As most of you know by now, Rudy resides in Washington state, the girls and I in Texas - a decision made based on an incredible career opportunity and three daughters who are thriving in the town they have called "home" for only two years as of this past Tuesday.
It's not the easiest of lifestyles. In fact, sometimes it's about as far from 'easy' as you can get. Don't get me wrong, the girls are great kids. They are just incredibly busy, diverse kids with schedules that require Schwarzkopf-like logitistical planning on my part.
It's also not easy only seeing Rudy every three weeks or so. Heavy on the "or so" part of late. His last visit home in June found him quarantined with pneumonia and no one getting anywhere near him.
We all handle the separation well - it's not our first time to this particular rodeo - after all, Carson won't be twelve till next month and has moved five times. Each time resulting in some degree of him-there, us-here playing catch up.
But it is hard. He misses many soccer games, plays, smiles, hugs, licks from Oreo, Nugget who seems to sense Rudy's testosterone and seeks him out as the only other male in the house, and the million other small moments which comprise a family's life.
Sure, we talk every day, many times a day. We email. He even reads the blog as religiously as you do to stay connected to my warped brain. But Rudy and I are touchers. We always have been. Without consciousing thinking about it, we seek each other out - holding hands, kissing, touching a back, hugging in the grocery store, my head on his back while he cooks...
I would be lying to say that part doesn't suffer badly while apart. It does.
But he throws himself into his job, I throw myself into mine, into taking care of the girls, the cats, the dog, my friends, the soccer teams, etc, trying to make the time between touching go faster.
I suppose I have it a tad easier than Rudy - at least I have the girls, the cats, the dog to lavish with affection and I love yous.
But it's still not the same...
In the weeks that pass between visits, we allow a part of ourselves to shut down, maybe out of self preservation, I don't know. I think about it a lot, but I can't adequately define it. It's just that between visits, we concentrate on being functional. And it's sometimes hard to break out of the mode when we get together.
As in love with one another as we are, there is always a warm-up period. I guess that's just human nature.
I preface the Vegas details with all of that because I know everyone thinks we are some uber-perfect couple / family. A couple that never struggles or fights. Kids that never make us lose any sleep.
Well, by comparison to a lot of marriages and families out there, I'd say we come close, but goodness knows, we are not perfect. Rudy can piss me off better than anyone on this planet - he knows every button to push. And I know that I can make him contemplate life in a monastery sometimes.
But at the end of the day - even separated by thousands of miles, there is no one I'd rather be with, laugh with, sleep with, touch, and yes, even feel awkward from time to time with...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Landing in Vegas, I was excited. Sure, because I adore that sinful, decadent city, but also because I knew Rudy was touching down at the very same moment - our flights coordinated to both arrive at 1030am.
By the time I walked to the Baggage Claim tram, he was calling me on my cell. I smiled.
After finding my bright pink suitcase - yes bright pink, shut up. It serves one very important purpose: it stands out in the sea of black luggage being regurgitated up the baggage carousel - I called him to find out where he was - he was at his baggage claim, so I started walking, started looking.
You know, it's funny. For all intents, I haven't truly seen him for close to two months. His amorphous snotty blob condition during Pneumoniagate simply does not count.
I spied him at the other end of the carousel and just stood for a moment thinking, "Wow."
I mean, I know what my husband looks like, but still, "Wow", he's mine. :O)
Coming up behind him, big hugs. And yes, a little nervous. Like I said, it's almost like having first date jitters when we have not seen each other for a while. Am I dressed nice? Did I pop a breath mint? Will he still like me? We have everything in common, and somehow still have to find our way back to "our spot".
Thankfully it doesn't take long.
We got to our hotel - the gorgeous, new addition to The Venetian, called The Palazzo. Starving, we decided to check our bags with the bellman, grab some lunch, and check into our room later - after all, it was still morning with 1,000 people trying to check out.
Some Italian food, some wine, no kids...not a bad recipe for getting our bearings with one another again - and then we wandered through the casino where Rudy, who picks slot machine based on their names, decided to play Lucky Shamrocks for my Irish father.
He won 400 quarters. Talk about luck o' the Irish.
Oh, he almost got really lucky, ifyouknowhatImean.
I had left him for a moment while he was playing a machine - just wandered off to see what was a few rows over - and was coming back down the main walkway, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a highly toasted man wanting to check out Rudy's gear.
Seriously, from my distance I could not quite figure out what was happening. The guy was prancing around Rudy, touching his machine, jumping up and down, leaning over him, reaching out to touch Rudy. For a second, I thought he had hit it big and this guy was congratulating him.
As I got closer, the truth was that the guy was looking for a much bigger jackpot. He wanted a piece of my husband's fine ass. He started touching Rudy's leg, and Rudy, being the gentleman that he is, was trying to nicely humor the obviously sky-high guy and get him to back off.
It wasn't working.
So in swooped Super Bitch. I put my arms around him from behind, kissed him on the cheek.
The guy, who was so toasted, he all but had butter and jam, finally picked up on my body wrapped around Rudy's and began to back off. Yes, dude, big "my bad". Rudy stood up, we wished the man farewell, and I covered Rudy's rear flank as we walked away - after all, the guy was still prancing.
I personally think his getting felt up by a gay guy trumps my casino story of being admired by the drunk Italian last year, "I love your eyes, your legs, your teets..."
Moving on...Rudy's virtue still intact...
Our room was lovely. I've said it before, but I simply will not stay anywhere else in Vegas, and yes, I have stayed in many properties in my Vegas travels. The Venetian and Palazzo are, quite simply, stunning.
From the smell of Bergamot (I finally nailed that down last year) piped into the ventilation system, to the class of service, you wish you could move in.
And all of the rooms are suites. Gorgeous marble bathrooms, fluffy down comforters and pillows, two plasma TVs in the suite, even one mounted in the bathroom, a step down living room with a wrap around couch, hell, even the sheers and curtains operate on a remote control. (Note for next house: I want that.)
The first night we had reservations to dine at Michael Mina - I waxed rhapsodic about this place when my sister and I ate there on my last trip to the strip. Being a huge foodie, I could not wait to take Rudy.
Now, the Venetian complex is very centrally located on the strip. It sits across the street from Mirage, Treasure Island, and Caesars, Wynn is next door, and the Bellagio - where Michael Mina is located - is just down the street from the Mirage.
I said, let's walk, it's just down the street.
OK, if you have never been, I'll explain exactly how stupid that statement is. If you have been to Vegas, you've already rolled your eyes so hard, you probably sprained your cornea...
Nothing is Vegas seems far from anything else. But when you start walking, you realize that is because all the buildings are so %^&$damned big. The reality is that the casino which looks like it is right next to your hotel, it roughly five miles away. That put Bellagio approximately 25 miles away.
In heels.
I'm stupid. I have been going to Vegas for 20+ years, and I am still stupid.
Collapsing in the restaurant, my indignant feet were soon forgotten. It was all I remembered and more because I got to share it, some incredible food, and a bottle of seriously perfect wine with Rudy.
And yes, he got me a cab ride back across the street to our hotel.
We spent the next day exploring the Wynn - the hotelier in Rudy is always snooping, estimating costs, he even got down on the floor in Bellagio once to check out the mosaic tile - doing a little gambling, just enjoying hanging out together. No kids, no soccer games, no spoiled rotten Pomeranian in between us.
By 3pm we were back in our room, hanging out on the couch, had kind of hit a lag.
Not good since we had tickets to The Cirque du Soleil Beatles Love show at the Mirage right across the street.
As the clock ticked, I mumbled, "You know, I'm only half kidding when I say this, but I'd be willing to try some Red Bull to perk up."
He cocked an eyebrow. Caffeine and Linda are not a good mix, especially when she is already tired. But hey, what happens in Vegas, right?
He asked if I was serious. I assured him that if it is good enough for Britney Spears, it's good enough for me.
With that, he opened the in room minibar and whaddayaknow? A whole row of Red Bull!
We were like two teenagers with their first joint. Giggling. Wondering what it would be like. Would we feel different? What would it taste like?
He opened it and took a swig, then handed it to me. Hmmm, tasted like sweet Mountain Dew. Not bad.
Get your own damned can, Rudy. This one is MINE.
Yes, we both indulged in our own cans of Red Bull and by the time we changed clothes for the night and walked out the room, we were wide awake. So encouraged by the running of the bull through our systems, that we stopped in the gift shop on the way out of the Venetian and bought two more cans.
WHOA. I grabbed a straw and slammed that thing in five seconds flat. Bring on the Beatles!
OK, the Beatles Love show - how to adequately explain? I have been to many shows in Vegas - The Blue Man Group blew my mind and eardrums. I have been baffled by the artistry and daring of the Cirque show "O", I have seen showgirl numbers, George Carlin, Dennis Miller, Wayne Brady... this was in a league of its own.
Quite simply put, we smiled for a solid hour and a half. Really, our faces hurt by the last number.
Set in the round, the show is composed around original recordings from the Abbey Road studio sessions - even the funny ad libs, out takes, and goofing around of John, Paul, George & Ringo - and let me tell you, that Ringo is a funny f**ker. The music is astounding - each seat has its own speaker system built in, and the performers make anyone for whom tying a shoe is an Olympic event, humbled. The staging is joyful, and the creativity of the Cirque mind? Well, they must smoke a lot of pot and wash it down with a lot of Red Bull.
I would see the show again and again.
High on caffeine and Beatles induced adrenaline, we romped through the casino. I found a friendly quarter machine, and then we both settled at a Price Is Right nickel machine. Don't let the whole "nickel" thing fool you. These machines have 9 lines and you can bet a gazillion nickels per line. You could lose the mortgage on a nickel machine these days.
Well, an hour and a half later, we were still sitting there. His machine refused to let him go. He kept winning. And the damndest thing is that with these machines, you never know why.
Why when you get a shoe, a dog, a pair of scissors, an antelope, a Model T, and a unicorn do you win? And when you get a shoe, a gravestone, three parrots, a banjo, and a bow tie, you lose?
Who cares? You keep hitting the button.
At one point he won over 2300 nickels - don't ask, I still don't know why. He kept asking me to do the math? "How much is that?"
"Honey, it's midnight, I'll need at least three Red Bulls to do nickel math for you. Just hit the Cash Out button, look at the ticket it prints out (machines no longer spit out real money) and then stick it back in.
That was a lot of money.
He played for a while longer and then we headed back to our casino where we suddenly decided that Asian food sounded really good. Tell me Red Bull isn't like pot...
We got to bed by 2am, but were up early the next day to squeeze in some more fun before we had to head to the airport. Time truly does fly when you're having fun because our two days went by in the blink of an eye.
We headed to the airport, had to say goodbye in the taxi - he was dropped at a different airline - and my mood immediately deflated.
What can I say? He's like air for me. I feel better, centered, when I am with him. He is my safe place in this world. And he "gets" me in ways no one else can. He puts up with me when I'm overly tired and everything makes me giggle uncontrollably. He rubs my back before I ask. He indulges my Tourettes-like response to ridiculously dressed people. He lets me use the bathroom first in the morning. He even likes that the little girl in me wanted the mini Root Beer Float over Creme Brulee for dessert at Michael Mina.
He loves me. The good, the bad, the infuriating, the fun, the insufferable, and the vulnerable
All of me.
So, if you're wondering if I "won" in Vegas, the answer is YES.
But it's a jackpot I hit almost twenty years ago that keeps paying off.
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