80 degrees & sunny!

My trip to Scottsdale was much different from what I had anticipated. First of all, I promised you lots of pictures and a great tan. I lied, on both counts. I uncharacteristically forgot my camera and received my first sun burn. I have few photos to share, and that ones that I do were courtesy of my Blackberry camera phone, so bear with the lack of quality.

My step-dad Mark and I woke up Thursday morning and headed for SFO. Mark and I both enjoy hearing ourselves speak, and thankfully like to hear each other speak as well. So our trips usually lead to good conversation. This time, most of our conversation was directed towards the pursuit of my new book. Yes, my new book. This has been an idea hopping around our minds for a couple years, and we decided it is time for it to come to fruition. I refuse to let out details, so you will have to entertain your minds with ideas of what I could possibly fill the pages of a book with.

We had a breezy flight and avoided any unwanted passengers ruining our flight and sitting between us. We got to the incredible Scottsdale Hyatt and were immediately greeted by my perky, tan mother. We grabbed a bite to eat, and I proceeded to feed most of my meal to the ducks who were waddling around our table. After lunch we made our way to our private casita, which I couldn’t wait to check out!

After unpacking a bit it was time to head to the pool. I spent a good chunk of time here during the weekend. Thankfully, the radio station was packed with Lady Gaga and classic 90s hits, perfection in other words!

Ignore the goosebumps, this photo was taken as the sun was going down and I caught a chill, OKAY!?

Not too shabby, hu?

All of our evenings consisted of great meals. One evening, though, we had a truly special meal. It was spring training while we were in Scottsdale, so most restaurants were packed. On top of that we had a party of ten, so we couldn’t get in until 8:30. We ended up with a reservation at Mastro’s Ocean Club. We were immediately amused with the crowd at Mastro’s. “Cougars” and “sugar daddies” filled the packed bar and restaurant. This place was clearly the birthplace of both of those terms. It was a short trip to the bathroom that helped me realize: this was a meat market, and I was for sale. We waited by the impressive piano bar for our table to be prepared. Mark left my mom’s side to go check on our table, and it took about .8 seconds for a man to swoop in. He tried chatting up my mom, with no shame. When Mark came back he continued the conversation in hopes of the immediate death of my step-dad. After he realized that was out of the question, he let Mark in on the “scene” at Mastro’s. Just as we guessed, men with money and women who wanted to share it, it was a known fact and that was okay with them.

Finally our table was ready! We were seated and greeted by an all-too-enthusiastic waiter. This man filled us in on the specials in a way that made him sound like he was pitching Oxy-clean. Jess (a dinner guest, and great friend) and I found this hilarious, hysterical. The waiter was amused that we found him so funny. One of our dinner guests ordered a seafood sampler platter for the table. Within minutes this 3-tier platter came out billowing with dry ice, it was impressive. But wait, they weren’t done yet. The three waiters had dancing flashlights to complete the show. Our waiter was equipped with a laser pointer to point out the different lobster, oysters, crab, etc. This too, was hysterical to Jess and I. We finished the platter and placed our dinner orders. I went with the petit filet. Before our waiter left, I deemed it necessary to add my typical sarcasm. “Does my filet come with a light show as well?” I said to him, and a silencing smirk fell across his face. As different waiters brought out meals I received my filet, as well as a make-shift light show (which really was a metal stand with a rave-like necklace taped to it). I was more than thrilled. This was great. Dinner plates were cleared and we all had ten times more than our fill. But according to the chef, we weren’t finished. He decided we had to try his dessert tray. This included a piece of chocolate cake the size of my head, two of their signature butter cakes, creme brulee, and lots of vanilla ice cream. The dinner portion of the evening definitely made up for the handful of creepy looks I received at the bar.

The last full day in AZ was supposed to be spent at Spring Training. But like the pictures and tan, I lied. I decided no on Spring Training, and yes on checking out downtown Tempe. The boys (family friends: Dennis and Danny, my brother, Jordan) and I headed to downtown Tempe. We grabbed some lunch at a great burger joint on the main drag and then headed out to check out some shops. By the end of the street we started to notice something a little off. There were women and men in wedding gowns. We were determined to get to the bottom of it. We followed them all the way to the end of the street, only to be greeted by hundreds of “brides.” My patience got the better of my and I had to ask what was going on. A friendly female bride informed me it was the “Brides of March Pub Crawl”, an annual event. I snapped a couple photos of the “brides” who were making their way through a Hawaiian festival.

Thank you, Tempe, for the entertainment!

All in all, the trip was great, time with family and friends usually ends up this way for me!

The flight back however, not so lucky. We got to the airport with way too much time to spare. So we found a bar near our gate and claimed our spot. I buried my head in Life on Standby by Matt Johnson. I found it ironic that I started reading his book on a plane, on the way to Arizona. Hopefully, when you pick up a copy you will understand why!

By the time I lifted my head from Life on Standby, it was time to board. Our plane was full, too full, and we were in the very back, surrounded by the drunk victims of Spring Training. There were about 8-12 men, in their mid 20′s, that reverted back to acting like toddlers. At one point I considered asking the man (if you could even call him that at this point), if he could stop laughing, because the sound of his laugh was enough to make me never want to fly again. This “man,” who wasn’t aware my dad sat behind us, decided to make a comment about my chest. After a few choice words from my dad, the peanut gallery shut up for the remainder of the flight. I would like to take this time to thank Southwest for providing me we the worst passengers an airline could offer.

In short, I am happy to be home, and happy to be back to The Girls In Boots :)

xx

M