Good news! I made it through our trip! I didn’t die, and Louie didn’t murder me. In fact, I ended up driving from Barstow to Vegas and from Vegas to Barstow. It’s like a Christmas miracle, but in the spring time.. an Easter miracle?
This is pretty much what it was like: Me- overly bronzed and totally wired, Louie with his perfect head of hair being gawked over by women.
We had a blast together, it was exactly what we needed. Last summer we had two huge Vegas trips planned with both of our families, one for my sisters birthday and one for his sisters birthday. Because I had just started a new medication and was right in the middle of my first round of Clomid, we didn’t go. It was the hardest few months of my life, physically and emotionally. So, this trip was like a practice run for my sisters graduation. I didn’t take some of my fertility meds in prep for the trip, because they make my stomach like atomic and explosive…… if you know what I mean. Now I know what to do for May and every trip thereafter.
When Louie’s cousin told us the wedding was at Treasure Island, I was like… “Ew, we’er staying at the Chuck E. Cheese of Las Vegas”, I imagined all the kids running around and the tacky pirate ship stuff. I was apprehensive, to say the least. When we got there the line for EVERYTHING was too long. Like, “Babe, I’m going to have a panic attack” long… But I can do all things through Him… “Him” being my husband. He made me laugh and let me put my head on his shoulder. We made it through the check-in process and even got an upgraded room! It wasn’t without a few stares though, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I looked like a fat Snookie (pregnant and all). It’s ok though, because I felt great!
So, PS- Treasure Island is not nearly as shitty as I thought it would be. It was clean, smaller than the other hotel’s I’ve stayed at in Vegas, the room was great and the wedding was totally classy. I shit you not- I thought they were going to get married by a pirate. But no, it was some crotchety old man with a cute sense of humor.
A few weeks before the trip my mom and I bought dresses online from Macy’s. Normally I love to shop and my mom engrained into my soul the love of buying things, especially clothes. But not lately. I’m a hot mess, big and round and flubbery. I hate shopping. Trying on clothes is like begging for a nervous breakdown. So I got everything one size bigger and hoped for the best. All but one fit perfectly (by the way, Jessica Simpson, next time you make a plus size dress, don’t make it look like a pinata-,ok?) which in some ways is kind of a bummer because that means I should now buy THAT size. I had to let go, and embrace this big ol’ body of mine.
It worked, because all Louie’s aunts loved my dress and one of them said “This is the best you have ever Looked, positively glowing.” Cue the pregnancy hints… Of course. I had to explain that, no, I’m not pregnant. I shut them all up quite quickly though when I threw out “Yeah, we’ve been trying for a while. I’m infertile and we’re starting fertility treatments in May.” No one want’s to touch that with a ten foot pole, and I was left to glow by means of sunless tanner and a billion pounds of bronzer. Thank you very much!
After the wedding was over we decided NOT to go out with everyone to club Marquee. I don’t know.. techno music and 29038209781923 people trapped in a small space just doesn’t sound fun to us. Instead we played slots, which by the way, I am fucking awesome at. We had dinner with Louie’s other cousin and aunts. We spent 100$ for a buffet at the Rio, which sucked balls. Who pay’s that much for a buffet that consists of some soggy sushi and crab legs that take 100 years to open? Then we passed out. Woke up early, went to a 23$ buffet at Treasure Island, which was fucking amazing, then we got ready and decided to play blackjack. We totally won 600$ from the 80$ I won playing slots. It was amazing.
After being out until about 2am, I packed our bags and we left. I felt good, and who knew how long that would last. We drove through the night, showed up at my moms at 730 am and Shelby freaked the fuck out.
It was SO HARD leaving her for the weekend. Every time I walked in the door to the hotel room I just wanted to see her there! She is my baby. Even when we finally get a “real baby” my heart will still belong to that furry bastard. I laid down on the couch and she literally ran at full speed and jumped on me and then spooned me for 6 hours while I slept. I don’t know how we’re going to leave her for 4 days in May. I want to strap a red vest on her and pretend she’s my service dog. Unfortunately I don’t think she’d do very well in an airport, trying to lick and jump and generally be a crazy hyper dog, they wouldn’t believe me for a second.
So, now I’m here. Home. Feeling overwhelmed with everything. Too overwhelmed to even attempt to dissect all the things that are overwhelming me.
I’ve got a midterm to take at 5. This professor is like, an original hipster. He was a hipster before hipsters were cool. Nowadays I can’t walk through campus without seeing a fedora toting, wild west mustache having, beach cruiser riding– hipster. Professor Hipster however, makes the SDSU hipsters look like amateurs. In some strange way, I find him totally sexy and absolutely brilliant. He talks EXACTLY like Christopher Walken and writes like a beat generation poet. Pretty much the perfect man bur a totally obnoxious professor. His assignments are like “Write an essay on gigolo shoes.” I mean, really? That’s all you’re going to give me? Then he picks his “elusive A’s” (his words, not mine) and has them read out loud. I have yet to be chosen because he plays favorites (not because my work is below par, I’m sure). One day I’m going to write something that knocks his socks off, and then he’ll ask me to his office hours and seduce me. I’ll be like, “Whoa there Professor Walken, I think we’re moving too fast. Why don’t you read me some of your serial killer poetry while playing the bongos and then we can talk.”