April 26, 2002
Monday/Tuesday
Monday/Tuesday, 22–23/04/02
We were originally planning to leave for LA at 3 a.m. Tuesday, but after R came home on Monday night, he thought we should leave then instead of sleeping for a couple of hours and then trying to wake up. So we did.
We left at 8 p.m. and drove all night. We took I5 all the way, and I got to see the Grapevine at night. I had never seen it before at all, and for some reason it was really cool. Don't ask why. Can't explain. To our collective surprise, we arrived in, well, Sylmar at 2:30 a.m. Our meeting wasn't until noon, so we found a Super 8 and slept for six hours.
Tuesday, 23/04/02
We started again at 9 a.m., slowly making our way down the five-mile strip to the office in Tujunga. How odd it all was.
Our meeting was really cool. We met with the guys who are programming our software. They are all Bulgarian, and they are a bunch of hotties. Ivo especially. And they're all married, too. Just means I have to work a little harder at my job, I guess. But it can be done.
We ended our meeting at 4 p.m. and headed west via BelAir and PCH before getting on to I10 to head to Las Vegas. We were on Mulholland Drive and then Sunset Boulevard for most of it while R&W played tour guide for me, the toursita. We had to leave West Hollywood, Santa Monica Boulevard, and the boys for another trip.
I'm afraid that my first glimpse of LA county unfairly influenced my opinion and once we got closer to the city proper through the surrounding cities, I began to see an attraction to living down there. Now, I just have to lose thirty pounds, get in shape, spend some time in the sun, trade in my aged VW for any convertible out there, and I should get by OK. Yeah, uh huh.
We made it to Vegas about seven hours after we left our meeting. With the scenic detour, it was another long car ride. I am so lucky to have friends like R&W to spend the time with. There is another person whom I owe a trip to LA, and we'll do that soon, I promise.
Now we're at Harrah's for one free night before moving over to the Bellagio for the rest of the week. W gets all sorts of deals on rooms, and this is one of them. Two totally comp nights at Harrah's. And then they upgradeded us to a suite.
Wednesday, 24/04/02
Pretty uneventful. Phyllis and Margie showed up, R's sister and Puff Daddy's aunt, respectively. Seriously. Margie used to "wipe [R's] and P Diddy's ass." OK. Thanks for that. Nice to know their relationship, though. She's a great woman, well-travelled, well-spoken, and respectable. I certainly won't mess with her. Although, the first time I met her, I know she thought I was a prude. Hmmpf. Fat chance, darlin. Have a seat and we'll talk. Sure you've got thirty years on my ass, but I can tell you stories of my own...none of which will shock you in anyway, and why do I gotta prove myself anyway?
Spent the morning in the hot tub. Checked into the Bellagio. All in all, a day of rest for the weary travellers. Spent the night at Harrah's in the jacuzzi bathtub watching some sort of rat race/scavenger hunt in Australia on the boob tube.
Thursday, 25/04/02
You can take the girl out of the Bronx...
Went to a buffet breakfast with W and his parents. Happy birthday, Lois. Spent the afternoon gambling and drinking with Phyllis. Had an excellent dinner at Picasso in spite of Phyllis' drunken embarrassment. And that's not just my opinion.
Picasso is a fru fru kind of place that is all about fabulous. There are at least five waiters per patron and they're all there to do your bidding. You've got a bread man, a water man, a sommelier, a head waiter, servers, and people to clear it all away. If you leave the table, you'll have a freshly folded, clean napkin waiting for your return. New glasses for every new bottle of wine. It's not the kind of place where you can order a burger, some wings, and a Bud. The first time I went, we all dressed up in suits and ties, and bless my mother for having made me buy a blazer, because I didn't have a full suit. I still don't. I almost refuse to buy one simply because I don't like them. They're too stuffy.
So I was sweating bullets, the whole fork issue resounding in my head: outside in, outside in. The resto itself is on the outside border of the hotel, right on the water. So at night, the patrons can watch the water shows with a clear view. It was designed by Pablo Picasso's son, and some of Pablo's original works are on display on the walls of the restaurant. In other words, it's fancy, elegant, the kind of place where one digs up their finest manners.
Apparently, this wasn't clear to everyone. Phyllis had so much to drink before dinner that after two bottles of Veuve Cliquot, La Grande Dame, she was pissed that there wasn't any more. And then, at the end, after R had been humiliated by his overbearing, drunken "lush" sister, she had the noive to say, outloud with the waiter present: "Leave a big tip." Not once, but three times.
So, look. Why should I care? Because, I'm uncomfortable and insecure enough wearing a suit and tie, and I already feel like the room is critiquing my eating habits and manners...AND...all of the waiters and servers were hunky men who must have been having sex together in the back to produce all of those pheromones to get me so fluffed...that I didn't need a 46-year-old former-debutante drunk to make it more difficult.
With that said, I really did have a nice time. Tony Curtis was there, too, with his Amazon date. Damn, she was big...in all possible ways.
But the crowning glory of Thursday was a conversation with Ken. He had been calling me frantically trying to find me, and with shitty cell service in the hotels—I swear they block the signals to make you use their $20 a minute phones—I had been missing them all. So, I finally got through to him and he broke the great news. He invited me to a reading for the movie he's working on. I don't have any other details yet, but I don't need them. That in itself is so exciting that I was all "why do you have to ask?" Of course I would love to do that! So that's next Wednesday, and I can't wait. That is going to be the highlight of my year.
Friday, 26/04/02
As usual, strange beds = strange dreams. But I love them all.
We have two days left as I write this. Today started with a conference call with one of our clients. Then after this, I'll be in the pool burning my lily-white ass in the hot, desert sun, and tonight we'll have dinner at the Tour Éiffel at Paris Las Vegas, and then we'll see Cirque du Soleil's O. And just to be cheeky, I had dinner at the real thing, a long time ago, in what seems like a galaxy far, far away. I hope this one is better than the real thing. Believe me, not all of Paris is high class.
