grrgoyl

Thank you everyone who commented on my Thanksgiving post. It was one of those, "I really, really, REALLY need some comments" posts. You're all the best set of online friends a girl could ask for (except lizzieloudotcom, who's just a brat. No, ferrets aren't related to rats, Bear (I know you're just taking the piss)).

Anyhoo, in light of such a wordy post, this one will be all pictures. Not so many, hope you enjoy.

First, the video I've been talking about. It's not terribly interesting, unless you really love me. It's mostly all Vegas, which kind of irritates me; when Tery visits her own family she gets literally hours of footage. On this trip, despite being a "scientific observer" in the background for much of the week, it never occurred to her to pick up the damn camera. Nevertheless, there's a clip near the end of us with Jane whose real purpose for inclusion is to hear my mother droning on and on at poor Rob in the background, to give you some idea of a sample conversation.



Now, pics:



(A word about the Wii: We played after Thanksgiving dinner, and it was the only evening I really felt like we were a family. So fun. Also, it became a running joke that I would always forget to mention some important aspect of playing the game until halfway through it, so I was accused of this being my winning strategy.)



Some at-home pet shots:

Vegas was fun -- might have been moreso if we gambled or drank. As it is, we took a stroll up a few blocks to check out some other hotels, used the fitness center (bloody smug Coloradans), ate dinner and called it a night.  (I wouldn't have minded seeing the street at night, maybe meet a hooker or two, but Tery didn't feel well. Later she confessed she didn't want to expose herself to people getting drunk, so that was all good.)

But I'm getting ahead of myself. After checking out the Excalibur and New York New York lobbies, I can say without reservation that our hotel was the nicest (in our budget).



Excalibur was overrun with children, and New York New York looked like a strip mall with a strip club in the middle.













I felt very big deal checking in and getting our key cards. The Luxor's lobby was enormous, and it took us a solid fifteen minutes just to find the registration desk (it turned out they offered 11:30 am check-in, so we dragged our feet from Utah for nothing); one of the biggest problems with Vegas is everything is designed to parade you past as many slot machines as possible.

The room was certainly swank -- not champagne hot tub and heart-shaped bed swank, but for a couple of yankee gals not too shabby (although honestly the Travelodge had a nicer shower head).  But it was quiet and clean, and all the Carrot Top you could stomach on the in-house channels (srsly.  You think Wayne Newton is big in Vegas? Make no mistake: Carrot Top OWNS that town).



Seeing his bizarre face everywhere was the second biggest problem. The third was the Vegas salesmen everywhere doing their damndest to get you to stay just a few hours longer ("Where are you from? Do you think you'll come back next year? How does a free show sound?")

We didn't see any shows, but in fact the Criss Angel theater was in the Luxor. That was tempting (I don't like him especially but I'll bet he puts on a good show), but I doubt he was the free entertainment on offer. Nor was Cirque du Soleil, probably.



We dined at the Pyramid Cafe, where we saw this illustration of what technology has done to inter-relationship communication:





After dinner we thought we'd throw Vegas a bone and gamble a little. Tery chose a slot machine that looked hopelessly complicated -- lots of flashing lights and sounds, and you had to match five icons rather than just three. She put in a dollar, spun three times and appeared to have lost, but then the machine spat out a little 5-cent voucher. The joke of the weekend then became, "Step aside! Winner coming through!"



There was an ATM mishap when she tried to take out $20 and instead got $200. I thought at first the machine had malfunctioned and we had won big, but Tery might have miskeyed it. Or it's a nefarious trick to get you to gamble more (wouldn't surprise me. The machine allowed as much as $3000 to be withdrawn at once). She just ended up using the cash for the rest of the trip rather than her debit card. Sorry, Vegas.

I played some poker slots (I prefer them since you have a tiny element of control over the outcome, or at least the illusion of it). All in all Vegas made about 7 bucks off us. Probably just enough to cover the toiletries we stole.

Can't say I saw a whole lot of sinnin' going on, unless you count the gambling and the Coyote Ugly dancers at New York New York (stay tuned for my video footage). Also didn't see a single wedding chapel or Elvis impersonator (might have had better luck if we deviated from the route between the hotel and the parking garage). We didn't much care to stay, nor were we thrilled to leave, since next stop was my family. But leave we did. It wasn't nearly as easy to get back onto the highway as it was getting off, we suspect another part of the plot to keep you around longer. I sang the line from "Hotel California" as we roamed up and down frontage roads and truck delivery routes. We did get out eventually though (obvs).

And that's where I'll leave things for now.

Next: California, or, Deep Therapy

"The clouds will part and the sky cracks open
and God Himself will reach his fucking arm through
just to push you down, just to hold you down"

NIN

First, an addendum to "California 2003": Amy had bought a small bag of jellybeans for the road, and it wasn't until we were in Utah that she noticed they were missing. As I had packed the cooler she naturally blamed me. She asked if I had gotten everything out of the refrigerator; I said yes but who the hell puts jellybeans in the refrigerator? That is like putting peanuts in the fridge in my book. Not expecting to find jellybeans in there, I obviously skipped over them. Later talking to Tery by phone I learned that I wasn't to blame after all. The jellybeans had been left in the grocery bag on the floor, and in the night my girl ferret, Griffyn, had stolen the bag of beans and dragged it under the bureau (it was still tied shut, however. My theory on ferret thought processes is they think if they can steal the food and get it hidden, they then had the rest of their lives to figure out how to get the bag open).

Despite this naughtiness, she is still the best little girl I could ask for. If you don't believe me, see for yourself what a little angel she is:




Anyway, my sister ended up getting much better jellybeans (of the Jelly Belly variety) in CA, so it was all good.

In other news, I have been seriously OD'ing on Alan lately. First I got this scrumptious Nightcrawler pic --------> which inspired me to change some aspects of my journal from the default stuff, and I am very pleased with the result. The real descent into madness began when I stayed up until 5 a.m. Sat-night-into-Sun converting my "Design for Living" videotape to DVD (after cutting out all the non-Alan bits (because really, who cares what happens when he is not on screen?) it fit exactly into the time/space requirements for the disc. This thrilled me to no end). I finished that actually at about 3 a.m., then stayed up another 2 hours to write about my trip. Just as I was finishing Tery shuffled past on her way to the bathroom, blearily poking her head in and exclaiming, "You're still up!? I've been asleep 6 hours already!!" (I believe I have previously mentioned somewhere my compulsive need to stay up all night on the few occasions I don't have to work in the morning. I have been up as late as 7 a.m. before due to this.) Then last night I spent 4 hours or so putting together what I would like to think is the Ultimate Cabaret DVD, with just his bits from the London show, plus his appearance on Rosie, PLUS his Tony win including the behind-the-scenes spots during the pre-show and of course the Tony performance of "Wilkommen." I practically orgasmed when I held the finished product in my hands (but consequently, for now at least, feel like if I hear "Wilkommen" even one more time I very well might scream). Did I mention that while editing all these tapes I listened to my audiobook of "The Vampire's Assistant" read by Alan? (Those Frappuccinos do wonders for my multitasking skills.) It felt indulgently obsessive to watch him cavorting about on stage while listening to his voice so intimately in my headphones. After such intense repeated exposure to Alan's Emcee (who causes fantasies of ambushing him backstage, pinning him against a wall by those sweaty suspenders, and having my delicious way with him....for some reason I feel like he could be a bottom in this role despite his brazenness) I felt sure I would dream about him, but didn't.

I also managed to sneak in some time to rent David Cronenberg's latest film, Spider, with Ralph Fiennes and Gabriel Byrne. I started to describe this to someone as a dark, psychological piece when I realized how extremely redundant that sounded. David Cronenberg (Dead Ringers, Naked Lunch) is not exactly known for his frisky romantic comedies (Crash comes close, if you happen to be Marilyn Manson). It is very dark, but it has complex layers that I suspect will make it richer with multiple viewings. Both Ralph and Gabriel were outstanding in roles outside their usual fare (as a mumbling schizophrenic (wait a sec...forgot about Red Dragon, sorry) and an abusive, philandering father respectively). It reminded me most of all of Pink Floyd The Wall (sans the excellent soundtrack) because of the mental illness theme. I tried to watch it again with commentary but this proved impossible on the little sleep I got the night before.

In my final update, I went in for my mammogram and ultrasound the day after returning from my trip. It was quite uneventful (which is why I all but forgot about it) and, happily, I was diagnosed with only benign breast cysts. The doctor said they could aspirate them but they would most likely grow back. I said as long as they didn't kill me, I was fine leaving them be. The strange part was after all my angst while trying to find a doctor when I felt sure I had cancer (see my 8/20/2003 entry below for more if you care), as I lay on the examining table awaiting my diagnosis and imagining the worst, I felt oddly detached, like I was watching someone else's life. Very strange, and good to know how I react to stressful situations. Is this what extreme denial does to a person? I guess it is what it does to me. At any rate, it was a happy ending so I suppose it is all moot now.

That does it. Now we return to my life, already in progress.....

-=Lainey=-