Who knew that our favorite Vegas experience would be at the Siegfried and Roy tiger exhibit at the Mirage?
Getting to the baby tigers wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. I left work early on Thursday and escaped the madness and histrionics of the residential unit in favor of the Richmond airport. I thought all was going well, and the slight take off delay to Atlanta seemed inconsequential. Until I got off the jet bridge in Atlanta. The gate agent told me I had 10 minutes to get to D14, another terminal of course, and was probably going to have to rebook for the next morning, so I should probably just go ahead and do that now. I informed her that there was no way in hell I was rebooking and took off running, hair flying for the monorail to get to the D terminal. I barrelled down the hallway saying things like "passing on your left," in a sundress and heels. The clomping could be heard for yards and yards and I saw small children being yanked from my path. I ran down the escalator, not bothering to pick up my rolling carry on...thunk-thunk-thunk--...and threw my arms into the closing doors of the train. They opened. I got on. A sour looking flight attendant turned to me as the train departed and said "You know, that's very dangerous." I was breathing too hard to make mention of the fact that she should, yeah, fuck off. I smiled, and smoothed my hair as I stared at her. She added that people have broken legs by attempting the same feat. I continued staring.
Once in the D terminal I resumed running, trailing my bag behind me, and got to D 14 only to find out the freaking gate agent told me the wrong gate. I ran in the other direction, to the opposite end of the terminal to the correct one, and was led down the jet bridge by a gate agent. I wasn't nearly the last person to board, so I actually could have power walked I later realized. Upon being seated, I gave up my aisle seat to accommodate a now karma-cursed woman, who was finally convinced to give up her aisle seat to a family of three with a baby. So there I sat, self righteously, between two big guys for 4 hours + and I'm pretty sure that I smelled the worst. Sweaty, thirsty, and hungry, I decided to take my frustration out on the ADHD flight attendant who had to clarify with me three times that I wanted a Diet Coke, and a water. I finally, albeit rudely, leaned over the big guy on the aisle and basically enunciated my request in a loud voice. I asked her if there was any food on the 4 hour flight, and when she said no, I capped off our interaction with a really loud "GREAT!" Bascially I pouted to myself for the rest of the trip, and vowed I would upgrade to business class for the return leg.
But Will was waiting for me at my gate when I arrived, and we went to meet Dustin at the baggage claim before hopping in a cab to the Hilton. Friday we went for breakfast at Treasure Island, then on to the Mirage for tigers and lions, and then to the Imperial Palace for a classic auto show (so clearly not my choice!). Saturday night we had dinner reservations at Olives in the Bellagio, which is an amazing restaurant that looks out on the fountains.
I must stop here in order to attend an outing with the kids on the residential unit today. One of the main purposes of my attendance is to ensure one of the girls does not get herself pregnant today at the public pool. I wish I were kidding. But at least I get to be outside!
