are we there yet?

in march, b and i took a quick road trip to the armpit of america: las vegas.  i normally detest vegas, but CAKE.  i thought it would be a great road trip eating red vines and quoting friends and the office with my middle brother, but he slept the ENTIRE TIME, thus making him the worst road trip partner ever.  as we neared the nevada border i jokingly asked him if he had remembered his passport since we were about to cross state lines.  he laughed and said, "i actually did consider bringing it but then thought 'why would i need i.d.?'"

i slammed on the brakes.  "please tell me you have some form of i.d.  this is a 21 and over show."

my cute, irresponsible, and lazy brother has been driving around for 3 years with an expired temporary drivers license.  it was a faded and torn scrap of paper in his wallet.  oh great.  so i was going to cake alone and b drove all the way to vegas with me, just to sit outside brooklyn bowl and wait for the show to be over.  i felt so sad for him and tried to think of things i could offer the bouncer to let b in.

we arrived a few hours early, so we walked around the strip, averting our eyes and laughing at the t-shirts that advertised "orgasims."  we also ate at "the haute doggery" and argued over the pronunciation of "haute."  i asked the girl at the counter what she thought, but she was even younger than b, so when she agreed with him i disregarded them both.  i even tried to explain to them that it was a french word and those things are never pronounced how they are spelled, but she looked like she was ready to shove my haute dog down my throat so i dropped the matter.

while we were at the haute doggery, we spotted an attractive, nicely dressed young man sitting all alone eating a hot dog.  i like to make up stories about the people i spy on, so b and i started discussing why this man was eating alone on the las vegas strip on a saturday night.  possible suggestions were that he was stood up and was drowning his sorrows in a mug root beer and an overpriced gourmet hot dog.  maybe he was an undercover security guard at a casino.  maybe he was an average-priced male hooker taking a quick lunch break.  of course, there was only one way to find out for sure: follow him.

so we did.  he walked briskly out of the haute doggery and we stayed right on his tail.  we disguised ourselves by putting our hair in ponytails and donning sunglasses.  we followed him as he weaved in and out of the foot traffic and through two casinos.  we saw him go through a secret, unmarked door in the second casino but we still didn't get our answer.  what choice did i have, but to follow him through the door while b distracted the security guard?  I HAD NO CHOICE.  so i followed him, but i lost him.  i was disappointed that i'd never really know what brought him to the haute doggery alone that night, which is a totally weird thing to be disappointed about, i know.

and that is the story of how b and i were creepsters and followed an innocent guy around the las vegas strip.

then we saw cake and they were awesome.  of course.

(despite all our worries the bouncers didn't even ask to see i.d.  and b whined the whole time about having to stand up and how the show started 30 minutes late and how it was almost his bedtime and how the music was so loud.  i swear, he is like a 70 year old woman sometimes.)

those wailers sure know how to wail.

last year the wailers (as in bob marley and the wailers minus bob marley because he's dead) came to visit.  and i was very excited because this was the closest i'd ever get to seeing bob marley in concert.  i guess the same logic would apply to going to a paul mccartney show, but i don't think i could ever see paul mccartney in concert because:



so my friend, miss owl, came with me to the show which started at 9:00 pm on a school night and she got real tired and wanted to go home at 11:00, which is the exact time the wailers came out to play.  and i was so sad i didn't get to see them (and also pretty angry, if we're being honest here.)

BUT THEN!

they came again this year!  and i asked my bestie, shelley, to go this time and i gave her plenty of warning that it was a late show on a school night and that she should drive herself if she planned to leave at 11:00 because there was nothing that would keep me from the wailers this time around.  she was all in.  and then, a few days before the show, she canceled...and was surprised when i said of COURSE i'm still going.  (she was also surprised that they were the wailers, not the whalers, which i think is just so funny.)

but look, if i'll sleep on the streets of milan in order to see cake, i think i can handle driving up to park city by myself to see the wailers.  i waited in line for over an hour, despite already having a ticket, but i wasn't really bothered too much because the guy right in front of me looked just like john of cake in his beard and trucker hat. so i talked to him, pretending he was john.  don't worry though, my misplaced giddiness was only on the inside.

the concert was so amazing. nothing beats hearing live the songs that speak to my soul.  sometimes i took my glasses off so i could fool myself into thinking the singer was bob himself.  then i got a headache so i put them back on.  the wailers played the entire legends album and i danced my heart out to every song (and by danced, i mean swayed, of course, because it's reggae).  i hung out at the bar so i would have a nice place to lean, because i'm lazy like that.  i must have been looking longingly at all the drinks people ordered because after a while the bartender gave me an overpriced bottle of water for free because she could tell i was "trying to be good."  ha ha!

and do you know what's the best part of going to a concert by yourself?  you don't have to worry if the others in your party are ready to go home or having a good time or if they are convinced you are a pot-smoking weirdo because you listen to reggae.  you just go and enjoy watching all the other pot-smoking weirdos to whom you feel strong kinship because bob marley's music is love.

shine

oh my gosh.  i came home to a package the other day after work.  A PACKAGE.  do you know what’s better than getting a package you ordered?  getting a package from a kind stranger full of fun things that you DIDN’T order, THAT’S WHAT!!!! my most loyal reader (and the only one i don’t actually know in real life) sent the nicest package ever.  

there was a lovely note and all kinds of BRIGHT YELLOW things.  

she said my blog brightens her day.  this made me feel really good until i remembered that, at the time, the last post i had published was about a dead pigeon, which isn't exactly day brightening material.  

and look!  real art!  signed by the artist! who is the exact person that sent the package!

under the first layer of yellow items was ANOTHER LAYER!!

and that layer included the best pen i've ever seen in my life:

i don't even want to use it because once i start using it, i know it will run out of ink very quickly and then i'll be sad.  however, i really want to be seen using this pen!  imagine the inevitable increase in my popularity!  it's a dilemma.

all the paper products came from this website:

house of shine

which is a place where you go to make other people happy, which, of course, will make you happier, too.  and i can tell you that it works because this cheery little package sure made my day.  thanks, cheryl!