What happened to you?

"When did you get so weird? How did I raise such a weird person? You weren't always this... weird," she says. And to some degree, my mother is right.

Oh, let's not point the when-finger and count the many, many fingers of how.

Not now.

This weekend, I'm going to fix it all. Time to look to look weird straight in its weird eye and take weird down. 

I'm heading to Austin, capital of both Texas and Weird. My goal is to come back a little more normal.

Well, we looked into weird lodging, and that was a bust for several reasons. But I am confident that I can tackle weird from a suite at the Hampton Inn as easily as I could from an Airstream in someone's backyard or a camper-top of a stranger’s pickup truck. (See www.airbnb.com if you’re intrigued by these and other weird options.)

Side by side, these Hampton Inn post-it notes look suspiciously pre-printed, don't you think? No matter. My portable blacklight will determine the veracity of their mass-produced statement, and if there's even a slight question about the level of cleanliness, I'll wait for them to rewash. Heck, I'll do it myself. 

I'm going to eat weird things. I've even been practicing. I had four chicken wings on Tuesday, so I'm ready. I might have a rib. Or salmon. Or--[gulp]--something prepared by the vendor of a food cart.

For at least ten years, I rode ferris wheels and those giant swings, blue-faced and white-knuckled, calculating my escape strategy for when the ride inevitably broke free. 

At some point, I realized there was a name for the condition AND a cure.

Fear of heights.
Stay off of them.

Apparently, this kind of caution has made me weird.

So, this weekend, I will be skydiving. Later, you'll find me zip-lining over canyons and lakes.

"What?!" Russ exclaimed. "Those are the two things you fear most!" (Besides germs, Muppets, kidnapping, drowning, and fires, he graciously did not add.)

But I explained--calmly, rationally-- that this was the New Me.

Either I will live to tell about it, or I will die. 

And if I die, at least I'll die knowing I was right about the life-threatening dangers of these pursuits.

Also, I plan to be dangerously close as ten gazillion winged rats explode out from under a bridge at sunset. I bet they'll poop all over me. I might not even bring an umbrella. Because, you know, that would be weird.

We shall see.