To Sum it All Up– Naked, Soapy, Joy, Upgrade.

Last month me and my husband celebrated our 19th wedding anniversary. People tend to assume that we must be Really Good At Marriage. “19 years!” They say. “How DO you do it?”
Here’s the thing. We’re not very good at marriage. I mean, we love each other, obvs. We love our family, double obvs. But we don’t nurture our relationship the way that we should.
Let me give you an example: The last time we had spent a weekend alone together was when I was pregnant with our second child– 13 years ago!.
There really isn’t an excuse for this, other than the one we use every time we even THINK about planning a weekend getaway.
“We can’t afford it.”
This year, we promised each other we were going to plan a weekend in Vegas for our anniversary.
“No more excuses!” I said. “We’re doing this!”
Then, work slowed down for PigHunter. And unexpected adjusted tax bills came in the mail.
So, I canceled the trip.
Even though we had money saved.
Even though it was going to cost next to nothing.
“It’s the responsible thing to do!” I said. And PigHunter agreed.
But really, no. It wasn’t. We weren’t taking a luxurious cruise that was going to cost thousands of dollars. We were going to Vegas, where I could get a room for $60 on Hotwire.com. I mean, seriously, what the hell, Us?
Our marriage was worth that $60 room.
I booked the room, got a sitter and off to Vegas we went to make our marriage stronger. ( and when I say “make our marriage stronger” I mean “play quarter slots and have lots of naked sex.”)
The drive to Vegas was smooth, no fights, no arguments. Only lots of excitement about naked sex and quarter slots. And possibly, buffets. However, once we arrived in Vegas, things started to fall apart.
“You know how to get to The Strip, right?” I ask as we entered Vegas.
“No. But I assume the signs will tell us where to go.” He said.
“True, so we should just see our hotel when we’re on The Strip, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal.” He replies, all High and Mighty-ish. “We’ll find our hotel.”
20 minutes and a Lots of Cuss Words later, we were at the end of The Strip and our hotel was no where in sight. Thanks to my G1, we finally found the hotel. However, that’s when the REAL fun started.
We pulled into what my husband, who has a Masters in Knowing All Things, was SURE was the Harrah’s parking lot. I had suggested perhaps, maybe, we were in the wrong place. He assured me that he was right, I was wrong. “I think you’re wrong.” I said. “but, WHATEVER.”
We parked and as we walked to the hotel, I kept asking “are you sure we’re in the right place?”
Suddenly, he was only “95%” sure.
We got into the elevator with all of our suitcases, camera’s sweaters and jackets. I saw a sign that said “Imperial Palace.” I pointed, all “YOU WERE WRONG” like. “So, you still think we’re in the right place?”
He wasn’t willing to admit defeat just yet. So, we got off the elevator and started walking. Even though we both knew we were at the wrong hotel. I finally had enough, so I verbally communicated my feelings, (something along the lines of “I’M SO PISSED HOLD MY BAGS I HAVE TO PEE YOU JERK.”) he tried not to laugh, we turned around and left to find the correct hotel parking lot.
Long story short. We found it. He dropped me off to check in while he parked.
“Next, please” the man at the check in counter called out. I handed him my credit card, he looked up my reservations.
“Would you like to upgrade to the jacuzzi suite?” He asked
“How much?” I asked.
“$75.”
I thought about it. And as I thought about it, I felt what can only be described as Joy in the Pants. The Cheap in Me was all “don’t listen to the Joy (in your pants.) Be responsible! Say no!” But the Joy in my Pants was all “NAKED SOAPY BODIES FUN NAKED!”
Joy in the Pants won.
I upgraded the room.
I didn’t tell PigHunter about the upgrade. I figured I’d let him be surprised once we got up to the room. I opened the door. We looked around and he goes “wow, this is really roomy. I can’t believe we only paid $60 for this!” I giggled. “I upgraded to the suite… check it out.” I took him by the hand and led him to the jacuzzi.
Instant Joy in HIS Pants!
He didn’t even care about how much! He just cared about “how long til we were both naked and soapy!”
It took about EXACTLY 6 seconds of looking at the jacuzzi for the Joy in my Pants to turn into Fear of Bacteria and Disease. The excitement of I felt (in my pants) when I heard the words “jacuzzi” and “suite” had temporarily shutdown the OCD portion of my brain because not once did the thought of Other Peoples Sex register while I was handing over my credit card to upgrade. But now that I was there, face to face with it, that’s all I could think about. And there’s nothing that will kill sexual excitement quite like threat of getting an STD.
Meanwhile, PigHunter was standing there wondering “how long til we’re naked in this thing?”
I convinced him that we should go out for dinner before getting naked and (possibly, catching a disease.)
We headed out looking for some of the places that twitter had suggested. However, somehow, we found ourselves in line at the Harrah’s buffet. (Which, by the way, WAS THE ABSOLUTE WORST. Next time, I’m listening to twitter.)
After dinner, we decided to take a walk. Just outside of the hotel, there was an outdoor bar. A cover band was playing. “Oh, let’s go!” I shouted, as I grabbed his hand and led him down the stairs. Cover bands are one my favorite things about Vegas. Let me rephrase that. Old Ladies in tight leather pants dancing nastily to cover bands is my absolute favorite thing about Vegas. And man, were there plenty of them at this place. It was pure Vegas Magic.
We stood there for at least 30 minutes, watching, pointing, laughing, but also admiring. I love people who don’t give a shit what other people think and just enjoy themselves. You know?
Something you should know about my husband is that he doesn’t like to dance. (Probably because he is stuck in the 80′s when it comes to dancing.) The only time we have ever danced together was when we used to go line dancing in Orange County. We’d do the Cowboy Cha Cha together (and also the Boot Scootin’ Boogie. NO LIE.) That was years ago. We haven’t danced together since. So, imagine my surprise when I asked him to dance to a Cheesy Cover of Poison (as in Bel Biv Divoe’s song, not Brett Michaels band.) and he said “yes!”
We took the floor and that’s when the real magic happened.
My husband began to dance.
I tried to let him be himself, I tried to just be glad he was out there with, I really did. Who am I to judge? I can’t dance either. However, I also don’t move my arms like I’m dancing at a Hoe Down. So, I kind of felt like I should say something. I walked over and gently grabbed his arms. “Simmah down with the Hoe Down Arms, babe.” I said. He laughed and did it even harder, which made me laugh. (I’m so glad he has a sense of humor. If he had walked up to me and let’s say, grabbed my ass and said “Simmah down with the Ho Ass Movements” I would have BEEN SO PISSED.
I decided to embrace Hoe Down Arms and just have a good time. They kind of grew on me, to be honest. The more I think about it, the more I believe the world would be a little better if we all could be so lucky to have moves like this.

I’m not going to tell you the Juicy Details about all of the sex we had later that night, but I will say that I was able to get over my fear of disease to enjoy the jacuzzi, but only after I made my husband rinse it down for an hour with hot water. (Even then, I was still worried and disgusted and SHUT YOUR FACE RIGHT NOW IF YOU’RE EVEN THINKING OF TELLING ME HOW MANY DISEASES I PROBABLY HAVE NOW.) What I will tell you is that the $75 I spent on the upgrade was possibly the best money we’ve ever spent. Two weeks later, we still can’t stop talking about that night and are already planning another trip to do it again.
There is so much more to tell you, but honestly, this post is officially Too Long. So, I give you a few pictures instead of an actual ending to this post.
ahh, yeah
looking good, mr. husband

vegas
leaving las vegas

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