My wife and I are going to Las Vegas this week for our first vacation without the kids in about 7 years. In honor of our trip I thought I would write about what happened the last time we were in Vegas and tried to get away for an evening on the town without the kids...
About 3 years and 9 months ago, my family went to Las Vegas for a family vacation. It was my wife, my son Alex and my daughter Cambrian. My 3 year old son had not been born yet (you do the math *wink wink*). My wife's cousin Ambee also flew in from California to meet us. We stayed at the Rio in adjoining rooms. The rooms at the Rio are all suites and they are huge. My kids were in paradise, they could just run and run.
After being in Vegas for a couple of days, my wife's cousin suggested that Cindy and I go out for an evening and leave the kids with her. A whole evening out without the kids, what would we do with ourselves? We decided we could only be gone for a couple of hours, so we brainstormed what to do. The Venetian had opened a couple of years before and we hadn't had a chance to see the hotel yet so we decided to go over and have a look around and ride the gondolas.
We were in for quite a treat. The Venetian is a truly overwhelming visual feast. It is also very easy to get lost in. After wondering around for a while, we happened upon the grand canal. It features lots of upscale shops and trendy restaurants. It is also one of the places in the hotel you can buy tickets for the gondolas.
When we got in line there was only one couple ahead of us. There seemed to be some technical difficulty with the computer and we had to wait until a manager could be found. While we waited a line began to form. Immediately behind us were three or four very giggly women on holiday (possibly bridesmaids). It was very entertaining to listen to them talk (very loudly) about the partying that went on the night before. Finally the line started moving and we went up to buy our tickets.
After buying two tickets for the outside gondola, we tried to navigate to the front of the hotel. We evidently did a poor job as the giggly bridesmaids who where behind us in line beat us to the the gondola stand in front of the hotel.
***** Warning Gondola Spoilers Below *****
Ok, I have to make a confession. I have wanted to ride in a gondola since I was 12. Not a gondola at a major Las Vegas resort hotel, but a real gondola in Venice, Italy. Ever since seeing From Russia with Love, I have wanted to take a romantic cruise down the beautiful canals of Venice with my own little Tatiana Romanova. Sadly, my psuedo-gondola ride at the Venetian did not fit the bill.
First of all, the four giggly bridesmaids turned out to be three giggly bridesmaids who evidentily paid the premium to have a private gondola. My romantic gondola ride for two was quickly evaporating. We were stuck with the stragler. She was a slender woman, mid to late forties, wearing a light blouse and a skirt far too short for a woman half her age. I never did get her name, but as you will see in moment that was not an issue. As I got into the gondola I thought she looked like trouble, I had no idea...
The Gondoleer helped my wife Cindy into the back of the gondola and helped our new shipmate into the front. As I sat down next to my wife across from the other passenger, my eyes shot skyward and I realized I would be spending the rest of the cruise looking at the Vegas skyline. I mentioned the short skirt before, let's just say our new friend was not sitting indian style.
With all the veneer peeling off my romantic cruise we pushed off from the dock or should I say rolled off. The gondolas are actually rather large amusement cars set on tracks and all follow the same route at the same pace, the gondoleer is simply window dressing. Now as all of my illusions were disolving, the gondoleer (or gondoleera, it was a girl), uttered the fateful words to our new friend, "Senorina, why is a lovely woman like yourself alone on a romantic evening like this". Ok, before we start, that was a really poor question.
The woman composed herself and then in a shaky voice said, "My husband designed most of the attractions here in Las Vegas, he died two years ago and this is the first time I have nerved myself to come back". The temperature in the gondola dropped 20 degrees. I looked back at the gondoleera, she had that deer in the headlights look. She looked at me like "What the hell do I say now"? But she did not have to worry because the floodgates had opened. The woman, who we will from now on refer to as "Crazy Lady" began to talk about how her husband designed the volcano at The Mirage, the fountains at Bellagio, and in what seemed like a complete afterthought, the gondolas at The Venetian. She went on and on, her voice sometimes cracking with emotion, as the gondola continued around the track. The gondoleera could not get a word in edgewise. Each new fact that came up was more implausible than the last. I don't even remember it all, my BS alarm began to go off after a completely insane explaination of how the volcano works at The Mirage.
The more she said, the creepier it got. Cindy kept squeezing my hand in some attempt to signal me that this woman was definitely not right. The gondoleera kept desperately trying to interupt because she had a prewritten script of things she was supposed to say and do. The Crazy Lady was not having it, she had hijacked this gondola and she was not giving up control until it reached the dock.
On a normal gondola ride at the Venetian when you round the second to the last turn your gondoleer begins to seranade you with a lovely italian song. Our gondoleer ended up singing the entire song at the dock with the entire staff standing by. It was magical...not.
As we exited the gondola, we were herded into the "Have your picture taken to remember this special moment" line. Crazy Lady stepped up and had her picture taken. My wife in a very nervous voice whispered in my ear, "what if she wants to hang out with us". I shuddered. "Then we push her down and make a break for it", I said only half joking. When we finished having our pictures taken (which we had no intention in hell of buying), Crazy Lady walked over to where we were standing. Cindy squeezed my hand preparing to make a fast getaway. "You kids, have a lovely evening", she said, and turned and walked into the hotel to regale other hotel guests with tales of love lost and volcanoes built.
As my wife and I hurriedly headed for the car, my wife said, "Your friends are right, these kind of things only happen to you"...
See you in a week, I am outa here!
From Vegas with ... Crazy!
The Mexico Story, part three - Revenge of the Guacamole!
At the end of The Mexico Story, part two (which you can read here), I was desparately clinging to a cement planter at the Villa Del Sol. We resume our story here...
Speedo-man turned out to be a terribly nice german man who with the help of a least one other speedo clad bavarian got me to my feet. By this point someone had found a hotel employee (Who for the purposes of this story, we will call Paco), who seemed very eager to help. Now that I was upright, they had to figure out what to do with me. What ensued was a conversation I didn't really understand in german-spanish-english, with possibly some pig latin thrown in for good measure. The decision was made to put me in one of the empty guest rooms.
The Villa Del Sol is a beautiful resort. The grounds are gorgeous, the staff is friendly and the rooms are immaculate. Which is good, because I now had the chance to spend some quality time at the hotel. Paco and company helped me across the grounds to a room that looked identical to this one. They helped me lay down on the couch and Paco covered me with a blanket. As Paco closed the double doors (which are directly across from the couch) he told me, "I go, come back with doctor".
The problem is, Paco never came back...ever.
For the next four hours or so I lay under the blanket shivering and burning up at the same time. At several times during the afternoon, they tried to move guests into the room I was in. The porter would open the door, see me on the couch, quickly say "Sorry Senor" and close the door. I kept saying "wait, don't go, where is paco?", but they were in such a hurry to not disturb me, they never heard my pathetic cries for help. After the third "Sorry Senor", I was finally left alone to suffer.
At some point in the afternoon I decided to move to the bed as the couch was a little short for me. I think I must have slept for awhile, although I don't remember waking up. I did notice that I was starting to feel progressively worse and that it might be time to find another cement planter. I headed for the bathroom. When I got up I was really dizzy, so I very slowly moved along the wall, through the doorway and into the bathroom. I knelt (very carefully on sunburned knees) in front of the porcelain altar. ...and nothing happened. I stayed there for a long time. ...a very long time. For two reasons really; one, my insides where spinning like a top which led me to believe I would have another Exorcist moment very soon and two, I couldn't really get up. I was way too dizzy. When my insides finally called a cease fire, I decided to go back to bed. After several attempts to stand up, I crawled out of the bathroom to the bedroom. Thank god the floors were really clean, not a cucharacha in sight!
Al's Rules of Traveling: Rule #2 - If you are going to be sick in a foreign country, do so at a five star resort. (BTW - Rule #1: For god's sake don't eat the guacamole!)
Upon returning to the bedroom I noticed for the first time a bottle of water on the dresser. At first I didn't want to drink any, it was for hotel guests. But after a few minutes, I decided I could drink it as long as I reimbursed the hotel for it. (Yes, all of this took place while I was sitting on the floor). After drinking some water I crawled back on the bed and went to sleep. When I woke up it was dark out. I was feeling a little better. I took the water bottle and staggered my way to the front desk. When I got to the front desk, I asked to speak to the manager. The girl at the front desk did not speak much english. That was ok, because I could see a man who I assumed was the manager in the office behind the front desk, giving an employee the butt-chewing of a lifetime. I could see that girl at the front-desk was clearly embarassed. I stood there for what seemed like ten minutes swaying side to side, while the manager raised a rucus in the next room. Finally I put some pesos on the counter, said thanks for the agua and headed out the front door.
I walked the block back to the Fiesta Mexicana hoping to get a ride to the Irma. When Mercedes saw me, I thought she was going to burst into tears. "Where have you been, I was so worried", she said. I hadn't really realized it but I had been "missing" for about 10 hours.
She sat me down in a beach chair and called to get me a ride, then in a very motherly way tried to get me to eat something. I couldn't, just the sight of food made me queasy. One of the Irma's hotel staff showed up in a pickup truck to take me back to the hotel. I rode all the way back to the hotel like a dog, with my head out the window. The breeze felt wonderful.
When I got the the Irma, the hotel manager (Mercedes' husband) met me in front of the hotel. He told me he had called a doctor and to wait in my room. About 10 minutes later the doctor showed up. He was very nice and spoke excellent english. He insisted on telling me that in Mexico people become doctors to help people, not to get rich like in America. I felt very self conscience at that remark, being the capitalist running-dog that I am, but I don't think he could see me blush through the sunburn.
The examination was pretty quick and pretty non-medical. Mostly just questions about what I had done and what I had eaten. He didn't even listen to my insides with his stethoscope, which I think would have been highly entertaining as my spleen was now picking up the local mariachi station.
After several minutes he came to his prognosis. "Mr. Partridge, I do not believe that you have a parsite, I think that your body has had a reaction to some of the mexican food you ate (Do you think?)". "I believe it would be best if you did not eat anymore mexican food". Now if I was at home this would have been no big deal but beings I was in MEXICO, this presented a slight problem. He told me to drink lots of bottled water and went on his way. I just sat on the bed and laughed, then I drank a whole bottle of water and went to bed.
The next three days are pretty much a blur, I went to Ixtapa the next day and saw the other 7 hotels. I then flew out to Mexico City and then on to Puerto Vallarta. A water bottle constantly at my side. The flight to Puerto Vallarta was cool because the seats had monitors in the back of them. Remember this was 1992, that was big deal. I watched an episode of Moonlighting in spanish, it was really funny. That Bruce Willis has an awesome spanish accent! I got into Puerto Vallarta around 10p and caught a cab to the hotel. I shared the cab with a mexican family with several small children. I am sure I was quite a sight. Have you ever seen a really pale sickly sunburned gringo before? Scary, I am sure. At one point on the ride in we stopped at an intersection next to a mini-mall (do you call that a mall pequeno in spanish?) and the smell of McDonalds french fries wafted into the taxi. I know that people say love is the international language, but when that smell hit the car, I knew exactly what those kids where thinking.
When I checked in at the hotel a very nice woman at the front desk told me that the local Alaska Airlines office would be open at 10a tomorrow morning and if I needed to change my reservation, I could call then. She also said how sorry she was that I would not be staying to enjoy beautiful Puerto Vallarta. I tried to tell her, "It's not you, it's me", but I don't think she bought it.
When I woke up the next morning I didn't even bother to get out of bed, I just flipped on the tv in time to catch an eight hour The Saint marathon. Funny thing is, Roger Moore has an excellent spanish accent also. When 10am rolled around I called the Alaska Airlines office immediately. A woman with a wonderfully American voice answered and after a few minutes was able to get me on the flight leaving at 3p. I nearly started crying. I must have thanked her ten times before hanging up to get packed.
The flight home was uneventful, except for the stop in Mazatlan. Just as we got to the end of the runway, a pregnant woman decided that now would be a good time to have her baby so we had to go back to the terminal (El Terminalo) so they could take her to the hospital. It made us late getting into SFO. In order to make my connecting flight to Portland, I ran from customs in the international terminal all the way to the Alaska gates. I managed to get there 10 minutes before boarding. At this point I had not eaten in 3 days. I went across the hall to a snack stand and bought the biggest sandwich I could find. It was gone before I got on the plane.
When I got home, I had lots of people ask me if I had lost weight (which I had lost around 20 pounds). Are you on the South Beach diet? Naw...the Zihuatenejo weight loss program.
Final Score:
Mexico - I Million Pesos / Al - 0
Yeah, but do they take Shredded Wheat?
So I saw something odd last week, I thought I would share...
All I wanted was a cholesterol test.
It turns out I as a private citizen, I cannot order my own cholesterol test. It's not that I am not capable of doing it (I know you were thinking it), it's just that my clinic has a policy that in order to stick me with a needle they need the ok from my doctor. You gotta love policies...
Next stop: My Doctor's office. When I reached the waiting room I was greeted by multiple signs informing me that in order to respect my fellow patient's privacy, I needed to wait behind the little "the line starts here" sign. Now this is a policy I can get behind (literally). I don't want to hear what ails the other patients. I don't want to know that the person in front of me has the black plague or herpes simplex 97 or a rash just here. Make it a surprise for the doctor, I don't want to know.
So there I am standing in line, minding my own business, when the lady ahead of me is called up. I move up in line but made sure to stay behind the safety line. If anything bad happens, I am well out of the blast zone. When the lady in front of me reaches the desk, she begins the check in process. At this point, I cannot hear what is transpiring, but I have a general idea of what is about to happen:
It hurts when I do this. Do you have an appointment? Fill out this form. May I see your health insurance card? Yada yada yada. NEXT!
Everything was going fine until the nurse asked for the health insurance card. Instead of a card the lady produced from her purse, the front panel of a Raisin Bran Cereal Box with all of her pertinent medical information in black sharpie on the back (This is the 100% truth). I was astounded. I had never thought of a cereal box as a potential storehouse for my valuable information. The nurse was only slightly taken aback by the cardboard and made polite conversation while she finished entering the information.
When it was my turn to go to the desk, I felt very uninteresting giving her my plain insurance card, when I could have given her Captin Crunch or better yet: Nut'n Honey. She had me fill out a note for the doctor asking for a cholesterol test and said someone would get back to me. I got a phone call the next day that said that a lab test had been ordered for me and I could come in anytime.
That was two weeks ago and I still haven't made it in for the lab tests but when I do, I am paying with Grape Nuts!
The Mexico Story, part two (or part dos for our Spanish friends)
If you are just joining us, you should really read "The Mexico Story" which is the first part of this story or none of what follows will make much sense.
On with the story...
So at this point I have just woke myself up, with my own moaning, in my hotel room in Zihuatanejo. The more awake I became, the less I liked it. When I went to sleep I could swear my bed had cotton sheets, now I was laying between two layers of fine mexican sandpaper. Every move hurt and it was really hot under the covers. I layed there for a long time trying desperately not to move. But I couldn't help it, or should I say my insides couldn't help it. My intestinal track had picked now of all times to begin a festive mexican hat dance. I don't believe this was the mexican culture that was in the brochure.
Finally, I weakly threw the sandpaper covers off and rolled over onto my back. Bad, bad idea. In the fetal position I had been able to keep my internal festivities inside my body, the minute I rolled over, all bets were off. It was at this point my insides made a noise that I can only describe as something akin to a wookie mating call. I did not have time to see if any wookies answered because there was suddenly definite pressure below my stomach in the colon-spleen area. It was time to get up! I ran, wait let me rephrase that, flew to the bathroom. It was pitch black in the bathroom, I didn't bother to try and find the light switch. If there had been a seatbelt on that toilet, I would have used it. At this point everything I may or may not have eaten in the last 24 hours evacuated the building. All at the same time, through the fire exit. I saw lights and stars and I think at one point I saw Montezuma, laughing his butt off. After what seemed like an hour, I wandered back out into the bedroom and collapsed face down on the bed. I lterally could not move, I was that drained. I woke up a few hours later and crawled back under the covers.
Score:
Mexico - 2 / Al - 0
The next morning I felt like hell, but there was work to do, so I got up and got dressed in my travel agent best and headed down to breakfast. It was a beautiful sunny mexican morning. Ever notice how sunshine can actually make you feel worse when you already feel like crap? I was completely there. I grabbed a nice dark table against the wall and ordered some toast. At this point I had not made the connection that eating in this particular restaraunt, might not be a good idea. Although it is hard to screw up toast.
As I sat there feeling miserable, I surveyed my surroundings. The beautiful bay, the swaying palms, the huge cloud of cigarette smoke headed for my table. The restaraunt in the Irma was the daily gathering place for the local business men to shoot the breeze, drink mexican coffee and smoke like they were trying to generate special effects fog. I have never seen so much smoke, I am not even sure how many guys were in there smoking. You couldn't see them through the haze. By the time my toast got there, I was four shades of green. I began to make deals with myself. I was supposed to see 7 hotels in Ixtapa and 2 hotels in Zihuatanejo that day. I was flying out of Ixtapa the next day. I decided that I would go and see the 2 hotels in Zihuat and then I would go back to my room and disintegrate until morning and see the rest of the hotels the next day. This sounded much more doable and I began to enjoy the slight nicotine buzz I was having with my toast.
As I left the hotel, I noticed it was really hot. Not so much outside, but inside my clothes, I was radiating major heat. I quickly ran back to my room and ditched my work clothes in favor of a tank top, shorts and huraches before catching a ride down to the Fiesta Mexicana.
The Fiesta Mexicana is the sister hotel of the Hotel Irma and at the time was being managed by a wonderful mexican lady name Mercedes.
You can see current pictures of the hotel (they have changed the name) here
As I started my tour, I began to feel worse and worse. November was a slow time for the Fiesta Mexicana so all the rooms had been sitting empty and sealed up in the tropical heat. The smell was like the inside of that ice chest from last summers picnic that you find in the garage six months later when the potato salad sealed inside begins to move around under it's own power. Yeah, that smell. With every room, my will to stay upright got weaker and weaker. Finally Mercedes noticed that I was staggering along behind her and took pity on me. She led me to the restaraunt to sit down. "I will send a waiter over, you should drink something", she said. The table had a wonderful clear plastic cover on it. It was very cool against my forehead. When the waiter arrived, I ordered in my best spanish: Uno 7-up caliente. What I thought I was ordering was a cold soda. Caliente is spanish for hot, so I got a very warm, very flat 7-up.
I sat there for quite some time sipping my sickeningly sweet beverage. I waited and waited, but Mercedes didn't come back. I wanted to get next hotel inspection done so I could get back to my room. After looking around a bit, I realized I could see the Villa Del Sol just up the beach from The Fiesta Mexicana. It was walking distance. So with some major resolve I got myself up and headed towards the next hotel. It was not far, there was only a small vacant lot separating the hotels. But as I got out onto the beach and into the open sunlight, things began to go south. It felt like the sun was beating down on just me, weighing me down, like I was crossing the sahara. In reality it was probably a 400 yard walk, but it seemed like forever. In my high school humanities class we read this french existentialist novel about a man who killed another man simply because he was blocking the path to the water on a very hot day. I think the novel went on to try and prove in some weird way that it was not the man's fault, the sun drove him to it. It never made sense to me until I saw the shade at the Villa Del Sol. I would have stabbed a bus full of nuns to get to that shade. Towards the end I think I was running, I am not really sure.
As I reached the shade, the surreal nature of my surroundings began to set in. The Villa Del Sol is a five star resort which was built by a german man who came to Zihuatanejo in the 60's and never left. It has a huge german following. So as I staggered into the shade and towards a lovely plastic table and chairs, I couldn't help noticing that all of the sunning lounges where filled with hunky young german men in black speedos. (I believe the black speedo is the national swimwear of bavaria). There were rows and rows of them (or maybe I was halucinating at this point).
So I collapse into a plastic chair and lay my head down on the plastic table. It is at this precise moment that I realize I am going to throw up. It is only a matter of timing and location. I look down towards the ground and begin to panic. The sand is raked into cute little rows. THEY RAKE THE SAND! I cannot hurl on their lovely sand, I have gotta move quickly. I look to my left and see the vacant lot between the hotels, it is full of weeds and old brick and stuff. Perfect! The plan is to get up and run to the fence. No one will care if I hose down the weeds. So I stand up and take one step towards the fence and my body says, "yeah, I don't think so". I fall to my knees in the hot sand. It is at this precise moment that I realize just how bad my sunburn is. I actually scream out loud. My knees are on fire and the vomit has left the launching pad, I have got to think fast. There is a large cement planter that runs the length of the hotel and happened to be within grabbing distance. I pull myself over the planter and thow up until there is nothing left to throw up. It hurts terribly. My whole chest spasms. At one point I thought, this is it; I am going to die right here. They are going to bury me under the raked sand and my wife will never know what happened to me. There will just be a little headstone that says "Here lies El Gringo Grande". Also note to self, never, ever, eat guacamole again.
At some point, between yacks, I start calling out for help. After a few minutes a shadow enters my blurry peripheral vision. In my best spanish, I blurt out, "My name is Al, I work for Love Mexico, I need to speak to the manager." In broken english with a definite german accent the answer comes back, "I'm sorry, I don't speak spanish." It is speedo-man, he has come to my rescue.
Score:
Mexico - 3 / Al - 0
To be continued...
The Mexico Story
Things have been very busy lately, but nothing really new to report, so I thought I would start documenting some of my earlier misadventures. This story is actually the original misadventure. It was after telling this story at a party that I realized I might not be normal like everyone else (I had a sneaking suspicion before that, but nevermind)... Oh well, put on your way-back goggles, cause we are going all the way back to 1992.
Insert way-back wavy visual here...
In 1992 I was working for a small travel agency called Albany Travel, located suprisingly enough in my hometown of Albany, Oregon. My wife and I were expecting our first child. Times were very tight, at one point the year before I had done a quick unofficial phone survey and found that the fry-personel at McDonald's were making better money than I was in at Albany Travel. The one upside was every once in a while we got to travel and we love to travel, so it all works out right? So one day when my boss came in and announced that he needed me to go to Mexico on a "business" trip, I was thrilled. My wife who was 3 months pregnant was not. Pregnancy does not bode well with my wife, while she is very happy to be pregnant, she is pretty much miserable the whole 9 months. At this point we were just exiting what I like to call the "Morning Sickness from Hell" phase headed steadily for the "Massively Uncomfortable for the Next 4 Months" phase. It may have just been the nesting instinct talking but she finally agreed to let me go. I was cleared to go on my first international trip.
The first couple of days of my trip were very uneventful. I spent two days in Guadalajara, which has some lovely museums, but our story really picks up when I landed in Ixtapa/Zihuatanejo. For those who are unfamiliar with the Ixtapa/Zihuat area, a quick intro. In the late 80's and early 90's massive amounts of money was poured into the Ixtapa area, it was expected to be the next Puerto Vallarta or Mazatlan. Ixtapa is centered on a nice beach with 7 or 8 skyscraper hotels and all the resort amenities. It kind of reminds me of Waikiki, except with sombreros. Right next door is Zihuatanejo, a small mexican town which wraps around an astonishingly beautiful bay and features La Playa Ropa, one of the most gorgeous beaches in Mexico. One thing I forgot to mention, Albany Travel was really two businesses; the travel agency and a travel wholesale company called Love Mexico Tours. Love Mexico sold reservations at small mexican hotels that usually weren't represented by american firms. Which is why I was here. My job was to do hotel inspections at all of our properties in the area. My home base was the Hotel Irma in Zihuatanejo, our flagship property. We actually represented 3 hotels in Zihuatanejo, The Irma, her sister hotel The Fiesta Mexicana and an amazingly upscale hotel called The Hotel Villa Del Sol (We get to these hotels in a few moments).
I arrived at The Irma late in the afternoon on Saturday. It is a modest mexican hotel on the cliffs in Zihuatanejo. The view is Phenomenal.
Here are some current pictures of The Irma Hotel from our friends at Hotels.com. There are several pictures of the restaurant at the hotel, this location will come up later in our story.
Having arrived on Saturday, I was kind of stuck. If you have traveled in Mexico, you know that not much work takes place on Sundays. Fortunately our local ground operator offered to take me snorkeling. So bright and early the next morning I headed out with several of the ground operator's staff on a trimaran to a spot just outside Zihuatanejo bay. I had never snorkeled before so this was quite a treat. I spent several hours in the water paddling about while almost everyone else stayed on the boat. I found out why when I got back onboard. They stayed on the boat because the captain was serving a wonderful mexican lunch. By the time I got down to the galley all that was left was a few tortilla crumbs in the bottom of a bowl and a cooler full of Coronas. I was voraciously hungry at this point and things were about to take a turn.
Score:
Mexico - I / Al - 0
The boat ride back to Zihuatanejo was the longest hour of my life. I swear by the time I got in the taxi back to the hotel, I was starting to waste away. When I reached the hotel I flew to my room to shower and dress. Upon getting out of the shower I noticed my skin was warm. Very, very warm. A quick check in my bag confirmed that my sunscreen was not waterproof. At this point I was not worried, I had never burned easily and I was sure by morning everything would be fine, besides I was STARVING! So I headed down to the hotel restaurant, which overlooks the bay. I did not have a lot of money on this trip, but that night I didn't care. I ordered one of just about everything on the menu. The first entree to come was the nachos. My experience with nachos up to this point had been tortillas covered in cheese and various other toppings. Nachos ala Irma were a little different. What was placed in front of me was a plate covered in guacamole. Twenty or so tortilla chips were standing straight up in the green mixture. I don't really like guacamole, but I ate it like it was my favorite food on the planet. This was just the first of several courses to come. As I stuffed myself, the tv set (the only one in the hotel), blaired a sunday night variety show, kind of mexican version of Lawerence Welk...and all was well with the world , for the time being.
After a huge dinner I retired, exhausted to my room. I fell asleep instantly. Sometime around 3 in the morning, I was woken up by a strange noise. I lay there for a minute listening. I heard it again. It was moaning, I definitely heard moaning. After a few minutes, I heard it again. I thought wow, the people next door are really enjoying their mexican vacation. After a few more minutes, I realized it was me moaning. To be continued...
Scoring Clarification on my Home Improvements
I have received some flack about the final scoring on my recent home improvements. Allow me to elaborate so that everyone can see I am in full compliance with the Geneva Convention. So here is a quick recap:
Water Pipe Broken - House I
Sprinklers In - Al I
Sod In - Al I
Lawn Denched - House I
Sidewalk delayed by additional water pipe complications - House I
Gas Line Broken - House I
Sidewalk In - Al I
Fence In - Al I
Not having to work on the fence - Priceless....oops I mean Al I
So if you add all that up it should come out to a 5 / 4 victory fair and square!
Home Improvements - Afterword
The sidewalk, the backyard and the sprinkler system are all done!
A majority of the work was done before I had all my co-workers over for a belated housewarming party. Most of my co-workers were satified to tour the house and see the various rooms and furniture (and the hole in the wall where I tried to hang the giant Xmas tree - but that's a story for another time). But the adventurous few could be found out alongside the house looking for evidence of the mayhem that was this construction project. Unfortunately for them it was all cleaned up and looking marvelous. You could barely see the scorch-marks...just kidding!
Bonus Round: My new neighbor decided to build a fence around his backyard. It is a beautiful fence (He is obviously handy). I offered to help but he had a whole crew of his friends over to git-r-done, so I just paid for the materials for my side. Besides that, they were using a nail gun and I would hate to have to blog this from the hospital.
Final Score:
House - 4 / Al - 5 Winner!
Home Improvements, Part 5
Well here we are again. Yesterday we hoped to pour the cement. No such luck. Remember the water line breakage from Part 1. Oh yeah, it's back. It has been leaking. Poor "Bob" had to spend about 3 hours fixing it last night. I am not sure if we are going to pour cement today or not. "Bob" did an awesome job fixing the pipe, but the valve he put on it appears to faulty, he may have to replace it today. So fingers-crossed...
Score:
House - 4 / Al - 1
Home Improvements, Part 4 or Noah's Lawn
Just a quick one today, after fixing the gas line last night the guys continued to prep the side of the house to pour cement. At some point they turned on the sprinklers in the back yard to "keep that sod damp". Only thing is, they forgot to turn them off. I got up this morning and the sprinklers were on in the back yard, I thought "Wow, I didn't know they scheduled the sprinklers to run in the morning." After a little checking, I discovered that they didn't have the scheduling turned on yet. The sprinklers were on all night. I hope the sod doesn't die from over-watering.
Score:
House - 3 / Al - 1
Home Improvements, Part 3 or The Natural Gas Leak
I know that it is odd to start with Part 3, but this just happened about an hour ago and it is still fresh in my head. Don't worry I will get to Parts 1 and 2.
First a little history, my wife and I and our kids moved into our new house in July of 2004. It is actually a new home that we had built. It will be the source of many stories to come (trust me).
Since we moved in there have been several things that needed to be finished, most importantly the sidewalk alongside the house and the putting in the backyard. Our house is located in a brand new sub-division and we have been waiting for our neighbor's house to be finished before tackling these projects. When I say tackling these projects what I mean is "paying someone to put in the sidewalk and yard". I work on a computer all day and as my wife is more than willing to tell complete strangers, I am not handy. Besides that most times when I do it myself, things...um go awry.
Part 1 - Make way for the sidewalk
We decided to go ahead an put the sidewalk and yard in this month because the weather has been unusually nice for February in Oregon. We are having a someone from my wife's church do the work as he does contract work on the side. "Bob" even has an employee - "Dj" (Names have been changed to protect the semi-innocent). So they start digging out the passage beside my house with a small tractor when lo and behold, "Dj" hits the main water line to my house. Fortunately they got the water turned off at the street. So what was supposed to be an hour job turned into a six hour job + plumbing repair that I am still not certain is right.
Score:
House - 1 / Al - 0
Part 2 - My Backyard vs. Pizza
The weather is starting to get worse now and "Bob" has decided we need to get the yard in as soon as possible. He tells me that "Dj" will get the backyard tilled and rolled and start on the sod on Monday. He will come over around 5:00pm and help "Dj" finish up. "Dj" shows up about 10:00am to start tilling the backyard (BTW the backyard is not much bigger than a postage stamp). About 45 minutes in he asks to use the phone at 11:00am. I say sure and at 11:00am he makes a phone call and then takes off. One thing I forgot to mention, the tiller and roller were on a 4 hour rental. So after about an hour, I start worrying. I don't know what is going on, I don't have "Bob's" phone number and we are burning daylight. So my wife has an ingenius idea, she calls the last number called on the telephone to try and get a number for "Dj". "Dj" answers the phone, he is at JC's Pizzeria having lunch. My wife asked what was going on and he replies, "I am having lunch." So about an hour later, "Dj" is back on the case. He spends well over an hour finishing the tilling and rolling the backyard. So now he is off to return the equipment and get the sod. "Bob" and "DJ" start laying the sod around 5:00pm. I go out and help, because I am at least qualified to shlep sod. We finish in total darkness around 8:00pm. Quite damp as it has been sprinkling steadily for about an hour. But it is done, we are almost home free...
Score:
House - 1 / Al - 1
Part 3 - Smoke'em if you got'em
So back to today's fun. There were just a few last forms needed built before we can pour concrete. With any luck it will be poured tomorrow. So I am at work this afternoon when I get a frantic call from my wife. "Yeah, they were finishing up the forms and 'Dj' hit the natural gas line." "What do you mean hit the natural gas line?", I ask. "He was putting down the spikes for the form and he went right through the gas line, he heard it start hissing and called 'Bob'". "Dj" was at the door at this point so she needed to call me back. So she calls back a few minutes later, she is starting to panic "DJ just left, I heard the truck and he was pulling away." It was at this point I am beginning to picture my neighborhood in a firestorm, houses falling down, mushroom cloud overhead, etc, etc. My wife said that "DJ" assured her it was ok, because he "put the spike back in". I think that spike shaped shrapnel is the best, don't you? My wife calls me back about 5 minutes later and says "Bob" is there and everything is under control, the gas company is on their way.
So I get my gear and quickly head home, hoping against hope that my home and my neighbor's house will be intact. As I drive into my neighborhood things are looking good, no fleeing crowds, no smoke or signs of impact damage. I pull up and park, smelling the air for gas fumes. I don't smell anything. But as I do get closer I start to smell something...Marlboro Reds. "Dj" and Worker #3 (who I have never seen before) are happy as clams smoking away. So I ask in my most unassuming voice: "Everything Ok? I heard we had a problem?" "Oh yeah, it's all fixed the gas company was here 20 minutes ago", DJ informs me. "Great", I say; "Cause otherwise smoking would be not such a great idea right now huh?" That gets a big laugh. Then "Dj" explains what happened. "I drove the spike in and then I smelled gas, so I threw my cigarette down and got out of there!" Let me reiterate: HE WAS SMOKING WHEN HE BROKE THE NATURAL GAS LINE AND THEN THREW DOWN HIS CIGARETTE AND RAN AWAY. The fact that my house is still standing is a miracle. The fact that he still has eyebrows is a miracle. We have got to get this cement down quickly. I cannot be the first guy in history to blow up his neighborhood while laying cement! Hopefully there will not be a part 4 to this story...
Score:
House - 2 / Al - 1
From the beginning...well sort of
Hi, my name is Al.
I am writing this blog is to record the funny things that seem to happen to me all the time. These are not always good things, but in retrospect they are funny none the less. I would like to think that these things happen to everybody, but my friends keep insisting, "that could only happen to you, Al".
I feel like I am starting this very late, so many funny things have happened in the last couple of years. But, you have to start somewhere, right? I will add some of my more classic stories from time to time.
This should be fun, what's the worst that could happen?