No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2002-12-01 - 8:38 p.m.

Vegas recap in little spits and spurts

Vegas trip in short, unattached, non-grammatically correct blurbs.

The day after we left LongDog (BigSis and ShortBroInLaw's beautiful, amazing dog) went out into the backyard and died. She had cancer, so we knew it was coming. Mom does not know how to let people deal with grief.

Mom did a lot of not knowing how to deal this week. I love her dearly, but I was ready to kill her. It was a complete role reversal. We had the plan, knew what was up and got things done. Mom was oblivious, needed baby-sitting, and did a lot of pouting. Blah.

Vegas is not the place for a family vacation.

We saw Martin Sheen at Cirque Du Soleil. We had better seats.

The bros in law and I sat in the front row for Blue Man Group. I need to learn more mime. They communicated an amazing amount without ever speaking a word. Cool beyond accounting. Mom and the sisters went to see the topless show girl show. We got the better deal.

Those guys who stand on the sidewalk handing out little porn flyers have *got* to go. They make me crazy. We called them "slappers" because of their habit of slapping the flyers together to get your attention. I'm walking next to my sixty year-old mom, and they're trying to hand me ads for strippers. Get some freaking class, Vegas.

Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry.

Spending a four-hour delay in the Vegas airport (meaning I missed my chance to watch my understudy in the show, dammit, dammit, dammit) is not a fun time. Fortunately, Mom showed some restraint in her "I'm going make statements that are either obvious or patently stupid" pattern and so I managed to keep myself from killing her.

There's nothing like travelling with Mom to make me appreciate my friends. And my sisters, who were great.

I'm resisting the urge to call ShyGirl, because I'm suddenly afraid I'm overdoing it and I'll scare her off. Let's hear it for my lack of self-esteem. Yay me.

Time for liquor.

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