'Til next year, friends.

Brian, the Bear and I are off to California. Remember that super cute invitation for their New Year's party by the very clever Tiffany? Yup, we decided to hit the road, baby in tow, and celebrate the new year in Santa Monica. Scotty will get a chance to see the Pacific Ocean, eat Chik-Fil-A for the first time, and meet a 60-pound English bullie that goes by the name Teddy Bullfeathers.

Needless to say, we're pretty excited.

I've already apologized to Tiffany about 27 times, since we are going to arrive on their doorstep later this afternoon looking like sherpas, covered in baby crap and Chik-Fil-A wrappers. I've been making lists for the last three days - baby monitor, pack-n-play, bath stuff, booster seat - and I'm exhausted from trying to move our house into their house for a whole 48 hours (quick trip.)  But I will say, the hardest part was packing Scotty's clothes. I mean, what does a baby wear in LA? Something stylish, I suppose. Plaid?  Plaid seems to be really big in LA right now. Should I bring hair gel to spike his hair?  Does Ed Hardy make baby clothes?

(kidding on that last one)

After all, we might be rubbing elbows with the likes of Kingston Rossdale, Suri Cruise, and the little Garner-Affleck children. I can already picture it - we are at a park in Santa Monica and Violet and Serafina are there with her mom Jennifer. Scotty, being a toddler politician, would walk up and wave casually. They would be smitten with his adorable personality and giant, kissable cheeks and immediately start playing together. And then of course, I would say hi to Jen and Ben and start chatting. This would lead to an invitation to the NYE party (hope that okay, Tiff) and then I would mention, oh hey, I write a blog! Would you or Ben (or maybe Matt?) care to read it? Here's the link. And they we would all become besties and vacation together in Hawaii and attend Oscar parties with really lovely floral arrangements (mostly likely orchids in clear glass vases.)

A girl can dream, right?

Back to packing. 

The irony isn't lost on us; yes, I realize most people are coming into Vegas for the holiday while we are heading out. But instead of attending the biggest party in America, we'd rather attend the best. ;-)

Happy New Year! Be safe and see you in '11.

December 29th will always be a special day for me, since two years ago, I saw this for the first time:

Of course, I didn't believe it (or the three First Response tests I had taken that morning) so I took about 17 more.

But the test was right. And by December 29, 2009, we had this to show for it:

And of course, we all know the story. Our little guy continues to grow and change, and today brings us this:

Scotty has hit yet another milestone that excites parents and just about no one else. He's in a booster seat! Wa-hoo! He looks like such a big boy sitting at the table by himself.

Gone is the high chair and the endless clean-up; now I get to scrub our table and his little seat after every meal. I have officially moved the broom into the kitchen for permanent residency, since there are more scraps on the floor than I can pick up. Is it time to get a dog yet?

(I would like to thank my sister for all of her help in the selection of the booster seat. The Fisher Price Healthy Start chair in green/blue was ultimately the winner, which now means Scotty and Ben not only have the same Little People's Farm and head circumference, but also the same booster seat. Hooray for cousins!)

So happy December 29th to all of you. I wonder what December 29, 2011 will bring??

This week, on A&E's "Intervention"...

We travel to Sin City to confront a sixteen month old toddler about his Cheerio addiction.

His mother contacted us recently and said his addiction has been going on for almost two months. The family is starting to go bankrupt trying to support his habit. He refuses to go anywhere without his Cheerio cup. And if you try to take the cup away?

He gets very, very angry.

The toddler refuses to take any accountability for his behavior, and has even begun to attempt to disguise himself while he engages in his habit. Our cameras followed him for a day and caught him in the car doing this:

And then defiantly doing this:

When we tried to talk him, he simply turned his head and refused to answers any of our questions.

His habit is hurting more than just himself.

Says his mother: "While I'm concerned about the incredible amount of Cheerios he eats per day, my biggest gripe is that I'm constantly stepping on them and it's ruining my clean floors."

His father declined to comment.

And probably most telling, friends are being neglected.

But despite everyone's efforts and intentions, I think it's time we call in the professionals. After all, we have a crisis on our hands.

For the first time in a very long time, I really don't have much to say.

There's not a whole lot going on around here lately. It's been a quiet few days, and that's a good thing. Brian and I (and the Bear) successfully recovered from the Great Christmas Poop, although Scotty did inexplicably wake up that night at 1:30, 2:30, and 3:30 (and then slept until 7:30). In my infinite levels of maturity, during the 2:30 wake-up, I woke Brian up and told him he had to get up if I had to be up. (the Christmas spirit, I know.) He took the 3:30 shift and marched into the nursery with a Nutri-grain bar in hand, ready to feed what we believed to be a starving Bear. But by the time he got in there, Scotty was already sound asleep again. This can only lead me to believe that he was having night terrors about poop and will now associate Christmas lights with defecation, will involuntarily poop whenever he sees Christmas lights, making my life 100x more complicated (not to mention messy), and almost invariably land him in therapy to discuss his childhood issues at the ripe old age of 3.

These are the musings in my head at 3:30am on Christmas morning.

Um...what else?

Christmas Day was a lot of fun. After we all attempted to recover from a night with very little sleep, Scotty really seemed to dig his new toys. I struggled, however, since my camera was not working, I had forgotten to plug the video camera in and the battery was almost dead, and it takes my cell phone a solid three seconds to take a picture (making it nearly impossible to capture Scotty even looking at the camera, let alone smiling.) So we have very little record of that day, other than a few photos. But it's etched in our memories forever, right?

And yesterday, I dragged Brian and Scotty to do some after-Christmas shopping at Lowe's and Target. We looked a little silly since Brian was still clad in his Packer shirt, I had on my Packer sweatshirt (it was cold), and Scotty was wearing his Aaron Rodger's jersey. We looked like this little happy family of Packer fans as we trekked out for some good bargains. And did we find them! Holy cow. Aside from almost getting into a fist fight with another woman over the remaining silver ornaments, we scored 2 new trees (a nine-footer and a four-footer, respectively), almost 300 ornaments, garland, table decorations, a stuffed bear for the Bear (of course), and a bunch of storage bins for the same price as what we would have paid for the nine-foot tree had we bought it during the height of Christmas shopping. I was literally dancing in the aisles at Lowe's. I've never been a huge bargain shopper, but now I'm hooked! Sixty percent off is the way to go.

So that's about it. Since today is a day that ends in 'y,' so Scotty and I will likely go to a park this afternoon. We've already taken a morning walk and eaten our weight in Cheerios (him, not me.) I have some laundry going, some big plans to organize all of our new Christmas stuff, and have been eying the leftover spinach dip in the fridge as a possible lunch. If you eat it with carrots, it negates the fat content, right?

It was a day that started out like any other.

Scotty did a little last minute shopping at the District.

Like every other red-blooded American male, he waited until the last minute to buy gifts. But Pottery Barn was having a sale. Score!

After shopping was done, Scotty and Brian checked out the very large, very "ball"-filled Christmas tree.

Scotty even stopped for a quick Cheerio break and a snuggle with Momb-Momb. (yes, I've been upgraded from just "Momb" to now "Momb-Momb." Warms my heart.)

We had some very festive Christmas BBQ at our favorite restaurant and then headed over to the Ethel M Chocolate Factory to look at the lights on the catci. Remember this from last year? One of my favorite things we did as a family. Chocolate and botanical gardens just go hand-in-hand, in my opinion.

Since it was Christmas Eve, the gardens were exceptionally crowded. We had to park almost two blocks away, and as Brian was loading the Bear into the stroller, he made a face. And then declared, "Either he just made a poop or just had a horrible toot."

I frowned. The place looked jam-packed and the last thing I wanted to do was wrestle our little Bear from his coat, shoes, pants and dirty diaper to change him on what was likely a very gross changing table in an over-crowded restroom. I have never been a fan of the public changing table, preferring to do quick stops and change him at home, but this was like a monumentally icky, not to mention logistically challenging, diaper change.

I gave the kid a quick pat on the butt. "Doesn't feel full," I announced, and Brian nodded. Scotty has been having these like, man-sized dumps as of late, so it's pretty obvious to know/feel when it's time to change him. Not to mention, the smell practically could make a grown man keep over in his tracks.

We both agreed that it must be just gas, and continued on to the gardens. Scotty gave no indication that he might be a little uncomfortable, so we stayed about 25 minutes before heading home (and not before getting our free chocolate sample. Mmm, free chocolate.)

As Brian loaded him back into the car, he grimaced again. "I think there's poop now," he said. No worries, we decided; we'll be home in less than 10 minutes and can change him then. Not ideal, but not the end of the world, either. And again, Scotty was acting like a normal, happy kid. His little eyes were starting to look a little sleepy, but that was about it.

So after we got home, I gave him another little pat on the butt. Nothing solid. I actually contemplated letting him play for a little while, but since the clock was clicking close to 7:30, we decided it was time for sleepy-time.

Brian, unbeknownst to him, made the best decision of the night by stopping in our bedroom first while I took Scotty into the nursery to get him ready for bath time. My first indication that something was wrong happened when I unbuttoned his little denim jeans and they didn't move. It felt like they were stuck to his body with a thick paste. I yanked and pulled and finally they came off -- but not until I realized there was poo all the way down his leg.

"BRIAN!" I screamed. "GET IN HERE!"

Now, we need to note that Scotty hasn't had very memorable poops in his lifetime. He's never had a blow-out poop that actually came out of the diaper. Probably his most notable poop was when he was three months old and poop came shooting out of his butt at 40 mph while I was changing him. But it was like, 3am and I wasn't sure if it had really happened until I noticed poop on lamp shade. And then of course, there was PoopGate, where he famously didn't poop for 11 days. But that's about it. No poop in the tub. No poop without a diaper on. It's literally been drama-free on the poop front for months. 

Until this night.

I took off his socks and realized there was poop caked on them. I grabbed about 30 wipes and began the arduous task of wiping poop out of every crevice on his body, including the front of the diaper (how did it get in the front?) while Scotty kicked and giggled and acted like this was the most fun he'd had all day. He reached down several times and actually touched some of it, so then I began scrubbing poop off of his hands while trying to clean his little behind. I couldn't pick up any corner of the diaper without touching the poop myself, and so I found my hands coated in poop. There was poop on my jeans, my sweater, on the changing table, and all over the baby.

It felt like this was the Medusa of poops - no matter how hard I worked, the poop seemed to grow bigger and stronger and cover more surface area despite my best intentions.

It was a fecal nightmare.

I continued screaming throughout this unholy process. I'm not sure what Brian thought was going on, but he came running like the house was on fire as I yelled to him to get the bath started.

Just when I thought I had finally cleaned up every blessed piece of brown matter, I set him on the ground only to realize it had run up his back.

Holy hell.

Another 30 wipes later and he looked mostly clean. I handed him over to Brian since the bath water was finally ready and I promptly headed downstairs to burn our clothing in the yard.

When I realized...

...we are out of wipes.

Completely. Not a single wipe in the house...at 8:30. On Christmas Eve.

I saved this news for Brian until we had a sweet-smelling, pink & clean baby freshly dressed in his Christmas jammies. (Fat Boy, of course.) Brian took the news well and ever the dutiful husband, put his coat on and headed out in search of wipes. My hopes of sitting quietly by the Christmas tree and admiring the lights were dashed as the husband headed out the door. 

So instead I played a game on the iPad and drank half a bottle of wine by myself.

Yay, Christmas.

(FYI: Babies-R-Us is closed on Christmas Eve, as is Wal-Mart. Walgreens was open and Brian bought three packages. He wasn't sure what kind to buy, so he bought the ones with a panda on the front.)

I love this age. I really do.

If I thought six months was great (which I did), I think 16 months is even better. It's just such a fun time in my life (and Scotty's) since every day, he picks up something new and different. And he's so funny! His little personality is really coming out, and I think he's going to be a bit of a jokester.

With 16 months came the one-nap-a-day schedule, so the fight over naptime has finally, blissfully, ended. We called a truce and decided that he will go down around 11:30, usually after lunch. Or during lunch, which was the case today.

Yes, that is a fork in his left hand. Near his eye.

Mother of Year, right here.

The poor kid was sleep-eating his bananas. Or ba-bas, as he calls them.

(I usually don't miss his sleep window like this, but I wasn't expecting him to literally pass out in the high chair. We hustled it up to bed and he's snoozing away as I type this.)

Anyways, when he's not passing out from sheer exhaustion, he's being down right adorable. And I feel like I can shamelessly brag about that since I know in approximately 4-6 months, I will not be extolling cutesy stories about the Bear but will be bemoaning the struggle for independence he and I will be locked in. So yeah, let's enjoy the good times now.

We attended this very fancy, very adult party last Sunday at the home of one of Brian's partners. We had gotten the okay to bring the Bear, but considering 1.) the house was not baby-proofed (the couple has adult children), and 2.) there were 15 Christmas trees located throughout the property, which included open flames on the patio next to the non-gated infinity pool, I really thought we would last no more than 12 minutes before Scotty had a meltdown, fell in the pool, or toppled a tree. But he did great! His behavior went beyond my wildest expectations. He waved at everyone, worked the room, and actually listened to me when I said, 'One finger!" when it came to touching the ornaments on the Christmas trees. He really did just extend one little (grubby) finger and gently touch each (shiny, very expensive) ornament. And then promptly shouted, "Ball!" to whomever was listening.

See? This is a great age. He has a really strong desire to please us and if we tell him he's a good boy, he will repeat the behavior over and over again, just to get the praise.

(Please remind me of this when we are battling the terrible 2's.)

Scotty is doing a great job following commands ("Bring Momma the book!" "Show me your nose!" "Rub Momma's aching back")

(just kidding on that last one)

and his little vocabulary is growing at an alarming rate. I asked him to show me "the bells," a word we haven't discussed, and he picked up the bells and jingled them. Same for his little plastic egg, the bath water, bubbles, and his blocks. The kid is listening...really well. Yikes.

And finally, as I mentioned earlier, his sense of humor is just adorable. He's now walking backwards, and he finds it just hysterical to be in a doorway, walk backwards out of it, and then come running back in, as though he's saying, "Gotcha! I'm still here!" He turns on Brian's radio every morning and dances and spins to the music. He shakes his little booty. And if I say, "Up down!" he does squats.

I wish I could freeze him at this age. He's just such a love (and so kissable!). I keep telling myself, the sweetness will continue...I'll just have to look for it a little harder when he is fighting me or talking back...but I do love 16 months. Best age ever.

As promised yesterday, Scotty and I ventured to mecca of American consumerism known as Costco. It was perhaps the most interesting 90 minutes of my life since giving birth. I'm still kind of in shock that I had never set foot into a Costco during my 32 years on this planet, even once, despite the fact that when talking with friends, family, or former co-workers, Costco comes up in conversation approximately every 4 minutes.

(Seriously, I'm not kidding about the 4 minute thing. I hosted a small cocktail party last night for the remaining few of us still left in Vegas, and despite the inclement weather, it was a lot of fun. And yes, the night's conversation started off about Costco and ended with Costco.)

My thoughts?

One, the experience could have been improved if it wasn't four days before Christmas. Two, I'd imagine it would be a great deal more pleasant if I was not with a toddler.

In the rain.

Without an umbrella.

(it broke on Monday).

And three, remember, this is the same Costco where a man was shot dead in the entryway by police this past summer.

::sigh::

So I was a little nervous. Is it always this crowded?  Why was there no parking except one spot, three miles from the store, that sixteen cars were vying over? What if a man flipped out in the chair section and Metro was called in and I had to duck and cover with a 30 pound squirming toddler in my arms? (that would likely wave and yell "Ball!" at Metro)?

We pressed on, regardless of my fears, though my biggest question for Costco is this: What exactly is your identity? You sell food...yet you are not a grocery store. You sell coats, but you are not Target. You sell electronics, though you are not Best Buy.

Costco, you are one big quagmire. Pick a team already.

Call me crazy, but I like to keep my shopping organized. Even if I'm making more than one stop, that's okay - I know why I'm going into 'X' store - furniture, food, electronics, etc. Costco...not so much. What if I decided to buy a chair when I was actually shopping for liquor? I would have to switch out my cart. And please, do not distract me with gift cards to Fleming's when I have a specific list of things to buy. Costco seems like that really fun friend in college that was a terrible procrastinator and always sucked you into her web, right when you had a big test to study for.

(Liz, I'm looking at you.)

I mean, let's focus here.

Which brings me to four main points about myself that make me the most unlikely Costco customer ever: a.) I value organization and presentation, b.) I overstimulate easily, c.) I hate almost everything the first time I try it, and d.) barring any kind of severe brain injury that alters my personality substantially, I doubt I will ever become a hoarder in my lifetime, since I really, really enjoy cleaning stuff out and throwing it away.

(seriously, ask Brian. I have thrown away half of his childhood.)

So...not surprisingly, Costco didn't go so well. But it wasn't all bad.

The wine section was lovely. The produce section was cold. The chair section, along with jewelry, was just weird. The samples? Not so impressed. I peered over a large crowd clamoring for their taste only to see it was a small slice of salami with American cheese on it. Huh? I thought they were supposed to be products we could try to see if we wanted to buy them. Like...a slice of lasgana. Or a piece of pie. Or something else equally delicious. I can roll salami and cheese together at home (in fact, I have) and not have to accept it from a woman who looked vaguely homeless and wore latex gloves.

My cart, by the end of the adventure, was a mash-up of my internal monologue. I scored some great berries. I found French-cut beans for Christmas dinner, but had to purchase six pounds of them. (sorry, Brian.) I skipped the Christmas ham section since again, our little family of 2.5 doesn't really need a 26 pound ham, but I did find a lovely bottle of Silver Oak 2004 for $79.99 Sweet! I hear berries and beans go quite lovely with cabernet. And on a whim, I threw in two bouquets of red tulips since they were only $8.99 each.

I never made it to the fabled Baby section. I caught a glimpse of it as I was in line (with my cart...I got yelled at by the checker, since I guess you are supposed to give them your cart?? And then they put your stuff in it? But my kid was in my cart...so...huh?). I hear the diapers and wipes are a total bargain, and my friend Sandy graciously offered to go with me during the next Costco adventure (sans children.)

I have to say, overall, it was a nice way to spend a rainy Vegas afternoon. Scotty waved with reckless abandon.  The tulips are holding up great. And no one got shot, so I'm going to call the whole thing a success.

The menu for our little soiree?

Sweet potato soup with crostini
andjou pears wrapped in proscuitto and arugula
drunken berries (raspberries, strawberries and blueberries with mint
    and Lemoncello)
cocktail meatballs in a cranberry glaze
crudettes with lemon-thyme dip
and a cheese platter (chambert, provolone, and Irish cheddar.)

Contact me if you want any of the recipes! :-)

I am headed to Costco this afternoon.

For the first time...ever. I'm not sure how I managed to avoid the store for the past 32 years of my life, but I am ready to open a new chapter.

The Costco Chapter.

Happy shopping!

There are some days I get very frustrated with the Silver State. The medical system is scary. Our public schools are consistently ranked in the bottom ten in the country. You can't swing a dead cat in this town without hitting a corrupt politician, and drivers - and traffic - are just terrible.

But then, there are some nights like the one we just had that make me think we reside in the greatest place in the world.

This past Saturday, Brian and I hit the town for a Very Vegas Night Out. The babysitter was in place, Scotty was in a good mood, and I put on my favorite dress (with shabooties!) with eager anticipation. Our first stop? The newly opened Cosmopolitan Hotel.

Now, I'm not a big fan of casinos. It seems like everything in Vegas is bigger and better than the next thing, and that kind of grandiosity can wear on a person after a while. (the first time I ever set foot in a casino - NYNY circa 2001 - my only thought was, "Those bells [from the slot machines] are so annoying!" I totally missed the grand lobby and all the cool stuff.) So when I say the Cosmopolitan is amazing, take it from a Vegas skeptic -- the Cosmopolitan is AMAZING.

A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.

I don't know who designed it or who built it, but it was almost like they had watched "The Hangover" and took the coolest, most trendy elements of a great hotel, paired it with an awesome Strip location, and then blinged it out to the high heavens. The main bar in the center of the casino, aptly named the Chandelier Bar, is literally dripping with bling. The bling strings across the escalators and is almost close enough to touch. There is a Bond-themed bar called the Vesper Bar that would be perfect for a pre-dinner cocktail with the one your love, and then there is the Overlook Bar, which is just screaming for a Girls Night Out. Here is an idea of how freaking cool it is:

The view at night is breathtaking, and during the day? Oh yeah, there are THREE pools. The main pool was closed since it's December, but in the summer time? I can only imagine. I mean, you are swimming in a rooftop pool on the Strip. Even Brian was impressed.

We had a drink at the main Overlook Bar (there will eventually be three: the main one, an tequila-themed one, and then a rum-based one) and toasted to our good fortune for living in such a pretty city. Vegas, you old gal, you really pulled through.

And then we headed off to the ballet, which was playing across the street at the Paris Hotel. I did have a brief Debbie Downer moment as I commented on the guys trying to shove pictures of naked ladies in our hands ("The smut peddlers make me sad, since it reminds me of the sex trafficking in our city," I said to Brian in a soulful voice. He replied with the Debbie Downer music: "Wha-waaaa"), but other than that, it was fun to walk on a busy street in heels. It made me think of all of the people I currently know on bed rest, and how I want to tell them: it's worth it! It stinks right now, but before you know it, you'll be back on your feet and living life again. So ladies, hold on. Sixteen months ago I was in your shoes. And now I'm in shabooties, trying to avoid creepy men with pamplets of naked chicks. See? It's all cyclical.

The Nutcracker, presented by the Nevada Ballet Theater, was nothing short of amazing. I'm sure Brian would beg to differ since he's not a big fan of pink tutus or tiaras, but I was giddy when the overture began the curtain lifted. (Second Debbie Downer moment of the night? "There's no orchestra," I hissed to Brian as the Sugar Plum fairy was doing her thing. He buried his face in his hands. Sorry. I have a problem with the whole 'unfiltered speech" thing.)

Again, I had to think back to the last time we had seen the Nutcracker, back in 2008. I was frustrated with the trying-to-conceive process, since it felt like almost a year of nothing but negative pregnancy tests (in reality, it was only a few short months.) I was sure that this cycle was yet another failed attempt, so after months of not drinking and cutting back on caffeine, I threw caution to the wind and ordered a cranberry martini with dinner.  Of course, imagine my surprise when 10 days later, two pink lines appeared.  My only thought was, "Oh sh*t."

But he turned out okay, right?

Anyways, while one can argue the Nutcracker storyline kind of falls apart at the end (let's just dance! Whee! Twirl! Jump!), it was so fun watching all of the gifted dancers. I was so excited that by the time the final curtain fell, I turned to Brian and said, "Let's go try tiaras on in the gift shop!" Ever the dutiful husband, we headed over there only to find no tiaras. Oh, well. Maybe next year.

And then finally, on our last leg of our Very Vegas Night Out, we dined at Le Cirque at the Bellagio.

This is where the story gets a little hairy.

See, I had been studying the menu at Le Cirque all week. Thanks to my avid devotion to "Top Chef," French cuisine has never seemed more accessible. Why yes, I would love some fois gras. Oh, it that our amuse bouche? How lovely. A bordeaux to compliment my filet of boeuf?  Charming!

(I took Spanish in high school. It probably shows.)

So yeah, I'm fairly enamoured with our friends who eat frog legs. My week of studying had yielded this result: I was prepared to order the tasting menu. It offered all the right foods with the right portion sizes (just a bite) that appeared to offer a really great gastronomical experience. And, since Brian was driving, the wine pairing seemed like a exceptional idea, too. Num, num, num.

I was so excited about this dinner I literally danced my way through the Bellagio.

We arrived  for our 9:45 reservation at 9:40. The lovely hostess took our names and smiled. We hung out by the door for about five minutes, but she didn't seem to be in a rush to seat us. When a table at the bar opened up, she motioned to us to take it. No problem, we said. We again waited about five minutes for a waitress to take a drink order until Brian said, "I don't think anyone is coming." So he walked to the bar and ordered some drinks. Which he carried back to the table himself.

(I'm not trying to sound like a snob here, but when you are paying $30 for a drink, you kind of except some level of service. Sorry, Le Cirque, but you need to hire some bar staff.)

We were still in a great mood despite the service (or lack thereof) and sat, sipping our drinks while chatting about 'The Walking Dead' (since nothing says "glamorous night out" like a conversation about zombies.) We were fairly engrossed in our discussion ("She's pregnant! Is it Rick's baby or the best friend's?") when Brian checked his watch and found that is was 10:30.

Okay folks, this is getting a little silly.

I think the host overheard our conversation (about the time, not about the zombies) and he announced our table was ready. We were escorted into the dining room to find not one, but about six empty tables.

Grr...

My mood only darkened when the waiter arrived with menus and talked us through it. "The first page, as you will see, is our tasting menu," he explained. "Unfortunately, it is no longer available since we stop serving it after 10pm. So let me show you -"

And at that point, I kicked Brian under the table and bit my tongue, lest I say something stupid.

Brian, ever the diplomat, held one hand up and stopped the waiter. He started to explain about our reservation time but only got about three words out when the waiter threw his arms up and exclaimed, "This is an issue for the management!" and promptly ran away.

Huh?

Brian and I just shook our heads and waited another ten minutes. Our terrified waiter finally returned with the news that yes, the tasting menu would be available to us, but all of the items on the tasting menu are also available on the regular menu, so why don't we just order from that?

I'm not going to lie, I glowered a bit. Why would I order six regular-sized appetizers and entrees (for a crazy sum of money, no doubt) when their pint-sized versions were available (with the correct wine!) at a much more reasonable price? And not to mention, anyone who has ever gotten the tasting menu will agree: it's an experience. That's why you order it. It's fun to try so many different things in one dinner. It's not about ordering what you want, it's about letting the chef pick it for you.

(and for those of you who have never gotten the tasting menu: I highly recommend it. At least once in your life.)

I was fairly put-out at this point. So instead, we simply got an appetizer and entree and attempted to put the last twenty minutes out of our brains. Thankfully, we had a great distraction when the soon-to-be-ex-wife of a well-known celebrity came stumbling into the restaurant, held up by her mother and sister, and sat a few tables away from us. She was talking too loudly, slurring her words, and looked all together like a hot mess. Brian and I were entralled in watching the train wreck unfold in front of us when I realized...

...they ordered the tasting menu.

And got it.

Despite the fact she could barely pick her face up from the table.

So hey, Le Cirque? For shame. There are a million great places to eat in this town, and while the food was amazing, the service was not.

Since it was close to 1am at this point, Brian and I called it a night. I have never been so relieved to take off the shabooties and curl up in our nice warm bed. Our Very Vegas Night Out, complete with smut peddlers, a intoxicated celebrity sighting, and more bling than you can imagine, was over. But what a night it was!

As Scotty and I were saying good-bye to Brian this morning, I brought up a touchy subject.

"I'm tired," I said. "I need a break. It's been a long week. Can I have tomorrow off? I want to run some errands sans baby and finish Christmas shopping."

Brian frowned and paused for a second. And then he said, "But you had last Saturday off."

I almost decked him.

::sigh::