Nerd Alert!

Doot-do, do-do-do. Matamata! Doot do-do-do! Matamata!

(If you have no idea what little song I was singing while writing the opening lines of this entry, I insist that you check out this lovely YouTube clip of the muppets singing “Mah Na Mah Na.” Your inner child will thank you.)

On March 17, Robin and I bid farewell to Rich and began our own little sojourn into Kiwi country. Our first stop? Matamata, a lovely little town, now famous for its Hobbity hamlets. That’s right folks, we let our inner nerds out to play and took the tour of the Shire set. Having both read and watched The Lord of the Rings, I instinctively recognized the rolling green mountains as Hobbiton, and delighted in having the opportunity to visit the set. It is so quaint! There are round little doors and chimneys popping out of hillsides as far as the eye can see. Across the lake, you can see the Green Dragon and the mill. Real fruit grows on the apple and pear trees! It’s so picturesque even the most Orc-like individuals would feel their blackened hearts melting. Sadly, I cannot publish any of the pictures of the Shire here. Before touring the set, Robin and I had to sign a bit of parchment that said we wouldn’t, or Peter Jackson may just gobble us up for second breakfast. Or elevensies. Or afternoon tea. So you’ll have to be satisfied with our mock-hobbit pictures from the shuttle launch in Matamata.

Yessir, I’m skipping. And for good reason. I’m apparently too tall to be a hobbit! (The new casting call for The Hobbit asked for extras 5’2” and under. At 5’4.5,” I’ve missed the cut-off.) I think my lack of hairy feet may also have put me out of the running for the casting. As you can see, Robin has attempted to make herself hobbit-height, but alas, I think she’s more elvish with those long limbs.

Our time in the Shire led us to feel a bit hobbity, so we were concerned about food immediately following our tour of the set. Luckily, Matamata complied and we didn’t have to go on much of a quest to find lunch. (Just one lunch, though. We are too tall to be hobbits, after all!) Near the cafe we visited, we came across the Manly Milk Bar. Now, we know what Milk Bars are--small convenience stores from which one can readily buy various food cupboard staples like milk, juices, crackers, and treats. It’s not a fully-stocked grocery store, but enough to help you “get by.” It also acts as a newsstand. However, I couldn’t stop giggling at the name of this Milk Bar. What made it “Manly?”

I had to investigate.

Using the best skills one could glean from The Boxcar Children, I sauntered casually into the store, saying “hello” to the elderly gentleman behind the counter of the Manly Milk Bar. On the right, a refrigerator for soda, milk, and juices. Next to the counter and spilling over onto it I saw a wide array of candies. Frozen treats were located in a freezer on the right of the counter. Shampoos, soaps, and other personal sundries were located in the back of the shop. Toys were on a shelf just beyond the cold beverages. This wasn’t feeling particularly “manly.”

And then I saw it--the “man cave.” Lurking surreptitiously behind a tall shelf was a rack of magazines with scantily clad and cleverly black-bar-censored women.

It’s a good thing this was not really a Boxcar Children mystery. I don’t think the wholesome Boxcar kiddos would have been able to make sense of the “man cave” in the back of the Manly Milk Bar. I think they might be altogether scandalized if they saw two people *gasp* holding hands. I can’t bear to think of how they’d react to scantily clad women on magazine covers!

(I, on the other hand, giggled.)

To commemorate this momentous occasion, I struck a “manly” pose, in the vein of Sears catalogue models, outside the Manly Milk Bar.

(Hey, a girl can only do so much to be “manly,” especially when wearing a ruffly purple t-shirt.)

We headed toward Raglan next, a beach community noted for its black sand beaches and surfing. While on route, we took a small detour to Bridal Veil Falls. It was a short trek to the falls, but the twisty roads to reach the track were killer. I travel fairly well to most places, and I like a good thrill from time to time. However, the one thing I simply cannot master is twisty roads (or spinning rides). I do not blame Robin’s driving in the least--again, she handled those twists and turns like a pro and kept us safe to the bitter end. I just wish my stomach would listen to my brain, which kept uttering “It’s ok, it’s ok. Don’t toss your cookies!”

The visit to the falls was worth it, though! McLaren Falls had been nice; Bridal Veil Falls was impressive in its sheer force. It was a taller fall, and we even managed to see a rainbow in the mist. (Thanks to my handy dandy 35mm “biggie” camera, I managed to capture that rainbow too! Look closely!)

(Ok, I’ll admit that the rainbow wasn’t that difficult to capture. I also snagged some shots with my digital “point-and-shoot” camera, which also came out nicely.)

(And since this entry is entitled “nerd alert,” I guess this is the appropriate time to note that I had a total of THREE cameras on the trip--the 35mm biggie, the point-and-shoot digital, and my HD Flip cam for video. Nerd alert, indeed!)

Arriving in Raglan after our day at the Shire and Bridal Veil Falls, we were in for a very different sort of visit. We stayed at the Karioi Lodge, a hostel that hosted its own surf school. Since we were just passing through for the night, we weren’t part of the school. However, we still got a taste of the surf culture. We met some very nice people at the lodge, but looking around we got the sense that a few of the travelers had been there slightly longer than the average backpacker would stay. Perhaps they’d originally intended to stay for 3 days of surf school, but liked the surf life so much that they stayed for 2 weeks instead. This is not in any way a judgment--just more of an amused observation. The lodge itself had a comfortable, relaxed vibe that permeated every inch of the property. The kitchen was clean but well-used. Our shared bunk had a slightly damp but pleasantly camp-like smell. Robin and I opted to get Indian takeaway from the city proper that evening, as part of the Kiwi culture. (I know, I know! Indian food doesn’t scream of Kiwi culture at first glimpse, but takeaway is like a whole food group unto itself! The folks of New Zealand seem crazy for their takeaway food, and based on the caliber of the Indian food we got, I can see why! It was exquisite!) We also opened our bottle of Mills Reef Shiraz and each had a glass. (Please note--we still had about half a bottle left after this. For future reference.) In plastic wine glasses, of course! I think actual glass would have defied the very nature of Karioi Lodge and felt completely out of place. Plastic? Just right for the occasion.

And perfectly suited to us at the time. Two gals off on a wild and crazy, and slightly nerdy, road trip.

Observation

On our second day in New Zealand, I awoke to the sound of birds chirping happily outside my window. (It was a bit like being in a Disney cartoon. Had I not been so delighted to be in New Zealand, I might have been forced to make a snarky comment about this. However, when you’re on holiday somewhere as amazing as New Zealand, you’ll forgive the saccharine moments and actually rejoice in them.) Bits of puffy white clouds broke up the brilliant blue of the sky, and I had to smile as I stretched my limbs in bed. After being teased by Robin and Rich’s landlord about the pallor of my skin the night before (working my Minnesota-pastiness to its best!), I was determined to get a bit of color.

Robin and I ventured off to explore McLaren Falls after breakfast. It was a lovely area that looked almost as if it could be part of the midwestern landscape to which I am accustomed. It wasn’t as piney as Copper Falls, a hiking trail and waterfall I visited several times in my youth in Wisconsin, but it had similar elements. We used our “can’t touch the ground” skills from the previous day’s rock-skipping adventure, but now with greater consequences. On the first day, slipping off meant you might touch down onto a beach of shells. Sure, it might sound like you’ve crashed through a plate of glass, and you might even get a few scrapes, but at McLaren Falls, you ran the risk of getting wet at best, or taking a nasty tumble and potentially injuring yourself as you skidded down rocky ledges, perhaps breaking a limb or cracking your skull open.

I was game!

The climbing was very successful. We didn’t have many threatening moments--there were many safe places to climb since it hadn’t rained for quite a while. (Robin tells me that when she and Rich first arrived, they drove to McLaren Falls shortly after an enormous bout of rain and couldn’t even see the rocks we were climbing.) Not long after we arrived, a cluster of young Arab men came to the falls. They were jovially taking large group pictures. Our two groups didn’t really intermingle--we all had our own agenda. However, it seems we were the subject of some observation. Robin and I were finding our way back up a pile of rocks, and she managed to just barely make a sizable grab to pull herself back up. Being somewhat shorter, I couldn’t quite hoist myself up the same route. It seems the group of gentlemen noticed, despite all their group picture-taking, and they asked in broken English if we were ok, just as I was looking for an alternate route back up. We thanked them for their kindness, but showed them that we had found another route.

Which leads us to this.

Right. So . . . This picture shows a flatter area of the falls. Naturally, Robin and I were attracted to the brightness of the sign, and the fact that it read “CAUTION” in huge letters across the top. Robin told me to pose in fear. Somehow, I came up with something that looks more like a salute. Perhaps this in homage to the great sirens that could warn us of imminent flooding danger. “Oh, great sirens, please don’t sound whilst we are here.” (Yup. That works.)

After we climbed, we went to the Mills Reef Winery. It was a winery. We sampled several wines. They were good. We bought a bottle to take home. It was a Shiraz.

(Remember this detail for future entries.)

After a brief detour to put on our “togs” (Kiwi for swimsuits) and pick up Rich at the house, we headed back to Maunganui and sampled the beach. I just about had a second layer of sunscreen on (remember the aforementioned Minnesota pastiness? I have a tendency to turn as red as a lobster without proper precautions in the sun. While I wanted some color again, red was not the goal.), when I decided to go for it and jump into the water. At about shin level, it felt quite nice. Apparently Robin and Rich were watching for that moment when you realize that it’s actually a bit chilly. They got their moment--it hit about thigh level and my jaw dropped open. However, it wasn’t enough to deter me--it was simply a little cooler than anticipated. I waded in further and eventually just dove forward. It was great! I hadn’t been in the ocean for ages! There is a different current here, and salt water adds a whole new level of fun for swimmers. (Don’t open your eyes! And for goodness sakes, don’t open your mouth! Good lessons I remembered not too long into my swim.)

We dried ourselves in the late afternoon sun and proceeded to take a little hike up a cliff to see the spout, an area where the water rushes up and spits upward like a whale spout. It was now our turn to be the observers. There was a whole pack of teenage boys jumping off the edge of a nearby cliff straight into the ocean. This was a mighty tall jump, and might have been tempting had the tide not been so strong. We watched as some miscreants who had jumped in tried to swim up through the spout. Let’s just say that was a bad idea on their part. (They were bright enough to turn around and go back another way. Thank goodness. Much as they weren’t my favorite blokes in the world, I didn’t need or want to see any particular harm come to them. I’m not much for carnage.)

“So, Gillian,” you ask, “why do you categorize these youths as miscreants? Perhaps they were just adventurous.” Indeed--some of the teens were simply thrill-seeking in their jumping. However, the two who attempted the spout were definitely deviants. After the sadness of seeing the expired little blue penguin on the shore the previous day, we were elated when Rich first spotted a live one swimming near the cliff, and positively squealed when we too caught a glimpse. (Rich has some keen vision! When Robin and I couldn’t see it, she insisted that he must have made it up just to torment us. We were absolutely giddy when he proved her wrong.) The delinquent teens earned their standing because of this little penguin. Prior to their jump, they were cheering for the penguin to get washed into the spout and crash upon the rocks. Not cool, boys. Not cool.

(No penguins or ruffians were injured during our visit.)

Kia Ora, Llama!

The sky was a brilliant blue, a fully saturated color that is usually reserved for postcards. A glowing orb of warmth radiated between the thin stretches of cloud that looked as though someone had loosely pulled a cotton ball and scattered bits of it about the sky. I stepped into the sunlight, blinking in wonder. “We’re not in Minnesota, anymore!” I thought to myself. “Hallelujah!”

Don’t get me wrong--I love Minnesota. I adore our state with it’s many Scandinavian-American quirks, and usually try to recruit everyone and their cousin to live here. Here you can be in the metro area, but a mere thirty minutes later you can be in the country looking at open expanses of field that stretch as far as the eye can see, or stumble upon one of our 10,000 lakes. I have loved Minnesota because I can be my expressive, artistic singer self, diving into our rich history of choral music, but I can also find the outdoors. For a kid who grew up canoeing with her dad, skiing and building snow forts with friends, and was generally covered in grass stains between the ages of 4 and 11 (ok, 12), Minnesota is glorious.

But as many a Minnesotan will tell you, this winter has been tougher than most. I love winter and snow as much as the next northerner, but having accumulated some 60 inches (that’s about 152 centimeters to the rest of the world), I was ready to dig out of endless winter.

And so I was more than ready to absorb myself in the warmth of New Zealand at the end of their summer and beginning of fall. Having a good friend to visit there made it all the better!

My dear friend Robin picked me up at the Auckland airport on March 15, and we were off on a Kiwi road trip! This was a feat in itself--Auckland is about two hours from Robin’s New Zealand home base in Tauranga, and required feats of bravery in the form of driving on the left side of the road. Kudos to Robin for her masterful maneuvering on tiny, twisty roads, up and down through the rolling hills and mountains of New Zealand. She did an amazing job! (Actually, Robin and I have had some, uh, interesting car adventures here in the states, and as I told her throughout our road trip in New Zealand, I think she may fare better on the left side of the road!)

For the first two days, we stayed in the Bay of Plenty area. I am thankful that Robin is a master planner. I bounded off the plane thinking I was ready to tackle just about anything. Robin knew better. One shower later (to get rid of the stink of 16 hours of plane ride), Robin, her husband Rich, and I headed to Manganui, a 10 minute jaunt down the road to a small mount and beautiful ocean view.

We proceeded to hike up this small mount, which was quite lovely. Here you can see a glimpse of the stairs we climbed. The angle is a bit off here, but it gives you an idea of what we climbed. (I now acknowledge that this is not my best camera work--I wanted, like so many of us, to believe that I am invincible and was not at all susceptible to exhaustion. I’ll be human enough to admit that I might have been wrong.) This was one short portion of the climb. There were more stairs around the corner

As we climbed, we met an interesting old codger. He was a salty man, weathered by long hours in the sun, carrying a pack and a walking stick. Meeting him, you get the feeling that he may live in a small hovel carved out by rocks and trees near the mount. He fancies himself a psychic and endeavored to tell us about the demise of the US and the northern hemisphere. I don’t think I could write every detail of his ramblings if I tried, but suffice to say, friends, if a man named Douglas Wilder wins the American presidency in 2012, you should join me in flocking to the southern hemisphere on the earliest flight or boat ride you can book. Apparently he will help incite the demise of the entire northern hemisphere and the southern hemisphere will be the only safe place left. (Anyone fancy taking a canoe through the ocean? That would be a very different kind of adventure, but exciting nonetheless!)

The rest of the afternoon is shrouded in a haze of memory. I remember playing “don’t touch the ground” with Robin and Rich, hopping from one large rock to another during low tide. It was a delightful throwback to childhood, made all the more fun by the prospect that you had to grasp at the edge of taller rocks and hope that you had something to throw your foot on to make your next move. (Being at least 4 inches--that’s 10 cm--shorter than Robin and Rich, I got a bit creative with this process.) On this rock-lined shore, I happened to see my first wild penguin. Sadly, it was an expired penguin--small and blue, we could only tell it was a penguin by its little webbed feet. Robin bemoaned our sad little feathered friend, especially since it was one of my first New Zealand wildlife sightings. Admittedly, I have approximately 37 penguins in my classroom at school that my students have gifted to me over the years, and it was a bit depressing to see a departed penguin instead of one that was happily swimming in the gorgeous aquamarine ocean. (Rich and Robin both offered to taxidermy the little blue penguin for my collection, but I opted to pass. Somehow, I just didn’t think customs would find it kosher.)

Before I knew it, I was falling asleep at Robin and Rich’s kitchen table while Robin and I were trying to map out some of the finer details of our impending road trip. They packed me off into the spare room, and blessed sleep had me immune to the world as soon as my head hit the pillow. Day 1 in New Zealand had already brought a welcome burst of sunshine and warmth, and the journey was just beginning!

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 . . .)