Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
You may already know this, but the Playboy Club is at the top of the Palms Casino. It's not really very close to the strip and the last time we were in Vegas, it wasn't even mentioned as a "place to be." It seems to have gained in popularity ever since the MTV show, "The Real World" was filmed there a few years ago. Still, it was never even on our radar as a place to visit. (Aaron and I, by the way, are so not "the place to be" type.) But Aaron has a business associate who offered to put us on his VIP lists when we were out there. The Playboy Club was one and The Foundation Room, which tops Mandalay Bay, was the other. I opted for The Playboy Club because I see celebs in US Weekly visiting the Playboy Club and I'm always up for celebrity spotting. Our only option was Saturday night, our first night there, so that's what we did. And all I can say is, again, HOLY BALLS.
First of all, we walked up to the Palms Hotel from the street. Where the bus dropped us off. I walked in bare feet to the bus, so my soles were jet black, but I was wearing heels and couldn't take the walking anymore. Stretch limos lined the driveway, where fabulously young, possibly rich, definitely over-indulged MTV types emerged, dressed to impress and attract. Already, we knew we didn't fit.
Then we walked in. Just passing through the slot section of the casino, we noticed that the vibe at the Palms is different than any other place in Vegas. It's filled with the same young, rich (maybe), over-indulged children coming from the limos out front. No one looks tourist-y, or desperate to win, or disappointed that they don't have $5 blackjack. It's a very cool, laid-back atmosphere. We are very tourist-y, very desperate to win, and always looking for $5 blackjack, so again, we didn't fit. But we still didn't know how out of place we were. Until we saw the line.
As we walked toward a sign that said "PLAYBOY," we noticed a line of people, approximately 50 people deep. There was also a sign that said N9NE (the steakhouse), so we thought (hoped) the line was for dinner. No such luck.
As we walked toward the line, we noticed two gentlemen in dark suits directing traffic. I walked toward one of them and told him we were "supposed to be on a list for the Playboy Club?" He pointed to the other man in the dark suit and said "Ask him."
We noticed several other people asking him. And being turned away. It was like being in the movies. Some were turned away because they weren't on the list. Some were turned away because they were dressed inappropriately, and others had "too many guys" in their group. I started to sweat under my arms. What if we were turned away? What do you mean, 'what if'? We are definitely going to be turned away. We are too old, too dull, and too married to be in this place. I almost turned to Aaron and said "Let's just forget it." But then I thought about that long walk back to the bus. And my dirty, sore feet. And I decided, What the hell? We'll never see this guy again. And just like that, it was our turn to be rejected. "We are supposed to be on the list," I told Rude Guy in Dark Suit. "Name?" He said shortly, much like the David Spade receptionist character on SNL. I told him our names. I was wishing our names were Biff and Muffy Beauregard at that moment. "Who put you on the list?" We said the two names we were told to say. And Oh.My.God, he's lifting the velvet ropes. We are IN. He gave us a little card and said "You are VIP comp tonight." Thank goodness because the cover was $40 per person. And that was it. We were in.
And once you are in, you are in. Even Rude Guy in a Dark Suit is nice to you once you are in. It's amazing. There are Dark Suits everywhere, directing you to the bathroom, riding with you in the elevator, and generally just making sure you are the happiest club-goer in the land while you are there.
I have to be honest. I kind of started to feel like somebody. Even though I was wearing jeans and heels while every other girl had on slinky, shiny, tight dresses, I felt like I belonged there. Because we were on the list. And as you know, not just anybody can be on the list.
We sauntered up to the bar like all the other rich, fabulous clubbers and ordered. Vodka tonic and Bud Light. "That will be $18." What? Did he just say $18? Holy balls. (sorry I can't think of anything else to say) We will be the only sober people in this club at that price!
I have to say, the club itself is cool, but not amazing. It's just a club, with music, drinks and dancing. It's the people and the money that is amazing. There are groups of sofas and chairs with either people or "reserved" signs on them. The reserved tables have drinks already there, especially for the high-rollers who will be sitting there later. For example, if a "client", as they say, likes vodka, then there is a bottle of Ketel One Vodka with carafes of cranberry, tonic, Sprite, orange juice and just about anything else you can mix with vodka. I always wondered how people like Paris Hilton can run up an $8,000 bar tab on one night out. Now I know.
There are also blackjack tables. No $5 minimums here. The miminum bet here is $100. And there are also reserved blackjack tables. We saw an older (60s, at least) man sit down at "his" table with two very young, very sexual looking young women. They just sat there, arms hooked in his, watching him bet $5,000-$10,000 hands, looking very bored but very attentive to "their man." Frankly, I was repulsed.
There is an escalator, which takes you up to Moon, a top-floor club with a retracted roof so that you can see (duh) the moon. Dancing under the moon...ahhh, so nice. Wait, did I mention that the dance floor is packed with sweaty, over-privileged young people? Yeah, so we danced two songs and went back down to Playboy. It's so much more us. (Can you read sarcasm in that statement? Please do.)
After an hour and a half of people-watching (sadly no celebs), and eighty freaking dollars in drinks, we decided we'd had enough. We were still feeling pretty ritzy though, so we took a cab back to the hotel. No stinky bus and sweaty, black feet for us after a night mingling with the rich folk.
We discussed our night on the way back...we both agreed that it was definitely worth the $80 drinks and the $20 cab ride just to get a glimpse into that lifestyle. And we also agreed that grilling with friends in our backyard and drinking longnecks at local hole-in-the-wall bars is more our style. And we like it that way.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
I mean, come on...think of all the things that could go wrong. Plane crashes, muggings, terrorists. Not to mention all the trouble at home. Injuries, choking, bathtub mishaps....it's enough to send me to my room, sucking my fingers as if I were Reesie.
So, basically, I'm 90% excited and 10% neurotically obsessed with negative thoughts. That's quite an improvement from when Avery was a baby. I was much more 60/40 back then. I even left a long letter detailing who I wanted raising my kids (Mom...she can pass them around to my siblings when she gets sick of them) and who was in charge of their medical care (Mom, again.) I didn't relax and feel happy until my 2nd in-flight Bud Light (hey, that rhymes...in-flight Bud Light). This time, I think I'll feel relaxed mid-way through the first in-flight Bud Light (I'm going to keep saying it). Just in case, I may pack some of my Vicodin from the good ol' staph days. I'm kidding...I'm not a drug addict. I'm NOT!!!
Alright, so nothing bad is going to happen. We are going to be alone. Every couple needs alone time and we never get it so we deserve this, dadgum it! It's going to be a fabulous time...especially for a gambling addict like me. My kids are the furthest thing from my mind once I see the bright lights and hear the bling bling of the slots. Plus, Aaron's fancy VIP friend has us on the list (what is this list anyway and is there really one with MY name on it?) at the Playboy club in the Palms and some other fancy bar. How fun is that? Oh wait...what will I wear? I better go get started right now...we may run into K-Fed!
Have a fabulous weekend...see you next week!
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Shoulder massages while I typed playbooks; prank phone calls from desk to desk with heavy breathing; naughty jokes were a dime a dozen and sexual innuendo laced 90% of conversation in the office. Somehow, these guys could make "Hey, I need my expense report filed" sound like a proposition. They commented on everything. I remember when I got my hair cut short, one of the coaches said "Whoa, what did you do? Why did you cut it? It's not bad, though...you're still doable, of course, but the long hair was HOT."
And you know what? Not only did I never complain or file a grievance against any of them, but I liked it. I took part in the back-and-forth
I loved it. And I miss it now. Never again have I experienced this level of attention and feeling of being the hottest person on the planet. I wasn't the hottest person on the planet, of course, but when you are constantly surrounded by people who notice when you lose 3 pounds or get a new haircut or outfit, it sort of causes you to think constantly about how you look. And sadly, when you have relatively low self-esteem, you begin to rely on this sort of attention to reassure that you do look good.
So, there you have it. I'm not politically correct. I like sexual harrassment, if only because it boosts my self confidence. If any of you want to begin prank calling me and telling me dirty jokes, email me for my number. Heck, you can email me a dirty joke if you want. As long as you tell me I'm hot.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
I was bitten on the face by an ant. I have a bad history with ants anyway and I'm severely allergic to a certain kind of fire ant, so they aren't my favorite insect anyway. But who in the hell has ever been bitten on the face by one? Of course, since I practically begged God to torture me daily, it's me. It happened in boot camp Saturday. We were doing some sort of demented, harder-than-heck push-up. Our instructor always tells us to go down as far as we can. So I did. We were in the grass, so my face was touching the grass on the down portion of the exercise. Apparently, an ant was just sitting there waiting for me to come down again because on about my third down time, I felt something stinging my face, right next to my eye. It burned severely. And then I felt another one on my cheek. I saw ants crawling around my hands and I knew that's what it had been.
I tried to finish my push-ups because I was too embarrassed to stand up and have everyone see that I was bitten in the stupid face by a stupid ant. Of course it didn't happen to anyone else. Why would it? No one else prayed The Prayer. Just me.
I did finally have to stand up and use my water to try to rinse my face because it was burning so badly. But thankfully, it wasn't the bad kind of fire ant because I didn't have a reaction. And my friend looked at it and said that it was a bit red, but you couldn't even tell.
When I got home that day, I couldn't see anything. Whew. That was just a little "uh-oh." Just the kind I was talking about. Thank goodness. How stupid would I feel if I had to walk around with ant bites ON MY FACE? Pretty stupid. I mean, I would feel so stupid I wouldn't even want to leave the house. I wouldn't want to have to say "I got bit by an ant. "In the face????" "Yep. In the face. Yes, I am an idiot and ridiculous things like this happen to me all the time. You wanna make something of it?"
Thank goodness that wasn't going to happen. There were no obvious bites. It itched a bit, but the important thing was that you couldn't see anything. Double whew.
Hey, guess what I learned yesterday? Ant bites fester overnight and don't turn into a stupid, red, obvious bump until the day after.
The moral of this story...don't ever think you've escaped the ridiculous. Especially if you are me.
Friday, June 13, 2008
If you guessed "Will you eat me?" you were correct. This is what she says when she is trying to get out of eating her dinner and she wants me to feed her. She means "Will you feed me?" but she has it a bit wrong. At least I hope she means that. I hope to God my baby girl isn't really saying "eat me" at her mother. At any rate, I usually say no, because I don't want to start a trend of feeding her again...that's a step backward and I've already got Big Tuna to handle. But sometimes I just give in because I get tired of her yelling "EAT ME!" at me. It just ain't right.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
We had a mini-vacation over the weekend. We took the kids to a hotel 20 minutes from our house just to get away. More on that later.
We have also started tennis camp and swimming lessons this week. Oh yeah, and did I mention that Reese and Rhett are both sick? Rhett had 103 temp yesterday. The doctor can't find anything wrong with him except his cough. But he is one miserable baby. I've never seen him so lethargic and whiney. Reese woke up with it this morning, but isn't suffering quite as badly as her brother. Hmmm...Avery sailed through this illness in about 24 hours. Reese has barely complained. And yet, Rhett has whined and cried and kept everyone in the house on pins and needles for a day and a half so far. I wonder....hmmm...no, it can't be. Maybe. Do you think? Do you think it could possibly have anything to do with the fact that he is a MALE?
I'll let you decide.
More on tennis camp and our mini-vacay later...gotta go tend to The Baby.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Also, if we were sick enough to stay home from school and Mom let us lay in their bed to watch TV, the minute he came home, he'd kick us out. He'd say "I don't want that mochus in my room...get out of here with that." I'm not sure what mochus is, but I know he didn't like it. I think it's just a general funkiness, only I don't think my dad has ever used the word "funky."
Anyway, I used to think my dad was super mean to say I was mentally weak and that I could control my own sickness. I still think it was mean to make me cough like a nitwit, but what happened Wednesday actually got me thinking that he was on to something. Not that I would ever stop my kids from coughing out loud, but that there is a mental aspect to sickness.
Wednesday was check-up day at the doctor for Avery and Rhett. Rhett's one-year checkup went well and was uneventful except for the four shots. Avery's was fine except for one thing. She had a fever of 101 degrees. But she was fine. She had been playing and acting like her normal goofball self. Even when he asked her how she felt, she said she was fine. No sore throat, nothing wrong in her ears. She was fine except for the fever. He said it happens and that sometimes, their bodies are fighting something that we can't see and she was probably fine, but keep an eye on her.
We went straight home because I didn't want to chance her making other kids sick at the playground. The second we got home, she said "Can I watch a movie? Since I'm a little bit sick?" And there it goes. Now, she has a cough, runny nose, has had fever twice since the doctor's visit and is just, in general, carrying around the mochus/funkiness.
Now, I have to ask...Is that a mental thing? Did she get sick because the doctor told her she was sick? It made me think about all the people who are diagnosed with a life-threatening illness and die like two weeks later. They were totally fine and then one day, they just died. Would they have died so soon if they hadn't known they were sick or did the fact that they were told they would die lead them to believe it, thus causing it to actually happen? It's something to think about...well, maybe. I mean, if you're like me and the only thing you have to do is think about whether or not your daughter's doctor actually caused her illness, it's something to think about. Otherwise, go on about your too-busy-to-think-about-it lives.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Sure, he has the occasional fall, but he is getting around pretty good. He's about a month or two behind where his sisters were at this age, but hey, he's a man...plus, he has about 10 more pounds on him than they did, so what do you expect? All in all, I'd say he's doing a fabulous job.
Except when he chooses to be Dorf instead of walking around like a normal person.
Remember when that guy from Carol Burnett did those stupid Dorf videos? He walked around on his knees. (Did he even walk or just stand there, on his knees?) He even put shoes on his knees. The only one I remember is Dorf on Golf. (Did anyone think that was funny?)
Anyway, Rhett seems to have taken a cue from good old Dorf because when he's not walking on his chunky little meat-pie feet, he's doing this:
He can move pretty quickly like this. I've tried putting shoes on his knees, but he gets irritated. I'm taking that as a good sign.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Ever since the big birthday party, I've been missing the pink one. And I've looked everywhere. I'm sure someone just walked off with it. Probably my dad. He and his family have this weird quirk about taking cups from other people's houses. So what's the big deal, right? It's just a plastic cup, I have three more, and besided, I can always order more if I need them.
Here is the problem. I confess, it is about as anal-retentive and obsessive-compulsive as you can get. My problem is that there are only three left. As in 2 in one stack and a stack of, well, one. Which isn't a stack at all. So there's always just one sitting there, stackless. And it drives me nuts.
I gotta get a life.