She's a Wayneiac, a Wayneiac!
Today at work was the annual Thanksgiving Potluck luncheon. You know the drill, the company provides turkey and ham, and the employees bring an assortment of tasteless green bean casseroles and jello products. Seriously, the Marshmallow and Jell-O companies must make an absolute KILLING around the Holidays. There was hardly a dish to be found that didn’t prominently feature either of the offending ingredients.Anyway, I digress. The whole luncheon idea is fairly normal, and the food was mostly passable. I’m not big on pea/bean/jello concoctions, but there was enough turkey, ham and mac & cheese to keep me content, if not happy.
However, once we were seated, they dropped a bombshell on us. And not the Marilyn Monroe kind, more like the Baghdad/Gigli/K-Fed type. We were to have “special surprise entertainment” throughout the lunching process, and lo and behold, it was an Elvis impersonator. A bad Elvis impersonator.
It was an excruciatingly long lunch. It did however fit into the Junebug 2006 Thanksgiving Theme. You see, as our first holiday as a married couple, Mr. Junebug and I decided to avoid all family/time sharing and get the heck out of dodge. So Thanksgiving morning at 6 am, we’ll be winging our way towards, you guessed it, Las Vegas.
Nothing says “Give Thanks” like slot machines, legalized prostitution, Wayne Newton and the buffet at the Rio. Well, actually, I’ve been promising myself that I would attempt to play “real” games in Vegas and stay away from the slot machines, and I’m pretty sure that a “legal” hooker doesn’t figure into our plans, at least not at this point. Anyway, we are definitely hitting the Rio buffet (per my husband’s begging and pleading), and we are indeed meeting Wayne Newton. Yup, we’re those people who go to Vegas and see acts like Wayne Newton. However, in our defense, it’s not your ever day, run of the mill Newton, its Newton’s Holiday Extravaganza no less. We are so pimp.
We’re also seeing “Love” and “The Blue Man Group” while we are there, and eating dinner at the Stratosphere Tower. I was a little worried that a classy joint like the Strat wouldn’t let people like us in, but I think I’ve got them fooled into reserving a table for two, at least until they lay eyes on us. Then all bets are off. Ha, see, that’s funny, cause I said “bets”. And we’re going to be in Vegas. Ha, get it? Yeah, I know, I’ll shut up now.
I’m hoping and praying that our decision to spend Thanksgiving in Las Vegas won’t come back to haunt me, which pretty much ensures it will. Nothing like the knowledge that you spent what could potentially be your father’s last Thanksgiving getting trashed and flashing Wayne Newton to give you a guilt trip worthy of frequent flyer miles.
Nothing like brain tumors to make you lose your funny. I haven’t felt funny since I found out, and I don’t see it returning any time soon. It’s amazing how easy it is to take the small things like your dad or sense of humor for granted. Take my advice, give your dad a hug, no matter what, and tell a joke or laugh or something for crying out loud.
posted by The Call Me Junebug @ 12:09 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home