Land of Mormon: Part Two

As we're driving, we see a big lime green trash truck on the side of the road. The sign on the side truck reads, "Got Crap?" Mom asks if that means it's a shit load.

Sorry, it was so funny and I couldn't resist.

We roll into Salt Lake City around 6:00 pm. We're planning to go see the Tabernacle Choir practice in the heart of the Land of Mormon. But since we have time for a bite, we head over to One World Cafe.

Their philosophy is -- everybody eats, nobody wastes. They have little slips of paper with amounts on it. You pick the amount you can afford and that's what you pay. If you can't afford anything, you select a special piece of paper that entitles you to soup or rice. The owner/head chef/manager/server/bus boy Giovanni Bourberbal is a gem. This man has talent in the kitchen. There's not a microwave or a deep fryer in sight, nothing frozen, and the cafe even grows some of it's own food. It's organic, free-range ... and absolutely delicious. For $10, Mom, Grandma and I share a heaping plate of delicious yams, quiche, beef stew, brown rice, kale & cabbage, zucchini and more. I recorded audio, so check out the story soon.

Then it's on to Temple Square, where we discover that the choir is in a private recording session this evening. Mom says it was the same story when she was here ten years ago, so I'm starting to think it's a Mormon conspiracy.  Get them in the door and recruit ...

That thought is only intensified by the fact that every Mormon at the facility we pass greets us with huge smiles and unnatural warmth. I think they need to lay off the Kool-Aid a little. The women are perfectly coiffed, with pearl earrings and long straight skirts. I keep pulling my own skirt down over my knees and a failed attempt at modesty.

We stop by the genealogy archives. Mormons have an extensive database where I'm hoping to settle an ongoing argument with my father by perusing. He insists we're not Polish. Dad, I hate to tell you -- in the 1930 census records, Nellie, your grandmother, listed Poland as her place of birth and Polish as her native tongue. 

I win.

When we leave, I tell Mom I'm thinking of converting. She tells me I wouldn't be a Mormon, just a moron. Grandma says we should watch it, and I tell Mom to duck -- here comes the fire (Secretly, I think her hearing aids have a special "selective hearing" setting. She can hear us just fine ... when we don't want her to.) So I turn around and start signing the conversation for her. She doesn't think I'm funny and says she doesn't have her hearing aids in. Mom and I start shouting the conversation at each other, and Grandma says we don't have to yell.

We're laughing so hard as we get back on the highway that I feel I can make it another hour toward Idaho. The greatest thing about family is that you can feel like you want to kill each other one day, but are laughing your arses off TOGETHER the next.

Land of Mormon: Part One

Good Morning, Utah.

It starts at breakfast. Mom tries to convince me that everyone living in Utah is Mormon. When I ask Grandma for some ones to tip the nice man clearing our food dishes at a buffet away, Mom tells me to ask him how many wives he has.

We arrive at Zion National Park about an hour later. One of the park rangers -- Gordon -- is a total hoot. He's sporting a long ponytail of silvery white hair. He kids Grandma, saying she couldn't possibly be old enough to have a senior pass. Then he tells Mom and I we owe her dinner for getting us in for free. We tell him he should join us, and he doesn't hesitate to start climbing out the window of his booth. Says he'd be happy to join three beautiful women. If this guy is a Mormon, he has plenty of wives with that kind of charm.

The park is beautiful, the rock formations looking more like water than stone. And the color variation is astounding, from white to red. Mom just about loses her breakfast driving in the never-ending tunnels carved through the mountains. I try and get her to do some breathing exercises, but all she can think about is when the tunnel collapsed in Boston's Big Dig in 2006. Grandma isn't helping, reminding her of another tunnel collapse in Detroit, repeating over and over, "Boy, this is a long tunnel."

Mom squeezes her eyes shut and just looks sick.

We see a bunch of big horn sheep. as we're watching them, we hear a couple arguing. Another member of their family asks them if this is fight number four. Mom and I start cracking up. Mom tells them they should have been with us yesterday when the police got involved. We were backing out from an overlook at the Hoover Dam when my two copilots started picking at my driving. I stopped the car, in it's tracks, pretty close to the edge of the road and got out -- just as a police car was pulling round the bend. They stopped and asked us if everything was okay. Mom laughed and said "family squabble" as we switched places. They told us to keep it in the car.

We drive most of the way through Zion and then turn around to get back on the road for Monument Valley. Not realizing, of course, that we should have kept going. It's added about two hours to the trip, and we've already lost one with a time change crossing in to Utah. Sadly, we cross this pretty out-of-the-way location off our list and drive on toward Salt Lake City.

When we stop for a quick lunch at Arby's, it's pouring down rain. Mom's trying to stick a pepita seed from the trail mix I brought with us into my mouth. It had previously been on the floor. I'm fighting her off the best I can without killing us. She says she just wants to bond. I want to bond her to the top of the car with that duct tape taking up space in the trunk.

At 3:38 pm, just past I-70, we hit 4,000 miles.

Check in later for Part Two -- and make sure you go back to read the wedding post!

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

Alcohol & Hot Dogs Don't Mix

Our waiter at breakfast, Joshua, is so friendly I thought he might pull up a chair and join us. I have what appears to be a bucket of oatmeal. There really is such a thing as too much fiber.

After, we take the monorail to the Luxor and Mandalay Bay. The shark exhibit at Mandalay Bay is about $18 per person. The lion exhibit at our hotel is free. My lions can take your freaking sharks anytime. We head to the Luxor, where Eric is greatly disappointed to find that Ra is now LAX. Vegas is full of change, except when you leave.

Then there's no change left in your pockets.

I want to check out New York New York because the frozen cocktails last night led to my inherent inability to remember being there less than 24 hours ago. Dana decides to head back for some hot hot pool action. As Eric and I wander the casino floor toward the roller coaster, where Deja Vu hits. Damn it. I don't want to ride the same overpriced roller coaster twice ... so we head out to walk the strip.

We go in a few kitchy little shops. I see this little figuring of a man blowing bubbles -- with his butt. I think it may be the coolest thing I've seen in Vegas.  Check out the video:

We discover that if Eric and I lived in sin, we'd have gotten a great discount to go see the Blue Man Group. A female M&M manhandles me at the M&M store. Then our search for a clean bathroom for me leads us to Gameworks. Eric's logic being that it must be clean since no girls would ever go there. Now the men's restroom -- that's another story.

For some reason we decide, of all the places to eat in Vegas, that we'll order Kobe beef hot dogs at Gameworks. Alcohol plus Gamework's unmentionable meat products equals disaster. Thankfully, I only eat half of mine. Sadly, I give the other half to Eric. By later in the evening, he's shivering uncontrollably under the covers, holding his tummy. Poor guy.

Grandma and her brother -- whom she has not seen in almost 25 years -- have a lovely reunion. She didn't recognize him at first. I walk toward a man standing with a younger woman, convinced he must be related to her since they look so much alike. She's still not sure ... until he takes his hat off. Then there's big hugs and introductions. I've never met my Great Uncle Art before, nor his daughter -- my cousin -- Penny. I like them immediately.

They take off to catch up while I go to try and catch up with Dana poolside. Either her phone or mine is acting as a black hole for text messages, so I can't find her. I lay in the sun for a while and then head back up to the room. Later, we drive around trying to find the original Vegas sign, but it proved difficult. Though I will say that en route I see the funniest damn billboard ever:

Really? How many male readers think having surgery anywhere near your "junk" is easy? I'm dumbfounded, but it reminds me of another crazy billboard I saw on the way in to town for a company called Ticket Busters. Their phone number was 666-6666. I wonder if you have to sell your soul to the devil get out of a DUI in Sin City. Thankfully, I haven't been drinking. 

Yet.

Tonight ... dinner at Tom Colicchio's Craftsteak.

Hotter Than Dutch Love

Made a 50% recovery last night ... aided by booze.  I may have also accidentally taken a muscle relaxer instead of the allergy medication I was shooting for, which would account for my being somewhat comatose for the balance of the evening.  

Went to the Excalibur and took nefarious pictures with Sponge Bob where he appears to be looking at my bosom.  Then on to New York New York for a $14 roller coaster ride that lasted all of five minutes.  Tried to buy frozen daiquiris in a cowboy boot, but they were out.  My friend Ahn Ei (ahn-eee) says drinks just taste better out of a boot.   Dana adds a story about how rugby players drink beer out of their shoes.  I silently thank God I never played rugby.

We tried to break into the pool.  No luck. Went to a Mexican restaurant where they made guacamole table side that was so hot you could barely eat it.  If you know me, you know that's saying something.  I like it hot.  Went back to room for a nap where I called the concierge to ask if they could open the pool for us.  No luck.  We tried to break in to Studio 54.  No luck.

Let's blow this popsicle stand.

We head to Freemont Street where I decide Subway sounds good.  Wanted to see the famous Vegas sign, only to find it's on the other end of the strip.  Eric asks us to point out what a hooker looks like, but seems just as happy to find signs touting 99 cent shrimp cocktail and deep fried Twinkies. 

We head to the Stratosphere, where the cabby tells us the about life in Vegas.  He's from Holland.  Eric calls it the Netheregions.  Dana is always saying, "It's hotter than Dutch love."  I ask the driver how hot Dutch love really is.  He says something about a Dutch oven that I can't remember. The rides at the Stratosphere are closed, but we discover an all-you-can-drink happy hour we should definitely avoid.

The taxi driver on the way back to MGM Grand was hysterical.  Eric asks him who has the best hamburgers.  To Eric's delight (I think he might have started to cry), he replied In & Out Burger.  The driver says McDonalds is the worst. He said you have two choices after eating there -- a gallon of Pepto or a roll of toilet paper.

Check out our video at In & Out Burger:

It's about 2:30 am when we get back to the hotel and into bed.

It's about 6:30 am when the alarm on my phone goes off.