Tag Archives: Sin City

Take it off

16 Nov

My dog is OOOOLLLLDDDD. And CCCCOOOOLLLLDDD.

Buddy is now 14-1/2 years old. That’s 101 to you and me. His eyes are all cloudy and his hearing is shot. He sleeps 23-1/2 hours a day but for those few minutes he’s awake, he’s the cutest freakin puppy there is.

His nicknames are Bud, Budster, and Yard Sale. Why Yard Sale you ask? Since you asked…

You know what a baby deer looks like when he tries to get up the first time? That’s Bud every time he shakes himself. Splat.

Last winter, my little Yard Sale started shivering so hard I thought he’d finally explode – so I bought two plain sweaters for him – one red, one brown. I wanted black but apparently that’s just “not a color parents buy” according to the fashion nazi’s at Petco.

For the record, I like buying stuff. Especially shoes. But for my dogs – whom I would do almost anything for – I refuse to truss them up with silly freaking burberry inspired patterns or long capes with matching hats and matching shoes. If you do, stop it right now.

It’s probably his last winter with us, so one day, after drinking too much wine at lunch (woops, they see right through me), I found this very cute and snuggly super soft angora sweater. And one for Buddy too. No hat, no shoes. Bummer for me.

Because I make fun of idiots who dress their dogs up in silly outfits with bows, I felt like maybe I’d have to stop doing that now – then quickly tossed that thought aside.

You see, unless your dog is naturally hairless or is on his last paws, show some respect and take that stupid shit off him. WTF? Who dresses their dog like this?

Are those freaking mary-jane paw-socks? What?

Seriously? A dog-kini?

My little Yard Sale’s days are numbered and all I want for him is to feel safe, warm, and loved. If lazing around in a fuzzy angora super soft sweater will keep him warm and cozy now that it’s cold, then I’m all for it.

But I’ll still laugh at you if I see your perfectly healthy dog sporting designer duds on the trail. Just saying.

What happens in Vegas… part 1

30 Sep

We arrive at the Wynn in the early afternoon and quickly decided – it’s time for a drink! The hubby and I made our way down to the casino in search of some swanky cocktails and a snack or two.

You totally forget how the casino’s don’t want you to eat – just gamble baby. But as we meandered to the Encore, we found a place worthy of stopping for. The drink I ordered was called something silly like “Refreshingly Splendid” but it had mint and lime and cucumber and soda water – reminded me of some of my more happy spa days out with the gals.

The drink arrived and I tried to drink it. I swear I did, but I’m not a vacuum – my suction does not rival Dyson (sorry hubby). Each attempt felt like I was about to blow a capillary or two or three. I almost passed out from lack of oxygen. I tried to drink it the old-fashioned way, you know, without a straw, but there were so many small pieces of mint I quickly saw the dangers in doing so. Who wants to walk around in chi-chi ville with green crap in your teeth? Not me. So I gave up.  Ordered a glass of chardonnay. And it was yummy.

Slightly fed and definitely recharged, we started to think about where to go for the first night in Sin City. My new brother-in-law (yeah, I know you’re reading these!) has lotsa friends with connections – so we were put on the VIP list at Haze (a swanky nightclub at the Aria.) Decision made.

I got all dolled up with hot pink tube top, black cropped cargo pants, and 5″ gladiator stilettos. The hubby was looking pretty dang fine as well – and we felt pretty good – I absolutely felt that I was rocking the right look.

We  strutted into the club – and OMG my worst fears were realized – every chick from age 20 to 60 was wearing the slinky mini dress. And huge heels. Heels that I would give up the remaining enamel on my teeth for. Glittery heels, ones with feathers, with zippers, and other bling oh my. In the back of my mind, I could hear my inner Wicked Witch cackle and covet those ruby red slippers of theirs.

I felt self-conscious for all of about 5 minutes until I realized……. my style was all me. It’s who I am – how I feel – and after finishing that journey toward the Emerald City (err escalator toward the VIP line), I  felt renewed confidence in my own skin, and my skin tight cropped cargo pants. And 5″ gladiator heels.

I had asked the question of why it’s so important to dress to impress and I felt I had answered it. Dress to express yourself. Oh crap, did I just quote Madonna? No offense Madge.

Stayed tune for part 2 – wait til you hear what happens at Haze. This stuff can only happen in Vegas.

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