I Can Bake Piezzzz

When I worked at World Vision, it some how came out in a conversation once with my boss that I had never baked a pie. (Nor did I know how.)

“WHAATTT?!” was her reaction… You’d think that she just figured out I wasn’t really a devote Christian and had been masquerading the whole time.

“Every girl needs to know how to bake a pie!” she continued. “It should be the one trick in your bag!”

Uh…why? So I can win a pie contest at my local fair?!

Pies are great and everything—my mom make spectacular pies in various fruit, pudding and sugar-loaded combos all the time. But, they always seemed so gingham, doilies and daisies to me. Don’t you know I’m all leather, vodka and heels!

However, I wanted to do something nice for my boyfriend on Father’s Day since he’s a dad, but I didn’t want to make a huge deal about it because he’s not my dad nor the dad of my children. So, I thought… why not do a simple but thoughtful gesture like making his favorite dessert? (Marionberry pie)

I searched three grocery stores before finding one very expensive bag of frozen marrionberries ($13.99, who knew?!) and enlisted the help of my pie-experienced mother, who I’m sure was just pleased as punch that I asked for her help. I’ve always thought I was never quite domestic enough for her…

Two cups of flour, one cup each of lard and sugar, six cups of marrionberries mixed with grated lemon peel and a pinch of a few other ingredients, and I had a real home-baked pie on my hands. I would have never guessed it, but I was pretty damn pleased by my handmade confection. It was like I had birthed the pie myself. Maybe this is what having children feels like?!

I even cut a heart out of the center of it.

Currently Feeling: Like I’d do anything to be outside and not at work today.
Currently Anticipating: The Mariners game tonight with my work.
Currently Loving: The quiet of my office this week cause everyone is in three-day meetings but me!

Death to Skinny Bitches

I recently cut aspartame out of my diet in a search to figure out some weird mood problems I’ve had lately, which I swear are diet-related.

I think most people think I’m crazy. Like they won’t say you’re crazy, but when you’re explaining your theory to them they’re nodding and looking at you with an expression that says, “Outside I’m nodding, but inside my head I think you’re totally nucking futs."

The fact that I’m a total hypochondriac doesn’t help my theory much. Last month it was cervical cancer and the month before that it was a hormone imbalance. So, when this month I claim, “Aspartame Poisoning!” I can understand why some people smile, nod and don’t believe a word I say.

BUT, I’m not crazy. I swear. There’s something more than a bit fishy with this whole aspartame crap. I had done some Internet research that led me to believe some of my mood concerns could most definitely be linked to aspartame. Then, I picked up the New York Times Bestseller, “Skinny Bitch” by Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin on a whim at Target, and read the following in the first paragraph about giving up soda/pop:

“Now don’t go patting yourself on the back if you drink diet soda. That stuff is even worse. Aspartame (an ingredient commonly found in diet sodas and other sugar-free foods) has been blamed for a slew of scary maladies, like arthritis, birth defects, fibromyalgia, Alzheimer’s, lupus, multiple sclerosis and diabetes. When methyl alcohol, a component of aspartame, enters your body, it turns into formaldehyde. Formaldehyde is toxic and carcinogenic (cancer-causing). Laboratory scientist use formaldehyde as a disinfectant or preservative. They don’t fucking drink it. Perhaps you have a lumpy ass because you are preserving your fat cells with diet soda. The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has received more complaints about aspartame than any other ingredient to date. Want more bad news? When aspartame is paired with carbs, it causes your brain to slow down its production of serotonin. A healthy level of serotonin is needed to be happy and well balanced. So drinking soda can make you fat, sick and unhappy.
–Page 13-14 in "Give It Up: Skinny Bitch"

This is officially the end of an era for me—no more Diet Vodkas. (Which are aptly named Skinny Bitches.)

Unhappy in Sushi Land

Conveyor belt sushi is unbelievably terrible.

Prior to my sushi-loving days of late, I'd get drug along for dinner at a conveyor belt sushi restaurant and everyone would exclaim, "Oh, it's so amazing!" Since this was before I could even stomach California rolls, I grabbed the orange plates with edamame, pot stickers and tempura. I was never really that impressed. It wasn't until I was introduced to sushi restaurants with lovely, detailed menus and options, did I really become a fan. And since I’m terribly spoiled with places like Chiso, Kisaku, Dragonfish and Wasabi Bistro in Seattle and Sam’s Sushi right down the street from my house, shying away from what I deemed the "fast food" of sushi proved to be effortless.

But last night I was in Redmond, searching for somewhere to eat before the evening showing of the new scary movie, The Strangers, and I was craving sushi. If you want to get rich quick, open a decent sushi place in Redmond. Apparently there’s only one conveyor belt sushi place and one buffet-style Japanese place, which rumor has it, features mediocre rolls. Since the conveyor belt sushi restaurant was right next to the theater, we opted to try it out, against our better judgment.

Oi vay.

Where do I begin?

The wait was terrible. People were standing all around the perimeter of the restaurant, and the empty spots weren’t being cleaned or sat till approximately 10 minutes or more after people left.

The service was terrible. My “refillable” ice tea was never refilled nor could we find anyone to help us or answer questions.

The general appearance was gross. The big pot of wasabi was crusted around the edge and dry, and there were crumbs, napkins, chopstick wrappers and plastic plate toppers all over the floor.

The sushi was S-I-C-K. There was no way to tell if something had been sitting on the conveyor belt all day or not. And a lot of it certainly looked like it had. The rolls could not be deciphered from the menu in front of us, nor did half of the menu ever make it to the belt. The whole time I was waiting for a tempura shrimp roll, a veggie roll, a house roll—something—to make an appearance. But all that ever circulated was California rolls, made with what looked like imitation crab coleslaw, and nigiri—various logs of white rice with slabs of fish lying on top. Then there were the rolls that scared me beyond belief—corn in some sort of white mayonnaisey sauce, stuffed in seaweed, and tuna salad stuffed in seaweed. Since when does sushi include food you'd find at a barbecue or ingredients you'd find sandwiched between two pieces of whole wheat?

“Fast food of sushi”—pshaw. That was being nice. I now deem conveyor belt sushi the sushi outlet store.

Currently Feeling: Hatred for the G.D. weather.
Currently Anticipating: This Monday being over. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
Currently Loving: These. I’m ordering them immediately.

Self-Indulgence in Your 20s is a Must

This past weekend my absolute favorite show--Sex and the City--debuted in the much-anticipated movie format and brought in an estimated $55.7 million dollars, beating the new Indiana Jones movie and breaking the opening-weekend sales record for a movie with a female leading role. (Lara Croft: Tomb Raider previously held the record at $47.7 million). [#]

To celebrate my favorite faux-girls' opening weekend, I surrounded myself with my favorite real girls in an over-the-top, girly, self-indulgent weekend.

"Sorry boyfriend," I said. "I'll see you Sunday!"

I previously mentioned that my work planned a "Team Day" on Friday for the SATC movie--the luxury of working on a team with seven other women. We left the office at 11:30 and all headed to the Gene Juarez salon downtown for spa services and blowdry/hairstyles. I have never been to a spa before and felt a little out of place, but quickly realized what all the hype's about after soaking in my Swiss grapefruit steam shower and wrapping myself in turbans, talc and a satin robe.


We each picked our spa service of choice, and I chose the Algae Body Mask. Um, call me Naive Nancy, but when I chose "Algae Body Mask," I didn't really think about how it would be actual algae spread all over my body--in every nook and cranny--and algae smells like pond water. Literally. You think I would have put two and two together... Oh yeah! Algae is that green foamy crap that films on the top of ponds! DUH. I cringed, thinking about how I smelt like what I'm sure Swamp Thing smelled like. Good thing they exfoliate your skin, rinse you off in a pounding rainforest type shower for 15 minutes and then massage yummy lotion all over. While I started out smelling like frog butt mixed in fish guts, I left smelling like a million dollars. Of course, when I explained the details of my spa service and how I had algae, lotion, etc. rubbed into my body, Baby Daddy's first question was, "Even in your V-Jay?!"

Why do men always have only one thing on the mind? They're so predictable.

Next, we all had blowdries and hairstyles scheduled... I decided to have my stylist straighten my hair, for a fun change. That turned out to be the best decision ever cause it left me feeling like a sexy model for a Vidal Sasoon commercial all weekend. Exactly how every girl wants to feel...the epitome of self-indulgence.

After the spa we all headed to The Local Vine for some good eats and glasses of wine. Funny thing here is that my Algae Body Mask was "detoxifying," so the wine went straight to my cranium. Four glasses and I was more than a little buzzed during the movie, especially since we scored tickets to Big Picture where we were able to keep our champagne glasses filled during the entire two-and-a-half-hour movie, which at first, I wasn't entirely Moons Over My Hammy about. But, I guess that's what happens when your expectations shoot clear to heaven. If there is such a place.


Big Super Bestie, Amanda, (back to Seattle from Canada) picked me up after the movie, and together we headed out for what ended up being one of the biggest drunken debauchery nights I've had in a long time. I blame it on the detoxifying effects of algae that my salon girl spent an hour explaining to me. We started at Peso's for a brewskie, took a cab to The Red Door to meet up with my crazy, gay socialite W (he's always trying to set people up--like he did for me back awhile ago--so I was working it for Amanda). It felt like The Red Door was filled with half the people I know in Seattle, including half of the class ahead of us in high school. We stayed there till close then headed with half of the class ahead of us in high school to some house in Greenlake. There we indulged in more Bud Lights and then attempted to catch a cab ride home at 3 a.m., which ended up in a totally irresponsible ride home from two guys. Particulars of which I won't discuss cause you might disown me for acting like this at 26 years old. (A girl's gotta have some secrets!)





Luckily (and barely) we made it home safely and were in bed at an early hour of 4 a.m. Sometimes it's good to know I still have it in me. Getting older can be such a downer. Suddenly I can't binge drink like I used to be able to. What's up with that?

And what did I get to wake up to the next day? Only the bestest, most indulgent girly day ever. Amanda and I grabbed lunch at Noah's Bagels and Jamba Juice (one of my all-time favorite combos), went tanning, got pedicures (with jeweled flowers!), shopped at Peridot (my favorite Seattle boutique) where I bought cute new super-dark-denim jeans and a hot pink flower top, then headed to my friend Angie's SATC premiere party at her apartment building in Belltown. She rented out the entertainment club house, which had a mini movie theater that she played Season 6 on. She also had decked out the accompanying party room in hot pink, black and SATC posters. And I mean decked out. There were hot pink and black balloons, over-sized martini glasses and glitter on the table with black and white candy, pink martini glasses, a chocolate fondue fountain, buckets of champagne, mini sandwiches and a veggie tray, a cupcake tier AND... duh, dum, duh, DUM... a COSMO FOUNTAIN! That's right. How genius is that? We could just put our little pink martini glasses up to the fountain and refill it with cosmos. Genius.





We ate, drank and gossiped, and then we all headed downtown for the 8 p.m. show, wrapped in a myriad of feather boas that Angie purchased for every girl. It was like a big straight girl drag show.

I have to admit, the first run-through of the movie didn't leave me thrilled. But after just letting myself simply enjoy it without analyzing, I literally LOVED it. Left me in tears of sentimentality.



Or maybe I was just so high from a weekend of pampering that bad juju just wasn't an option.

What did you think of it?

Currently Feeling: Whew. Long-winded. Sorry.
Currently Anticipating: Yoga tomorrow with Laris.
Currently Hating: Ridiculous arguments.

A New Bathing Beauty Suit

Before heading off to another Memorial Day weekend in fabulous Sunland, I of course had to purchase yet another bathing suit. By the amount of swimwear I've accumulated in the last three years, one would think that I just love to prance around half naked all the time. Not exactly, but summertime events such as the Sand Bar or Seafair are like bathing suit fashion shows--God forbid you wear the same suit two days in a row.

I haven't purchased a quality suit in a couple years (by quality, I mean anything outside of the $40 suits Target offers in approximately one million styles and colors), so I bit the bullet and headed to Macy's to purge the slightly more expensive swim department.

I accumulated probably 30 bathing suits before heading to the fitting rooms to try them on. While I was throwing off tops and bottoms, cringing, smiling and turning in the mirror, I could hear two other girls in the dressing room next to me.

"This one doesn't make me want to puke," the girl trying on swimsuits said to her by standing friend. (Us females usually like to drag someone along for an opinion). "I don't look terribly fat in this one," she said when she put the next one on. And on and on with every negative phrase including fat, ugly, bulge, stomach. Blah, blah, blah.

Now, I saw these girls in the department when I was picking out suits for myself, and both of them were probably 19 years old and 30 pounds lighter than me. It overwhelmingly depressed me--every girl is guilty of it, but it's just so damn sad that we have such a low self opinion of our bodies. And even if you're 115 pounds, you can't be happy with how you look in a swimsuit. Self esteem and body image gets better with age, but then you look back and only wish you could or would have been happy when you had the body you did at 19.

I wanted to shout to them over the dressing room, "I'LL TRADE YOU!"

But then again, they probably wouldn't have understood why I'm self conscious either because clearly I look exactly like this in my new suit:

(I like the criss-crossing in the back. How bout you?)

Currently Feeling: Chipper and cheerful. Probably cause I fell asleep at 9 p.m.
Currently Anticipating: Spa day and the Sex and the City movie tomorrow at Big Picture with my marketing team.
Currently Dreading: Cleaning my room and locating my car key.

Nerd Alert

Last week I had my portrait taken for my job. You know that dorky company photo that everyone is going to view in the employee directory, including Bob McFarlin in Saskatoon and every other random I work with all the time, but will probably never meet face to face with? (I always look up people when I work with them, just to see if my impression matches their photo. I know you do it too.) Well, in my first impression, I don't want to have dark roots, be pale or chubby looking. After all, I'd hate for people to have the reaction that I have when I open some people's directory photo. I could laugh for days at some of those... endless and cheap entertainment, I tell ya.

I haven’t had my portrait taken since like, well, 1999 to be exact—the spring before senior year of high school. But even those were full-body shots in street clothes. Not these dorky head and shoulder shots in business attire. I have to admit; I was more than a little portrait-taking out of practice. The photographer was super nice, but kept shouting, “I’ll make you look years younger! Now, massage the sides of your smile, it will make you look years younger! This lighting will make you look years younger!” I’m not exactly sure how old he thought I was, but yelling at me that his fantastic photography skills were going to make me “look years younger” didn’t exactly put a smile on my face.

Geez buddy, I’m only 26. What are you promising? Middle school regression?

And here I am:


Precious. Just precious, I tell you.

Currently Feeling: Blah all the time for no explainable reason.
Currently Anticipating: Mini golf and brewskies.
Currently Reading: "Everything is Illuminated" by Jonathan Safran Foer.

If chosen, my heritage would be Mexican

Bejesus. I love Cinco de Mayo. What is this, like my third year [ #, # ] talking about how much I love this holiday? Sorry if I sound like a broken record. But to me, Cinco de Mayo is second only to Halloween in my list of favorite holidays. Why? First off, it’s usually always sunny. And even though we’re having the longest recorded Seattle winter ever (at least it feels like it), it still didn’t fail to be bright, sunny and pretty yesterday. I raced home to throw on some sort of Spring-ish outfit, which is damn near impossible sometimes, given I usually haven’t worn my clothes for eight months by the time sun rolls back around here in Seattle. Therefore I’m usually stuck with a whole lot o’ nothin’—clothes that are too big, too tight, too small, out of style or worn-out. Nevertheless, I threw on my most Mexicano top, capris and some heels, and headed down to Peso’s with Baby Daddy to meet up with all my friends.

Like all the years gone past that I’ve lived and celebrated Cinco de Mayo in Seattle, Peso’s is a prime location given the close proximity to home (walking distance) and the cheap drinks and food thanks to my friend who bartends there. We did wait in line for a bit, but were greeted warmly by my friends who had been there since 3 or so. We quickly downed two margaritas and ordered chicken nachos. (BTW: Peso’s has the best nachos in the city, in my opinion.) Our drunken group boogied to the loud tunes and tried to escape being mauled and molested by the crowd. (Some girl felt my boyfriend up! But really, it’s Peso’s. Do I expect anything less?)

We all headed to The Spectator to play some Galaga and drink with less of a crowd. It wasn’t long before it was 10 p.m. and we were all hammered and tired. (The beauty of starting the fast drinking track at 6 p.m. is the ability to enjoy your evening and pass out early enough to not be a train wreck the next day at work. Ah. The lessons I’ve learned.) Baby Daddy and I ordered one farewell Washington Apple shot and bid adieu to the crowd.

So there you have it. Cinco de Mayo 2008. While it was a bit uneventful, and I don’t have some big hilarious story to share—it was still perfect. A little sunshine, lots of good friends, half a plate of nachos, six margaritas and my own little beaner to kiss.

¡Qué día más espléndido!


Currently Feeling: Out of shape. Again. Blech.
Currently Anticipating: Jenny and Shannon's wedding this weekend in Vancouver.
Currently Nervous For: Speaking on the North American marketing call tomorrow.

A different job, a hectic pace, a new team—same ole' me

So… I survived my first two weeks at the new job. If it isn’t obvious already, it has been a bit of a struggle to prioritize my life balanced against my new job. Thanks for all of your patience and understanding that a) my career is number one right now, b) my friends, family and boyfriend are squeezed in every spare moment and c) my blog(zzz) aren’t fitting in too well at the moment. It’s been one thing to spend my paid work hours, blogging, (sad to admit, but true), and a whole nother to now fit it all into spare moments of my personal life. It is as sad for me as it might be for you, but I’m sure I’ll be back up to speed soon, as life is a constant ebb and flow. As are the thoughts and stories I find necessary to share here with everyone…

The new gig, 9-to-5, grindstone, etc. is nothing short of very different. If there is one word to describe the area I feel the most changed it is: PACE. These last two weeks have felt like the quickest two weeks of my entire lifetime. I felt like I blinked, and it was the beginning of the third. Coming from a job where I was unchallenged and unmotivated (in other words, bored to tears), it’s just the change I needed and was hoping for. My new project list is always growing…I’ve learned that it’s not so much as checking the things off at my own pace and according to my own schedule—it’s a practice of prioritizing according to what my boss finds most important and jumping frantically from one project to the next, with some sitting for days on end, driving me crazy on that little To-Do list. It’s weird to feel like I have three days of work to do during one every day. But I’m learning so much and have so much potential to grow at my company, hopefully and possibly into an overseas position within five years. I’m most excited about working on some of our internal and external marketing and communication pieces, researching and rolling out advertising and a media kit for our company magazine, initiating a public relations process for our North American market and planning client events, including one I am planning and attending in Miami this September. (I’ve never been.)

Aside from actual work, I’m most excited about my change in TEAM. At my previous place of employment, I felt like I just could not fit in. It was a religious company that literally discriminated hiring those who were not Christian. While I’ll avoid religious talk, I’m not what they wanted. I managed to fly under the radar for three years, but never felt like I fit in, could ever talk much about my “real” at-home life or just be myself. It bothered me because I always wanted to be part of a team that consisted of genuine friendships with my coworkers. My new team is awesome—it’s comprised of six females for our corporate marketing team. My boss and three of us are involved in all marketing and communications for our North American offices, and my boss’s boss and another woman are involved in global marketing and communication initiatives. Go ladies! And everyone is young, hip, vi-vi-a-vib-a-rant. We are all lovers and watchers of Sex and the City. (We’re actually holding a team event day on the movie premiere day where we will be getting a spa treatment of our choice at Gene Juarez’ downtown spa, happy hour at Amber, then off to the earliest showing of “Sex and the City: The Movie”) Tell me, if you know me well, could this team be a better fit?

So, I’m starting to feel a little more situated. I’ve adjusted quite quickly to taking the bus to work every day. While I’m not on the lazy schedule I was every morning where I could roll into work at 9:30 in the morning (it’s now 8 a.m and a bus to catch at 7:30. Luckily I have a very patient boyfriend who will rub my feet while I lie in a zombified silence in front of the TV at night. I’m that fun during these days of adjustment.) The bus is a place like no else. The people watching, the conversations and the general atmosphere—it’s all so strange and interesting. I’ve enjoyed squeezing a lot more reading into my days now that I have book time during my ride to and from work every day. And, because it’s me and I’ll always spend money in the most ridiculous ways, I found a Ross right next to my bus stop. In my reckless search through their chaotic racks, I missed every bus that needed to take me home one night last week, had to hike six blocks home barefooted cause my feet hurt so bad (Note to self: Must buy bus shoes), and showed up an hour and 15 minutes late for a dinner date with a friend. (So unlike me.) BUT, I did score the best fitting and most flattering work pants in black AND brown for $14.99 apiece, so sometimes we have to make sacrifices in life.

So, the new job hasn’t changed me that much. I might be a little absent on the blog front, but I’ll still irrationally sacrifice all common sense and good reasoning for the perfect pair of pants, on sale.

Currently Feeling: Like I could do without the office vibe today—everyone is SO frantic and hectic.
Currently Anticipating: Haley picking me up and dying my long-over-due locks this evening.
Currently Loving: Seeing sunshine and water from my desk.

Movin' on up, Movin' on up!

During my first four days of the new grindstone (full color update coming soon), I have discovered something that tickles my fancy…

I love getting in the elevator and having the highest floor to go to than all the other business-suited men who are old and distinguished looking. This morning I stepped into the elevator with five of them, and while they were going to 40, 43 and 48, I was going to FIFTY-THREE!!

It’s like by pushing that button for the top floor, I’m pushing my way past all the higher-paid testosterone I’ll encounter in my career.

Glass ceiling, my ass. I’m higher than all of you! Boo yeow!

Currently Feeling: Overwhelmingly busy. I’m currently downsizing. My how times have changed.
Currently Anticipating: My marketing team dinner tonight at Wild Ginger. Never been.
Currently Loving: Learning, expanding, growing and changing.

Sinning it Up in Sin City

Baby Daddy and I headed off to Vegas last Saturday for four glorious days of warm weather, gambling, sleeping in and partying. As previously mentioned, the last time I went to Vegas, I was 21 and drove there with $300 and my boyfriend at the time. The $300 was all I had for spending money, gas, food, etc., and my car ended up breaking down in the desert an hour or so outside of Vegas. We had to take a three-hour tow truck ride to Barstow, California, where we were stuck in a hotel room for two days while my clutch was replaced. So, even just the fact that I was taking an airplane this time guaranteed that this Vegas trip was going to be a bit different from my last...



We landed in Las Vegas at 7:30 p.m., and by the time we left baggage claim and caught a shuttle to our hotel, it was already 8:30 and we had one mere hour to get dressed and prefunk before meeting Vanessa, Justin and her crew at Tao nightclub in The Venetian. I slipped into my new hot pink Carrie-esque Vegas dress and downed a cup of vodka and Diet Coke before heading off on the arm of my boyfriend to meet my friends. Not sure which one of my lovely, scantly clad ladies worked their magic, but we didn't have to wait in line or pay for entrance. Unfortunately, Vanessa et all were beyond hammered and Baby Daddy and myself had barely wet out lips. Fortunately for us, the drinks at Tao started out at $10, so it was cheap for us to catch up to the crowd. *sarcasm* Our group soon headed upstairs to Tao Beach, which is where we spent the rest of our night in a blur. (It's part of Tao nightclub, which is outdoors next to the pool, with palm trees, tables and a cool breeze. So lovely.)







The next morning, Baby Daddy and I woke up in our pleasantly nice hotel room (king-sized bed with a feather comforter instead of one of those scratchy, thin hotel comforters!) and were so hungry, we decided to check out the buffet in our hotel. Big mistake. Huge. Never go to The Sahara buffet. It was the grossest thing ever. The bacon tasted stale and didn't look like bacon, the Eggs Benedict (our favorite) was located in the Chinese food section, but you couldn't cut through the English muffin, the crab legs smelled fishy and were lukewarm, the orange juice was sour, the pizza was stale, the waffles tasted like cupcake batter. The two of us just kept looking at each other and laughing. "Um, I think I'm more of a quality person than quantity," Baby Daddy said. I couldn't have said it better myself. We covered the plates with our napkins and left to get dressed for the pool. The weather in Vegas was a spectacular 75- to 80-degrees the whole time we were there, and the pool at The Sahara was actually quite nice. We stayed there, sipping on pool-side cocktails and reading magazines, until it was time to nap and get dressed for our tickets to "Le Reve" at Wynn hotel.


I have to say Wynn was nothing short of extremely impressive. The entryway was gorgeous with elaborate flower mosaic on the floor and gardens with lit-up trees. I loved it.

We stopped for a quick bite to eat at a deli in the hotel before taking our seat in the aquatheatre for "Le Reve." The show was breathtaking. Le Reve means The Dream in French, and it was a series of Cirque du Soleil-esque acts during a girl's dream. The show was done mostly in the water, which featured performers jumping into the water from heights above, synchronized swimming, acrobats, dancing, fire and light shows, and live doves were even released during one act.


Of course you have to have at least one extremely crazy night in Vegas, and we made Sunday night our pick. After the show, we went back to our hotel to fill up water bottles of vodka and soda, and then we gambled in our hotel before refilling and buying Miller tall cans to take on the monorail. (The monorail is genius by the way. It pays to stay at a hotel with a monorail station. We used it every time we went somewhere! And how grand is it that you can drink on the streets of Vegas?!)


We took the monorail down to the end of the trip and just walked our way back through hotel after hotel in search of $5 blackjack. Most of the table we found were full or nonexistant, so we joked that we were taking a tour through the Vegas bathrooms at each hotel. Of course, we did get a chance to take a pic with Elvis (no Vegas trip should be complete without it).


Around 2 a.m. we headed back to our hotel for $5 blackjack, which we played for a couple more hours. And then *ahem*--gap--ordered crappy drunk food from the hotel restaurant at 6 a.m. That's right. A side of fries with Ranch, Eggs Benedict and a side of bacon. GROOSSSS. I woke up the next morning a bit hung over and with a bit of a bellyache. After another day of sunbathing, we walked to New York New York to ride the roller coaster (It was a little rough. I think it gave me a mean case of whiplash.) And then showed up just in time for our 7 p.m. reservations at The Eiffel Tower restaurant in Paris hotel. Our table for two was right next to the window and overlooked the fountains at The Bellagio. The food was extremely overpriced, but it was nice to get dressed up, drink a glass of wine, eat non-buffet food and enjoy a fancy dinner and dessert together.




Our final day was spent at The Secret Garden and dolphin habitat at The Mirage, which we both thought was well worth the $15 entrance fee. We caught the trainers playing with the dolphins in the underwater pool, so they were smiling, nodding and doing twirls in the water while we were down there, which was quite fun to witness. (I only made Baby Daddy take approximately 10 dolphin photos of me during the trip in honor of my sisters who couldn't be with me. He's so understanding.)



Reluctantly, we headed back to our hotel at 2 p.m. to catch our 4:30 flight out of Vegas and arrived home with these looks on our faces:



My parents were so kind to pick us up, and since it was April 1st when our flight landed, this is what we answered when they asked how our trip was:

"WE GOT MARRIED!!!"

April Fools.

Vegas rocks.