The Saga of The Lost Camera

Vegas was a little rough. No details necessary, other than to say that I felt, as Dana aptly put it -- like I couldn't catch a break. The happy shiny spots were captured on my Mom's small camera, borrowed so I wouldn't have to lug around my big one. The camera I borrowed promising I would take good care of it. Te camera with hysterical video and pics from our adventures in Vegas.

The camera I lost in a taxi cab.

Let's back track.  Things are looking up for a GREAT final day. We're checked out. Luggage handled. Weather beautiful. Dana safely at airport, ever-present iced coffee in hand. I'm sipping a cocktail bought for and delivered to me by my incredibly fabulous boyfriend. We've played our free slot credits, and I'm up at least $20 when we decide to head to the Bellagio & Caesars Palace.

When I walk into the very cool foyer of the Bellagio, I reach into my hoodie pocket to find fuzz. No camera. I drop my bag to the floor and dig around furiously, sending Eric running after the cab. I burst into tears (who cries in VEGAS?). The hotel staff try to help, but we don't have the cab number or driver's name. They can't tell us if they have security cameras, but say they'll "look into it".

I am just sick. For an hour and a half, I go from cab to cab to see if I can find the driver. We contact security at both hotels ... every cab company that uses SUV type vehicles ... and even God. Seriously -- I got down on my knees for a little shout out to the man upstairs for help ...

IN A PUBLIC RESTROOM.

(Dana, where are you with your hand sanitizer when I really need it?)

Distraught is not even adequate to describe my condition. Pissed isn't adequate to describe my Mother's. But what can we do? We pack up the car and get on the road. I call the cab company and Bellagio security every hour for updates. Finally, several hours later, the Bellagio comes through. They call with the right cab company, the cab number -- and exact time we arrived. (Lily ... I love you. Thank you thank you thank you.)

So I call the cab company back. They are reeaallly annoyed with me at this point. I tell the woman I've spoken to three or four times already the new information. She says there's still no record of a camera being found. I lay on the honey, hoping to catch a fly -- explaining what is on the camera. Nothing. I ask for the drivers name. She says no -- he's off the shift, anyway. She impatiently adds that the drivers check the cabs when they leave and the new driver checks it again when he gets in.

I ask for a supervisor.

She still tellsa supervisor can't help me. I ask again. No. I explain that I know I am inconveniencing her, but could she pretty please with sugar on top have the current driver check just one more time? She sighs.

This woman hates me.

I'm on hold for a long, long time. I'm sure she's hung up on me and has blacklisted my number, but she comes back and askes where I am.

They found the camera. They'll sent it to me via FedEx tomorrow.

I kneel on the bathroom floor of our hotel -- the same one a bug just crawled across -- to say a prayer of thanks.

Happily Ever After: Two Wedding Stories

What's Really Under a Scottish Kilt

First, we discover the mystery of what lurks beneath the Scottish Kilt. It's 9-9-09, which apparently makes for an anniversary date easy for even a man to remember. That means everywhere you turn in Vegas -- couples are getting hitched. We meet a lovely Scottish couple that just flew 24-hours with a 1-year-old to get married in one of their favorite cities.

Mr. and Mrs. Ross and Gillian Stuart were tasking pics in front of the famous Las Vegas sign with their wedding party. PARTY being the operative word. They are quite literally having a ball. Letting it all hang out. You get the idea. Check out the kid in front of the third guy from the left.


That little red head grabbed hold of the willy behind him swinging to and fro ... and held on. I swear -- the guys eyes got as big as saucers and he jumped about five feet backward. I was laughing so hard I almost dropped my camera.


Flat Stanley Says "I DO"

Good old Flat Stanley was left unattended for too long in Vegas. He snuck out for a night on the town. Now he says he's in love, but we're skeptical. I know what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay there, but I think he might be bringing home one heck of a souvenir.

Meet Flat Sally ... Stanley's new wife.

Dear Tom ...

Ok, Mr. Colicchio.

I had high expectations. This was the one thing Dana REALLY wanted to do when she came to Vegas, and I wanted your steak to knock her socks off. Or rock her socks off.

Whatever -- I digress.

We both watch Top Chef, although I'll admit she's a die-hard fan who never misses a show, and I'm just happy when I catch reruns. We ordered the Chef's Fall Tasting Menu. The portions were generous; the quail and scallops delicious.

But this is CraftSTEAK, and I'm not sure this beef passed muster.

I'd considered ordering the full beef tasting, but at $255 per person -- I would kind of expect you might dance naked on the table while we're eating. Or at the very least, cut and feed me each morsel.

Anyway ... don't be too hard on the next round of contestants or I'll be forced to tell. I heard from our waiter that you pay well and are an all-around nice guys, so redeeming.

I'll try again ... but maybe in NYC.

Amy