Okay, so it's been a while. Here's what's going on with me...

- I've been going through a few doctor's appointments, first for some concerns with my heart. Now, I find that I have a lesion on my liver. It could be something, it might be nothing, I'll be going through some other tests with a gastroentorologist. Yet, I still had fast food the past few days.

- I had a date on Tuesday night. That's right, the same night history was made by electing Barack Obama, I went out with a girl. I had tickets to the Spurs/Mavs game that night, and asked out R. I met her at Theology on Tap. (Sound familiar?) Turns out she's an avid McCain supporter. (It's always fun and games until the word "baby-killer" is used.) But the non-political discussion was cool enough, thinking I'm gonna ask her to the game next week to see how she is when her candidate isn't giving a concession speech.

- By the way, not that it's any of your business, but I voted for Mr. Obama. Now I'm just hoping he doesn't screw it up.

- Heading to Cleveland next week as part of another meetup for the Pop Candy blog. If you're counting at home, that makes four such meetups this year, all out of town. Maybe I do need to start finding new friends in this town.

- Had a second interview last week for a new division at my current company. I've interviewed with them before, but this is the furthest I've gone in the process. Since I was off work this week, I haven't heard anything yet. Hopefully I will soon.

(The following is taken from my blog on myspace. I may elaborate on some things later - specifically, the other characters in this story - but enjoy this for now.)

A few weeks ago, I announced plans for a meetup for readers of the USA Today blog "Pop Candy." The plan was to meet at a bar this past Friday, then hang out at the Texas State Fair on Saturday during the big Texas/OU game.

You know what they say about the best laid plans, don't you?

In the days leading up to the big event, only two people RSVP'ed: Andrea, aka Araiday, and Debbie, aka babybenrox, both to come into Dallas from Oklahoma City. At first, I thought we'd be hanging out the whole weekend. Then, it turned out that Andrea would come in on Friday, and Debbie would come in on Saturday. Unfortunately, due to a family emergency, Andrea then said she could only come in on Saturday. Later, she broke the news to me that she wouldn't be coming at all. So that left Debbie and I to hang out during the day on Saturday. Or so I thought.

My phone rang early Saturday morning. It was Debbie, telling me that she was having some car trouble, and that she probably wouldn't make it to Dallas. I floated the idea of me going up there.

"Not unless you like hanging out at Auto Zone," she said.

"Okay," I said, resigning myself to fate. I then went off in search of juice for my phone battery, since I left my plug-in charger at home. Turns out I was worrying about the wrong battery.

I got in my car to charge my phone, and to drive around looking for a place that sold phone chargers at 8 in the morning. During that time, I came upon a place that advertised $5 car washes. My car had been under attack from a swarm of migrating butterflies a few weeks ago, so my car was due to get cleaned. As my car got cleaned up, I was still fixated on getting that charger (as well as wondering who would win the big game). Those thoughts changed to something else as I tried to start my car after it was dried.

"Holy shit."

It would not start. My first instinct was to pop open the hood. Unfortunately, since nothing popped out at me (nothing was bubbling, nothing on fire), I didn't know what was going on. Fortunately, the staff at the car wash place had a device to give me a jump. They hooked it up, I turned my car on, and I began a new mission: to find a batter terminal cleaner. (This was also at the advice of my dad, who was the first person I got on my phone after the jump.) I ended up at a NAPA store. I got the brush, and asked the clerk if he could test my battery. After knocking off a lot of the corrosion, he asked me to try and start my car.

"Holy shit."

"Looks like you've got a bad cell," he told me while looking at his meter. It had been awhile since I got a battery, so if that was the only thing I needed to spend money on, I was fine with it. I also decided to get an air filter, remembering the dirty piece of plastic the guy at the oil change place showed me a couple months back. Confident in my limited skillz, I went to install my new purchases.

Five minutes later, I was back inside asking for help. I couldn't get the air filter cover to fit, and the bar that secured the battery couldn't screw into place. The same guy (an assistant manager, mind you), took one look, flipped the air filter over, locked the cover into place, then manuevered the battery bar into position. (Like I said, my skillz are limited.) I went back to my hotel to get cleaned up. After a well-deserved shower, I laid in my bed to rest for a bit before the game.

About three hours later, I awoke to find UT trailing OU in the second quarter. (I'd go over what happened in the game, but you probably know by now.) Toward the end of the game, I texted a proposition to the ladies.

"How do you feel about dinner tonight?"

My enjoyment of Saturday night came down to two choices: try to entertain myself in Dallas by myself, or make a quick 2-and-a-half hour drive to Oklahoma and meet up with some lovely Oklahomans. After a while, I ended up talking Debbie into my idea.

Our plan was to meet at a nice place called BJ's in a town just south of OKC. I couldn't resist a little bragging, so I put on my new UT t-shirt, white, with burnt orange lettering and an orange longhorn. I ended up beating her to the restaurant (driving 83 mph helps). But, after a few hours, a fill-up, and countless hours spent at auto parts stores, the Pop Candy Dallas meetup finally took place in Norman, Oklahoma.

Gifts were exchanged: a "boo bucket" of candy for me for my drive home, (carrying on a tradition first started during 4th of July weekend), shot glasses for her and Andrea (she was in Clinton, OK, an hour away, so I gave it to Debbie, since they actually live in the same area code), a UT football for Debbie's son, the world-famous Baby Ben, and crab hats for all of us, sent with TLC from Stacie, aka fressshies. Our night consisted of a lovely dinner, something called a "pi-zookie" (fo' shizzle), and a trip to a nearby Indian casino. Since most of the machines were penny slots, I didn't lose that much money, but I still had fun. Mix in trying to explain to someone how the 25 different paylines on a video slot machine work, a biker with a rattail staring down my friend, and a dance party set to the music of a slot machine, and it was definitely a night to remember.

I dropped her off at the restaurant, we took some more pictures with our crab hats on, and then I headed back to Dallas.

For those of you who may still think that "meeting people from the Internet" is code for "I have no social skills in real life," I say get over yourselves. Especially if you get to meet a Candy (or a Whitness, as they're sometimes referred). You will have a GREAT time.

"You didn't think I'd spend 10 days in Texas without meeting you guys, did you?"

So began a post that set in motion another memorable weekend in Austin.

At about 3:45 pm on Friday, I left work in west San Antonio, thinking that I had enough time to get to downtown Austin to enjoy at least an hour of my first blog meetup. After surviving a 30 minute excursion from downtown to the SA city limits, I figured I was home free.

Unfortunately, a bad accident in San Marcos brought those thoughts to a screeching halt. It took me about an hour to travel all of three or four miles. All the while, I was texting my friend Stephanie (middle, in photo) about my progress...

"Stuck in San Marcos traffic, and I have to pee. I am NOT a happy camper right now..."

"An immigration van just passed me on the shoulder. Might explain the traffic jam."

"Huzzah! Moving at 25mph!"

Part of me was livid at the circumstances that would come between me and a party, but then I saw the sand and oil on the highway at the point of the accident. (Any cars involved were towed out of sight.) Then I had a reality check. (Okay, first I urinated, THEN I had a reality check.)

I was reminded that there are more important things than drinking at a hipster bar. I said a quick prayer after leaving the location of my pitstop, and gave $5 to a homeless woman on the corner of 35 and Riverside as a quickly hatched act of penance. At 7:10 pm, I made my way to the party. I was there only for a little while, but I did get to meet Ms. Whitney Matheson (right, in photo). She gave me a hug when I told her where I drove in from. Stephanie gave me a gin and tonic. I'll let you be the judge of what was better...

After the party, Stephanie and I headed to 6th for some surprisingly good Asian food, then set off to take in the music festival. We ended up at an industrial club called Elysium for Japan Nite. My thoughts about what I saw:

- Detroit 7 is not from Detroit, and they are not seven people. They do rock the house.

- 2 ukuleles + 1 mandolin + 1 fiddle + 1 upright bass + two Japanese girls with high voices + a sing-along of "Que Sera Sera" = AWESOME!

We left the club, and walked back down 6th to get our late-night pizza fix. A few minutes later, a familiar face got the same fix. A guy by the name of Perez Hilton. Him and a buddy got a slice and went on their merry way. A couple of sorority girls tried to get pictures/autographs/felt up, but he just smiled and went on his merry way. Soon after, so did we.

The next morning, Stephanie and I met up for breakfast in her barrio. She said she had work to catch up with, leaving me to explore the conference on my own. I ended up at a free party put on by the Guitar Hero III people (In case you were wondering, I suck at Guitar Hero III.), followed by a free show at Waterloo Park. I caught some stand-up from Janeane Garofolo (sp?), and I can draw one of two conclusions:

1. I'm not as liberal as I thought I was.
2. She's not as funny as I thought she was.

Soon after, I headed back to SA. And wouldn't you know it? My drive back was the usual 90 minute sprint.

Next year, I may just have to block out the week in order to REALLY get my hands dirty with music, film and "interactive."

SATURDAY

I woke up the next morning at 9:00 am, refreshed and ready for some wedding action.

Actually, it was more like 9:00 am Central (7:00 am Vegas time), and pooped. One bad thing about having a room with a view of the Strip, it also has a view of the sunrise. (It was a pretty good room, though, I gotta say.) After puttering around for a couple of hours, I decided to head downstairs for some buffet action, and some more gambling. After turning $40 into over $100 playing Three Card Poker (not a hard game to learn, and one that some good money can be made), I decided to make my way over to the Wynn for the wedding. The bride asked that I be there at 11 to help her out. I met up with her and the groom's brother's girlfriend (let's refer to her as "GBG,"for short), who was doing the bride's hair, since she works at a salon. I actually got to sit in the chair for a bit as GBG did some work on my unibrow. After working on me for a few minutes with some tweezers and a brow brush (which was not a mascara applicator, she convinced me), I had to admire myself in the mirror for a bit. (As much as one with not the highest self-image can do, anyway...)

After admiring the view in my friend's room and getting dressed, the three of us headed down to the chapel. The bride was nervously texting the groom's brother, making sure he was getting ready, as well as making sure the coast was clear so he wouldn't see him. I decided to send a message of my own to help calm her:

"Love ya, babe. You're gonna do great."

She turned around after reading the message on her PDA and smiled, I offered one in return.

Walking down the hall heading toward the hotel's wedding salons (their term, not mine), I started humming the synth riff to Europe's "The Final Countdown." Why not set some mood music, right?

After getting there, we saw everyone but the groom in their Sunday best. We talked for a bit, then the bride was shown to her dressing room. About two minutes later, I heard, "Greg? The bride is calling for you. Says you're the only one that can help calm her nerves." I walked in, figuring that this was going to be the only time I'd ever be inside a room such as this.

Inside, she was a bit nervous, more about the finality of it all more than anything else.

"Do you love him?" I asked.

I've asked this question only twice before. The first time was during college, when trying to figure out whether a friend's relationship with her boyfriend was the real deal (and hopefully to try and get an in myself in the process). She said yes, but it ended up not working out to a variety of factors. The second time was to my ex. She said yes, and we all remember how that turned out.

"Yes," my friend answered. Happy that she gave me the right answer, I kissed her forehead, and she sat in a chair, trying not to cry. I took some pictures with my old Pentax 35mm camera when the photographer knocked on the door, and began taking pictures of the happy bride, as well as shots of her and I. The photographer referred to me as the "man of honor." I'd never heard my role described like that before, and it was a cool title to have. After some pics, and some notes on the logistics from the preacher, a coordinator told us it was showtime.

I walked her to the door, and it opened to reveal a beautiful peach-colored room containing family, friends, and the groom. After walking her halfway down the short aisle, the preacher stopped us.

"Who gives this woman to be married?"

"Her friend, Greg."

I kissed her on the cheek, said "Love you," and handed her off to her man in exchange for her bouquet of purple roses.

The ceremony went quick, the real emotional part coming during the vows. He memorized his, she had hers typed down. When the time came for her to say her words, I reached into my coat pocket, and pulled out a sheet of paper containing the following:

I, the bride, choose you, the groom, as my best friend, my love for life. I promise you my deepest love, my fullest devotion, I promise to be faithful to you. I promise to love you, to commit to you, support you, and to always stand by your side.

You have shown me what love feels like, and for that, I thank you. You are everything I have ever prayed for and everything I have dreamt of.

I thank God for you, for all your love and friendship. I know that our love is heaven sent and I promise to be here for ever and always. From this moment on, you will never be alone. My heart will be your shelter and my arms will be your home. As I have given you my hand to hold, I give you my life to keep forever.

At that moment, the groom's mother really started tearing up, and so did I. I found myself happy that my friend found someone worthy of those words, as well as wondering who I would say those words to, as well as when I would say them.

After the groom kissed the bride, they headed out the door, followed by myself and the best man. He and I shared a champagne toast, the happy couple opting for sparkling cider. After some more pictures, including some of me that may end up here, we left the chapel for lunch.

(A quick aside: there's nothing like the feeling you get when you're walking through a casino in a suit accompanied by other well-dressed people. People just seem to notice you, like you're important or something. More than a couple of women looked upon our group with smiles on their faces, either having us remind them of their special day, or wondering about their once upon a time.)

Rather than brave the midday Nevada sun, we boarded two cabs for the Venetian to head to one of Emeril's places, Delmonico. This would end up being the nicest meal I had there, as well as the last meal the seven of us would share in Vegas, as everyone else had separate plans for the rest of the weekend. The real downer came about 30-45 minutes into the meal, when I realized I left my camera on the floor of the taxi. (If any Las Vegas cab drivers happen to read this, and you found an old-school camera with a frayed black strap in your cab at around 1:30 this past Saturday, could you please drop a comment?)

After heading back to the couple's room, and admiring the scattered rose petals left behind as a surprise for them, I trudged back to my hotel room in my suit. I passed out for a bit before heading down for more action. I ended up walking the strip, taking in the sights of the people carrying margaritas by the yard, and the sounds of people flicking cards for live models in their hands. I met the happy couple in front of the MGM Grand, and we ended up going back to the Venetian, this time for a romantic gondola ride. Well, as romantic as it can get with a bride, groom and a man of honor, and when the bride complains of swollen feet. 15 minutes and two or three songs later, it was over. They headed back to the Wynn to enjoy their wedding night, I went back for another nap and more gambling. This time, I added craps to my gaming. And after making a good run for a few throws, I ended up just below breakeven status.

"So how was your Vegas trip?"

Allow me to answer that question in multiple parts...

FRIDAY
My usual procrastination routine hurt me yet again. Even though my flight wasn't leaving till 3:30, I was still rushing at the last minute to get stuff done before my friend took me to the airport. Even then, I wasn't able to cross everything off my list. But, when my ride came, my thoughts turned to only one thing, getting on a plane.

I don't know about you, but I still get a thrill everytime I'm on a plane that takes off. (This time, the thrill was whether or not I'd get sick from the rough movements during take-off, but no matter.) The whole notion of a piece of machinery sending 150 people or so 37,000 feet into the air is pretty remarkable to me.

Something else I've learned: traveling is all about standing in line. Lines to check in, lines to go through security, lines to get on the plane, lines to get off the plane, lines to get your bags, and (in my case) lines to get a cab. My bags and I were whisked away along I-15 to Treasure Island. After checking in and getting settled in, I headed across the street to the Fashion Show Mall, where a rehearsal dinner of sorts was happening.

There, I met up with the entire wedding party: the bride and groom, his parents, his brother, and his brother's girlfriend. As we walked in, I told my friend, the bride, that it was a good sign that we were eating here since the last wedding I went to had the reception at this same restaurant. After we all sat down and gave our drink orders, I whispered to her my thrill of acheiving the rare feat of becoming a 7th wheel. We talked about the flights in (okay), where everyone was staying (four groups, four different hotels), and the plan for tomorrow. After dinner, we decided to check out the chapel where it was going down. (I will say this, the Wynn is a very beautiful resort. One of these days, I'll actually be able to afford staying there.)

I took off back to my hotel, and ended up walking all the way to Caesar's Palace and back before turning in. I had a beginning stretch where I turned $5 into around $40 at a nickel slot (with help from a $5 contribution from a neighbor who I helped with a bonus round on his machine). By the end of the night, I think I ended up down about $60 or so. However, I couldn't concentrate on that, at least not right then; I had more important life events to deal with...

DATELINE: HONDA DEALERSHIP

Enjoying a breakfast of Krispy Kreme and water while getting my oil changed. I tell you, it's the breakfast of champions...

I have a choice of blogging here, or watching "Maury" with a roomfull of strangers. I'm guessing I made the right choice.

Okay, so people want to know what happened last weekend. Here goes. Last Friday, on the spur of the moment, I called up my friend Maria on my way home from work. I'd been meaning to head to Austin to hang out with some friends of mine, as well as to see if I really had any sort of shot with her. She said she wasn't doing anything, and would love to hang out with me that night. After some quick ironing and packing, I headed up I-35. I ended up getting to her place at around 10. I changed into my party clothes, and we headed downtown.

The night started out well enough. I convinced her to salsa dance for a song or two at a Latin club we went to. (Note to self: find a place for lessons here in town.) We headed to semi-hipster bar known for its mojitos. Continuing my streak from a couple of weeks before, I started talking with a woman. (Okay, so she started it by asking what it was I was drinking, but I'll take it anyway I can get it.) She and a friend were in town from Corpus Christi; she said they went to SA for a concert, but decided to keep on driving. One wonders if, by that logic, they ended up in Dallas...

Maria and I stayed at the bar for a little while before making our way to another hipster bar (this is Austin, after all). While waiting in line to get in, my two new friends from Corpus passed by, and I invited them to join us. A few minutes later, we headed in. And that's when things started to go downhill.

We started dancing after getting our first round from the bar, and I started off with my new friend. That is, until she saw some taller dudes nearby and started freak dancing with them. I tried to console myself with Maria, but saw she was occupied by another tall dude at the back of the bar. I believe the kids would say that he was trying to "holla."Atfer what seemed like an eternity in bar time (one round), she came back towards where I was. Maria's new friend left, and I was watching my new friend dry hump some dude. That's when Maria came up with an idea.

"Why don't I dance with you to make her jealous?" she asked.

"Great, a charity grind," I thought to myself, as she began to scrub the ground. She seemed to think it worked, as my new friend gave me a peck on the cheek as I left. I, on the other hand, was reminded of that song I hear on the radio a lot, the one about the pally being knocked down. (EDIT: Turns out that should be spelled "Palais"; the song in question is The Kinks' "Come Dancing.")

On the way home, I quizzed Maria a bit about her ex. Turns out they're still good friends. Good enough to share the same bed sometimes. (Thankfully, not that night.) After the Q&A, it became clear to me that my odds with her are worse than those of Powerball.

The next morning, I left her place and paid a visit to an old friend of mine. She's about four or five months pregnant, and I wanted to see how she was. I dropped by her house to share in the glow of her growing belly, as well as check out the already stocked nursery. She's an only child, so her folks were ready to supply blankets, clothes, cribs, and everything else a parent would want their kid seen with.

As I left her house, I started to ponder, which, for those that know me, is never a good thing. At that point, I had five friends, family members or co-workers who were expecting. (It dropped to four yesterday, as my cousin gave birth to a baby girl.) Not that any paternal instincts are starting to make themselves known, far from it. But sometimes I get the feeling that I'm still playing catch-up in this game of life. Okay, so I have a paying job and a mortgage, so I contribute somewhat to society. But as I get to the age where getting married or having kids is no longer a shock but a welcome development, I still feel as if adulthood is still at arm's length or further from me.

So that, in a big nutshell, was my weekend. This afternoon, I'm getting on a jet plane, heading for Las Vegas to see another of my pregnant friends get married. It should be fun for me, if for nothing else than the fact that I get to walk the bride down the aisle. Part of me will be trying to deal with that, the other part will try to remember whether to hit a 13. Wish me luck...

DATELINE: RAND DINING CENTER, VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY

My friend left a book she needed for work in her car, so I decided to give myself a campus tour. This is a beautiful campus, the cool spring air and clear skies only help to add to it. Rolling hills, plenty of trees makes this place seem a lot more intimate than other schools I've been to in the past. (Then again, the small number of students helps to add to that feeling as well.)

One observation: is it just me, or is every school's engineering building the ugliest building on campus?

Thinking about hitting the Country Music Hall of Fame later; I've heard there's a Ray Charles exhibit there that looks interesting.

Anyone else out there have any suggestions for things I just HAVE to do before I leave?

The next stop on the Hipster Wannabe World Tour, coming next month:

Nashville, Tennessee!

That's right, your friendly neighborhood brown boy is going to the Volunteer State to see country music, farmer's daughters and G. (And yes, I am a glutton for punishment.)

If nothing else, I have a chance to check out The Roots. This should be fun.

(from a myspace bulletin posted by me the other day...)

"Going 2 vegas n may wanna join us?"

This text message was on my phone yesterday afternoon sent from a friend of mine. This friend invited me to come along with her, her boyfriend, her boyfriend's brother, and her boyfriend's brother's girlfriend to spend some time in Sin City. I shared with her my excitement in being a 5th wheel.

"Bring some1 if u like," she texted back.

So this is where you come in. If you're interested in tagging along with me for some gambling, drinking and shows, drop me a line. At this point, the plans are still (I assume) soft, but I'd be glad to have some company.