Leaving Las Vegas, or was that Leaving Things IN Las Vegas?



I got lost in Pitt Meadows last week, I was so lost that I wasn't even in Pitt Meadows, I was in Maple Ridge on a dark rainy windy night, just me and Tiggs and the unreliable GPS that lead me down a dark road that ended suddenly and turned into gravel and potholes.  This Adventure Travel
experience may have been a sign of things to come.  I slammed on the brakes, skidded in the gravel, sent Tiggy hurtling off the seat and on to the floor, we were both a bit stressed.  Eventually we made our way back to civilization and found a gas station and a helpful lady who pointed us in the right direction.  Note to self, next time get address and general directions before setting out to fetch Danny.

Thursday morning dawned hopeful, sunny, and a no-gps-required drive across the border.  A pleasant stop at an american IHOP, a feature breakfast, a stop at Fred Meyer to buy books (my book was the story of a woman who developed early-onset Alzheimer's disease, really I should not be surprised at how my story ends), and we were off to the Bellingham airport. 

Two and half restful hours later we landed in balmy Las Vegas, went to the Flamingo and checked in immediately.  Pleased to find that our comp room was ideally situated on the 27th floor (there are 28) by the elevators with a spectacular view of the Bellagio fountains.  Could this really be free? Hard to believe our good fortune.

First assignment was to get Scott's player card sorted next door at Bill's Gamblin' Hall.  Another pleasant surprise, points earned in October could be redeemed for free meals. 

Second task was to secure show tickets.  I dropped the gambler (no not Kenny Rogers) off to gamble and headed to the half price ticket booth.  Picked up a voucher for a ticket for that night's performance of Legends at Harrah's, and vouchers for three tickets to Friday night's performance of Viva Elvis at the new Aria hotel.  In order to get good seats I had to go to the venues and exchange the vouchers for actual tickets, so off I went. 

It was quite a journey to the Aria, up past the fountains, through the Bellagio lobby, down around the back, up through the Vdara (new casino in the City Center complex), down around to the Aria and to the Elvis theatre.  Managed to secure eighth row seats in the 'couch' section.  Huge burden off shoulders.  Tickets two and three were for Arlene and Darlene (yep they're twins, yep that's their real names), big Elvis fans and frequent show attendees who will not settle for bad seats.

Next stop, back the way I came, with a brief stop for a chat with a valet who LOVED my sparkly Guess watch (take THAT all you haters), past Vdara, through the Bellagio, up the escalators at Caesar's Palace, across past Bill's and the Flamingo in to Harrah's to get my ticket for the Legends show.  Sadly noted the sign saying 'Michael Jackson is ill and will not be in tonight's performance' *eyes water*, if only they knew just how 'un-well' he really was...

Back to fetch Scott and time for the buffet. Included was a brief stop of indulgence at the chocolate fountain to dip mini rice krispie squares.  No time to linger I was off to the show.  I sweet-talked the elderly usher and was able to move my 'cheap ticket' up to a row five ticket.  Who wants to see the "Legends" of Vegas from 20 rows back?  For the next 90minutes I was entertained by Liberace, Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, Tom Jones and Rod Stewart.

Next stop gambling and cocktails, then bed.  Friday morning up early and off on a shopping mission after a stop at Bills Victorian Room for the steak and eggs special (felt compelled to use up those point credits).  Caught the bus heading down Flamingo, got off at Target, wandered around and then walked a mile to the Boulevard Mall.  Found a few items and then walked back up to Target and caught the bus back.  Time for a nap before meeting up with the twins.

Met up in Caesar's Palace for our 6pm reservation at Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill.  Fancy menu, fancy prices (was tempted to flash my Bill's card and ask them to give it swipe just for the heck of it).  I had a white peach margarita, followed by the sixteen spice chicken with pesto pureed potatoes.  Very tasty, but really can anything hold a candle to mini rice krispie squares swirled in a chocolate fountain?  After dinner we embarked on the walk to the Aria to see the Elvis cirque show. 

My first cirque show and quite possibly my only cirque show.  I was entertained, not even tempted to doze off despite the comfy couch, but after an hour or so of jumping and tumbling and skipping and cavorting, one has seen enough.  Soon again we were walking the very familiar journey back to the strip.  My feet were ready for bed but my mind was compulsively drawn in to the blackjack table at Bill's were I met up with Scott and did some gambling. Consumed many margaritas but resisted the urge to overindulge and made my way to bed.  Was awakened several hours later when Scott came in, he'd made his requisite visit to the front desk after trying unsuccesfully to use his room key at door 26062, we of course were in room 27062.

Saturday we were drawn again to the buffet, strawberry crepes, cotton candy and the chocolate fountain called my name.  I had a busy day of shopping ahead with Arlene and Darlene, they cruised by and collected me around the corner from my hotel and we headed out on a mission to DSW (discount shoe warehouse, and Darlene's most favourite shopping destination).  I had NO idea what the next three hours held for me.  Yes, three hours, in ONE store.  Next door to DSW was PetSmart so I went over for a browse.  It was pet adoption day and the store and sidewalk were lined with dogs in cages hoping ot be adopted.  It was heartbreaking and I had no choice but to retreat to the shoe store.  Three hours later we left, I had a purse and two pairs of sandals, Arlene had boots and runners, Darlene had sandals aplenty.

Next stop another mall, more hours, more shopping, more walking.  Finally we had seen all that was there and had earned a dinner break at Red Lobster.  A late night stop at Target then a short drive back to the strip were again I was seduced by the allure of the tables and spent a few hours losing still more money.

Sunday dawned bright and beautiful and I awoke early to begin packing for our return home that night.  We checked our bags at the bell desk, Scott headed out for a final day in the gambling trenches and I ventured out walking in the sunshine.  All day I was feeling anxious and couldn't figure out why.  Eventually I went to my favourite japanese restaurant in Bally's and sat down to sort things out over a chicken teriyaki combo box.  Still feeling unsettled I went back to collect Scott and we headed out early to the airport.  The moment we walked into the airport I suddenly realized that I'd left the passports and car keys in the room, in the desk drawer by the fridge.  I left Scott with the luggage and rushed out, across the four lanes of shuttle buses and 'dropping off' cabs, through the other terminal and out to the taxi line for 'departing' cabs. 

I felt fairly confident as the taxi raced to the Flamingo that I'd grab the stuff and be back for our flight in moments.  At the taxi driver's suggestion I called the hotel (ugh roaming charges!) and was told that nothing had been turned in, the room had been cleaned and I should go to the front desk and get a key to go and check in the room myself.  Got the key, headed up the elevator, raced to the room, rushed in straight to the desk, threw open the drawer and it was EMPTY, totally EMPTY.

Rushed back down to the front desk, was told that I'd have to file a report with security.  A Report?! How is a report going to get me on a plane and start my car and get me back into my house?!!  Front desk lady offered to 'walk' me down to security...we met up with Mr. Security in the basement, all 600 sweaty pounds of him, mopping his brow with a handkerchief in the airconditioned room.  He advised me that it was shift change for the housekeeping staff and that nothing had been turned in, he suggested I might want to look in my luggage.  I resisted the urge to fashion my points card into a weapon (I do watch an awful lot of 'Lockdown - RAW' on the learning channel) and to plunge it into his vast expanse.

He encouraged me to wait on the bench in the hall while he went to check the employee lockers.  Really I think he went out for a donut, waited a few minutes, then shuffled back in to tell me that he didn't find anything.  He better not have popped over to the chocolate fountain at the buffet. 

Dejected and stressed, I headed back to the airport, meeting a pleasant australian girl along the way who paid for the cab we shared and offered further assistance to drive us to the Canadian border if need be.  She was booked on the flight leaving after ours.  We were able to check in for our flight, being the very last to do so, and made our way to the gate while pondering how we'd get home from Bellingham sans vehicle.  Seated separately on the plane, I sat down to finally crack open my new book, which had a much greater impact given the recent turn of events.

A few hasty text messages later and my most favourite ex mentee/manatee Harpreet told us she'd drive down and be waiting for us when the plane landed.  Ah, I did train her well! and sure enough she and her sister Amritha were there to collect us and bring us home.  Some fast talking and explaining at the border and soon we were at home wondering how to break into the house while listening to the calming hysterical barks of two lonely dogs.  Just then our tenant Steve drove up (with key!) and let us in. 

I spent the next few moments visiting with Holly and Tigs, about to log on to report our passports lost/stolen.  Then my phone rang, it was big ol' Mr. Security himself telling me that our passports and keys had miraculously appeared twenty minutes after I'd left.  So let's see....I left the hotel at 5pm, flight departed at 620pm, landed at 9pm, arrived home at 10pm and he was JUST CALLING NOW?!!! ARGH! In any event he assured me that 'our shipping guy' will have these in the mail to you tomorrow.

But the story does not end there, because my car, Sandra was still sitting cold and alone at the Bellingham airport.

Monday morning we were on the road again (nope not with Willie Nelson) spare key on the MukMuk keyring, heading down to fetch Sandra.  We arrived at our destination at 5:20am, I leapt out of the truck ran across the parking lot arms open wide (picture movie scene) and turned the key in the door.  It did NOT open.  Nope, keys no longer open car doors, only key fobs open car doors and we didn't have one.  Really? was this happening to me? in the wind and the rain in the dark?

Off we went to a gas staton to seek advice and call a tow truck driver, who apparently was not that busy at 5:25 on a Monday morning and soon enough he was there to open the car door.  I jumped in, patted Sandra's dash, turned the key and started the car!  Wahooooooooooooo!  off we went back across the border and home sweet home.

Now we watch the mailslot and hope for our package to arrive soon, please Mr. Flamingo, please.

Snow Excursion Saturday

Last week we had a weather phenomenon seldom seen in Vancouver.  We were blessed with both SUN and SNOW (at least on the mountains) and I felt the need to take full advantage of it.  Hence I decided to plan a mountain excursion.

I sent out a last-minute email not expecting any takers; bundling up and heading for the hills doesn't appeal to others the same way it does to me.  Surprisingly my former mentee, now my pet manatee, Harpreet responded with a hearty 'YEP!'.  I started to make plans, then realized that maybe her response was a joke, after all she is known for her distaste for exercise, cold weather, getting up early and infamous nipping dogs.  I emailed back and again got an affirmative response. 

Waiting for her the next morning at 8am, again I thought perhaps this was her idea of a joke, but much to my pleasant surprise she drove up and was ready to go.

The duration of the 40 minute drive to Mt. Seymour was filled with both beautiful views and sunny skies.  The dogs were cozied in the backseat with their beds and blankets.  All was well.  Little did I realize that, there is a significant difference between a quiet Tiggy and a quiet Holly.  A quiet Tiggy is just that, quiet and resting. A quiet Holly is an industrious machine of destruction. With silent determination she was very busy chewing through her custom-made leash.

We arrived atop the mountain and were the third car parked in the empty parking lot at the tobogganing area.  I got the dogs in their jackets, my Manatee in her yak traks, and off we trudged.  (I skipped the snowshoes and planned not to venture off the non-packed trails).  Tigger was happy to be back in one of his favourite places and eagerly took the lead, Holly skipped along behind him in her sparkling purple coat with her leash almost chewed in half, looking exactly like one might expect from a former dog who worked the streets of Richmond.

My poor human companion was surprised at the extra effort required when walking in fresh snow, up an incline cool breeze blowing in her face.  And yet, she persevered.

I boldly lead my crew past the huge crowd (maybe thirty people or more) waiting to begin their guided snowshoe tours.  Guide schmide, who needs a guide?  Even Holly gave them suitably-disdainful sneer as she skipped by coat askew, leash in tatters.

The look on my Manatee's face told me we wouldn't be tackling heart attack hill and instead we turned off at the first marked trail.  It was one of the lake trails and the sign indicated a 2km loop.  My plan was to get to the lakes and then head up Dog Mountain.  I guess I should have mentioned this to the rest of the crew...

Off we trudged, stopping often to admire the amazing scenery as the sun blazed through the trees.  Up sloping inclines, down rolling hills we meandered along, pausing to let speedy hikers pass us, stopping to pick up Holly before she lunged at innocent passersby.  We made it to the lakes and took the long way around to head up Dog Mountain.  The lake area was pristine and the snow sparkled with ice crystals forming a diamond-like layer.  Attempted to capture it on camera but trying to get two semi-obedient dogs to sit on cold snow without a treat readily available did prove to be impossible.

We carried on and started the steeper portion of the trail winding up the mountain, meeting many dogs and people.  A labradoodle in an orange coat, a mixed breed in a navy jacket, were just a few of our sights.  Tigger was complimented, 'oh look! he has a proper gortex jacket, and it's from the Olympics!', then Holly got a glance, we can only imagine what they would have liked to have said, 'oh look at the hoochie doggy with the tattered leash and tacky jacket, wonder where he found her?'....

Eventually I started to lose my human companion, here she is cresting a steep incline,  and thought it best to turn around.  Rather than take the same boring route back, I was sure I knew a 'shorter' way...or thought I did.  Turns out I didn't, and although we did make it back to the top of heart attack hill, I'm pretty sure it would be have been quicker and easier going back on the original trail.

Here we are on our way down, two hours later, still basking in the beauty of our surroundings and the amazing sunshine :)

Made it back to the now-overflowing parking lot, happily speeding past the long line of cars waiting to partake in all the mountain had to offer on a sunny Saturday.  Successful outing, mission accomplished :)

Keeping Holly

Day 51, and yep she's still here.  Current wound count, just one puncture that bled a lot at the base of my thumb but it is healing nicely and when someone says, 'she doesn't bite, right?' I just have to point to my hand and then they know she's not to be tangled with.

Over the past 7 weeks we've been through a bit of a rollercoaster with her.  Bedtime was fraught with drama, it played out like this; Tigger would linger in the hallway as Holly the ever-vigilant prison guard patrolled the perimeter of the bed, daring him to step foot in the room.  We'd intervene, scoop up a trembling Tiggy and put him on his spot on the bed, he'd try to make a break for it and we'd shout at him 'no Tigger, No! lie down! lie down!'  he'd meekly curl up in a ball in hopes of disappearing.  All this time Holly was in a panic, 'the perimeter has been breached! we have an intruder', and she'd growl and bark and try to get to Tigger.  We'd shout at her to leave him alone, and try to get her to sit at the other end of the bed. Yep, then we'd turn out the lights, everyone feeling very relaxed after all of the angry shouting and growling.  NOT. 

We repeated this process for a week or so...yes we are slow learners.  Then Tigger started sleeping by the bed in his kennel, or at least trying to.  Every night I'd drag him out of his kennel and put him back on the bed and Holly would panic, and you know the drill.  Finally I was too tired to carry on this charade and I let Tigger sleep in his kennel, feeling horribly guilty about how sad and left out he must be feeling.  I went and bought him a sheepskin rug to keep him warm and cozy, yes, a guilt purchase.  Then one day it occurred to me, every night Tigger happily trots in to his luxury kennel (condo) curls up and goes to sleep, Holly leaps up on the bed and eventually settles down.  There is a noted absence of shouting and growling, much more relaxing.  And finally, I let go of the guilt...I had a my own AHA moment, if a dog is happily trotting into a kennel and going to sleep, why do I assume he is not happy with that arrangement?  Alas the guilt has gone, and bedtime is actually restful.  We still have some morning challenges when everyone wants attention at once.  Last night Tigger was actually feeling brave and spent half the night sleeping on the bed.  Progress.

Aside from the sleeping drama most of the time things are going along smoothly.  Yes we still get the dreaded sneer and lip curl from our little angel, and she's insistent on being Tigger's eye and ear groomer.  He seems to enjoy it almost...sometimes her nose is so far into his ear I expect to see it poke out the other side.  She continues to peck at him in hopes that he'll play but he's far too sophisticated for such nonsense.

Our walks together are good, Tigger stays on leash (he's been known to wander away), but the minute we hit the edge of the park behind the school Holly looks to me for 'unhooking' and off she goes, racing around like a jack rabbit.  Sometimes I lose sight of her and panic only to discover her at my feet.  She always comes when called (maybe her name really was Holly before she became a stray, who knows?), and never hesitates to let me hook her back up for the few blocks walk home (you'll recall for the first week I risked and experienced bloodshed when trying to put her leash on).  When we're in sight of the house I drop her leash and tell her 'go home Holly! go home!' and she races at breakneck speed to the front door...Tigger and I saunter up and if we're too slow she comes down the steps to urge us on.



We're still attending obedience class and at times Holly is the star pupil.  She's happy to sit when asked as long as the treat is forthcoming.  We're working on getting her to 'stay' and I do have high hopes that she'll be an obedient entertainer like Tigger is in his ability to sit, stay, rollover, crawl, dance, sit pretty and shake either paw on command.

And the really good news is that she now has three jackets in her wardrobe and 'most' days she'll let me put one on her if the weather necessitates.  I figure I'll know that she's my 'real' dog when she's happily decked out in a fancy dress, diamond sparkly collar and cuffs :)  One can hope, right?

Tiggy's maybesister Holly Harlow

Been hesitating writing about this because I'm not sure that it's for real or forever, unlike the scars on my thumb or the deep bruise in my nail bed.

We've had vague discussions about getting another dog, we debate a bit about the sort of dog, usually it's agreed that it would be a big dog, a golden retriever or a lab, something more easy and independent, something that would be a nice calm friend to Tigger.  Inevitably the conversation ends with us both agreeing that Tigger likes being an only dog, he's not lonely and he doesn't really care for other dogs as it is.

And yet as I type, there is another dog in our house.  Not a lab, not a golden, nothing big and peaceful.  And, I wish I knew how it happened, I wish I could blame someone or tell a good story about a dog showing up on the doorstep.  I wish I could say it was a spontaneous decision, made in haste.  But it wasn't really.

I saw her on petfinder.com and was drawn to her because she looks just like Tigger.  Not because of her breed characteristics, not because she seemed like she'd fit well in our home.  It was nothing more complex than the rather large ears and very curly tail.  I went to see her on Boxing Day (who would have thought the shelter would be open on a stat holiday?), talked to the people at the shelter, heard about her 'issues'.  She was dumped somewhere and then lived on the streets in Richmond for a while.  I heard how it took two seasoned animal control officers to contain her (I remembered hearing it but clearly that comment was not fully absorbed into my psyche).  Then we talked about how she looks like Tigger.  Next day took Tigger back to meet her.  He was disinterested, everyone took that as a good sign. 

Took her home, tried to take her collar off, almost got my hand ripped off.  Scott tried to take her collar off (he's a 'dog person' and somehow thought he had a 'bite-exemption'), then spent several minutes trying to stop the bleeding from the many open wounds on his hand.  Tigger mostly just looked annoyed at the interloper.

After several days of trauma and drama and Tigger being extremely stressed and needy, I was willing to admit defeat.  Little Holly in her undersized fleece coat that she would not allow to be removed, looked like a skittish racehorse with the ferocity of a deranged pit bull.  I felt like I'd made a colossal mistake, a poorly thought out decision that was ruining my vacation time and damaging poor Tigger.  I called the shelter and said it wasn't working out, I told them I couldn't keep her, I was afraid of her and Tigger was upset and I'd made a mistake.  They told me to bring her back.  I put her ugly little bed and holey blanket on the couch and went to get her papers.  When I came back to get her she was curled up in the bed, a tiny little five pound bundle of innocence.  She looked up at me with her sad eyes and I felt like she was asking me for another chance, I reached down to pat her head, she bared her teeth and snapped at me again.  Defeated I sat on the couch not knowing what to do.  Called to tell Scott she was going back to the shelter, he encouraged me to give her another chance, a few more days and he was certain she'd get better. 

Here we are a week later, she still scares me but she's not wearing the horse coat anymore and she will let me put her collar on.  Tigger is getting used to her, she digs her nose in his ears and likes to lick his eyes.  He growls at her if she goes to far, like attempting cirque de soleil moves by trying to stand on his back as he walks by 'her' couch.  Just this morning, I thought I'd try putting a sweater on her, she let me put it over her head I praised her, gave her a treat, and then she told me that I'd gone too far by biting me when I tried to get her legs in the holes.  1/2hour later she's still mad, I sit down beside her and she wrinkles up her nose, then raises her lip to show me her sharp teeth.  I'm still learning.

Ahhhh Garth

Garth at Wynn, Las Vegas

When I walked in the theatre the stage was set with a lone guitar, a wooden stool and a bottle of water.  I sensed this was going to be a ‘stripped’ down version of Garth and I got all nervous and sweaty, oops not that kind of stripped down, phew.  This appeared that it was going to be a ‘barer’ version, oh my, okay no you get the idea, this wasn’t going to be a production, concert event, this was just going to be ‘Garth’ as the sign said.

Took my seat, centre, row 14, waited patiently for the ‘hats and boots’ crowd to saunter in, after all this was rodeo weekend in LV.  Once all were present and accounted for, there were only two ‘hats’ in the crowd, and not many ‘boots’.  One of the hats was worn by a young boy sitting in the row behind me (more on him later).  Finally on the dot of 8pm, Garth strolled on stage, sans boots, sans cowboy hat, sans ill-fitting wranglers, no no not that ‘stripped’ down thing again, just not the cowboy Garth of days past.  Momentarily wondered who this guy was...dressed in levi’s (501’s I think), regular casual guy type walking shoes (looked a bit like Doc’s), black cotton button up shirt with a tshirt underneath, and a black ball cap.  Looking mighty fine, not Chris Gaines thin, but not chunky 80’s Garth either, just a nice happy medium.

He was very relaxed, looking a bit like the cat who swallowed the canary, very happy with his gig at the Wynn, talked about his arrangement set up with Steve Wynn and his ability to fly in Fridays and out Saturdays to be home with his family.  Of course, this was not news to me, uberfan.

Then he picked up his guitar and set about giving us what we paid for.  Not a concert but quality time WITH Garth.  He talked mostly about his musical influences, his Dad, his Mom his family (he too is the youngest of six kids, we have soooo much in common and yet I’m not a country star, go figure). He talked about George Jones, Merle Haggard, Ricky Skaggs, James Taylor, Bob Segar to name a few. Interspersed with the chat he’d strum his guitar play a few lines of one of their songs, maybe a few verses of one of his. I was leaned forward on my chair, mesmerized, so interesting, fun and engaging.  Others seemed just as enthralled aside from some yahoo behind me who loudly remarked, ‘wonder if he’s actually going to sing any of his own songs?’ to which someone else replied, ‘yeah no kidding’.  Made me want to shush them but that would mean taking my attention away from HIM.

His wife Trisha Yearwood came out and sang with him a bit.  She’s kind of like the good witch to Faith Hill’s bad witch.  Dressed in jeans, Uggs, and long sleeved grey tshirt, she too seemed happy and very comfortable, they laughed, had a kiss (clearly he HAS to tolerate this, it must be in the contract). Sang a verse or two of song that someone requested from the audience.  She exited stage right, he carried on. He talked about being Mr. Yearwood and how the one with the most grammys in house is the boss.  She has the most Grammys. I have no Grammy’s Garth, just sayin’.

During ‘friends in low places’ some people got up, including the cowboy hat boy behind me, went down to the stage.  He was carrying a sharpie and a piece of paper and his hat, having some difficulty walking, he was disabled.  Security tried to move him back from the stage but as the song ended, Garth saw him, cued the lights to come up and started to chat with him.  They boy wanted his hat signed, long story short, Garth refused saying he didn’t want to ruin his hat and instead unstrapped his guitar, signed it and gave it to the boy.  Ahhhhhh Garth....then the boy said, ‘can I see Trisha?’  she came out gave him a kiss and a photo op for everyone.

Boy requested Garth sing ‘Shameless’, probably the best moment of the night, his voice was fantastic but he did point out that he never actually played guitar on that song so it was more of an acapella verson.  Boy returned to his seat, concert/Garthapalooza went on.  He talked about places he’d been and favourite concerts he’d played.  He put the lights up on a few occasions to have conversations with audience members, told stories about writing songs, talked about taking a year off in the nineties (said it was the dumbest thing he’d done because he was bored and didn’t have anything to do). Talked about growing up, standing on the front seat as his Mom drove him to school, talked a little about his career and how it progressed.

Told stories about meeting his idols and being so nervous and overcome. Sang more talked more...was in the midst of one of his louder songs when a woman four rows behind me shrieks, ‘oh my God this guy just barfed on my head! Seriously!! Someone do something’.  Again, I felt a ‘shushing’ was in order but could not afford to divert my focus, poor woman...she and her husband got up and and left and then the sheepish barfer was escorted out.  Thankfully Garth was not distracted.

Finally two hours later it was over, he said goodbye, came back for an encore, sang Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’ and everyone sang along, song ended, he left, lights came on and it was over.  Amen Garth.

LASHTASTIC at last!

If you read my other post, you know I had a less than lashirific experience at the 'tranquility' spa when I had my first ever lash extension experience.  I got them on a Tuesday, that night two came out, or really I had to pull them out because it felt like they were pulling or tearing at my skin.  In retrospect I think it was possibly some ill-placed glue.  I managed to keep them on through Wednesday, Thursday and Friday...really I lasted that long? Hard to believe.  By Friday night, I was pulling them off and soothing my pain with my good friend Mr. Smirnoff Ice.

By Sunday I'd decided that i missed them and wanted them back, well, not THEM, but some new friendly lush soft and luscious lashes.  I did some more research, went back to check out the Lash Noir site that had initially been recommended to me.  Their website says that they only do lashes and therefore I concluded that they must be expert lashestheticians.  Their website had tons of info, lots of pictures and various lash styles to select from.

I made my appointment, went to the Yaletown location on my, extended, lunch break.  Being new in my job and not wanting to over extend time away from my desk, I opted to run/walk there and back.  Four days later and still I feel a muscle strain/sprain in my left shin but really, that is not too high a price to pay for potential lashopulence now is it?

so...I arrive at the salon, stealing myself for an hour of being berated for twitching and flinching.  Setting was very different, several girls were waiting, while three others where laying on couch/loveseat type beds with lots of cushions, shoes off head back on pillow being lashified.  My appt was for 12:15, and it did start at 12:15, much to my surprise, no one was on the phone booking vacations and ignorning me.  Quelle suprise.  I settled in on the couch, and the lashlady walked me through the procedure, asked what look I was trying to acheive.  I avoided spider references and asked for a fuller look but not overly long.  She delicately applied powder and tape on my lower lashes and put on a sample lash for me to determine if the length was suitable.  The professionalism through me off a bit...at the other place when i enquired about lengths I was told 'i just put on the longest that's what EVERYONE wants'.

I was so relaxed and felt no pain, I did manage to fall asleep only to be awoken by my own choking and panic...where am i? why are my eyes taped shut? eeeek!  I managed to stifle my panic but was unable to contain my choking.  The lash lady didn't panic, I suspect this is not her first walk down lash lane, she merely offered me water and enquired as to my well being.  Not to upset her, I calmed myself down all the while trying not to flinch or twitch my eyelids.

Finally we were done, exactly 1hr and 15min later as she'd predicted, I paid, then sprinted back to work uphill in my heeled sandals, embracing both my new lashes and my coming shinsplints.

The results with the lashes, simply lashtastic, no pain no burn...nice shiny black lashes...three days later i'm still loving them but have lost a few, so far not to noticable but it does take some time to get out of the habit of rubbing my eyes, and trying not to squish (smooshing was the wording used on the instruction sheet, yes, they even gave me an instruction sheet) my eye into my pillow when I sleep.   Probably if I could just sleep at Lash Noir this wouldn't have been an issue...

Paying for eyelash torture

After buying 11 mascaras and planning to do a mascexperiment, I paused and did some further research (no, I didn't keep the receipt).  After consulting the fashionable ones in my circle of friends, relatives and acquaintances, I decided to try eyelash extensions.  A particular salon was recommended to me, but rather than wait til they had an appointment time available, I took matters into my own hands/lashes and found a spa near to home.  It had a good spa-sounding name...even used the word 'tranquility' in the title, that should have been a clue.

My appointment was at 5, my usual 40min drive to Delta was anything but tranquil and took 90min today.  An earlier accident on the bridge was causing huge traffic delays and I barely made it to the spa on time, but I did.  My pet, I mean my friend Harpreet met me there, her job was as self-appointed quality control consultant.

I sat in the waiting area while the savage, I mean while the 'technician' was busy on the telephone.  And busy she was, talking to her travel agent about an upcoming trip and how many days she'd like to spend in Hong Kong while enroute to India.  Oh they laughed, they talked, they discussed possible dates and the merits of more time in Hong Kong.  My tranquility wavered.  I sat less than three feet away from her but basically I myself could have been in Hong Kong.  She didn't look up once.  Finally at 5:20, she finished her call and we went in.  My pet was given a chair and settled in to observe.

We asked lots of questions and got lots of vague answers.  Then the lashinatrix started her torture.  First she tried to apply tape to my eyeballs and when I flinched she said, 'are you even going to be able to HANDLE this at ALL?', I ceased my flinching and wondered how difficult it would be to learn braille.  She adjusted the tape slightly and then started on the torture.  In between the torture she berated me for flinching, 'STOP FLINCHING and STOP TWITCHING', 'If you KEEP TWITCHING it makes it all the more difficult for ME'...she went on to tell us that she had a sore neck and didn't like to do more than two eyelash sessions per day, I was her second and she didn't seem too pleased.  She couldn't tell me how many lashes she'd be putting in, how long they'd last, other than to mention that NO ONE got 'fills', everyone just marched back in and got a new full set.

The tugging and the twitching and the cramping and the flinching continued until I was ready to beg for mercy.  I actually lay there fantasizing about an armed robbery, they'd storm in and she'd run for the cash drawer and I'd loop my coach bag around my pet's neck and she'd lead me to safety in a heartbeat.  At one point the door did chime and I perked up only to be sternly told to 'STOP MOVING'. 

Alas, finally we were done, she ripped the tape off, pryed my eyes open and thrust a magnifying mirror in front of me.  Not exactly the look I was imagining...I was picturing lush full lashes and instead I have delicate thin, albeit long, lashes, reminiscient of an aneroxic spider.  And not just lashes, I also left with little blobs of glue on my eyelids, my forehead, my eyebrows.  Surprised I wasn't charged extra for the dalmation spots.