Tuesday, March 13, 2007

What happens in Vegas...

Oh, yeah. I've been in Vegas. Vegas, baby! A city so storied it caused Daddymatic to leave me a note of things to do that included items such as

1. Double down on an 11 and
2. If you can't be good, at least take pictures.

It was hard-hard-hard being away from my peeps for a week, especially since the One True Child refused, for the first time in six months, to take a nap. This of course was mere hours after I left. Apparently he had forgotten that the last time he pulled this stunt we explained with exaggerated patience that two hours of midday toddler rest time is a mandatory stipulation of his continuing to stay with us. However, the boy rallied later in the day as he and Daddymatic rode the train and conversed with the tweakers my husband seems to attract in the same way that I attracted unwashed slacker dickhead boyfriends during my college years.

Then of course he was ailing and coughy and weepy for a day or two, during which time the confining guilt actually squeezed all air from my lungs and left me gasping after every single conversation with Daddymatic and his small person companion.

But dude, as soon as I hung up, I got to go shopping, meet up with old friends whom I introduced to new friends (what happens when a japanese-hawaiian mormon chick meets up with a formerly catholic lesbian jew? hilarity ensues!), get a mani-pedi, rock the old-school casinos that apparently only elderly hawaiian people frequent, and find out exactly how much sushi one can consume when it's an all-you-can-eat buffet. So there was that.

And the people in my training group were startling in their similarity to, say, the entire cast of Best In Show. Seriously. My coworker friend and I spent most of the first day casting celebrities to play these people. There's the flamboyantly gay guy in bright clothing, his middle-aged female friend with teenaged children who went nuts at the local male revue, the second grade teacher who wore skirts so short I was sure she had to work a bikini wax to wear, and the loud older woman who missed no opportunity to point out the ways the curriculum we were learning was sure to be inappropriate for the Navajo children she teaches at the rez. I am not even making this up. It was more fun that should be allowed, even in Vegas.

But then I came home again, and got to watch D say "pinkle pinkle" as he sprinkled sugar on his oatmeal in the morning, and hear him say, for the first umprompted time, "I love you, mama," and I thought "Meh. What's Vegas got on da SLC?"

So thanks to those of you who were checking to see where I was and a BIG SHOUT OUT and "mwah" to Mo-wo for nominating this post for a ROFL award. I'm blushing, babe, especially since you always make ME ROFL. High praise from the Motherwoman herself. The pressure's on now!