Vegas chewed me up and spit me out. Because I got up at three a.m. to get there. There are laws against that hour, no?
The bride to be seemed generally pleased with life.
Despite the look of epic highz. I am stone sober in this picture.
Five of us pressed together in a surprisingly not roomy H3 with enough luggage to clothe the city and hit the freeway at 4:35 in the morning. The sun rose and the temperature climbed. By the time we hit our hotel, Caesars Palace, the thermometor hovered in the one hundred range. We hit Fat Tuesdays for half yard breakfasts and then the ridiculously beautiful pools, one of which was adults only, where we took our free passes and parked our tired asses. (“The Venus Pool Club is the most well-appointed and exclusive pool experience in Las Vegas, a sophisticated and secluded European-style retreat…”) Many beers and one epic rum concoction later, we actually checked in to our room. Dinner followed at Dick’s Last Resort (“From Rug-rats to Old Farts, from High-Class to No-Class, from the Top of the Food Chain, to the Bottom of the Barrel…”), within Excalibur, a place I’ve always wanted to check out. When the waiter asked, ‘the fuck you wanna drink?’ I felt like I was home. (The gimmick being that the waiters and waitresses are total dicks to you. Obviously this is my dream job.)
A friend of mine became a Vegas resident a few years ago. We don’t see each other much but she came out to play and catch up, which was fantastic, though brief. The early morning hours were catching up to us as we crept towards twenty-fours hours of awake when the bride’s ulcer took over. Many vomits later, we were all tucked in and snoring, passes to Pure keeping our suitcases warm. I didn’t mind in the slightest that we skipped the club portion of the evening. I’m infinitely more comfortable in more intimate surroundings (or less, I suppose, if you consider the dancing proximity) for the most part. There’s plenty of bars and venues I would have rather hit over a sweaty, meaty, schmany club. Don’t get me wrong – they’re great when you’re in the mood. I had the time of my life at Studio 54 in NYNY one year. But sometimes I just don’t want friction burns and the deafening sound of hormones buzzing to the beat of the DJs bass.
The drive home was long and hot. When I finally peeled myself from the leather seat, I was more than ready for home. The maid of honor and one of the other girls had put tremendous effort into the event with gift bags, decorations, custom shirts & champagne flutes, and a decorated car. It was quite the welcome distraction from every day life.
Sometimes though when every day life is a pretty, loud-mouthed seven year old and a shirtless boy making your favorite dinner, you sit back and smile and remember how much you love home.
Okay I shook it. For at least a week.
I’m leaving for Sin City in about twelve hours for the bachelorette party of one of my oldest friends. I’ve left it until half a day before leaving to wonder what I might wear to the ultrafancy club I’ll be at on Saturday. I’m hoping the one frantic text I sent with lots of question marks will solve all my problems. My superswank hot ass heels may be in the mix. I gotta bring those out a few times a year. I do occassionally enjoy the uber-femme thing. I may even watch hair and makeup tutorials tonight!
-CJ
Filed under: daily
Sometimes the overwhelming vast amount of knowledge that I don’t have and the books that I haven’t read and the names that I can’t place as anything personally significant are enough to make me want to stop writing and erase everything. If I knew I wouldn’t be so upset later, I would shred everything I’ve ever touched.
-CJ
…here are some awesome things!
Jamie is trying to work ‘verbs ‘n shit‘ into her lesson plan today! (Teaching English in Prague!)
I finished Sharp Objects last night!
I started Second Line by Poppy Brite!
I’m not hungover though I should be!
Despite cheap hack job cut, I’m having a good hair day!
There’s new vacuum potential on the horizon!
Kiddo gets to experience Legoland for the first time today!
Okay, now you go.
-CJ
You know, I don’t really want to live in a fascist grammarian dictatorship where people have to grasp how the English language is used and punctuated before they are allowed to become parents. Except I kind of do. Maybe. Sometimes.
By way of recommendation (through snail mail! awesome!) I started reading Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn. It has the cover of YA self-mutilation awareness fiction but it is an incredible read. Flynn received an Edgar nomination for Best First Novel. I have no idea if this is prestigous or if Edgar just reads and awards from a basement in middle America but it looks good on the back cover. I will happily devour everything this author does in the future. (Thanks, Marci Bones!)
-CJ
Father’s Day went a little something like this:
Morning time lovins, *bow chicka*
Early morning impatience behind the Couple That Asks Questions at Knott’s Berry Farm. I sent Kiddo and her dad inside the park and waited and waited and then I sighed and waited more because all of the questions that could be formed in the English language had just been asked… and then we were on to Spanish. I just needed admission for my kid sister, but the questions did not cease. In fact, I’m posting this from my cell phone, while I wait behind the couple, 1.5 days later.
Admission granted, sister and I sought the biggest and the baddest rollercoasters we could while Kiddo and her dad took off to do smaller, less bad things. Xcelerator is my new favorite thing in the world, even though it is spelled xcelerator. Are we so fast we forgot how to spell, RIDE? HUH?
Eighty-two miles per hour in 3.2 seconds plus a ninety degree drop. In the name of awesome, amen.
The day continued in such a way, pairing off for two to enjoy the mania at a time, Kiddo begging to ride the same damn rollercoaster over and over again. At 35mph, you do not impress me, Jaguar!, even if you do come complete with an exclamation point.
By the time our feet were blistered, we’d conquered about everything except Pink’s.
I am pissed off at Pink’s. What with their incredible reputation and Hollywood Legend Since 1939-age, I wanted so, so much better. We had finally gotten around to trying the famous place for lunch that afternoon now that there is a location in Buena Park (and it is conveinently located right outside the amusement park) and it was just suck.
All suck. All of it. Don’t care if the original is better, I have lost my motivation.
We packed up and hit the movie theater up the street for some overachieving AC and amusement by way of Toy Story 3. It took over twenty-four hours to convince Kiddo that it wouldn’t be a complete waste of her time. She would have much rather seen Avatar: The Last Airbender but we’re big giant jerks and we went to the toy movie. Someone should really call protective services. It doesn’t get much meaner.
Later, we dropped my sister off at home and popped a pizza in the oven for a late night dinner with our new favorite show, To Catch a Predator. My guilty amusement and the need for such public documentation and the capitalizing on the dumb dumbs is all for another day. WE CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF THIS SHOW.
Baby daddy was the recipient of an excellent dinner at Benihana the night before and a BJ Penn action figure for his sweet dadly contributions to my precious precious’ life. He’s pretty good at what he does, I must say. Right when my patience gives, he has a way of swooping in. He catches and appreciates all of the little things I miss and no one can make our kid laugh as hard as he does.
-CJ
Filed under: kiddo
The other night when I boarded my suuuper crappy treadmill for the evening’s sweatfest, I dropped something or stumbled slightly, I don’t remember. I mumbled like I always do, “Oh, eff.”
And Kiddo waited the perfect few moments before saying, “Why did you just spell ‘of’?”
-CJ
