Nem Nems, Coca Cola, and Cabo Wabo

I would like to start this entry with a little ode I wrote (to the tune of "Where Have all the Flowers Gone"):

Where have all the Elvi gone?

Long time passing . . .

Where have all the Elvi gone . . .

Long time ago . . .

Where have all the Elvi gone . . .

Cher replaced them every one!

I miss their lacquered hair--

And bell-bottoms everywhere . . .

"Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all night."

(I did see three more Elvi on Sunday, but still, a total of 5? A mere 5 Elvi? Sad, sad, sad! I expected to see Elvi on every corner in every carnation--young Elvis, fat Elvis, gospel Elvis . . . )

On Sunday, the party was breaking up. Amber and Chris headed back home (driving) shortly after breakfast, and they were dropping Missy off at the airport on the way. They very kindly brought Amy and me to the strip, where we met Becky. A short tour of MGM took us through the lions (not exciting--they were obsessed with eating and simply gnawed on chunks of some unrecognizable meat), but we quickly tired of MGM. We took a brief detour to New York, New York, but it seemed rather unremarkable to me, from the fake storefronts in the small "street" area (most of which were simply fronts there for decoration), to the "ok" lunch we had at the Irish pub in New York, New York. (The food was decent, but the service was so slow I swear I could have milked the goat and processed and pasteurized the cheese for my goat cheese salad faster than it took them to bring our food out. Or take our order. Or bring us drinks. It wasn't even that busy!)

However, things picked up after lunch. We took a trip to the M&M's store, which is the perfect place to go with a friend like Amy who also thrills to the brightly colored, fluffy, and whimsical like I do. Four floors of candy-coated fun? Yes, please! We skipped across to the Coca Cola store after that, where we checked out all kinds of Coca Cola kitsch from the years.

Sadly, Amy had to fly home in the mid afternoon, but Becky and I had one more night in Vegas. We went back to our room at the Hard Rock Hotel (which, if you're a fan of rock, is a really cool place to stay, and totally affordable, thanks to Twitter Tuesday's $20 deal!) and crashed for a bit, but made our way back to the Strip for dinner. Thanks to a fabulous concierge at the Bellagio (whose name may be Jay, Jon, Joe, Jose, or Kevin--we sadly didn't catch his name, which is a shame because he was refreshingly honest and 100% on target with his dinner recommendation), we made our way to Dragon Noodle Co. in the Monte Carlo. We got to take the tram, which to me resembled the monorail at Walt Disney World.

After dinner, we weren't ready to retire for the evening. We watched two fountain shows at the Bellagio, and then decided to pop into a place called Cabo Wabo. Maria, our bartender, made some mighty strong drinks for us. They were tasty, but wow. Maria likes to share the rum. Becky and I made a few friends while sitting at the bar--"fatherly sports guy" (who liked talking football and baseball with Becky and was generally a nice, and slightly tipsy, gentleman) and "velvet jacket" (who, as described, wore a deep red velvet jacket; he was nice too, but his nasal voice bugged me a bit. I also was careful to keep some guards up--I got the sense that he would start hitting on us if given the go-ahead, and we weren't remotely interested in more than passing conversation with him). It turns out that Cabo Wabo also has live band karaoke! Several folks went up to take the stage. The first guy apparently was from Minnesota (we didn't know him, though), and he and his buddy performed a nice rendition of "Sweet Home Alabama." Unfortunately, a string of tuneless (and quite drunk) men followed. I felt bad for the house band--they seemed really cool. Highlight of the evening? One Ms. Becky performing "Piano Man." She was aided by our friend Tequila (and Tequila and Tequila and Tequila), but she did a nice job. It was really fun, and I thought it was really cool that she got up on stage and actually did it. (I must learn more pop/rock standards so I can do the same. I wanted to perform, but I don't know actual lyrics to pop songs well enough to get on stage and perform them like that!)

All in all, it was a really fun weekend! We all agreed that we liked the group travel aspect, and we're already in talks to take on other regions in 2012. Vancouver? Seattle? Who knows! I look forward to and welcome any travels with these fabulous friends anytime!

Best Bathrooms Bar None: THE BELLAGIO

Second Best Bathrooms: Caesar's Palace

Total Elvi Sightings: 5

Total Preachers lecturing on our sinning/lecherous ways: 1 (on the strip on Sunday night)

Day of Debauchery, or Executive Cheeks goes to the Thunderdome

This is the entry that everyone is waiting for. And by "everyone," I especially mean those who don't know me particularly well. On the surface, I look like a kindergarten teacher (even though that idea scares the bejeezus out of me; I love little kids a few at a time, but 30 kids who can't snap their own pants, or make it to the bathroom on time? I shudder at the thought!!!), and professionally I can be pretty intense and focused. I am also shy (despite the fact that I talk A LOT when I'm really comfortable with someone), which can make it hard for some to really get to know me. But I'm really like a Dairy Queen ice cream cake. Tame on the surface, but with lots of layers hidden underneath that vanilla surface. Some layers are squishy, there's a little crunchy texture to keep things interesting, and there's that rich, fudge layer that is at the core--deeply hidden, but worth digging through the other layers to reach because the heart of the cake is the best part. Put all the layers together and you get a buzzy mix of flavors that create an interesting whole. (At least I'm original, right?)

So, Saturday . . .

This day can be broken into 4 main categories:

1) Brunch with bubbles

2) Dancing in the street

3) Eiffel Tower

4) Thunderdome

Actually, "Day of Debauchery" started out innocently enough. Amber, Amy, and I went for a nice little 2 mile run first thing in the morning. However, we were soon off to brunch. Brunch can be dangerous, especially when it's a buffet. Unlimited food that's mass-prepared? That's a bit scary. However, when your buffet brunch is the Bellagio, well . . . that's another matter entirely!

So we had brunch. Yummy, yummy brunch! The food was delicious! I especially enjoyed the polenta, which had a wonderfully creamy consistency and an indescribably rich, savory flavor. The Bellagio also had brilliantly realized that pesto mashed potatoes were something to be relished. I don't know why I'd never thought of this combination before! Pesto? It's delicious! Mashed potatoes? Love them! It's like tasty food and comfort met and had an alarmingly scrumptious baby!

Did I mention that this was a champagne brunch?

The lovely thing about champagne is that it's bubbly. The bubbles go down easy, and unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how full your glass is) they go to your head very quickly. We did mix ours with orange juice (mmmm--mimosa!). And what hitteth the head quickly leaveth quickly too. The buzz wore off shortly after brunch. (I did break a glass somewhere in there, too, but it really didn't have anything to do the rampant champagne consumption. I blame it on my natural clumsiness. And seriously, I think my sober brunch buddies could attest that I merely tapped an empty glass. Tapped. And that sucker went right over and *crash!*)

Post-brunch, we wandered through the Bellagio casino and the garden at the Bellagio (which has some seriously twisty trees straight out of a Tim Burton film, a lovely orchid green house, and what the lady standing behind me aptly described as some "big ass pumpkins"). By the time we hit the street, my head was mostly clear again.

The fact that Amy and I were dancing down the sidewalk had nothing to do with the mimosas consumed during brunch. It was an Amy and Gillian moment, music was blaring from every establishment we passed. (Anyone who knows Amy knows this isn't out of character; in fact, it would have been more of an oddity if she hadn't been dancing! When we get together, Amy and I feed off each other, and fun ensues!) Of course, we did dance through a section of street "salespeople." If you've been to Vegas, you know the type. They have pocket-sized glossy pictorials advertising "girls, girls, girls." (I don't want to know any more about those handouts. Really.) As we heard the clicking sound of the glossy handouts, Amy and I sped up our dancing to trek past the girl-pushers. But apparently we caught their attention anyway because we got the cat-calls, and one of the pushers declared that I had "executive cheeks." (That's a new one! I guess I finally decided to own my hips. In the words of the immortal Alice Hanson, "If you got it, flaunt it.")

We wound up in Paris. I, of course, headed straight for the bathroom (a cute, quaint nod to classic Parisian style with gilded mirrors and painted porcelain sinks). We wandered the Parisian shops for a while and wandered through the casino, but it didn't really seem to offer anything new or unexpected. However, we did like the outdoor cafe, where we sampled an Eiffel Tower. No, we did not lick the reincarnation of the Eiffel Tower that stands outside the casino. We got a giant plastic Eiffel Tower and filled with a Miami Vice (a tasty mix of a Strawberry Daiquiri and a Pina Colada). The bartender (wisely? cleverly? sneakily?) filled the entire base of said confection with RUM . . . so although there was a lot of fruity slush on the top of the tower, it was mostly an Eiffel Tower full of booze. Four of us did share this one drink, but we were a bit schnockered for the next two hours. (I wouldn't say we were drunk. But we were definitely buzzed. We giggled A LOT.)

So, after a morning and early afternoon that largely centered around alcohol, Becky, Amy, and I naturally decided that we needed to explore the wonders of what we affectionately call "The Thunderdome" that evening. That's right folks--we bought tickets to "The Thunder from Down Under."

:D

We all headed back to our time share for dinner and a little relaxation before the evening show (hee hee!), and we dressed up for an evening at the Thunderdome. (I had a new "little black dress" I was really excited to break out. It was a total "girl" moment for me, but it seemed fitting since I was going to watch male dancers "take it off." Time to embrace the girliness.)

I'll admit, I've never been to a strip show before, and I had only the vaguest idea of what to expect. The Thunder did not disappoint--we were highly entertained! Of course the men were ridiculously good-looking. (Seriously--does anyone that good-looking exist in "real" life? I doubt it.) Of course, knowing that I am planning a trip to neighboring New Zealand (in March!), part of me wonders if the whole of the Southern Hemisphere, or at least the Aussie/Kiwi region of the world has some secret "hot" gene that we're missing?

For those of you who are disbelievers, who think that "safe, kindergarten-teacher-appearing Gillian" would never debase herself and actually go to see male dancers take off their clothes (they did keep the family jewels covered!), I do have a picture (which I will not post here) that I will show you IN PERSON if you really must see proof. (Amy, Becky, and I giggled our way through a group shot with the dancers. Yup. Believe it. It was fun!) But I will NOT post this on the internet. :)

All in all, the day of debauchery was quite a lot of fun! Sometimes, it's nice to be naughty!

Best Bathrooms of the Day: The Bellagio (but Paris was a close second!)

Elvi sightings: 2!

Sleepless in Sin City

Las Vegas: Day 1

Some people need alcohol to loosen up and let loose.

I am not one of those people. Cut sleep out of the equation, and my usually quirky demeanor and skewed perspective becomes even loopier than usual.

As usual, I left all my packing until the last minute. Somehow, I forgot to do laundry until later in the day on Thursday, so then I had to wait for a few loads to finish in the dryer before I could pack. Somehow, at 1:30 a.m., I managed to go to bed, only to reawaken to a 3:30 a.m. alarm, and depart my humble abode at the early hour of 5:00 a.m. Once at the airport and easily through security, I sleepily awaited my boarding call.

Fast-forward 7 hours (which was really 10:00 a.m. Vegas time), and I landed in Las Vegas. Chris and Amy picked me up at the airport, and we met up with everyone else at the timeshare. Then we were off!

Being half-asleep, the visual over-stimulation of Las Vegas, even by day, was staggering. There were things to look at everywhere! Just when you think you've seen something big and shiny, something bigger and shinier pops up, and then you come across something large and shiny which also bleeps, dings, or chirps. I took my first steps into a casino (EVER) at no less a casino than Caesar's Palace. And in true Gillian fashion, I promptly found the bathroom. (What do you expect when you drink as much water as I do? I like to be well-hydrated, but it does present complications . . .)

We snaked our way through Caesar's casino, and we wound our way to the forum shops. There we ogled fashion we couldn't dream of affording and admired shiny jewelry both near and far. (We were too scared to go into Harry Winston--though the jewelry sparkled insanely and beckoned us to look closer, the store seemed stuffy and uninviting. However, just like Audrey Hepburn's "Holly Golightly" noted in the film, Tiffany's was quite lovely. The sales staff was very friendly, despite the fact that we all but announced verbally that we weren't going to buy anything as soon as we entered the store.)

The evening led us to the "Fremont Street Experience." To get to Fremont from the Strip, we needed to hop on board a bus known fondly as "The Deuce." (Insert your own "Deuce" jokes here. We did!) This double-decker bus took us past a menagerie of wedding joints to "old Vegas." We saw classic casinos, a Halloween-themed light show, and street performers agogo. Being so close to Halloween, everyone seemed to be a character. We saw Batman, Jason, Jesters, and an assortment of the macabre all along the street. Many were friendly--some downright flirty! (Really--you might be a very handsome/nice/genuinely awesome fellow underneath the costume, but no, we don't want to start a relationship with you while you're wearing so many layers we wouldn't be able to identify you to the police should you disappear. "Really, officer. He a hat shaped like a whimsical "W," wore pointed shoes with bells, and wore what could only be described as a giant, shiny onesie.") That being said, Fremont Street was fun! It was like Christmas came early and exploded across the sky. Except that Christmas was taken over by dancing pumpkins and dark little goblins.

We ended our Fremont Street experience with dinner at The Firefly. If you ever find yourself in Las Vegas, make sure you check this restaurant out! Every dish was tasty. The bacon-wrapped date (stuffed with blue cheese and an almond) just about took us to heaven. The mussels nearly melted in our mouth. Spicy shrimp set your mouth on fire for just the briefest moment. The mushroom tart was layers of flaky, delicate phyllo, smothered in delicious mushrooms and a rich cream sauce. And this is just things off the top of my head. I'm starting to salivate just thinking about those tapas . . . Mmmm!

Good food aside, I just found myself giggling all day long! I don't think it would have really mattered where I went that day. It was more about the company (good friends!). And frankly, when you're running on two hours of sleep and find yourself in the company of such fantastic people, you're bound to have a good time and share lots of giggles.

Best bathrooms of the day: Caesar's palace.

Elvis Sightings: a shocking ZERO!

Llama Vegas?

Yes, folks, that's right. I'm off to Las Vegas.

Ok. You can stop snickering now. I know--the idea of me in Vegas is laughable. Vegas embodies most things that I dislike. Crowds of people I don't know--yuck. (Could there be anything that an introvert dreads more than hoards of unknown people?) Cigarette smoke at a-go-go--yuck. While I don't have any strong anti-gambling feelings, I also don't partake in it. I've never stepped foot in a casino. Ever. (Anyone else who grew up in my hometown knows it was sort of a right of passage to go the casino for your eighteenth birthday, but frankly the appeal was just lost on me. I was just weird that way. But that's part of my charm, right? Hmm. Maybe you shouldn't answer just yet.)

So, why am I going to Vegas?

There's one reason--one fabulous reason. My friend Becky is turning 30 this week! Becky is one of those people that everyone should know. She has a contagious laugh. She is up for just about anything. She is open-minded. She knows how to have fun doing nothing and everything. She's the kind of friend who can go from being goofily sarcastic to serious in the blink of an eye. Amongst my friends, I often consider her the "great equalizer" because when getting various groups of people from different facets of my life together for social gatherings, Becks is the one that everyone universally likes and gets along with, and who can bridge the gaps between groups better than anyone else.

So I am looking forward to Vegas, despite the cigarette smoke, crowds, etc. for the sheer joy of celebrating 30 years of one extraordinary woman. There's a good group of friends gathering, and I really can't think of a better reason to celebrate!

Plus, llama in Las Vegas? This could be fun! Hmm . . .

(Have I mentioned that there is a big rodeo gathering in Vegas this weekend? That's right. The strip will be full of cowboys as far as the eye can see. :D I'm going to hope that this goes in the vein of Lifetime or other made-for-tv movies in the "gal-next-door has big-city fun and adventure in a strange new town" category. Who knows--we could have quite the adventure with the cowboys. Perhaps we'll meet the one cowboy, who, in addition to herding cattle, also herds llamas? What? You scoff? It could happen . . .)

Buckle Up!

Sometimes, you just feel like you're standing on the edge of a precipice, you know? There's that feeling that something's coming, you don't know what it is, but you know it's going to be significant in some way. Of course, after typing that, I really, really, really wish life was a musical. Right now, I am bursting into a rendition of "Something's Coming" from West Side Story. No, I will not post a video of myself singing. I don't really know all the words, and I know I'm botching Bernstein's tune . . .

(Admit it--you're probably singing it now too. And perhaps, like me, throwing in the occasional "na na na" when you forget or don't know the words to part of a phrase . . . )

Just like the song, I feel like something's changing, something new and exciting is happening in life. Ostensibly, not much has changed for me. I live in the same place, I have the same job I've held for the past seven years, and I am singing in the same choir I sang with last year. But somewhere between the de-cluttering of school and home and a 2600 mile trek across the United States this summer, a sense of excitement started to build. Though things may look the same from the outside, I think some little imperceptible . . . thing (for lack of a more precise term) has shifted inside of me, and suddenly, everything that was old and boring and dull last year seems reinvigorated as I rev up for this year. Although I always feel some nerves as I approach the beginning of a new school year, this year feels different. I'm excited in a way I haven't been in a long, long time. I hate to label it, but I think I feel giddy?

Yes, giddy. Like a little school girl. Full of glee (though not the popular show on Fox), and bursting at the seams like I might explode with positive energy like Rainbow Brite* at the end of her sensational 1985 movie. (It was my personal favorite as a kindergartner--what can I say? Hurrah for the Betamax!) I don't think I'll be riding rainbows anywhere anytime soon, but I wouldn't rule it out either. Something's coming, and since I haven't the foggiest idea what it could be, rainbows could be in the future. (Truth be told, though, I think I'd much rather take a ride in a hot air balloon than on a rainbow, but we'll see what the future holds . . . )

So buckle up! It could be a crazy year! Something's coming . . .

(And in case you're still na na-ing your way through "Something's Coming," here's a little help from the movie; bad dubbing aside, this YouTube clip has helpful sing-along words printed on the screen.)

*For the record, I am 99.9% certain Rainbow Brite doesn't literally explode at the end of her movie--it's more a rainbow fest of sorts as she restores warmth and color to the world, which had been in an extended and particularly dreary winter because the evil princess on some planet stole the planet of diamond, and all the light from the world has to go through that planet or it doesn't disperse or something like that, and that's why it was really cold on earth . . . Yeah. The movie is pretty much one long run-on sentence too. (But my inner 5-year-old will always think it's pretty spectacular.)

The Dust Bunnies Must Go!

Today, Alistaire and I took a little jaunt to school.

Lately, it seems that everything in my life has been about de-cluttering. At home, I harvested my closet for clothes I won't be using anymore and donated them to people who could really use them. Actually being able to walk into my closet and not feel claustrophobic? Pardon me, but I'm going to sound like a Mastercard commercial: it was priceless. It was a wonderful, freeing, cathartic moment.

Thus began the great cleansing of 2010. The closet cleansing simply seeped over into the rest of my home. Reorganization of misplaced or shoved items became priority one, and oddly, disposing of, finding a home for, or repositioning just a few items made my living room seem jarringly bigger. I won't say that my domain is showroom-worthy yet, but significant progress and improvements have been made, and I no longer fear the sudden stop-by from various friends. (You all know the feeling--you're totally cozy and happy in your clean but "lived-in" home, but you'd die of embarrassment if anyone ever saw it, right?)

The thing is, apparently home was not quite enough. Alistaire and I (with my aide of my awesome new colleague Mallory) decided to take on the ancient relics of the music department at my school. In showing my new colleague around the department's nooks and crannies, we found that long-forgotten bits of useless rubbish had been stashed here, shoved, over the years, into odd little conformities. The intention was, of course, (and I speak as a sometime "shover") to come back at a later date after the shoving, and purge the cupboard of all useless piffle. Except that, as every teacher of every age knows, often those organizational details of teaching may fall by the wayside in the interest of spending more time on what we really do--create relationships with and learn with students. (Forgive us this little oversight.) The stuff so often becomes secondary to the heart of our profession. I don't mean to use this as a disclaimer for sometimes being a pack rat, but it is true. I'd like to think that it's less important that I shoved the equipment for the antiquated (and unusable) midi-keyboard lab (that hooked up to something like a Comadore 64!) into the cupboard and more important that I focused my time instead on building curriculum, planning lessons, and helping kids.

I digress . . .

After yesterday, we had filled at least four of the regular trash bins and two recycling bins. Today, one of our custodians kindly lent me a large bin (on wheels) for the continued purging. :)

Today, slightly lighter in the dross department (though still a little . . . let's say "chubby"), Alistaire and I came armed with cleaning supplies--glass/surface cleaner, paper towel, and Swiffer duster cloths. And we attacked those dust bunnies, dust bears, and dust dragons with zest. Somehow, in my mind, my wiping cloth was really more of sword taking down the monstrous dust zombies as they raged their battle and tried to stake their claim on our space. But, ha! I would slay them all.

Quite frankly, I know that I teach in one of the driest non-desert locations of all time, and I am cognizant of the fact that the Dust Bunny Army is biding its time, strategically forming its plot to take over the music department again. But I too am armed (still with the better part of a spray cleaner!), and today . . . Today I am victorious!

British Llama

Now firmly back home in the St. Paul area, Alistaire and I ventured across the pond (you know--that little thing also known as the Mississippi River) for a taste of Minneapolis and a smashing good time at Brit's Pub.

If you live in or have visited the Twin Cities and have never been to Brit's, you really should go. It's quite a lively place, and it's got a little something for everyone. Standard British pub fare (fish and chips, chicken pot pie, bangers and mash), football games (or as we Americans call it, "soccer"), and a lawn bowling. (I've personally never tried it, but I have it on good authority that it's fun.) Oh--and for those so inclined--yup, it's got the alcohol.

Alistaire and I met up with my friend Becky for drinks and some much-needed single-gal talk. (I mean no offense to my married friends, but sometimes you just need to talk to someone else who lives in your same state of being; you don't spend all your time talking about being single or men, or anything that silly, but you do share a common perspective on some things without any necessary preamble.) Until today, I guess I had never known how many people venture out for happy hour after work in downtown. Brit's seemed to attract everyone, too. The up-and-comers were there in their suits that were fitted "just so," or their matching skirt-heels-purse combinations with perfect hair. Those who were further along the career path had already ditched their ties in briefcases, swilling the pint as though there were no tomorrow, glancing up at the golf scores every so often. The hipsters came in with their carefully planned "I-don't-care" layers of clothes perfectly mismatched enough to look cool, but enough to still be a look. (Mind, there were not many hipsters. This was downtown, Nicollet Mall, not UpTown.) The summer cargo-pant crew was there too, along with the cute summer dress posse.

Personally, I had dressed somewhere between the "summer dress posse" and the "up-and-comer." I actually had put a decent amount of thought (probably too much) into what I wore for this occasion simply because I wanted to blend in. Why? I guess I didn't want to look like the country bumpkin' cousin coming to play in the big city, even thought that's exactly what I was doing. I am the school teacher on summer break trying to blend into the fold of the working city. The coolest thing was, I did blend in. And I probably would have blended in no matter what I had worn because Brit's is a place that oozes comfort, charm, and a lack of prestige. That's one of my favorite things about this pub. It takes you as you are. Somehow, I'd forgotten that on any given night, Brit's is host to all walks of life. It's strategic location (and yes, this really is strategic, as opposed to Pie Town!) across from Orchestra Hall brings in concert-goers on performance nights, bachelor/bachelorette parties on the weekends, and hungry visitors looking for sturdy fare on any given night. Brit's is near several hotels and other dining/shopping establishments on Nicollet Mall, after all. (Ooh! A rhyme!)

There was a steady stream of people waltzing through the door. Becky and I seem to have timed it right--we got there and placed our drink and appetizer orders, were served in a very timely manner, and BAM! The people just kept coming through the door. I wondered how many of them made this their "regular place" after work. The whole idea of a daily happy hour still amuses me, as it's not something I do on a regular basis; for me it's more of a special event, a time to chill with friends, but it's not "just an ordinary day." For this teacher, an ordinary day of work includes finishing teaching at 2:25, working on projects, planning, or rehearsing until 3:30 or 4:00. Or 5:00. (Ick.) Then coming home, inhaling whatever edible thing I can find ("Broccoli? Yum!" or "Chicken--excellent." or "Um, bag of microwave popcorn--it's easy. Ok! It's dinner!"), and then collapsing in a heap. I'm lucky if I can find my way to my bed at the end of it all . . .

Perhaps that's why I'm extra-primed for adventure in the summer, even if it is just to one of my favorite low-key pubs, enjoying the company of a very good friend. Sometimes, low-key is exactly what the llama ordered.