Return to OB.

So a final update. We’re back in Ocean Beach now, long enough that we’ve both started referring to it as OB. We now consider this home, and plan to find ourselves a place here soon. Sadly, we are both still without work. It doesn’t seem to be the same problem down here though. The jobs don’t exist up north, down here it’s just massively competitive to find one. Prep cook jobs require 3 years of experience. PREP COOK. So we’re having a hard time of it, but loving it the whole time.

It’s hard to be depressed in a place like OB. When you wake up, its sunny and warm, every day. When you ride your bike people wave, when you go for a run you get to stare at the ocean from atop cliffs at the coast.

Having been here for just over two weeks now, we’re starting to see some promise for jobs and have begun the apartment search. There are lots of them, they are cheap, and they aren’t miniscule in size. All we need to do now is finish up this job search so we can afford them.

The money is getting pretty tight. We are beginning to break into the savings that were meant to be for our first month’s rent and deposit. I’ve been talking to anyone I know (even some people I don’t) who might possibly have some connections in the area. Lauren is using her uncle Ray as a reference on applications since he seems to know everyone within 4 miles of his house, but we still haven’t quite had the luck we were hoping for. Depression has hit us both despite the weather. I find myself escaping into dreams for longer each day, knowing that when I wake up I go back to being jobless and friendless.

We sleep on the floor of a kitchen, in a basement. I’m thankful for the fact that we at least have this, but its still rough. Lauren has had back problems on and off, and my legs are stiffer with each day from trying to stay under the sleeping bag. We are dependant entirely upon the kindness of Ray and Kathy at this point for housing, and I cant stand it much longer.

We’ve talked about when we have to realize we didn’t make it and return. We aren’t there yet. I hope we never get there. But if there’s no work, there’s no work. At least back home we have families and friends, though I don’t know how I could look anyone in the eye again if this fails.

Through it all, we still don’t hate each other. We’ve had our little arguments, but we’re sitting in bed together right now, both writing on our laptops. I don’t think we will ever have a harder time in our lives, or be forced to spend nearly this much time together again. The silver lining in this whole shitfest of moving out west, is that we’re still together and still every bit as crazy about each other. I’m amazed we’ve made it this long, and each day I’m happier with her.

Who knows what the future may hold for us. Now if we can just get some jobs…



On a side note, for those who saw the entry from a couple days ago, the bike was found. Whoever took it apparently decided they didn’t like it and dumped it two blocks away, where I happened to walk past it on my way home. At least life isn’t all bad.

San Jose: A wasted month.

I’m going to try to keep this brief to avoid going off on a ridiculous long rant about how badly things went in San Jose. You already read my rant about my bike, you don’t need another entry like that this week.

We arrived at Gail and Chris’ place and took a day to relax before heading out to look for jobs. We spent nearly a full month looking for said jobs. We did not find said jobs.

There are very few jobs to be had in California, we realized. The unemployment rate is nearly equal to Michigan. We left a dying state to find ourselves in one that isn’t so much dying, as it is just supersaturated with people. I make myself a resume for kitchen work, and one for coffee shops, and hand out tons of the things. Lauren fills out countless applications.

We hear nothing.

One job does call me back, the Red Rock coffee shop in Mountain View. A great little place, with an awesome staff and stellar coffee. After a 3-part interview process and waiting awhile, I hear back and I did get the job. Unfortunately, in the end, I have to turn it down. Lauren still can’t find any work, and a part time coffee shop job isn’t about to support an apartment and two people in northern California.

We had some good times, met some nice people, got to watch part of the Tour of California, and were able to catch up with some of Lauren’s family, but it was time for us to leave. We made the decision, I made the call turning down the job, and we prepared to leave once again.

But not until we had one more good time. My friend Chelson from Starbucks had moved to the bay a few months before us to pursue his a career in rapping. Lucky for us, he had a show the night before we planned to leave, so we checked it out. It was pretty cool. It was in this swank little bar in Mountain View, and there were a couple good acts. Sadly, the rap scene in the bay apparently treats outsiders like shit and Chel doesn’t get on until pretty damn late. He was worth the wait though. The guy put on a good show, had some good rhymes, and definitely made it worth coming down. Thanks for the invite Chel, good luck.

So the next morning we booked. We would make our way back down the state, stopping in LA to make dinner for Corey and Jacque and crashing with them for the night, then heading down to Ocean Beach again to try to make a name for ourselves in San Diego.



It is at this point that I should tell you something. San Jose is NOT California. When you think California, you are not thinking of San Jose. In the month we spent there, it rained all but 3 days. Most of them, all day. It was gray and gross. People were super uptight about everything, and it looked like Troy. Even downtown San Jose wasn’t very cool. I mean it was alright, but certainly not anything to write home about (and yet here I am). The place was no worse than what we left behind in Michigan, but this was certainly not what we just drove 3000 miles to come to. We tried, and we were saddened by our failure in finding work, but I can’t say that I miss the place.

Catching up to move on.

Where did I leave off? Day 5 I think was next. So here we go. I’m gonna compact the rest of the trip thus far into this post so I can be caught up and not feel weird when I post about things that happen now. Lets do this thing.

Day 5: Leaving Las Vegas

Well it’s been fun, but its time to bid farewell to the most fun city anyone has ever seen. The day starts out nicely, its nice and toasty out again. We get the car out of the garage, tip the valet and roll.

After about 10 minutes we pull over for petrol and my first taste of the splendor that is Jack in the Box. Tacos for breakfast, win. Back on the road we go. Today is only about a 5-hour day, and its all pretty much in a straight line. No substantial mountains to deal with either. Lauren is quickly asleep again, and I cruise on into California, smiling quietly to myself as we pass the sign. We finally made it.


After the fun that is the California highway system for a while, we arrive in Ocean Beach, a little beach town near San Diego that appears to have stopped changing in the late 60’s. After a mile or so we get to Ray and Cathy’s place. Lauren’s uncle and aunt.

You can see the water from their front porch, seriously. The whole yard is a garden, and the house is filled with art. I am in my mom’s version of heaven.

We hang out in the living room for awhile, take the bikes off the back of the car, and chat with Ray and Cathy, the most laid back people I have ever met. Afterwards, we roll down to Hodad’s, a little local burger joint.

Oh man. The food orgy of Vegas continues. The burger is both huge and awesome, and the chocolate shakes that we order could feed a small town. I am wearing shorts, sitting outside, and eating awesome food in February. Life is good.

The evening continues in that sort of way. We just wander around the town, stop by a lookout to check out the awesomeness that is the ocean, set up our bed and get our sleep on. We sleep on the floor in their basement kitchen, but it certainly does the trick.

Day 6: Making our way through LA.

Another beautiful day in sunny San Diego. We’re up around 7 in the AM, as is everyone else in the house, and we all head out for coffee at a cool little place called Newbreak. The decor reminds me of the first Thai restaurant I went to, but the espresso is tasty and the barista reminds me of an old friend from Starbucks.

After coffee we head back to the house and get our directions for the day printed out, we’ll be heading up past LA to Corey (my cousin) and Jacque’s place to hang out with them and crash for the night. However, its only a 2 or 3 hour drive (which seems like running down to 711 to us at this point) so we dick around for awhile before we leave.

For the first time, Lauren is heading down to the beach, and is downright giddy. She refuses to leave though, until she gets a picture of her Uncle Ray and I on our bikes. Not to disappoint, we’re off. Ray will be taking me to a place called the Cabrillo Monument today, where I’m told the view is phenomenal.

Now I was warned that Ray was an incredible cyclist, and I knew I was out of shape, but I was not at all prepared for this. As soon as we get out the driveway we turn left and head up a hill steeper than anything I’ve ever ridden on, and we continue on it for a while. Ray is nice about it and takes his time, not losing sight of me, but I am DYING. I didn’t quite realize how badly I’d let myself get out of shape. There were times that I was seriously concerned about having a heart attack.

But we made it, and it was worth it. The view was pretty great, despite the fog that had rolled in that night, and most of the ride was quite nice. Ray and I hang out up there awhile as he shows me around and we get to know each other a bit, then we head back down. The hills were rough going up, but going down them for the first time may be even worse. Suffice to say I have put some time into making sure my brakes are 100% since then.

After meeting back at the house and having a bit of lunch, we bid our farewells and are off again, not knowing that we’ll be back here in just a few weeks. On to visit Corey and Jacque.

We got lucky. Very lucky. We are driving through LA on Superbowl Sunday and there is near zero traffic, so we hit their house pretty quick. Then… spend 15 minutes trying to find a parking spot. So Superbowl Sunday is both a blessing and a curse I suppose. We get to their place and are surprised to find that Mr. Uhlar is going to make us dinner. Score.

A fine meal was had and we all caught up while watching a little TV. A nice relaxing evening that was much appreciated. Soon the old folks went to bed, and we weren’t far behind them. More driving to be done tomorrow.

Day 7: Do you know the way to San Jose?

We didn’t, so we looked it up when we got out of bed. Lauren had some breakfast as I went for my first run in California. It was pitiful, maybe a mile. Lauren even made fun of me for it. I got cleaned up, grabbed some coffee at the Starbucks Jacque was kind enough to point out the night before, and we were on our way once again.

Today we would make our way up to Milpitas, a little suburb of San Jose. We decided, after getting on the highway, that we would take the scenic route today and roll up the coast, stopping in Santa Barbara on the way. We wound through vineyards and orange fields making out way to the coast, and had the beauty of the Pacific to our left for the couple hours it took to get to Santa Barbara, then we stopped for lunch.

Don’t ever go to Santa Barbara. You will be pissed off for the rest of your life that you don’t live there. We wanted to, but the prices were out of hand. Seriously, they are just RAPING people for housing there. We would later look at a studio apartment that we would have a hard time lying down in since we’re kind of tall, and wouldn’t ever be able to hold our 3 bikes. Oh I forgot the important part; it was over a thousand dollars per month. Yeah. What the fuck.

Anyway, for the time being we were in love with the place. It’s a perfect little combination of beach town and civilization. We wanted to stay there forever, but we had places to be, so we pushed on to Milpitas.

The sun went down, and we drove through more hills. I’m still not quite used to this by this point and it’s still pretty unnerving, so the second half of our trip goes a bit slow but we make it to Gail (Lauren’s cousin) and Chris’ place after a couple tries finding it.

We are in Troy, California.

Chris is a cool guy, he gets us set up with some pizza delivery and we all just hang out and watch terrible MTV shows. We have made it to our destination, and can actually do some laundry and unpack a few things. Its nice to finally be here, their house is beautiful, and a bedroom is set up for us in the loft. Awesome. Sleep time.

Hey, fuck you.

So things have been a little rough moving to California. What with there being no jobs and all. Been out here for almost two months and yet Lauren and I are both still jobless. The market out here is about as good as what we left behind in Michigan.

Things have been looking up a little bit though, with call backs, interviews, and old connections coming through in the pinch. We’ve survived thanks to the help of family, friends, and tax returns.

The weather has been amazing, and I’ve been able to run and ride more in the last month than I did from November through to February. I’ve been riding my bike everywhere I go, barely even using the car.

Which brings us to today’s title. Today while sitting in Starbucks job hunting online, I stopped paying attention for a few minutes and my bike vanished. I’ve been using my old Schwinn LeTour as a commuter bike, having just rebuilt it to be a fixed gear. Not 3 months after that rebuild, she is now gone. Thanks a lot asshole.

Thank you for taking away the good feeling I had about this place. Thank you for stealing a thirty year old bike with almost no monetary value from me. Thank you for stealing my main means of transportation and insuring that I now have to either use a car, or a two thousand dollar bike to get everywhere. Thank you, for being such a piece of shit.

I hope that you’re local and I see you riding. I hope that you try to sell the bike to someone that knows me. I hope that you count on that janky front brake stopping you at the bottom of a hill and you get hit by a fucking truck. My bike will be pretty mangled from that, but it’ll be worth it if there’s one less piece of shit like you walking around.

So thanks asshole. Thanks for reminding me that as a general rule, people are pieces of shit who don’t deserve the air they breathe. I hope you come across this some day. In fact no I don’t, because I really hope you’ve already died trying to ride my bike. Fuck you.

Interlude: Midnight snacks.

(As I'm sure you’ve realized by now, Lauren and I are writing these trip updates after the fact. In fact, we’ve been off the road for a good couple weeks now and just haven’t been very motivated to bang out the trip writing.

Today will be more along the lines of what you can expect from LTD after the trip entries have been completed. Here goes.)

The first thing I’m buying when we get our own place is a toaster oven.

Tonight I went for a little bike ride, and felt terrible after. Due to this fact, I didn’t so much eat dinner as I instead picked at it a bit and watched TV. Around midnight though, the hunger hit hard. So I wandered down to the kitchen for the best of meals: the midnight snack.

I had picked up some French bread from the bakery earlier in the day, as well as some spinach-artichoke dip. Seemed like the perfect midnight snack to me so I pulled it all out and began to munch. Something just didn’t feel right though. As I looked around the kitchen I saw the microwave and the toaster oven. Brilliant!

So I threw the dip in the micro and sliced the bread into little sticks, then threw it in the toaster oven. A few minutes later I had nice crisp bread, and melty, gooey, delicious dip.

Now I’m standing in the kitchen, barefoot in my pajamas, eating freshly made breadsticks with piping hot spinach-artichoke dip. As I stand there I glance toward the half empty (or is it half full) bottle of wine from dinner. Oh yes, that’s what this needs.

Bare feet. Pajama pants. Dip and bread. Wine that has been sitting open long enough to actually taste good now. My headphones on, jamming some Of Montreal. A wide smile draws across my face as I stand there. The food wasn’t incredible, the wine wasn’t blowing my mind, but the moment was perfect.

I mean really, these are the moments that I imagine all chefs must have as kids. Sitting in the kitchen at midnight with Mom, eating simple food. French toast, breadsticks, even just a bowl of cereal, but there’s a serenity to it. The midnight snack is a pleasure left to very few of us who can’t sleep. It’s always delicious, and always calming. It’s just always perfect.

Obviously I went a little out of the way to make my perfection tonight, but it doesn’t always have to be the case. A left over taco would have felt just as right. It’s the moment. The house is silent, and there’s nothing else in the world for you to be doing since it’s all closed. There’s just you there in the kitchen, in your pajamas. Enjoying your food in the silence, feeling at home in the darkness.

Well you’re not alone midnight snackers. We’re out there, munching by the fluorescent under cabinet lights. Contemplating our lives, our day, and of course our food while all is still.

While the world sleeps, we dine.

Day 4: The best damn day of my life.

Its truly amazing to wake up after a day like day 3, and know that you don’t have to get in a car at any point. In fact, your car is locked into a garage and you can’t even get to it. Sounds perfect to me.

After sleeping in nicely, and mustering up the will to get out of the big comfy bed, I opened the drapes. Oh man. It’s sunny and beautiful out. Heading to my computer I check the weather and yes, it’s also quite warm. We throw on some clothes and head outside.

I’m immediately annoyed that I don’t have sunglasses on, but too amazed by the warmth to be angry about it. The veritable swarm of talent passing by also makes it hard to be mad about anything. On Michael’s recommendation we are heading to the Luxor for their lunch buffet.

Lauren decides that we’re going to cut through a few other casinos on our way to check them out and get a good feel for everything since I’d never been. While entering the second one, one of those conveyor belt floor things dumps us off right in front of a bar. Its 11am or so, and I am now carrying a gin and tonic from building to building, even going outside, and no one is saying a word. This is truly heaven, the day continues to progress in the same manor.

We check out the Luxor before heading downstairs to the buffet. The place is pretty awesome. Like, actually inspires awe, awesome. The place is pretty amazing looking up from the casino floor, but no time to sit there in awe, there’s food to be had.

After heading downstairs we are greeted by a massive buffet. It doesn’t seem to be anything special to me, aside from just plan having a LOT of stuff. No complaints though, the food was all great. I was content. Then, I found the dessert section. Oh mama. Unfortunately I was already pretty full by this point, so I grabbed a donut and a couple little cups that contained something I couldn’t quite identify without tasting. One was chocolate mousse, the other a sort of tiramisu mousse kind of thing. Both were DELICIOUS. We had found the Vegas I came expecting, the food had gotten awesome, and would with luck stay as such.

After breakfast, or lunch, or whatever it was, many jokes are made about Kelly. I understand at this point why she spends all that time in Egypt, the food is great! We then head down to Lauren’s favorite hotel, Mandalay Bay, and did some gambling. Drinks magically appeared in our hands, and I found a little cigar shop and was actually allowed to smoke in the place. I sat, inside, with scotch and a cigar. It was amazing.

After awhile we made our way back outside with plans to relax for a few at the hotel and change our clothes before heading off for round two. At this point I was now walking around outside with scotch in one hand, and a cigar in the other. This was definitely the time to call Bryan and rub in how awesome it is having no open container law.

A change of clothes and a few minutes later, and we’re off to the Bellagio and Caesar’s Palace for round two. I don’t think I need to tell anyone that the Bellagio is beautiful. We sit down and start throwing money into the slots, white russians fall from the heavens. Life is good. Caesar’s is the same. More caffeinated booze, more gambling, living the dream. At this point Lauren has become nicely boozed up and is taking pictures with the timer while I'm on the phone with Noelle.

We wander back to the hotel and decide to get fancy. Well, as much as we can. It comes to a nice shirt and jacket to go with my filthy jeans and smelly running shoes, and a lovely dress to go with Lauren’s tube socks and tennis shoes. It’s not our best work, but we’re still sexy bitches and so we head down to Les Artistes, the steak house in the Paris hotel.

The place is beautiful, and the service is immediately excellent. I hear French for the first time in the hotel, and I am happy. I look at the menu, and become significantly happier. Among the Van Gogh covered walls, and the opera singing waiter, there is a phenomenal menu. I order us a couple glasses of wine, and some escargot for myself, as Lauren is afraid to have any.

The escargot comes to the table in a round hollowed out croissant. Flakey and buttery, it’s the perfect compliment to the already perfect escargot. They even garnish it with a little micro cilantro, which I thought was odd until I tasted it. Excellent.

Lauren orders the 22oz ribeye with mashed potatoes, a fine choice, and I have an 18oz prime rib on the way to be accompanied by some asparagus. The food comes and wow. I mean, wow. For the first time I taste asparagus that I think is better than I make at home. I bite into the prime rib and I nearly cry.

I’d like to state here that I am not exaggerating. I really was nearly in tears. The food was that good. It transcended good food into a realm of food I have never seen. It blew my mind. The wine complimented it perfectly. Even Lauren’s ribeye was disgustingly delicious. There is a smile on my face for the entire meal. I cant eve put a piece of my meal into my mouth without closing my eyes and smiling. It’s as if a symphony is happening on my taste buds, I don’t even have the words to describe how happy the meal made me. I was in heaven. Life could not get better than this. For dessert I have a double espresso, which is actually good. An experience I was yet to have in a restaurant. This was not a pod, there was actually still crema by the time it got to the table. Sure I’ve had better, but certainly not after a meal like this.

Back up in our room, we change back into rattier clothes to head to the happiest place on earth. Following in the steps of Anthony Bourdain we hop a cab to the Double Down Saloon. Walking in, I immediately feel at ease. There’s pool tables, and locals, and shitty tables and chairs, its as if the WAB and Gusoline Alley collided, but its somehow better than that. I get a scotch and soda, and shots of Ass Juice for the both of us. That’s right, Ass Juice. The stuff of legend.

We came here for the Ass Juice in fact, and fully expect that it will be a horrifying flavour, but will get us saucy. It’s delicious. The stuff tastes great, and the shot they give you is huge. Yes, it does get us a bit saucy, it's got a good kick to it, but its delicious. I feel strangely let down by the tastiness of the drink after expecting horror. Next up: the bacon martini.

Poor. That’s all I can say. It’ s a cheap martini for its size, and they don’t give you shit for ordering a martini when you get it, but it’s just plain poor. The taste of the drink is as if you took some bacon bits, and left them in a bottle of vodka for a couple weeks then drank it. The cheap ones, that aren’t even made from real bacon. It just tastes nasty, and you can see the film of fat on top of the drink. An altogether terrible drinking experience. I don’t even finish it.

By this point Lauren is going down fast, so we wander out way back to the hotel, stopping briefly to enjoy a little palm tree action. She seems ready for bed to me, but apparently is not. We sit down and begin to gamble more. More drinks. More smiles. I continue the evening’s gambling in the same way I have all day, not getting lucky enough to make any money, but not really losing any. I’m playing a Star Trek themed game though, and it’s hilarious. More drinks. Lauren finds a Munsters themed game and ends up banking 45 bucks on it. She is happy with her day at this point, and we retire to the room.

We head to bed, reeling from the wonderful day. At this point I’ve told Lauren 5 or 6 times that this has in fact been the best day of my life, and I ate the best meal I've ever had. She falls asleep happy, and I soon follow suit. Back on the road tomorrow, time to rest up.

Day 3: I hate mountains.

The day started innocent enough. It was a beautiful morning and TJ and I were heading out to grab a cup of joe. Walking out the door was beautiful. It was chilly, but not blistering cold like it had been up till now for us. The sun was up, the sky was blue and the air was clean and fresh.
TJ and I made our way to a little café inside of a beauty product store. Yep, you read that right. Those of you who’ve met TJ won’t be surprised, and you all know I’ll take a good cup of coffee anywhere I can get it. That’s just what we got. The coffee was excellent, and the staff was the most knowledgeable I've ever seen in a coffee shop. TJ and I even heard terms we didn’t really know, which is saying something. Way to go Denver, you make a damn fine cup of joe.

After heading back to the apartment, packing up, and saying our goodbyes we head back out. Walking to the car I tell Lauren that I think I could stand to live there someday, since it was such a nice day. She beams and hugs me, Colorado being her favorite place in the world. The day has started wonderfully.

Then we began to drive, and the day just went to shit.

Note: I grew up in Michigan. We did not travel very much. I have never seen a damned mountain, even a small one.

So after getting lost for awhile in Denver (again) we start to head up into the mountains. Even at the foot of things we begin to get buffeted by wind, throwing the car around like a Frisbee. My knuckles are already whitening and we’ve only just begun. Soon we’re into the thick of it, driving winding windy mountain roads covered in snow.

I am not amused.

We go through the Eisenhower Tunnel, which is a large sheet of ice the whole way through, and come out the other side into a…

**This is the part of the trip where I’d like you to recall that our windshield sprayers do not function.**

… Snowstorm. The snow is coming down, and the nasty salty mushy mess is coming up from the tires in front of us. A few times, I can’t see a damn thing for 5 or 6 seconds at a time.

I am less amused.

Then we get to the fun part. The descents. So now we’re on a 7% grade, I’m driving an automatic so I can’t engine brake, it’s a car I've only had for a couple days, and its top heavy. Oh yeah, and the road is covered in so much snow/ice/salt I cant even tell what’s what anymore. This is officially the most stressful thing I've ever experienced. I hate this, I hate these mountains, I hate this trip, I just hate things at random.

Being amused is something I cannot even remember at this point.

Eventually, we get through the mess that is the Rockies, things calm down a bit, and I actually have a chance to look around. This place really is beautiful when it isn’t trying to kill you. I can see why people love it so much. Still, I vow never to return to this place. Maybe Denver, but certainly not ever through the heart of the mountains again. We get into Utah, and after not too long we switch spots and Lauren takes over.

It was a lovely evening, watching the sun set over what I would soon learn is an entire state of more mountains. Then it got dark.

The only thing more unnerving than driving through the mountains is being a driving control freak sitting in the passenger seat while someone else drives through more mountains in the dark. It scared the shit out of me, I thought I was gonna die a few times. Not as many times as in the Rockies, but enough to be too much. We get through most of Utah before Lauren starts to get rough. She’s been sick the whole trip, and she’s gotten suddenly very tired. We swap spots and I take back over.

I kill Utah, and am certainly not sad to bid it farewell. We head into half an hour of Arizona, which proved to be wickedly hilly and twisty as well, then headed into Nevada. Nevada didn’t have the twists and turns, just lots of boredom. It’s now getting hard to stay awake, thank you precious, precious coffee.

The glow finally begins to form in the distance. City lights! After staring at it for awhile, we come over the last crest and there it is in all its glory. The city looks like a star destroyer from up here. After this day of driving, it’s glorious to behold.

After a longer than wanted trip down into the city, and getting lost for awhile, we finally make our way through the worst traffic in the world to the Paris Hotel. The place is beautiful, but the staff are dicks. Our reservation is messed up and the front desk chick isn’t exactly apologetic. We get a room and head up, and are pretty damn happy with it anyway.

The room is beautiful, the bed is huge, so is the TV, and the bathroom, and its just awesome.

My arms are shaking. The drive has done me in. My right arm shakes uncontrollably when I put my hand in certain positions. We decide that we need to stay for an extra day to recover.

Tomorrow, there will be no driving.

We both take gloooorious showers, put on clean clothes, and head down to find food. Being 1am, there’s only one restaurant open in the hotel. The line is a few people deep, but we wait through it and get some food. Lauren has some pancakes, but I get Petit Filet Oscar Style. We’ve been in Vegas for a couple hours, and I’m already eating steak covered in crab. Victory.
After dinner I grab some scotch and feel better just holding the cold glass in my hand. I have a few sips, and the shaking in my arms subsides.

We lay down. We sleep. Glorious, glorious sleep.