve thought quite a bit about the best road trips I’ve ever had. A lot of that comes from the fact that my old team had one more road trip this week (FYI, if you don’t follow the Huskers, don’t start tonight… it wasn’t pretty), and it made me miss it a bit since we’ve had more than few good times while on “working” trips.

I thought I’d list a few, but it’s hard to decide. I was lucky because I got to travel a lot of places and see a lot of things with a lot of cool people. And a few dickheads. But we’ll leave that out. I’m in a good mood, remember? So we’ll concentrate on the fun trips.

What was the best road trip I’ve ever had? That’s difficult.

See some are good because of the food. Some because of the sights. Others just because of the locations.

At one time or another, I’ve gotten to road trip or vacation to Hawaii, Alaska, Australia, London, New York, Miami, Los Angeles and Oklahoma City.

Ah, yes. Oklahoma City. It probably doesn’t end up on lists with those other cities very often. Maybe never. But when it’s the home of the nexus of the universe, it has a right to be there.

You heard me right. It is the nexus of the universe.

You didn’t know that? Everything in the universe is somehow connected. It’s a subpart of string theory and I could ramble on a bit and give some relevant facts and some made-up mumbo jumbo, but I won’t. For once.

I’ll just tell you to listen to me and believe it: Oklahoma City is the nexus of the universe. And I know this because I found it one night down a few blocks from haunted Skirvin Hotel where we were staying (yes, it really is haunted). The starting and ending point of the universe is in the middle of the intersection three blocks southwest of the Skirvin.

Me and Pat found it at about 2:45 a.m. after coming back from Bricktown the night before a Big 12 Tournament game. It was really an enlightening moment and ranks high, probably top 5, easily top 10 all time on my road trip moments.

Actually, a good portion of road trip moments have come when I’m with the managers.

  • The only time I ever went separate from the team on road trips was to Ames, Iowa, so that me and Jaden could stop at the casino on the way back after the game. We beat the Cyclones (one of the few times), I wrapped all my work and we hit the road, got to the Horseshoe about 1:30 a.m. and rallied till about 6 before heading back to Lincoln so I could shower and head to work at 8 a.m.
  • The Buffalo Herd night. Also in Oklahoma City, also leaving Bricktown in the sometime a.m. and the four of us tried to “ride” the big metal, art buffaloes along the streets. There was a group of about eight of them in a grass area and we were trying to get on and get pictures. Everyone did it. Except me and my three-inch vertical which was reduced at that point to about 1.2 inches since I was hammered. So, after the cops rolled by and we laid, laughing like crazy in the grass behind the buffalo, they pushed me up on top, and kinda got a picture. It would have been a better picture if they didn’t push so hard and I didn’t just shoot right over the ass, over the back and over the horns, falling straight to the ground in front of it.
  • Oklahoma City wasn’t the only Big 12 Tournament road trips that would make the list. Dallas in 2006 would be high on the fun factor. Not sure exactly all of the facts, but I do remember: a cigar bar where I potentially made someone mad because of their mullet; a Hooters; the grassy knoll; and losing my shoes, one of which I ran out of because someone was chasing me. I got the shoes back, so I’m guessing I knew whoever was chasing me. Or the managers just gave me a new pair. Like the Skirvin, this mystery has not been solved to this day.
  • Kansas City 2010: Party in the mutherfucking USA. It’s an inside joke, but let’s just say this: piano bar, Miley Cyrus requests, orange vodka, I fell down and I left with a group of people I’ve never met in my life. This last part isn’t all that surprising for me, and it all turned out well. After everyone I was with was taking too long for my drunk standards to get ready to leave the bar, I started talking to whoever was near the door. Turns out it was a bunch of Iowa State fans, so I left with them. About three blocks later, I heard everyone I came with yelling to find me and I went back. Seems I went left out of the bar, and our hotel was right.

The managers rock. And they rocked everywhere I’ve been. Potentially my best road trips were when I was at East Carolina because I was still single and stupid. This is the time of my life when, and sugar-mama can vouch for this because she was there (we were not dating yet; not sure what that says about her), after a night of drinking and eating wings at BW3s, I dueled my roommate to a game of Crazy Taxi so we could decide who was less drunk and would drive home. I don’t honestly remember who won.

And I am not going to talk about the “Bunny Costume” night. I’m not ready for that yet, and honestly, neither are you.

The most memorable (that’s a really, REALLY relative term here) was the trip to Miami with the baseball team. All I can say is that there was a place called World Mardi Gras, it has like seven bars in one, and we drank.

A lot.

And by a lot, I mean a lot by my standards back in 1998.

Somehow we — me and our two managers and our athletic trainer, who are the same guys who got me on the stage dancing at 3 a.m. in a dance club in Wilmington, N.C., about two months later — ended up with some Israeli guy in a BMW doing 123 mph on the highway down by the water. We stopped at the shipyard where the guy had to “see someone” and there was a cruise liner right there. Probably a Carnival ship.

Long story short, they pulled me off the big anchor chains that go into the hull above the water because I started climbing it, yelling, “Fuck Castro. I’m going to stow away and go free Cuba. I need a cigar.”

This was the third night we were in Miami. The first two we got home at 5 a.m. and had to be on the bus at 11 to go to BP. This night, we got home at 8:30 a.m. with the bus rolling at 9 a.m.

I think I’m still hung over from that trip.

But thanks for making me think about it Carlson, you fuck.