Vegas Baby

“I work, worship, workout, live, shop and play: all in Summerlin.”

Jenn stood upright when I came more into view and I waved as she trotted down the driveway around to the driver’s side with her trademark smile flashing with brilliance. It quickly dissipated into a jaw-drop of disbelief as the streetlight’s glare shone upon my face. “Omigod you are SO sunburned. There is no way you are getting back on the road tonight. You’re staying. I insist. Hi!!”
I had almost forgotten the manner in which her mind races from thought to thought and this expediency was no exception. As I peeled myself from the truck and we embraced, her husband Chris strolled down the driveway with his own trademark calm. They do say, opposites attract; I was about to learn just how much. I thanked him for the surety of his directions, and they ushered me into their abode.
The corner lot where they reside was spacious with high ceilings and beautifully appointed furniture, artwork, and choices of paint color. A long multi-sectional couch divided the space between the living room and a sitting area with fireplace. I was immediately taken with its organization and layout, almost to the point of perhaps having seen it featured in Better Homes & Gardens magazine. A white fluff of fur began a prolonged series of barks at me. Zoey, their mini-poodle/bichon, was in guard mode – in full force. Jenn and Chris reassured her on one end of the couch as I found myself on the other end, absorbed by its chocolate folds. It was a comfy respite from the cramped container I’d been in for the last 10 hours. I quickly tried to throw a few pointers at Jenn to control Zoey’s barking, but decided not to be rude.
As it turned out, I was remarkably alert, or perhaps it was sheer adrenaline coursing through my veins, and I was extremely famished. Jenn and Chris had delayed their dinner plans, and after a quick hosedown in their guest bathroom, I threw on a fresh shirt and we escaped to a local pub to gnosh. Savoring an appetizer sampler over cocktails, they were quickly caught up on my trip, and its cause (not to say California didn’t have its share of wonderful experiences, but by the end, it was starting to become a Danielle Steele novel), and we enjoyed our main courses as they filled me in on their lives in Vegas. Jenn continued to insist that I take it easy on myself, and rest the next day, have lunch with her, let her show me around, and then I could head the next morning. Her persistence would win the day.
A nightcap in the kitchen set us all ready for bed, Chris in particular who has a very harsh schedule of long days doing his audio engineering. Jenn, after double checking the locks on the doors, set me up comfortably in their beach-themed guest room, and in moments, despite Zoey’s continued barking from their master bedroom, I was out. When morning came, I could get some sense of perspective by the rising sun, and perceived their house faced northeast: my destination home. Chris was in the living room doing aerobic boxing with a digital video system that was all wired to his hands as it read his movements while he “hit” the punchbag. Technology. Amazing.
Jenn floated down the stairs in business/caszh with Zoey tucked sneering at me under her arm, and she explained where everything was to make me feel at home. My goal was to chill, get the truck re-organized, fasten the steering wheel cushion pad, have lunch with Jenn – and purchase sunglasses. Before I knew it, Jenn double checked the locks on the doors, and they had gone to their daily lives, and it was me…my “shtuff”…and Zoey. Clearly, it was time to make friends.
Small dogs are often skittish of adults, from sheer size alone, and Zoey was no exception. First things first: get down to her level, so as not to be so intimidating. Zoey’s barking stopped short as I lay down before her (a good six feet away) and she tilted her head at me in that curious, precious way that all dogs do. With my stature out of the way, she approached my outstretched hands with trepidation, but once she touched them, I praised her, which made her tail wag furtively. Before long, we were fast friends, and I was able to move freely about the house. She didn’t like my coming and going from the front door to the truck and back, but I seriously needed to declutter and make the passenger area more suitable…I was, after all, only on my second State of the US.
I was amazed at how much clutter I’d accumulated from AAA…their library of State guides and maps had taken up a good chunk of space. AAA: Trash Trash Trash. I managed to find the steering wheel cover and fasten it securely, confident that my hands would now be protected. A bag and a half of trash later, I sat on the couch with Zoey nestled against my thigh, and watched the media circus going on over Michael Jackson’s memorial service.
After multiple times of “throwing up a little” at the absurdity on every channel in the nation, I showered and awaited Jenn’s arrival to visit her place of employ and grab some lunch. Jenn was a little taken aback at Zoey’s snuggling up against me, so much so that Jenn’s head crooked the way Zoey’s did earlier in the day. I shrugged.
After double checking the locks on the doors (I was sensing a theme here), Jenn and I headed out through the Stepford Wife community of Summerlin. Jenn joked again about her limited prowess on the roads outside of her immediate surroundings, to the point where she and a friend had planned a grass roots marketing tag-line: “I work, worship, workout, live, shop and play: all in Summerlin.” (It’s really the manner in which you say it that counts, and Jenn’s inflection as she recited it was uproarious.)
She took me to the Nevada Ballet, her home for the last five years, and I was impressed with its size; multiple dance studio after dance studio, wardrobe rooms, lobbies and meeting rooms were connected by a long hall adorned with exquisite overly-elongated bronze statues of varying pas de deuxes and ballerinas en pose. I thought of the resident company back home, First State Ballet, who manages to produce their ballets with minimal rehearsal space in a top corner of the building in which I used to work, and appreciated their tenacity of making due with very little all the more.
After a brief tour of the offices, we lunched at a favorite Greek restaurant of hers in a shopping center, all of which (it would seem) was loosely connected by one road that (again, it would seem) led from work to the church to the gym to the park to the stores to the road back to Jenn’s house; she had not been kidding about her tag-line. As she enjoyed her Greek salad and I my Gyro, we chatted with a colleague of hers who joined us, and I listened to the woman’s escapades of becoming a promoter for an up and coming Elvis impersonator; I wondered how she distinguished the talent level. But more uproarious was that he came with a drummer – a rather frightening one at that – whose business card showed him in a contortionists’ position, with his head on the ground and his body arched back over itself as his feet landed on either side of his ear. Looking like a runner up for Al Yancovik, his hands held a pair of drumsticks. Jenn called him, “Spesh” (as in short for “Special Education”). I thought I was going to see my Gyro again from laughing so hard that I thought I would hurl.
With limited time for her lunch hour, we tried to dash quickly into a Wal-Greens to find myself a pair of sunglasses. A kid in a candy store, Jenn bustled about through various sale promos, and picked out a pair of lawn chairs. I could see this was going to take some time. I was a little more sensible, purchasing an alarm clock and a battery-operated fan for my dashboard. When we DID make it to the sunglasses area, it was not long before I had found a suitable pair to go OVER my eyeglasses without making me look more ridiculous. And then: in line to checkout, but not before Jenn found an Australian-style straw hat for me that looked “just right” and I grabbed two disposable cameras. We each took a line. Hers moved like the wind…mine, molasses. I could see why: the clerk was a little on the “spesh” side; only me, I thought, as Jenn snickered by the exit. After a laborious checkout, we sped to the car, and my new hat flew off in the wind…this was going to be a problem, I could see. Fiddleedee, I thought, I’ll find a way to make it stay on my head later.
She dropped me back off at the house, where I napped a bit and continued re-organizing. When the happy couple returned home from their workdays, Chris prepared to barbecue while Jenn took me out for a quick jaunt to sight-see.
She assured me she knew how to get there. And back.
Red Canyon Mountain sits about 10 miles outside of Summerlin, and the sun was once again starting its game of shadow play. The winds were picking up too, and as we entered the grounds (a one-way trail up and around and back down), we stopped at the first viewpoint. I took my first pictures here, trying to capture the rich soil and majestic views. When we got to a higher crest, the winds had really kicked in, but we trudged along. Our conversations started to become more inspired, perhaps due to the surrounding beauty, and we talked about her life here, marriage, future children…all the things that suddenly one can freely talk about when the time is just right. This was one of those times.
The conversations in fact added emphasis to the silence on the way back, as we both contemplated our lives. Here, Jenn had taken a risk and has established herself a whole new life over the past five years; I couldn’t even make it 8 months. The silence was, at times, palpable.
Zoey barked again upon my entrance, but not for long as Chris appeared with burgers and grilled potatoes and a mixed salad, which distracted her sensory perception. Jenn dominated the dinner conversation, and we had a nice, relaxing evening…much needed, as it would be some time before I had this type of respite again. We took some photos in the dining room, and went on a spur of the moment trip to the Strip, courtesy “tour guide of useless trivia” Chris (as Jenn calls him), stopping for some frozen yogurt before hand; Jenn had coupons…I think we paid a dollar for all three of us.
The Strip is pretty much everything everyone says it is: vibrant, decadent, loud, fast, furious and filled with tourists. It’s as if someone had taken pieces of every major city, chewed them up and vomited them back up to see where they’d land. Chris cooed about the square footage of various casinos and calculated numbers of rooms against football fields and such, spewing statistics on various owners of what building was owned and where, and who had/had not stayed there. If my frozen yogurt wasn’t giving me a brain freeze, the statistics certainly were.
When my brain tank was filled with neon and lights, we headed back, and after another series of skittish barks from Zoey, I thanked them both for their hospitality, and a wonderful time. The sunrise would be calling me, and I wanted to miss the rush hour traffic of the City of Sin.
This time, I felt a little more prepared; I had read the map.