Maybe I'll Elope

I secretly believe that my brother by law, Le Gourmand Vulgaire, was inspired by The Hangover and so it is that we are going to a wedding in Vegas.


I'm so happy it's Z getting married because you know there is going to be good food.

Delicious food.

This bride and groom know how to have a good time.

I have my Marie Claire and People magazine and my Jacqueline Carey novel (the one Nathan Fillion reads to me) all ready to go. I have a black dress and a slinky top and a big flashy Vegas cocktail ring. And I have a new set of makeup to beat. (Thanks mama!)

Now if I could only get it packed. I think it's gonna be a late night. I can't get anything done with the girls around and I've given up.

So: Here is to weddings and babies and haircuts from your sister and moms who buy you new make up even though you're 29 years old.

Here's to Z's reception dinner, which is gonna be a knock-out.

Here's to S, le belle bride, who is, I believe, of French ancestry and so pretty and petite that I always feel like the hulking Nordic giant with the missing eyes when I am with her. Really it is a testament to how much I love her that I am willing to be seen with her at all.

Here's to traveling without kids. (Love ya kids. See you Sunday! Don't forget to tell Gramma your knock-knock joke with the non-sensical--I mean, adorable--ending at least four thousand times).

Here's to hoping for a few hours by the pool with Mr. V.

To the few hours where I have heard we are getting free non-alcoholic drinks.

And to the one meal where there is also rumored to be free world class sushi.

Wish me luck!

(I'm not gonna gamble, but isn't that what you say when you go to Vegas?)


I am Vesuvius, and I don't bet on cards but I do bet on cock fighting.