The Sedona Sunglasses Incident

I have a good man for a husband, and you will note this by the series of photos below. To give a little background, another honeymoon adventure was a side trip to  Slide Rock State Park, just outside of Sedona, Arizona. If you have never been there, this  area is famed for its red rocks, its vortexes, and its rough, but unique landscape.

Slide Rock is is a swim/walk/navigate at your own risk kind of park. There are LOTS of rocks, more rocks than water it seems. As a result, the terrain is slightly dangerous. Beautiful, but certainly not complying with any OSHA standards. Just getting down into the water proves to be an exercise in acrobatics and I feel that perhaps I may need a stunt double. Plus, I am wearing my brand new swimsuit which I am not about to ruin. Once in though, the water is so cool and refreshing and we elect to just sit in it and enjoy. Then we saw all these kids leaping into the water from a huge rock above and decide  to get a better view.

There is one point in our maneuvering around the rocks in the water that it becomes necessary to contort my body into a circus shape and attempt to squeeze around an extremely large boulder. Below is water and more rocks. The ledge to squeeze around is barely big enough for the width of one foot, especially one clad in a flip-flop. Which brings me to an important side point: Why in heaven's name can I not ever find more appropriate footwear for these perilous situations? First the Andes Mountains in Ecuador, then that monster hill in Istanbul, now this.  If we fall, we are going home with a nasty bruise, gash, head wound, or broken limb. Maybe all of the above. It is at this point that I decide to take off my sunglasses so that they do not fall of my head in all the maneuvering-because of course, sunglasses are priority in any dangerous ledge situation.  And it is at this point that I forget about them and leave them there.

After spending part of the afternoon watching small children and teenagers hurl themselves into the air, miraculously bobbing to the surface unscathed, it's time to go. It is only after we navigate the boulders, climb the steep bank, and cross the hot rocks, that I realize....I no longer have my sunglasses. I look at Adam. He looks at me. I don't even have to ask. He turns around to revisit the path from whence he came. I decided to make good use of  the wait  and document his journey.

The sunglasses, snug in their spot on the ledge

Creeper

At this point, he may be wondering how he got stuck with me

Success! But that means one handed rock-climbing

I was waiting for him to fall here

Or here

Contemplating the route back to his lovely wife

 Me, amusing myself with my shadow while I wait

 I wish I could say one of these girls was me. But nope.

Our Restaurant.com Experience. Epic Failure.

You may remember how pre-honeymoon I wrote about how I went all willy-nilly and ordered $100 worth of gift certificates to McFadden's off of the website before reading the fine print. Since I had already spent $8 on this endeavor, I was determined to make good on my investment and at least eat there once. Good news: the restaurant.com gift certificates are not scams. Bad news: our dinner was terrible.  As it turned out, we would have been better off never darkening the door of the establishment and going hungry instead.

Since the first night found us exhausted in bed at 9 p.m and sound asleep by 9:01 p.m, (after a romantic $ menu dinner at McDonald's), our only option left was to dine there our second night. Luckily for us, Bally's had a free shuttle that ran to Rio, the casino/hotel in which McFadden's was located. After an eternal wait, in which Adam and both fell into the red zone of hunger (this is the zone in which we should not look at or talk to each other until hunger is satisfied)  the shuttle finally arrived and we were on our way. We walked inside Rio to find lots of slot machines, poker tables, blackjack dealers, chain smokers, little old ladies, and no restaurant. We walked upstairs. We walked downstairs. We walked towards the back, we walked towards the front. Nothing. The red zone of hunger is rearing its ugly head. Just when we are about to give up and cross lanes of traffic and parking garages to get to the T.G.I Friday's we saw on the way in, we spy it. Apparently it's closed. Curses upon the Irish. But wait! It's not closed, there are just no customers inside. Bad, bad sign. We go in anyway, as we needed food right that instant.

Umm. Gross. 

I will spare you the tense dinner and most of the  gory details. Suffice to say, our food was only one notch above "we just found this in the garbage can and served it to you" variety. The picture does not do it justice. We started with the quesadilla which was an enormous glob of somewhat melted cheese ensconced between   decrepit flour tortillas. Hoping for better luck at dinner, Adam ordered shepherds pie (a McFadden's specialty)  and I had the chicken ceasar wrap with fries that were veritably scrubbed in garlic and oil. Disgusting and Disgusting"er."

And, to add insult to injury, we somehow STILL ended up paying over $25 for dinner! Which means that $50 was spent on half-heartedly melted cheese, tasteless shepherds pie,  and slimy chicken in a wrap. We got out of there in a hurry and attempted to erase all McFadden memories by heading back to the Strip and drowning ourselves in one of those giant fruity beverages that come up to my waist. It very nearly did the trick, along with the soothing calmness of the light and music show of the Bellagio fountains. One of the best moments of the trip, in general, and one of the best moments with Adam!  I only wish I had captured it on video, but I was too enthralled by it to remember that my camera actually had video function.

On an end note: I did contact the good folks at Restaurant.com and explained that I had made a bit of a mistake by ordering so many certificates. They were kind enough to offer to exchange them for another restaurant, so all is not lost. Kudos to them for being willing to look over my haste. Perhaps better luck next time. But I do know....that next time will not involve McFadden's at Rio in Vegas. Steer clear!

In front of the Bellagio with Adam and his purse

Little Bullet, Big Problem

Never ever in my travels, EVER,  have I ever encountered a TSA airport screening like the one in Las Vegas last week. And since it involved live ammunition, I hope never to do so again.

We were on the blasted 1 AM flight back to the East Coast. Note to self: never again. We arrived home feeling like death warmed over and then reheated again. I digress. Before we actually arrived home, we of course had to go through all the proper screenings at various airports and whatnot. In Vegas, we pick a line and begin to trudge through it. Our carry-on suitcases come through just fine, and we peer expectantly down the line for our backpacks. Nothing. In fact, nothing much at all is happening in our line, and there is a bunch of people just standing around. The screeners are very intently looking at their screen, the passengers waiting to go through the machine are intently looking at the screeners, and we are very intently looking for our luggage. At last, one of them arrives with Adam's bag in tow, and politely asks "Is this yours?" Indeed it is. He informs us that it will be over yonder and that we need to be there as well. Wonderful.

We put ourselves back together and head over to the nice TSA man who looks ready to do business. Opening the bag, he roots around a little and pulls out.........a rock. Adam had grabbed a rock from the Canyon. Whew, ok! Let's move on now.

Not so fast. The nice TSA man roots around a little more and pulls out the grand prize-None other than an unspent 9mm bullet. Ummm.....what does one say in such a situation? TSA man looks down the end of his nose at us and sternly, but still politely, wonders  aloud, "And is there a reason you are carrying a live bullet with you tonight?" Well, no actually, there is no reason at all that will suffice in this situation. And since we know we are not terrorists or have any motives other than just getting home, we both just start grinning. The situation is just so ludicrous, we couldn't help ourselves. Nice TSA man does not think anything is remotely funny and marches away with the bullet and the bag, telling us to have a seat. Good thing we are way early for this flight-mystery bullets usually mean a nice little delay.

We sit down and of course my first question to my newly betrothed is "oh dearest one, why do you have a bullet in your bag"? Simple explanation really. He has a few guns, he is a hunter, we just moved, he shoved a bunch of stuff in a bookbag (side note about my husband's packing/moving style-it's really quite heinous and involves lots of large black lawn and leaf bags) and somehow this little bullet never made it out-which says alot for TSA at Reagan airport in DC where the mystery bullet went undetected. Anyway, we sit there a bit and ponder our future. I do this rather dramatically as I consider a life on the no-fly list, a stint behind bars, or at the very minimum, a late arrival home. Adam doesn't seem to be concerned in the least.

As it turns out, apparently bullets are a not-so-rare occurrence. The lady that resolved our issue told us so matter-of-factly, and that there had been another one just night before. She also indicated very strongly that we should leave the bullet with her and we were happy to oblige. Taking his phone number, she told us that TSA may come calling.

So that is the story of the bullet. One for our children, one for this blog, and one that prior to a honeymoon with my husband, I never thought I would tell. Anybody care to share any similar airport security moments?

On How the Honeymoon and/or the Marriage almost got cut short

In the last few posts, I have mentioned how frugal I am and how I really like to find a deal and save a buck. Read: cheap. Anyway, this trait of mine nearly landed us in a fine mess  just yesterday traveling Arizona Highway 180 from the Grand Canyon to Flagstaff. In short, we needed gas. We left at 4:45 AM to make it to the Canyon for sunrise, well before the "cheaper" gas station closest to us was open. The next gas station a block away was selling gas at FIFTY WHOLE CENTS MORE!!!  Of course. We only got $20 worth and went on our merry way.  After a few hours enjoying the views of this world wonder, we headed out of the park. More on the Canyon later, let's just get to how the happiness nearly ended here. The conversation went a little something like this:

Him: We need gas, should we get it here?
Me: No, it's way too expensive. Oh, and let's take this shortcut instead of what the GPS is telling us.

Seven miles later down the shortcut road which so far, is all clouds, sky, and road. Absolutely nothing else.

Him: What if there isn't any place to get gas on this road?
Me: Um......what if there isn't? (A quick check with GPS had confirmed that there was indeed nothing between us and our destination, nearly 50 miles away. Oh dear. )

Five minutes later:
 Him: The gas light just went on.
Me:
(No response from me here. Just mortified silence. Feverish prayers begin).

Twenty minutes later:
Him: The needle is almost  below "E."  Check on GPS and see where the closest gas station is!!
Me: I already did. It's back on the other road we just came from! 
Him:
(No response from him here. Just tense silence.)

About 30 miles to go. 

And so this is how our ride went. Tense silence marked by frequent glances at the GPS to assess our progress. During this time I avoided looking at and speaking with my beloved husband, preferring instead to imagine the worst while looking out the window at....nothing. Not even a house around. In fact, we were in the Coconino National Forest. No gas stations there. Siiiigh.  Running out of gas would definitely ruin our day, cut into the budget, and certainly put a damper on our fledgling marriage. Prayers heavenward were accelerated, even invoking the Jesus turning water into wine story. Only we really just needed waning fuel to turn into.......more fuel. But you get the idea.


Him: The needle is below"E" now.
Me:
(Pretending not to hear. Accelerated efforts at prayer).

Twenty miles to go, and I feel as if there may be a light at the end of the tunnel. Twenty miles from civilization isn't all that far if we run out, right? At ten miles, I started to breathe, but only a little. Five miles found me wanting to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. The tension in the jeep though, prevented me from doing so.  At three miles, I knew we had made it. And the sight of the Sunoco just ahead? Priceless. I could have kissed the man working there.

Him: I don't know how we made it this far.
Me: I do. ;)