Having fun… wish you were here…

We’re back from Vegas and it wasn’t as bad as it seemed like it might be in the first hour.

Within minutes of setting foot in the Las Vegas airport, while on our way to another terminal to meet Gargantuan Man Boy, GMB himself suddenly phoned us on my cell. It was nearly an hour before he was supposed to land, so I was surprised, but I couldn’t hear him from the little monorail between terminals. As we got out, I shoved the phone at Wes and focused on wheeling my backpack out of the crowd. Wes headed to the windows to get better reception.

It seemed Gargantuan Man Boy missed his plane.

Because he, and more particularly his *%^&(# of a father, DID NOT KNOW that he would need to be there so early.

We blame ourselves quite a bit, because GMB’s father HAS NEVER FLOWN and we somehow failed to tell him explicitly what time to get to the airport. We did, however, send all the important documentation with that information to GMB himself. And GMB himself has also been on countless airplanes with us and with his grandmother. AND GMB’s father has before brought him to the airport to meet us. Somehow, it never occurred to us that his **&^%#($)^# of a father would think they could mosey on in at takeoff time.

The worst part of this story is yet to come. GMB’s father did not apologize to us, nor call us, nor attempt to help us get him to Vegas. They found that the next plane was at 6, and the dad had to go to work, and that was the end of the attempt. He drove GMB the 2 hours back to their little Ohio town and left the kid at home to call us. So while we were easily able to get him onto another flight at 8, GMB’s *&#($&@^(#)#&$^@ of a father was not home to shuttle him back to the airport. And our attempts to get Wes’ dad to drive him failed, as he cannot drive at night. And our attempts to get the airline to take GMB’s age out of the computer so that he could pass as 15 and clear security on his own also failed (we had paid the $40 for GMB’s father to walk him to the gate, and since they then knew he was 14.75, they would not let us send him sans escort. "Can’t you just UN-KNOW how old he is?" Wes was snarling into the phone.)

So Gargantuan Man Boy did not make it to Vegas.

We were crushed by this, achingly so. We were standing in and around the WORLD’s LOUDEST BAGGAGE CLAIM EVER, trying not to freak out and cry. That poor kid’s *&$^@#(#& of a father has done nothing but disappoint, EVER. And this time, he was making it our fault, since we clearly didn’t instruct him explicitly enough.

But we had to get ourselves to the Paris, where large numbers of my family were waiting to see our smiling faces. And by that I mean, in my family, you better be SMILING when you arrive. In my family, when you call to tell about this hideous start to the trip, you are told, with barely a moment’s sympathy, that you must put it behind you and have a good time. Or else. OK, the ‘or else’ is implied.

And so we steeled ourselves. "At least we can have sex," we said, trying to look on the bright side of suddenly having our own room. It actually seemed a poor substitute. That’s how sad we were.

But we managed to pull ourselves together. And soldier on. Onward to the mall. Onward to the white lions and tigers of Siegfried and Roy ("I think that from now on, we should model our lives after Siegfried and Roy’s," Wes mused as we watched a DVD of them playing with white tiger cubs). Onward to Vegas, ever more resembling Disneyworld. The Paris could easily be a "land" in Disney’s World, as could New York, New York and the Aladdin. Hell, the last one even shares a name with a Disney movie.

All told, we managed to have a relatively good time. It was nice to see my family, strange as they can be, and nice to drag Wes around and watch him be horrified. We didn’t gamble (except for your bet, Bill – you lost. We weren’t the lucky sort to bet with this weekend) and we didn’t get even mildly drunk, although we both gave it our all on Saturday night at the big birthday dinner at this REALLY fancy restaurant hidden in The Venetian. We had a private room with our own waitstaff and a little maitre’d to tend to our every whim. He filled my champagne glass with abandon, but the French food soaked it all up. Quel dommage.

And now, the promised pictures:

This is Wes musing about the Paris Hotel over breakfast at the Cafe Ile St Louis. Strangely, we stayed on the actual Ile St Louis 2 years ago and never stumbled upon this lovely little outdoor dining establishment.


Me at the same cafe, happy as a Disney-fied singing clam (or at least as happy as a clam can be without her Gargantuan Man Boy)

Wes, later the same day, no longer musing so much as hating. Seated at the table next to us was Bride and Groom Couple #412 with their small group of family and friends. Wes does not enjoy people who do things he would not, such as have their wedding in the Paris Las Vegas Wedding Chapel.

It looks like Wes is gagging himself over the Faux Coyote Ugly at the Faux New York, but in fact he is eating a Faux New York Pretzel. It cost $4, which is even more than it costs in the real Times Square, and it didn’t even resemble the real thing. This was yet another disappointment, as this was Day 2 and we were terribly homesick for overpriced food by then.


Getting through the monorail turnstyle was serious business. Note the expressions on the faces of Wes and my aunt behind him, and on my father’s – he is in charge of entering the ticket each time one of us goes through, and the stress is about to break him.


This is my sister and her friends during their pre-dinner gondola ride in The Venetian. The gondolier even sang Happy Birthday in Italian. My brother and cousin also rode in one, but they were placed with a young couple who had obviously meant to have a romantic gondola ride and instead got placed with two huge teenaged boys. Yet another thing that would have gone more smoothly if Gargantuan Many Boy had been there to ride with the boys.

My sister’s adorable place setting in the fabulous Bouchon private room. The disk is a DVD copy of Viva Las Vegas, which we each received. Compliments to my decorating champ of a stepmom.


Helllloooo Christmas card photo! Hey – it’s the first one in many years that wasn’t taken at a funeral! Also the first one to include Wes. And I’m pretty sure Dad will have to use this one, because he and I wore our glasses in all the other takes and had majorly weird glares. So welcome, three years later, to the family, dear husband. And sorry I made you go to Vegas. And I promise Dad will fix the red-eye before he sends it to everyone he’s ever known.