Waking Up in Vegas....

This Organic, Free Range, Artisanal Archive Blog is Brought to you Directly from The Coop Stoop.

OK then. Where's the tiger?  Where's the chicken?  And, perhaps more importantly, where's Bradley Cooper?  

*sigh* 

I guess our version of waking up in Vegas was considerably tamer than in the movies, but it was probably for the best.  Not sure I could handle a run-in with Mike Tyson or a naked Chinese gangster type, let alone Zach Galafinakis in all his wobbly bearded glory.   *shudder*   Instead, room service breakfast with an ozone-layer defying amount of cling film was in order, followed by the only thing to do during the daylight hours in Vegas - rent a cabana by the pool!

No need to go to the gym.
It was quite the workout just unwrapping this little lot...

Your mission should you choose to accept
 it: drink as much as you can out of this fridge

Now then - lets get one thing straight, right away, lest you think I'm just a profligate party animal.  If you are going to spend ANY TIME WHATSOEVER outside lying by the pool, relaxing in Vegas, its not a question of luxury, but a question of personal health and safety to rent a cabana.  In all seriousness, I can't imagine lying outside in the 100 degree heat without any shade for any amount of time - let alone the whole day.  It would be a completely bonkers thing to do.   So, that was my justification and I was sticking to it.  I've actually never rented a cabana before, so it was going to be fun to be able to check this one off the (ice) bucket list.

Now, the cabanas at the Westin are fairly basic - perfectly suited for our purpose (and budget) but you wouldn't imagine that you'd find any member of the Kardashian clan lounging about in them (thank goodness).  No - for that, you'd have to go and check out the cabanas at very famous pool parties such as Wet Republic or at the Marquis.  http://vegaspoolparties.co.uk  Its really quite the scene and one at which our Muff Monster from last night would now be wildly overdressed for.   Really not my cup of tea at all, so I was perfectly content to avoid the craziness and relax in the relative normality of the Westin's pool scene.

This'll do. 

I'd chosen a cabana which, in addition to a fully stocked fridge, also had a spray mister set up in the ceiling, so it kept you nicely cooled off throughout the day.  With plenty of lounge chairs, a telly and a very dopey waitress who we could flag down to bring us cocktails, we were all set for a very pleasant day's lounging around and doing sod all.  We only had to stir ourselves once, when the cable box for the telly got so hot because of the weather, that it went on the blink, so we were moved to the cabana on the other end, which was a bit cooler.

It was actually quite prescient to have got the cabana with a telly as it turned out that this was the day that that Asiana airline crashed into the seawall at SFO!   It was really quite surreal to see our home airport on the news with a big, smoking hulk of a wrecked airline strewn over one of the runways - and that we'd see it ourselves the next day when we (hopefully) were scheduled to fly home.   As it happened, because we were flying domestic and it was just a very short flight, our route was spared the chaos that a lot of the airlines suffered (particularly the international flights) and we got home the next day on time and without incident (though I think collective breaths were held by all onboard as we were coming in to land).

Outdoor telly.  Lovely jubbly.

Lori engaged in a battle of stripes with the lounger chair.

I agree.  That certainly looks like a weekend
breakfast to me.

After a full day of doing nothing but enjoying the cabana, drinking pina coladas and getting splashed by errant French kids doing cannon balls into the pool, I, at least, had to rouse my lazy ass and start to get ready for our night out.  To complete the transformation back from Hiking Hippie to Scrubs Up Alright, I had treated myself to getting my hair done at the hotel's salon and spa - there's nowt like a good blowdry to set you up for the evening.  The stylist didn't do too bad a job (my hair is very unforgiving to those stylists who fail to understand its needs for a hot nozzle and a firm hand) and - as you can see in the picture below - it was entirely in keeping with Vegas mantra of bigger is better!

Rocking one hellava quiff!  Yeah for Vegas hair!

Anyway, our destination for the evening was to be the Dueling Pianos show at the New York, New York hotel at 8pm.   Lori was very keen to go as she's never been to a piano bar before and I was curious as to how it would compare with the real deal in NYC.  We got a cab over to the hotel around 7.30pm (less manic this time than the crazy Neil Diamond singing cab-driver we'd had the night before who Lori thinks was actually blind drunk), to get in line early so we'd get good seats.  Walking through the hotel was fun, with all the recreation of famous NYC sights and landmarks - I particularly liked the Christopher St. station one (although they got the font for the sign wrong) as it brought back fond memories of my first year in NYC, living in the West Village.  Happy days.

Whether it was the Vegas hair or that we were just two stone cold foxes that night, but we ended up with the best seats in the house!  Front row action!  I think it helped that we'd turned up super early (8pm in Vegas is the equivalent of the middle of the afternoon, night time-wise), so the place wasn't terribly busy to start with.  But it didn't take that long before folk started to filter in so, by the time we left after about 4hrs or so, it was hopping.  Just in case you are ever in Vegas and want to check out the show, here's the link:  http://www.newyorknewyork.com/entertainment/bars/bar-at-times-square.aspx.  You're welcome.

Shift One of Dueling Pianos

So here's the main difference between this show and a real piano bar in NYC.   At my dearly beloved Rose's Turn in the West Village (where I used to sing with the delicious Michael Isaacs, Michael Dionne and the rest of the gang), you'd send your requests up to Michael on a bit of paper and, more often than not, he'd play them for you at some point in the night (the only variable was whether the exquisitely strong G&Ts would do you in and send you staggering off home to bed before you got to hear them).  The tables had a two drink minimum (or twenty two drink minimum, as Kimlee would say, but just that the other "2" had fallen off) and the tip jar was passed round at fairly regular intervals, as you would expect.  But it was all done in a fairly relaxed manner (more so as the night progressed) and Michael would just keep playing, irrespective of what was getting stuffed in the jar.

Not so here.

When we sat down at our table, there were 3 slips of paper each where we could write our requests down - which we eagerly did, and delivered them to the piano player sitting right in front of us.  Which he took one look through - and then promptly ignored.  Hmm... well, perhaps he'll get to them later on in the evening, we reasoned to ourselves.  What we slowly came to realize after each one of the musicians keep talking about "points" was that there was another very important piece of paper that we should have submitted with our written requests - that being a $20 bill!  The whole set-up was designed to extract the maximum of cash out of you before they played all the favorite songs that everyone loves to hear at piano bars - and they weren't going anywhere near "Piano Man" or "Don't Stop Believing" til they'd got enough moolah from the crowd to make it worth their while.  It was still great fun, the music was fantastic and the atmosphere was rocking, but I did feel a little nostalgic for my version of a piano bar, back in NYC, where making a sh*tload of cash felt secondary to just everyone enjoying the hell out of themselves.  But I guess this was Vegas and passing round the tip jar was probably a short cut to getting your tips stolen for the night, so I can understand the system, I suppose.  Fortunately, there were enough drunk Swedish guys in the house trying to impress some random (soon to be annoying) twins that there was always someone willing to pony up for the tunes, so in the end, we still got our Billy Joel fix for the night!

We stayed til just before midnight, by which time we were both starving hungry, so - it being Vegas where nothing ever closes - we headed off to an Italian restaurant for a nightcap of a big plate of pasta.  Delicious.  All that was then left to do was waddle off home, back to the hotel, and collapse in a happy, sated heap.  All in all, a very enjoyable day.

Mumsie - thought this guy looked like the bloke
 from Castle, right?

The infamous human as stripper pole number...

Random lady in Yellow next to More Attractive
Shift Two of Dueling Pianos

And with that, our sojourn in Vegas and our mega-sweep through the National Parks had come to an end.  All that was left to do was have one final flutter at the airport (nope, didn't win anything there either) before heading home and back to the real world.  What an absolutely epic trip it was.

So, then, where's next?

Sign of a job well done.  Yes - i'm that nerdy.

Finally, home, sweet home, and someone
 is very happy to see me...