Last Wednesday I had the audacity to suggest in my Cut & Run post that I would wake up on Thursday and run 8 miles. Ha. Yep. Well, that didn’t happen. It didn’t happen people because I was sick. Not just a little sick a lotta sick. My youngest had had the flu, in fact he had missed 4 days of school, had a raging 102 fever that fluctuated periodically with 100.2 and he was throwing up, coughing all over the place, blowing snot left and right and yet I never considered I would get sick. Never.
I am the epitome of health. I run a ridiculous amount, (even though they aren’t always great runs). I lift weights religiously, and just purchased a heavy bag to beat the shit out of. I eat a pretty strict vegetarian/vegan/raw diet with very little crap. Not that I don’t like crap, I do. But I don’t indulge much. (Unless I’m on vacation . . . . but I’ll get to that later). I am for all intents and purposes a freak. And I don’t get sick.
I went to work last Thursday thinking the headache that had stayed with me and intensified over the prior 24 hours was just a fluke and that I must need to eat more something to get it to go away. I couldn’t stomach eating anything though. The idea of food really grossed me out and THAT is when I realized I may possibly be sick.
There were plenty of reasons I couldn’t be sick. It was my last day of work before vacation and I had a ton of stuff to get off my desk. The young one had asked me to come see him after work so he could send me on vacation with a proper goodbye and I wanted that a lot. Mid way through the morning, however, when the pounding in my head just got louder I had to face some realities.
First, the spreadsheet I was working on was going to have to wait until I came back from vacation because try as I might I could not make the numbers work. They were all right there staring at me, but for the life of me I could not make them come out properly. It was the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. I tried for 90 minutes to make the numbers fit, jibe, come out as they were supposed to. Couldn’t do it. The pounding was too loud, the pain too great and the answer, while I know was simple, was out of my grasp.
Next, as much as I wanted to go rub my body against the hard young ones, what my body needed even more than that was sleep, alone, in my bed under lots of blankets because damn if I could get warm. I couldn’t call the young one because he works in food service and was in the middle of his hectic day so I sent him a text and apologized – then I went home.
On the way home I called Blue Eyes to tell him that I was way sick and that if he still wanted to head to Vegas with me he should be aware of that fact and we should plan to be “cautious.” He said his idea of “cautious” might not be the same as mine, but he appreciated the full disclosure that I am apparently so good at.
I got in bed and stayed there until Friday morning when I took my youngest to school. I felt better, but by no means good. People kept saying the heat of Vegas would do me good. Considering this is a photo out my front door on Wednesday evening I was hoping they were right. You see, it’s not a great picture, but that’s snow. Snow on March 21, 2012. WTF? This is Oregon, not Michigan. Rain, okay. But snow? No. Not acceptable.
Anyway, I took the boy to school then I took my puppy to the kennel and then I went to have a manicure and pedicure, because that’s the way I like to start my vacations. Pampering, plain and simple. In the midst of it all I realized my headache was gone and I was pretty pleased about that, even though I still felt kind of shitty.
Blue Eyes met me at my house and we left for the airport. I always pack way to much stuff. Always. Its a problem that I thought I had mastered after my trip to Hawaii in December. I brought so much crap to Hawaii and I wore all of 5 things and swore I would never bring so much crap anywhere again. The name of the game these days is carry on, no checked baggage so I have this great Marc Jacobs carry on bag that I can cram a lot of stuff into. Masterfully. It is freaking heavy. And every time I’m packing I go through this mental game of “oh, how great, I’m not going to have to pay to check a bag because I have this great carry on bag” then I pick it up when I’m done packing and think “damn, that’s heavy, I’m going to check that fucker so I don’t have to carry it.” Truly, I do this every time.
This time I said as much to Blue Eyes. He questioned me on it. Challenged me, really. I actually liked it. He never challenges me. I argued with him about how I will not carry that heavy ass bag through the airport, instead I will just suck it up and pay the $25. He gave me a look and handed me his carry on bag, which was what one might expect from a man. I could have thrown it up in the air and caught it behind my back it was so flippin light. He said, “you carry that and I’ll carry yours. No one pays $25.” I couldn’t argue with that logic, as much as I wanted to. Because yes, I like to argue.
And we flew to Vegas. It was a ridiculous flight. Portland to Seattle, Seattle to Vegas. Yea, that’s right. Makes perfect sense to fly away from your destination first and then sit for two hours before you get on with it and go where you really wanted to go in the first place.
We got into Vegas at 8 pm. First thing I noticed, it was WARM. Oh, my. . . . it was like heaven. My skin didn’t know what to do with the heat. It just quietly rejoiced. At 8 pm. It felt like it was 80 degrees, even though people were saying it was only 70. They were delirious, I was sure of it!
Blue Eyes goes to Vegas a lot, this was my first trip – he was chattering about taking a shuttle to the hotel on the strip and I was like “What?” “No.” “Cab.” So he followed me as I followed the signs to the “taxis” – and my first Las Vegas phenomenon was witnessed. A line like none I had ever seen before of people waiting for a cab. The cab line was roped off like a ride at Disneyland, it snaked back and forth and it went for such a distance that you couldn’t tell really how far you had to walk before you got to turn around and head back. My guess at the number of people? Over 1000. I wish I had taken a picture of it but I was kind of in shock – amazingly it was only 15 minutes before we were sitting in a cab trying to strap our seat belts on as the driver drove like a bat out of hell from the airport. Fifteen minutes and $30 later we were at the hotel checking in.
We stayed at the Flamingo – its an older hotel, but that doesn’t mean its old. It’s just not new like all the themed hotels. They bumped us up into a nicer renovated room on a higher floor because I asked about it and the room was pretty nice. Considering the room was basically used for sex, minor sleeping and showering, it was nice. This is the view from our room the night we got in there. Lights, lights and more lights.
We walked around for hours, watched the water show at the Bellagio, did some serious “drunk” people watching and gawked at the meatheads who were buying 100 ounces of redbull and vodka to drink while they walked the streets. Seriously, 100 ounces of anything cannot be good for you, but Redbull and Vodka?
We ended up at the Cabo Cantina because I love Sammy Hagar almost as much as I love Tequila and I can always eat Mexican food when I’m on vacation. . . I curbed my desire to order the 48 ounce Margarita and instead just had two regular 16 ounce margaritas while we ate chips and again did some people watching. It was fun and even beyond that it was after midnight and it was still WARM! I forgot I was sick. I felt amazing.
Back to the room for sex, sex, more sex, a couple of hours of sleep, more sex a shower and then it was time to leave the room again. The sun was up and I really did not feel sick. We went into one of those amazing hotels that has the big mall that looks like you’re in Italy even though you’re really in a basement. We had breakfast at an Italian Cafe, even sat “outside” It was totally fucking with my mind. I took pictures of the ceiling, the gondolas, the whole shebang. Can’t for the life of me remember which hotel it was though, sorry.
We walked in the heat, I think it was pushing 80 before 10 a.m. We saw them working in the water at the Bellagio and watched that for a while, got to see a couple of practice shows which was cool. We went into the Secret Garden at the Mirage to see the dolphins and the lions and tigers. Loved the dolphins. Loved the big cats too, but they were all sleeping which was a little annoying since we’d paid to see them walk around and give attitude. But they were still beautiful to see, even sleeping.
I made myself wait until 11 before I told Blue Eyes I wanted 48 ounces of slushy margarita to walk around with. He just laughed. He took this picture of me in front of the umpteenth waterfall right before I got my slushy. Thank God he took the picture before I got the slushy. I’m thinking any picture AFTER 48 ounces of alcoholic slushy would not nearly be as flattering. You know it really didn’t take long to drink 48 ounces of margarita. I was a little upset I hadn’t just gone for the 60 ounces. But I didn’t want to appear to be a crazy alcoholic. . . . I could have done it though.
48 ounces of margarita required a stop back at the hotel – ironically for sex and another shower. Who knew? We had tickets to see Criss Angel at 9:30 so we got ourselves together and then went to dinner at the Hard Rock. Food was yummy, music was totally rockin and LOUD and they had this really pretty Margarita with Patron Silver and some other things that went nicely with dinner. I swear after 48 ounces of slushy margarita this one looked really tame. Sorry it’s so dark – the restaurant was dark and I only had my phone. Isn’t it pretty though?
After dinner we walked down to the Luxor for the show. We had 30 minutes so I spent 7 of those minutes doing the only gambling we did. It took 7 minutes for the slot machine to eat $20. I timed it. I actually probably could have made it last longer, but one of the most annoying things about gambling in the casino, other than money disappearing at lightening speeds, is the smoke since its one of the last places smokers can just light up and puff to their heart’s content. I was sorry I had chosen the machine that I had because it was flanked by smokers, but my options were slim. We used the remaining time to do a couple of Patron shots at the bar before we went to our seats. Yes. Drinking was my friend, and wow, I so did NOT feel sick anymore.
Criss Angel. Mr. Mindfreak. Mr. Hot in a Gothic kinda way. We had awesome seats. We were in the second row in the middle. Row B, seats 6 and 7. The front row was taken when I purchased the tickets and when I checked the seats a little further back, like 10 rows or more the cost was negligible to the 2nd row so I figured that would be stupid. I’d never seen a Vegas show and if I was going to do it, I might as well do it.
I had never watched Mindfreak. My boys had, of course. I didn’t realize this though til I “checked in” on Facebook at the Luxor waiting for the show to start and my 18-year-old sent me a text that said he was so jealous because “Criss Angel is the shit!” My boys NEVER “like” anything I post on Facebook – its not cool to “like” something of your parents, I’ve been told. Apparently there are two exceptions to that rule. The first is when your mother gets an amazingly cool tattoo and shows it off on her page and the second is when your mother is getting ready to watch Criss Angel perform in person. Again, who knew?
So the show was great and the boy is right, Criss Angel is the shit. Freaky shit, but the shit nonetheless. He cut a chick in half, literally and then he didn’t put her back together. I was totally tweaking out on this – Blue Eyes thinks it had something to do with the amount of alcohol I had consumed. He could have been right, but it was all I could do not to scream “put her back together!” When he was standing in front of us telling some lame joke. I don’t think I calmed down until later when the lady he had cut in half came out to help with another trick. I was relieved, in a weird, totally drunk way.
Mr. Mindfreak let us turn on our cell phones and take pictures of him at the very end, here is a shot Blue Eyes got since I was way too tweaked out over the woman cut in half to be able to focus my cell phone camera. . . or maybe it was the alcohol.
To celebrate the woman’s body being fully back together (because it was one of the last 3 tricks) when we left we stopped in New York New York (this hotel totally blew my mind too – here is my cell phone shot from the outside) and I got 36 ounces of Orange Slushy and Vodka. My throat was starting to feel sore and I figured this would help me get back to the hotel without too much pain. The bartender asked me if I wanted an additional shot of Vodka for $2. Of course! Was there a question? Brilliant I tell you. Who thought of selling alcoholic slushies to grown ups? Really?
Stumbled, I mean walked, back to the hotel, by a little after 1 a.m. And had the good sense to ask the guy who calls the cabs what time he suspected we would need to be out there to get to the airport in time to catch a 7:15 a.m. Flight. Yea, who thought it was a good idea to get on a 7:15 a.m. Flight from Vegas? Why do they even HAVE 7:15 flights out of Vegas? That’s the REAL question. Dude had the audacity to say 4:30 a.m. I said “you mean like 3.5 hours from right now?” He gave me what I interpreted as an evil “yes, drunk woman,” look but he didn’t say anything.
Somehow Blue Eyes got me to the room where I laid on the bed and began, literally, at that moment, to sneeze uncontrollably. Are you kidding me? Its time to leave, I need to get a little sleep and NOW I start to feel shitty again? Yea. That’s my life.
Got up at 4 a.m. To shower and then we got a cab to the airport at 4:30. Dude was still working and that made me laugh, until I realized that it had only been 3.5 hours earlier that I’d seen him. Of course he was still working. Duh. I felt awful.
Plane ride home was miserable, but really quiet. I didn’t feel hung over as much as I felt sick. I coughed, sneezed, blew my nose to the joy of all my fellow passengers and incessantly buzzed the airline attendant to bring me napkins over and over again. I buzzed her so often she quit coming to ask what I wanted, she just showed up with napkins. I guess she really thought she was on her game. But I know if she had really been on her game she would have brought me a whole freaking package of napkins so I wouldn’t have had to keep buzzing her ass. But whatever.
When we got to Portland at 9:30 I had 4 hours til my plane left for San Francisco. Because Blue Eyes lives 20 minutes from the airport he took me to his house where he gave me some cold medicine, tucked me into his bed and let me sleep for two hours. I felt a little better when he woke me up but still pretty shitty. He also did something else for me. He let me use his rolling carry-on size luggage so I would not be forced to check my heavy ass bag since I’d be alone and he would not be able to carry it for me. I actually downsized my stuff – took all the warm weather Vegas clothes out and just put the appropriate San Francisco attire in and fell in love with luggage on wheels. Definitely going to be getting one of those before my next trip.
He took me to the airport and dropped me off and I made my way to San Francisco. But I can’t write about San Francisco now. I’m still sick and need to go to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll write about San Francisco.
This is my favorite photo that I took, with my cell phone, in Las Vegas. It was a beauty day in Vegas for sure, and if you witnessed my Hawaii pictures, you already know, I like trees.