Viva Las Vegas

The birthday weekend got off to a surprisingly good start – beginning at the airport where doodah!, Fellow Fanilow and I met a lovely semi-retired anesthesiologist who lives in Vegas. I say semi-retired because there is a doctor that she has partnered with for many years who moved his practice to the foothills of California. Whenever he has a serious surgery he flies her in for the day. I guess with the pressure of surgery, you’d want someone you know and trust on the keeping-the-patient-out-but-not-dead end of things. All I’ve got to say is that the money had better be pretty darn good because the flight’s an hour and a half and the drive is more than another couple of hours. Anywho, she gave us the lowdown on the place locals go for a weekend buffet – the same food as the casinos on the strip but only a third the price. She also let us know that if you are going to see Cirque Da Sole, while both are dazzling, Mystere has a better storyline than O and is more elegant. So put that in the corner pocket of your mind for future getaway plans.


After we got our rental car (which we lovingly referred to as our muscle gangsta car) and checked into our room – which had little munchkins bouncing off the walls hopped up on lollipops (get it, munchkins…lollipops…) – it was 2:30 AM and we were starving and buzzed on over stimulation. So off to the Bellagio Café for a super late night supper. Easy-peasy, right? Ha! Vegas may be eager to fill your every whim when you are in the super secret high stakes Kino game room (I know they exist somewhere, I know they do dang nab it), but if you are an ordinary couple of Janes wanting a BLT at 3 AM you’re going to have to learn the lessons of waiting. Not only did it take three people to get customers to their tables and take orders, the wait staff had an unwritten rule that they were not to communicate with each other verbally (it probably throws gamblers off their mojo) so they have some Helen Keller strung out on crack hand signal system, which no one understood and had to walk over and whisper in the other’s ear. If they point three fingers in the air while facing east and flicking the wrist clockwise means seat these two people away from the kitchen door and get them water with ice. A counterclockwise flick of the wrist means no ice.

But the best part of the night came as we were standing outside with middle aged men and their, well lets just assume they are their daughters. As we were languishing in line, this guy with a white satin tracksuit with teal writing and his friend came strutting in past the hostess and two assistants, totally ignoring the hand signals. A flurry of staff stumbled over themselves shooing him back to the front. Let’s pick up the dialogue here:

Tracksuit Man: Do you know who I am?
Mousey Hostess: No sir, but you have to wait until the others have been seated.
TM: Do you know who I am? We are RF & BD, (which sounded like r f’n bd, as in real f’n big deal). I wait for nobody. Get Tom on the line and you’ll find out I don’t wait for nobody.

I don’t know who Tim was, but he got RF & BD a table, sitting just far enough away from us that we got to see him periodically stand up, take off his jacket and walk past the mirrors admiringly flexing his muscles – all for our entertainment. We would have taken a picture, but I think he knew people who could hurt us and make it look like an accident.　But anytime you feel frustrated and that you deserve better, feel free to shout out, "I'm RF'NBD and I don't wait for nobody!"

Coming up next, the Music and Passion.

Joie de Vivre ~ A Hearty Joy of Living!