Homeward Bound

I am sitting with my computer in my lap, typing away in the departures lounge, staring at slot machines. I have told Mr. Spit to go and take the last of our American money and see what he can win us back (I'm not going to participate, and Mr. T, you are buying coffee on Wednesday, I gambled away my coffee money!). I'm going to ramble on a bit about the trip

I managed to get through security without losing my passport, and I bought chocolate, and we had dinner at Chili's. Which raises an interesting point.

The steak fajitas at Chili's in the airport are $12.99. At home, we go to Chili's fairly often, and there, well there, my steak fajitas are $21.99. Does anyone else smell Mrs. Spit getting ripped off?

But, rambling about Vegas.

We had a good time. Especially when the Kelly's arrived, and we ate the most incredible dinner ever. We were at the top of THE Hotel and the view was absolutely incredible.

The fountains of Bellagio were absolutely incredible, and so was the food. Vegas is a food town. The housekeeping and amenities at TI were ok, not great, but the company was good.

Mystere was amazing, and I'm sure Mr. Spit will want to tell you all about the little dam we met. (Best dam tour ever!)

Anyway, our plane has arrived, so it's time to shut down the computer and get on with going home.

All Grown Up Now

Ahem.

I have decided.

I am not going to be a jelly bean saleswoman (selling only the black ones, because any other kinds are revolting)

I am not going to design firework shows. (Although, this was the most tempting career I could think of for a long time.)

I will not become a blast engineer. (Hello, the fact I didn't know you could divide by zero was always going to be a limiting factor)

I am not going to marry for money (Hate to say it, but it didn't work last time anyway)

No.

None of those.

Not at all, at all.

I have a plan.

I.

I am going

I am going to
(run away

and)

join the circus.

Maybe

Maybe I'm cheap, maybe I'm missing the fun gene, maybe I got dropped on the head as a baby (actually, I'm pretty sure that happened)

I decided to try my hand at the slots today. I showed up with my 24 dollars (and remind me to pay Martha back her $2 tomorrow, would you?). And I put $2 in the machine.

I don't "get" this whole gambling thing.

It went something like this. . .

Mrs. S: How do I use this thing, what do I hit?

Martha the Fabulous: Hit the button that says 75 credits.

Mrs. S hits the button. She loses 75 cents. Hits the button again, loses another $75 cents.

Mrs. S: Why won't it let me bet?

M the Fab: You've run out of money. Here's $2.

I put more money in. I lose that. Mr. S shows up with a $20. I put the $20 in. Surely having lost $4, my luck must be about to change.

I press the 250 Credits button (going all in!).

I lose $2.50.

And another $2.50

And another.

And more after that. I start betting 75 cents again. I lose that.

Finally, I am down to 1.33. I win big. Really big.

Which means that when I cashed out of the machine, I had only LOST $6. Yep. . .

I lost $6 in 5 minutes. Playing the Star Wars slot machines.

I took my left over $16, handed part of it over to Mr. Spit, and went shoe shopping with Martha.

Much better that.

But, seriously, how is losing about a dollar a minute fun? I could have walked around the casino, dropping dollar bills, and that would at least have been fun for the person who found them. . .

Games

My father always told me that everyone had a game, and that you shouldn't play another man's game until you knew his rules.

Which is, on the whole of it, not bad advice for a woman in Vegas. I have been surprised how much game playing their really is. Oh, there's the Casino, where you expect the games. There's the men (and women!) handing out cards for prostitutes, there's the rodeo ticket sellers, there's the guy's with the the VIP passes for night clubs, the hucksters trying to sell stuff by giving it away for free. (Nothing's free, especially not in Vegas) Everywhere, bombarding me, there's advertising.

And I'm trying to make sense of it all. There's gondoliers on rides through indoor canals, with second rate opera, and a first rate ticket price (64 dollars for a 2 person gondola ride? Your kidding, right?). There's the 15 dollar room service coffee, the $50 of "free" slot machine money. Everyone has a game going on.

Our bit of the game today was to remember and forget. To remember Gabriel, and how much we love and miss him, and to forget that I have been pregnant 4 times and still have nothing to show for it. To forget the gut wrenching and back breaking pain of still not having a child to call our own, in a bed, in the nursery. To forget that we expected another child by the first anniversary, and we were sure of another child by the second. To forget.

Bill Engvald's game was to make us laugh, and we did. On a day like today, you can do worse than listen to a man who loves his wife and kids, loves his life, and is so darn funny. And for those who have seen his show, the other part of his game. PMP, HYS.

We went into the restaurant (ok, this is a Vegas resort, one of the restaurants) and we ordered a meal, and then we asked for a slice of cake and a candle. This is a problem, because obviously what we really don't want is 15 waiters coming out of the kitchen, standing in front of us, singing happy birthday, while we cry. It's going to be anything but game-like to explain - Surprise! You just sang happy birthday to a dead baby.

We asked, well Mr. Spit asked, while I looked mutely, the waiter, trying to explain that we sing our son happy birthday every year, but he's not here, because umm, he died, and it's a long story, and could we have the cake and a candle. We'll take it from there, these are our rules.

I have learned a lot about a bunch of different games. Some I know the rules too, and I'm willing to play, and some I've learned to just stay away from. But anyway, from my father to you, some advice.

Everyone has a game. Don't play until you know the rules.

*****
And a million thank you's for your kind words, comments and thoughts yesterday. We appreciated them.

Hoovering

So, the Mister and I are on our way Vegas today. . .

One of the things we are going to do is go to the Hoover Dam with Martha and her family. (Tickets are bought. Also, you may have heard, they are building a bridge there. Mr. Spit is vibrating, he's so happy).

Anyway, you know me (well, you don't, not in the real world, but let's move on, shall we?) I like to research stuff. So, I go on to the Hoover Dam Tour website, and I look around, then I click on the link marked "plants". Ok, so they have cactus at the Hoover Dam. Only cactus. That's ok, its the desert, and really cactus can be quite lovely. Also, as a species, they are spectacularly easy to identify. Sooo, cactus.

Then I click on the wildlife. I like to know what I should be expecting to see. Coyotes are the first on the list. Meh, we have those around here. They aren't that exciting, and frankly, ours look pretty flea bitten (actually, it's mange, but never mind). Unless they are stealing chickens from your chicken coop and you have to race after them with a pitch fork (True Story! I can't make this stuff up!), they aren't a big deal. Then we have squirrels. These are antelope squirrels, but I have to tell you, they look pretty squirrelish to me.

The next item is rattle snakes. Oh. Charming. Let's keep looking, shall we? Gila monsters. Well, there's some cool factor there, but ewww. About the grossest thing I've seen in a long time. Next?

Ring tailed cats, now those are cute. Cute, snugly adorable. We'll ignore the bit about the cloud of noxious fumes when startled. I've known some people who can do that, and let's face it, nature is red of tooth and sharp of claw, and it's hard to get by when you are cute.

Then we have, oh crumb. Is that what I think it is? That's what I think it is. Just breathe Mrs. Spit. It's December. All the little scorpions will be in their wee ickly hidey holes, dreaming of sugar plums and santa claws. *Shudder*.

And last. Oh, last. Yes. I'm grimacing. I'm gagging. There are tarantula's? Oh. I do not think I am ok with that. I do not think I am at all ok with that. Not even a little bit. Spider. Ugh. Furry Spider? Ewwwww. I'm waving my hands in front of my face, making *that* sound.

So, we are off to the Hoover Dam. Where we will not be taking ANY nature walks. Just saying.

Help Me Out Here

So, as stated, Mr. Spit and I are going to Vegas. Joining us for the weekend is the lovely Martha, her outstanding husband, and her charming sons.

We need a hotel.

I'm indecisive. Really indecisive.

So, let me tell you what I am looking for:

1. It must be reasonably priced. By reasonably priced, I mean that I will not pay more than $600, plus tax for 5 nights. I won't. You can't make me. Unfortunately that seems to rule out The Wynn, the Venetian, the Bellagio and Mandalay Bay (with 4 pools, sniff)
2. It must be "theme-ish". I don't know how to describe it. I want the Vegas experience. I don't want the Hilton or the Marriott. I want fountains and marble and neon and scantily clad women and overpriced drinks. Bells and whistles and flashing lights. An alien space ship, a recreation of the amazon jungle. You get the point.
3. It must be on the strip. Central would be great, but I hear there's a trolley thingy, so central is not essential.
4. It must have a pool. This Canadian girl is going swimming outside on the 14th of December.
5. It must be clean. It must have a bed and a bathroom. Bonus points will be awarded if the bed is a strange shape.
6. I would prefer small child unfriendly. It must be teenager friendly. Martha's boys are lovely people, and I won't have them insulted because they are teenagers.

Any suggestions?