Vegas, Baby, Vegas

This is the only picture I took in Vegas this weekend, sunset outside the Primm outlet mall, as the cars from Los Angeles crossed the Nevada border.

It was a low key, yet interesting trip to visit a couple friend of mine. The husband was a trusted work friend, my daily coffee buddy and work confidante. His wife was a cool girl friend I could watch chick flicks with. We barely had anything in common with completely opposite upbringings and personalities, but we complemented each other and shared the same sense of loyalty and stubborn dislike of injustices, being Libras and all. She was the one that would try to get me drunk every time, but also the one that would always keep an eye on me, keep me safe, ward off any strange men, and make sure I had a good time without getting too sick by the time they dropped me off at home.

They lived a block away and often invited me over for dinner and a movie. He called me his stunt double when I'd go out with his wife to attend all the free ballets she scored from work. It was almost what you'd call a perfect relationship amongst the three of us. So when they broke the news to me last year that they were moving to Vegas for her job, she asked "Are you mad at us? Will you ever talk to us again?"

The first thing they hit me with after flying in Friday night was "we have something to tell you." For the past few years whenever anyone says that to me, my first response is always "You're engaged." or "You're pregnant." Because really, what other big news in our age group warrants such an anticipatory announcement? But then she threw me off and stood up, as if she were going to walk off and fetch something to show me. So I said nothing. Then she unbuttoned her jeans and showed me her flat little tummy. Still I said nothing. (Trust me, you don't want to err on these assumptions.)

I looked back at her, thinking "well, my unpregnant stomach looks a hell of a lot bigger than her allegedly pregnant one. This sucks." I looked at the smiling couple again and said "No. No way." They kept beaming. And I was floored. Only a few months ago, she had confided that she was fairly confident they weren't going to have kids. And she responded "well, it was always going to be zero or two."

After luxuriously sleeping in till 11 the next morning (though waking up in the middle of the night anyway), we hit the outlet mall to buy her some new clothes. How surreal is it to help your friend buy tops that could work as regular tops and maternity wear? Especially when you're wearing those same types of tops because they're in style AND they hide that extra ice cream sundae or burger you've been eating. Another humbling moment.

Shopping wiped us out. And the way the desert that is Las Vegas saps every ounce of moisture from your body is unnerving. We were constantly drinking water and going to the bathroom every hour. We managed to see a very Vegas like musical comedy show Saturday night - Gordy Brown at the Venetian hotel. (Yay, it was free!) And we squeezed in the movie Pan's Labyrinth this afternoon. (What a beautiful, unique, creepy, and sad movie all in one! A must see.)

The best part of the weekend was knowing that these two are the only people who will give me no pressure to wake up by a certain time on the weekend nor stick to a strict schedule. We lounged, they cooked delicious meals for me like the good old days, and we sipped lattes from their fancy schmancy espresso machine that puts Starbucks and Coffee Bean to shame.

The bad part? Seeing how I was bigger than the pregnant woman, hungering every two hours like the pregnant woman, running to the bathroom and waking up during the night as much as the pregnant woman and often tired in between going out like the pregnant woman. Sympathy symptoms?

This trip will always be exciting and fun - going to Vegas and not spending the whole time on the strip for the first time, being one of the first few friends to know their secret and having to keep quiet to our mutual friends about it for another 6-8 weeks. BUT it's also the trip that marks the beginning of my first ever diet. A sad resignation to age and slowing metabolism, cutting back on my great love of SUGAR.

To put it into perspective of how difficult this is going to be, as a child, a relative once told me (incorrectly) that if I kept eating so much sugary things, I'd get diabetes and never be able to eat sugar again. And I stubbornly responded "I will die without sugar. I guess I'll just have to die then." Ironically, the fear isn't so much of death. It's the fear of being alive but constantly unhappy with myself that's going to drive me.