We’re Here

I mentioned on Twitter that we’ve arrived, but I thought I’d drop a quick post up here too. (I know we arrived a few days ago, but this whole summer holiday thing always slows everything down.)

And we’ve been busy. There are so many duties around here, I’m sure you understand….

Do you ever think about writing when you are on holidays?

The Road Was There!

Note: I would like to mention first off that I am creating rhis post using A cell phone application and there are some significant flaws likw predictive text, Ameeican spelling and the fact thT after typing fifteen words the twxt turns white and I can’t se a thing. Is a btike squatting in the dark. You just hope to heck that wRm feing on your toes isn’t pe.

In my last post I worried that our little Trixie the Mighty Matrix might have to fly, swim, or perform some 4×4 type behavior. the good new is that she did not Other than a little time sharing our lanes with oncoming trFfic, it was all good. whew!

if you are curious Bout our progress in our multiple-kilometer trip, you can follow me on Twiter. yep, that’s right, I am tweet gummy way a Ross four provinces. you’ve fgot too e technology.

My Devious Plan

My devious plan is working.

With airfares on the rise it is becoming a bit out our reach to fly out to my grandma’s cottage this summer. Thus my devious plan: drive.

See, I started small a few months ago. I suggested we fly to Ontario (4 hour flight) and then borrow Dad’s Ontario van and drive from there to Nova Scotia (30 or so hours) where we could hang out and explore for a few weeks and then drive back to Ontario, bum around for a bit longer and then fly back. Ta-da summer over and lots of adventures under our belts. A little balking at that plan because Ontario to Nova Scotia is quite a long drive.

Then I moved to a slightly bigger plan (and more unrealistic plan) around Christmas time. How about fly to Ontario, then drive to FRANCE! (There is a little island still belonging to France off the coast of Newfoundland.) Come on, there is even a ferry (about a 40 hour drive, plus ferry time) so you don’t have to drive the WHOLE way. No problem. Buckle up, let’s go. (No takers on that one even though I pulled out the globe and showed them how short a distance it really was and waxed on about how cool it would be to go to France for the summer.)

Now the idea of driving to Ontario (35 hours or so) doesn’t seem so bad. It is, in fact, quite reasonable.

To make it even cheaper we could tent! Fun adventure! Well, actually I had to work on that one a bit. I promised my hubby a Thule so we’d have lots of room in the economy-mobile. Plus, I promised to bring an air mattress to sleep on. And that I would set up the tent. And blow up the mattress. And find the campgrounds. And plan the food. And maintain the car (actually that one is still up my sleeve). And  promised we could stay in a hotel every other night. It would be so much fun!

Now, I’m trying to convince my mom to come too. Come on mom. Lots of coffee! And fun. And tacky monuments. You know you wanna…

(We’ll just sort of gloss over the fact that my five-year-old has a meltdown if we have to drive farther than 20 minutes in one day.)

Freedom to Bear Arms: Las Vegas

Being Canadian, I’m not really into firearms. And yes, I have fired various rifles and have even been handed down a BB gun. But I’m not into guns and I certainly do not travel with them. I am aware that Americans take their right to bear arms quite seriously, yet I couldn’t help but feel twinges of culture shock in Las Vegas upon some of the various gun-related sights. For example, check out this mini-van cab:

And I always thought mini-vans were family vehicles. Maybe ‘try one’ is an experience for the whole family in the United States?

Then again, maybe guns and travel go together:

Or…maybe not.

Even Penn and Teller involved guns in their show, which may have (and strangely enough) resulted in this poster–hopefully is tongue in cheek:

And lastly, this sign worried me a bit (I mean, if they have to put up a sign because they AREN’T allowed here, they must have a problem with people bringing them in…which leads me to question…where exactly ARE they allowed to hang with their firearms?):

Flesh For Sale: Las Vegas

One thing that really surprised me about Las Vegas was not necessarily how they have bastardized every significant monument in the world, but rather it was the blatant flesh for sale. Vegas, essentially, is a theme park for the seven deadly sins and an interesting sociological study.

We’ve all heard the adage: what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but I had no idea that some folks actually take it quite seriously and that casino owners are embracing it. The weekend folk seems to be there to prove the adeage is true and were a bit more wild than the weekday folk. During the weekend there were lots of young people looking for action. Girls wearing barely there dresses that could cause you to confuse them with hookers. Guys strolling around on the prowl, trying to catch the attention of passing gaggles of girls. Shops with slutty outfits in the windows. Hotels with topless pools, oh sorry, I mean, with an ‘European Experience’. Sculptures based around nudity. The weekend seemed to emphasise the Vegas flesh experience.

And that’s is to be expected. Vegas is where a sexual whack-job can go to be free. However, what was a bit startling were the lines of Hispanic men wearing bright t-shirts boasting: “GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS. Delivered to your door in 20 minutes.” Wow, it’s like pizza. If it’s takes longer than 20 minutes, does that mean they’re free? But not only are the men wearing the shirts advertising the phone number, they have a stack of coloured business cards with photos of half dressed or nude (white) women (where is the diversity?) and a phone number. All hours of the day there are lines of these guys up and down the strip, and particularly in areas where people have to squeeze by them as there is no other way around. Every hand that went by, they would try to slip a card to them–even though I never saw anyone other than loud drunk young men take a card–one group was collecting them like sports cards. But it was the flicking that really got to me. Whenever you walk by, even if you are holding the hand of a large man, they flick their cards with a thumb making a ‘flicking’ noise and try to slip a card into your hand. By the end of the trip, I was ready to grab one of those stupid cards and shove it up a nostril (not my own nostril in case you were wondering). Isn’t it obvious that I prefer men and am not looking for ‘company’?

So although the flicking nuddy cards were annoying, it was the discarded cards scattered on the sidewalks that really annoyed me. It is rather disconcerting for someone who likes to walk briskly and often checks where they are walking to have their attention always being caught by cards underfoot. Always walking, always walking on a half-dressed or naked woman cast down like garbage upon the ground. Littering the sidewalks in compromising positions, slowly being ground into the cement. Bothersome. It affects one’s psyche.

But that’s not all. Newspaper boxes that line the sidewalks don’t hold newspapers, they hold call girl catalogues, the yellow pages has 100 pages of ‘entertainers’–yes I counted. Everywhere you look, flesh is for sale. You look out into traffic and there is a moving billboard with a scantily clad woman with a phone number and the words, “Hot Babes. Delivered to your door in 20 minutes.” Is there some central warehouse? How big is Las Vegas anyway? It takes me 20 minutes just to get through my hotel/casino and up to my room! So, up and down the strip these billboards drive, sucking up fossil fuels, rubbing super-sized breasts in your face.

Oh, and I forgot about the showgirls. What would Las Vegas be without showgirls? Of course the casinos have waitresses wearing barely-cover-your-bum outfits and sport dancers and large posters of buttocks and ads for showgirl performances. Our ‘do not disturb’ sign for our hotel room door had showgirls on them. Even scultptures in Vegas are naked.

Sadly, Vegas has even turned Toni Braxton into a ‘showgirl’ and alluded to that her singing show may be a nuddy show by calling it ‘Toni Braxton Revealed’. Check out the side of the hotel where she plays:

It’s no wonder that after awhile you feel the urge to start dressing like a slut. Okay, no. But I could see how someone might if they were one of those who enjoyed walking the strip with their alcohol in hand–which also appears to be legal–and likes the experience of grinding with another woman on top of the bar at Coyote Ugly and taking their top off at the pool.

Where Are We?: Las Vegas

Have you ever walked into a place and thought, “Where the hell am I?” or “What the hell am I doing here?”

I had one of those moments last week. My husband and I went to Las Vegas for a few days. In the dead of the night (well, okay, dead anywhere else except Vegas which had traffic jams) we arrived at our hotel–after spending an incredible amount on cab fare. We walked into the shiny, glamorous entry of the hotel, our backpacks slung over our shoulders only to be met by a gaggle of Howie Mandel’s girls from ‘Let’s Make a Deal’. Okay, okay, not really. But they could have been stand-ins judging by the way they were done up. Or maybe they were call girls. Really, how can a country bumpkin like me tell? 

So, after weaving through the look at me giggles flicking their blown out fancy hair, we found ourselves in a sparkling, shiny casino. Huh? All I could think was, “Where the hell are we? And cigarette smoke?” The stale booze smell wasn’t nearly as shocking as the stunning cigarette smoke. It is incredible how quickly you get used to public spaces being free of cigarette smoke. (It is banned where I live, but not in Vegas casinos!) After my husband dazedly turned a circle, he discovered the check in desk behind us and off to the side. Whew.

The next stunner was customer service. They immediately began upgrading us and I of course, began panicking. But all for naught. Evidently upgrades are free. And thank goodness the room was said to be smoke free as I could already practically feel my lungs seizing up. So, off through the jangling casino we strolled, feeling self-conscious with our luggage slung over our shoulders. Finally, we arrive at the elevators. In case you are curious, no 13th floor. Up to our room which of course, smells like stale cigarette smoke. <Sigh.>

The next day, after a HUGE (and pricey–$3.50 for a beverage) breakfast we headed out to check out the strip. This in itself was an adventure as after walking for approximately forever, we discovered all sorts of things that were not in fact the strip (flamingos, a topless pool, people still drunk from the night before, a grocery store that advertised guns and booze, and some homeless people). And then at last, the strip. Wow, are Casinos really hard to get out of! We soon discovered that it usually took two of us to navigate through their wily keep-you-inside schemes. (In one Casino, we walked for over a km before finding our way out at the other end. Those things are mammoth!)

But we found the strip. Unfortunately, we wanted to cross the street. But it was blocked! Tricky, tricky. Eventually, we discovered that the escalators we had been avoiding were actually a way up to the fancy pedestrian bridges that we had previously not noticed. These pedestrian bridges were tricky too because they would often dump you into a casino. Sometimes, there would be stairs back down to the street–often set back so if you weren’t paying attention you would land in the casino. All the tricks to get you to spend all your money!

Here is a photo to show an amazing walkway which will spit you into a casino:

But soon, we were experts on making our way around the strip and put over 35km on our poor little legs in 3 1/2 days and found that the strangest things became entertaining rather than brain puzzles.

Camping Expedition

Went to Big Knife Provincial Park for a little get-your-feet-wet camping expedition with the little one. Sure was nice to go back to the familiar, quiet place. I’ve got a lot of fond camping memories from camping there with my hubby back ‘in the day’.

I had been a bit concerned that we might get there and find that there were no tent spots left–it being later in the day on a Friday (as well as being the best weather of the week). When we had tented here in the past, it was usually mid-week and I wasn’t sure what to expect on the weekend.

Anyway, we got to choose our own site and walked through them all, (lovely, lovely, quiet treed area) because we were the only ones there for the tenting area. Craziness! The place is like a secret camping nugget of wonderfulness. (There is even a wading pool, river, hiking/walking paths, a park as well as the usual basic camping amenities.)

As we were hauling stuff from our car to our tent site (quite separated from the RV section), some people walked by and I overheard one of the ladies saying that it was a shame that they didn’t take a bunch of the trees out of the under-used tenting area and make it an RV area as it was so nice and peaceful (and treed).

Some people don’t get it, do they? What does she think that the RV area used to look like?

Anyway, by morning there were four tent sites occupied. I say ‘by morning’ as one group came in the dark and although shining their headlights into the bush to see enough to set-up, they were very courteous. As was the other, basically, nonexistent group.

But then there was this guy who road up on his bicycle. I was like, ‘cool’. And of course felt totally unworthy because although tenting (and nobody in Alberta tents anymore) we had driven our car to the campground. (Of course. Like I’m going to haul all our camping gear and our daughter 140km.) But then I heard his cell phone ringing and later saw he was eating a huge bag of Cheesies. Now, I felt like he was in fact human and I might be still worthy after all. Whew!

And then his ‘girlfriend’ arrived. And talked all night. Yes, ALL night. Impressive, really. Occasionally she made forays past our site in the middle of the night on her way to the parking lot wearing her super loud slappy flipflops. Anyway, whatever. Why did she feel the need to run her vehicle at 3:30 a.m. for a few minutes? Dunno. (By then dude over in the RV section has ceased serenading the valley with his generator. So maybe she thought it was too quiet–I mean the coyotes were yet to start howling and the squirrels had stopped scolding us and had gone to bed. So it was pretty peaceful.) I think others arrived at their site too at some point after we went to bed.

Evidently, Flipflop Girl hadn’t seen a blue LED flashlight before as when I stumbled through the dark past her site at 5:30 a.m. en route to the outhouse with my daughter, she thought I was an alien.

Yes, an alien.

“Is that an alien?” she says in a stage whisper sounding entranced. “Hey alien do you have a lighter?” she calls out.
“No,” I say flatly, continuing to carry my daughter past her site.
“Really?”
“No.”
“How about a cigarette?”

By then I was back at my site, certain that my daughter would wake up in another hour ready for her day and while Alien Girlfriend Lady slept (she did sleep, right?), we’d happily make as much noise talking and laughing as possible without being totally transparent in our maliciousness.

But, we slept in.

I was saved from my malicious fantasies.

And I was really tired this morning. I forgot how hard the ground was to sleep on. No nice layer of memory foam to ease the weight off my hips. But whatever. We went camping! And had lots of fun! I forgot how good food is cooked over a fire. Like marshmallows! Mmmm.

Later…

Got home so hubby could help a friend build a fence. And now, I have a job. Well, one that pays. I’ll be opening up the library for my hubby’s old school–just until a new librarian is found. Kinda cool! I’m looking forward to it, but I’m already worried about how I’m going to balance things–like cooking and grocery shopping and all that second shift stuff. Suddenly I’ll have a lot less free time and freedom to get all these things done as I feel like it. But at the same time, I’m really looking forward to it and am already worrying that a new librarian will be found right away and I’ll have to hand over the reins just as I get comfy with them. Crazy isn’t it. I want it, but at the same time I don’t.

Oh, such conflicting feelings!

Seat Assignment

We’re on the plane and I’m watching ‘Spiderman 3′. How cool is that? Sometimes you can catch a flight that has the personal TV thing on the seat in front of you. Then everyone can watch whatever they want. Very cool. Sometimes, they really do use technology for the good of everyone. Plus, I won’t have to rent Spidey 3. Or ‘Next’. Saw that one on the way out. Cool twist on the action movie. It has Nicholas Cage and is very cool. I probably wouldn’t have rented it, but it was great. One of the better ones I’ve seen lately. And funny, because I usually don’t really care for movies I see on planes. It is like I can’t quite get into it or something. Or because the sound quality sucks so bad that I usually miss a lot and have to concentrate to get what I do.

Riddle me this: they can manage this technology feat of independent on-demand TV and music on Air Canada, yet they can’t seem to find themselves a program that books seats properly. How is that? It is strange if you think about it, isn’t it? I mean, you just need someone with some logic and programming skills, and voila!–less headaches for the flight attendants. (And the passengers.)

See, the reason I mention this, is this: we booked our flights online and there is a drop down menu for if you are traveling with a child. (Which of course, we checked off.)

Little note: children cannot sit in emergency seat rows.

And despite us giving them the info they needed, they assigned us seats in the emergency exit row. So, naturally, a lot of shuffling then occurred. Why ask if we are traveling with children if they aren’t going to make the necessary accommodations as a result?

And the strange thing is that this sort of thing seems to happen frequently. Once I was seated separately from my three-year-old and so they had to do some shuffling. Another time or two we were placed (and moved) in the emergency exit row. On this flight, the lady across from us paid EXTRA to ensure that she and her family were all seated together. Which they weren’t. They were refunded their money, but I mean, is it because they are trying to accommodate everyone on where they want to sit on the plane? Like what is happening to the info that they gather? Is it like the recycling program that they used to have in Yellowknife? (They collected the sorted recycling then took it to the dump because it was too expensive to transport out to a recycling facility.)

When I am not in the emergency row, I always seem to be at the back (like as in the last two or three rows) which is annoying. (Maybe sometimes they take in the child factor and try and stick us at the back because of it.) I don’t know why it bugs me being way at the back. Someone said it is the safest. Is it? Really if the plane crashes, is there a ‘safest’ spot?

Once I was so far back in the plane, I couldn’t even recline my seat because of the wall behind me. (It was the ‘Air Miles Seat’, I think. And the lady beside me was reading the same Grisham book as me, but she didn’t think that was as weird and cool as I did. Maybe she checked her sense of humour or they confiscated it at security.) And then there was the time last month that by the time they got to the back of the plane where we were seated, they had run out of food. That was just friggin’ great. And it was suppertime. And we were hungry.

And grandma got to sit in the emergency aisle. And so did grandpa. And we were at the back starving.

Later…

Still watching Spiderman 3…

Sometimes life is just hard. (Or at least if you are Peter Parker and have an alien amplifying your aggression.)

But like Aunt May (Spidey’s aunt) says, sometimes you have to start by forgiving yourself.