Top 10 Moments of Josh's Birthday Weekend in Vegas.
10. Eating the best artery-clogging, tongue-dazzling chicken fingers this side of the Mississippi. (Raising Canes. Nuff said.)
9. The hole-in-the-wall Karaoke joint with faux-velvet walls and $4 cokes.
~~Where we ran into the son of Ashley's former employer from Cedar City. Random.
8. The dark bar we went to after Karaoke to dance that was in no way a dance club (I'm still convinced the scantily-clad bartender with her breasts all but divulged from her corset, is in fact a vampire).
~~Imagine dark interior, mirrors hanging flat on the ceiling; wall-to-wall paintings of various historical figures, smattered with portraits of nude 18th century-style women; deep, dark leather armchairs that sink you so far you need help getting out; bathrooms in dark alcoves at the far end of the club. It had a slinky, sexy feel to it.
7. The four encore songs we coaxed out of the band which included oodles of white confetti shot out of bazookas. It was as if The Killers were saying, "Happy Birthday Josh!" :)
6. The "Trainwreck" chick (who was so completely plastered I thought she would fall off the stage). Her rendition of Celine Dion's "Because You Loved Me" had Matt and I quite literally gasping for breath.
5. The restaurant where my tummy purred, "Girl, I don't know what this awesomeness is, but keep on a'sendin it down!" (Hash House A Go Go)
~~ We thought we wanted the Wynn Buffet because it's pure awesome, but since we're poor and all, we decided to chance it on something else. While we were considering HHAGG in the hotel lobby, a local walked by and "just had to interupt" to say that HHAGG is THE best breakfast joint in all of Vegas. Deciding what to order proved to be the most mentally and emotionally challenging 20 minutes of the trip. Josh and I eventually agreed to share

The "Meatloaf Hash"Meatloaf to rival my grandmother's, two eggs, roasted red peppers, fresh spinach, and smoked mozzarella. The "side" biscuit that came with the meal loaded with butter and fresh strawberry jam was the size of a softball and tasted as good as Mama's!

Matt and Ash got "Andy's Sage Fried Chicken" with a maple reduction, 2 eggs, bacon mashed potatoes and a softball biscuit. They didn't think that would be enough food, so they ordered a delicious pecan and blueberry pancake the size of a flattened beachball.

It was breakfast heaven.

4. The adorable dark pink, silky, peep-toe heels, complete with decor bow that exactly matched a blouse that looks positively stunning on me, if I do say so myself.
3. The Fight
~~The Killers were about halfway through their set. We had already heard Halloweentown (Barf.) and Phoenix (Hot.), so most of the people around us were more or less sloshed. I was standing right in front of Josh and next to Ashley when all of a sudden Josh tightened his hold on my waist and lurched forward. It looked to me like someone was fainting. And before I knew it, Matt and Ashley were gone and Josh was helping 3 others unclench the fingers of a rather large staggering drunk off of the scrawny neck of some guy. Personally, I think it was pretty hot that Josh didn't even hesitate to join in the fray and stop the fight.
Also really hot: Brandon Flowers stopping the concert to allow the ushers to escort the brawlers out of the arena. When the lights came on, he said, "Come on guys! You just ruined Losing Touch!"
2. The back-to-back-with-arms-folded-and-eyebrows-raised move hammed up by Ashley and Josh while delivering an exquisite performance of "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls. And yes, Josh sang in Cockney.
1. Paying $46 for tickets and moving from the last row in the events center to the tightly packed, beer sloshed floor, right in front of the very hot, highly energetic band.
~~ Ashley and Josh were inspiring as they savvily weaved through concert beaurocracy and cranky Irish drunkards to get us taken to the floor by LVPD, and then protected us from the meddling agendas of clueless ushers. Brilliant.

It was an unforgettable weekend. Happy Birthday Josh!!

I Remember That Day...

The day was beautiful. A perfect almost-fall morning: clear, cool, and it smelled delicious. When I came upstairs for breakfast, the door to my dad's room was open. He's never up that early, so something about that morning already felt different to my little 8th grade world. When he told me that someone had flown planes into two really tall, important buildings in New York, it didn't really register. I guess I had never thought about those buildings as having lots of people in them. I felt sadness for whatever had motivated someone to do something so dumb, but the sheer loss of human life wouldn't set in for several hours. As I walked the 4 or so blocks alone to my friend's house, I thought about the people on the planes. How scary that must have been. I wondered if there had been children on the flight. I whispered a quiet prayer, not only for the people who were scared and lost their lives, but for gratitude. My dad traveled a lot when I was in Jr. High and he flew to NY a few times every year. I thanked Heavenly Father for always protecting my dad on business trips.

One of my friends bullied me a little on the way to school and I was sulky when we got there. My wounded pride was quickly forgotten when I walked into my first class. Every head was turned up to the TV to watch the reports trickle in. That was the moment. As I watched the camera span the wreckage and the ticker at the bottom slowly tally the death toll, the disaster suddenly became very personal. My little heart swelled with compassion and love for the thousands of men, women and children who wouldn't come home; who wouldn't be found; who wouldn't go to another baseball game or swim in the ocean; who would never again kiss their spouses or parents or children goodnight. I thought about my own short, passionate life and all the wonderful dreams and aspirations I had and I wept for every dream that would never be chased.

We watched the news in almost every class that day. My German teacher declared that the news had nothing to do with learning German and we would not let the events in New York disrupt our schedule. I wore tons of smelly lotion all day just to bug her (She was extremely sensitive to perfume). It worked and I felt like I was defending Justice with Love Spell.

I vaguely remember the Principal making some kind of announcement and several kids pulled out early by their parents. I didn't cry very much until much later, but I felt a surge of patriotism and an overwhelming desire to comfort my friends and everyone affected by the tragedy. I remember wishing I could go to New York and help somehow.

The events of September 11, 2001 still feel like a life landmark to me. The feelings I experienced that day sparked new goals and perspective on my life. It was right about that time that I decided that whatever I do with my life, it would involve helping people in need, in some capacity or another. It made me realize how precious life really is.

Frosted Mini Wheats and Flat Irons...

Do not mix well.
Some background:
First of all, I never thought of myself as clumsy. Neither of my highly observant parents ever called me that when I was young, and it's not on the longish list of derogatory terms used for the better part of my childhood by my older brother. In fact, the possibility never actually occurred to me. That is, until the day I fell up an escalator, frantically scraping and clawing against at least 3 laws of physics to reach the top as my brother, Chad, fought back snorts while hopelessly trying to get me to "just give up and let it take [me] down" (only to realize that I really did in fact need to go down the metal deathtrap in order to get to the airport terminal that was my destination). Later that day I banged my head getting into my little red Tercel. As I rubbed my fast-growing goose-egg Chad looked at me with that look that only a brother knows and said, "Al, I never thought of it until now...but you're kind of clumsy!"

So, either I've been a walking, talking, head-banging self-fulfilling prophecy ever since that day, or I was in denial until then...maybe I'll take a poll.

Second, I have never been a punctual person. I get praised for being at work by 8:15. My boss just assumes I'll be in sometime before 8:30 and will make up the time at the end of the day. And I don't think I've ever been ready for a date on time. My boyfriend, Josh, calls this regularly occurring experience the "LA Story" effect.

You look so ready that I get ready
and I get up and stand by the door,
and I stand there for minutes
until I realize you aren't ready.
So, I sit back down.
Then, I think you're ready again.
But I realize you just gave off
an illusion of being ready that I
interpreted as not being an illusion.
I'll be in the car.

It's not usually that bad. But we sure got a kick out of this scene. His normal wait time is about 5 minutes. Actually I think I'm about 5 minutes late for just about everything.

So, in an effort to not be late to work every day, I eat my breakfast as I go. Sometimes in the car, sometimes while reading my scriptures, and sometimes while doing my hair. The latter was pick of the day today. I had 20 minutes to finish straightening my hair, eating my cereal, get dressed, brush my teeth and be at work. It may seem impossible, but I had it covered: 10 mins for hair/cereal. 2 mins to throw on some clothes. 7 mins to drive. 1 to brush at work. I was actually going to be right on time! And then I took that fateful bite. As I went to put the bowl back down on the counter, it flew out of my hands, spraying all over the bathroom, landing face-down on my flat iron.
It was a rough morning. I felt pretty lame for not being able to hold on to a cereal bowl (I use plastic for this very reason). Needless to say, I did not make it in 20, (it was more like 25) but my iron did survive the swim! With only a few searing burns to the fingers, I was able to scrub off the milk and Mini Wheats before those tiny, smelly bits could become a permanent addition to my most-used styler.

Thus the Lesson: Frosted Mini Wheats and Flat Irons do not mix.