Forget chicken noodle soup.

Apparently, next time I get the sniffles I need: a road trip, a box of Kleenex, two PHD student gal pals, jello shots and a Dave Mathews concert.

 In that order.

I came down with fresh cold symptoms the morning of my planned trip.

Mr. Quirky tried to convince me to stay home.

I whacked him over the head with a pillow. (Because I’m living up to my violent reputation lately.)

Are you kidding?! It’s freaking DAVE MATHEWS! No way am I going to miss this. I mean, for Pete’s sake, we are driving to Wichita to see this show. (No offense, Wichita. I had never been to your fine city. And no offense, Pete, whoever you are.)

Besides, I thought, it’s not that bad. It’s just a little bit of drainage and the sniffles. I’ll be fine.

Famous last words.

At 2 p.m., after killing a few brain cells (and not the virus) watching the monstrosity that is The Kardashians, the girls showed up.

Because I had totally invited myself along for the ride via a Facebook status exchange (Oh, you’re going to Dave? Yes please. Sign me up!), I volunteered to sit in the back of Brightside’s 2-door Honda Civic.

I instantly set up shop.

Not wanting to alarm my new car buddies about my symptoms, I gave them the same line I gave Mr. Q.

I’m just a little snotty.

At the half-way mark, my condition was rapidly disintegrating.

This.is.not.good.

I suggested we stop for some water, and I meandered over to the pill popping portion of the convenience mart.

I selected something that said “extra strength” and looked like it handled most of my symptoms.

No problem, I thought. I’ll just pop this and will feel better in no time.

In no time at all, I was hacking up a lung, sneezing on the minute and my tissue supply was quickly depleting due to the frequency of nose blows.

What was happening?!

At this point, you’d think my friends would have pulled over and left me and my Kleenex in the Flint Hills.

But this is where traveling with smart science girls came in very handy.

“Oh, it’s just the expectorant,” KRuss nonchalantly pulled out of her brain.

WhaWha?

My bio-science pals explained what was scientifically happening to my body due to the gas station pills I popped.

My PHD pals were also not the least phased by the snotty mess in the backseat. (I was apologizing in between coughs and sneezes)

As fate would have it, our *very fancy hotel was located a stone’s throw away from the local hospital. I was secretly relieved, thinking that worst case scenario, they could roll me out of the car and still make it to the Dave show.

Upon check-in, the lady in fact asked me if I was visiting for health reasons. (I’m guessing they get a lot of visitors this way.)

I responded that despite the looks of my condition (I was holding my Kleenex box and I had just sneezed), I was not planning on visiting the hospital…but let’s not get too hasty.

Dinner and a few more Kleenexes later, we were ready to take on tailgating Dave Mathews Concert style.

Only suddenly the sky looked a little like this.

So, we changed strategy.

Cooler was brought into the backseat with me, and cargating commenced.

Brightside’s console was turned into a bar for the lovely jello shots she prepared for us.

And like the true trooper I am, I soldiered on.

Taking my jello shots like a champ.

Fighting back the pain of my throat, the snot in my nose and the ringing in my head.

(Also it the jello was just really cold when this picture was taken.)

Sometimes you just have to man up.

This was one of those times.

And see? Look how much better I felt!

I mean, come on, how can you feel bad when you are here?!

The concert itself was hands down the best Dave show I’ve ever seen.

And completely worth every last tissue I stuffed into my purse to survive the show.

Unfortunately for my partners in crime, Dave won’t be performing for them on their sick beds.

I guess it’s time to make another batch of soup and start delivering…or maybe jello shots?

Concert, car and ominous sky photos courtesy of Brightside’s camera. Virus courtesy of Gencon. And selfish infliction of contagious germs courtesy of Queen of Quirky.

A play land for adults.

And these two like to have a lot of fun.

Let’s rehash, shall we?

Note: some things do/should stay in Vegas and will not be shared.

There was a lot of dining going on. Because we like to dine. And Vegas has restaurants.

And we like Vegas for that reason. But even Vegas needs to learn its limits….

These nachos were out of control.

I wanted to hug them, inhale them, get them out of my face and never see them again. In that order.

(Source of obnoxious yet delicious nachos: Blondies Sports Bar, the Mile High Shops.)

Also, I have to call Mr. Quirky out for wincing at the spicy level of his bloody mary.

Silly boy.

Anywho, when we weren’t eating, we were gambling.

Not anything too obnoxious, just a little fun.

Or a BIG little fun.

For the entire series of the giant lever pull, check out this slide show.

And when we weren’t gambling, we were cocktailing.

Ok, so maybe we did some of that while gambling.

We found this ice bar in Mandalay Bay. Instead of paying to freeze, we paid for a vodka shot in a frozen shot glass.

That’s always fun.

You know what seemed like a good idea after that shot?

<==== (the roller coaster.)

Whee!

And after that, I couldn’t resist doing this.

Then we returned to the scene of the crime.

The exact spot Mr Quirky asked me to marry him.

No one asked me to marry them this time, but a guy did try to sell us bottled water. I guess when you are married, you just get water.

After a full night of walking the strip, our evening was completed by making new friends at the bar at our hotel.

They were much cooler than the guy (forever here out dubbed “That Guy”) we met our first night at Paris.

He had been to the Anthony Cools hypnotism show.  That Guy walked up to where we were throwing money away, I mean playing video poker.

He told us the show was vulgar & filthy. (And we both kind of wanted to see it after that.) And then he walked away mid-sentence, leaving his ticket next to Mr. Quirky.

The next day, we were minding our own business in the casino at The Flamingo (where we stayed) and suddenly, Mr. Quirky goes, “there’s That Guy!”

I’m not going to lie.

We chased him through the casino in an effort to snap a picture of him.

He hopped on the escalator and I followed him. Mr. Quirky ran down the stairs to get to the bottom before we did and shoot this picture.

In a perfect universe, we’d see him over and over again and take random pictures of us with him in the background.

But alas, the world isn’t perfect and we never saw him again.

Maybe next time, Vegas.

Even when I try to be kind of cool, I fail.

Take my first day in Vegas.  It was 3 p.m. and I decided to hit the pool with my laptop and work for a while. I had heard the Hard Rock Hotel had a happening pool.

But if you are the QoQ, you can’t just “show up at the pool and wait for the magic to happen.” You have to prepare for these kinds of things. Namely sun.

So there I was, lugging around my laptop bag (a pool accessory not likely to show up on the Glamor Magazine “Do List.” ) which I had stuffed with my bag o’ sunscreen, room key, iphone and work papers.

My bag o’ sunscreen contains SPF 30, SPF 55 (age correction) SPF 20 chapstick,  SPF 30 oil free face and an assortment of rubber bands. It is super awesome.  Because nothing looks sexier than thick white sunscreen that barely soaks into your skin because it’s so dense.

Luckily, it was a weekday so there were a few spots. I pulled up a chair and went to work…

slathering on my oodles of sunscreen.

But then I realized that I had found a seat in the shade. Seeing as I had gone to all that effort to slather on sunscreen, I decided to move.

I found a nice spot in close enough proximity to dip my toes in the water while keeping an eye on my stuff.

I sat down and felt the chair give.

A lot more than it should.

Good grief. Four days off the Weight Watchers and I’m already breaking chairs? (I heard that WW was illegal in Vegas, so decided not to take my chances getting caught on a diet in the city of sin…)

Turns out the chair was already ripped. (And if you don’t believe that, please keep your opinions to yourself. )

After a short while I realized the pool crowd was starting to shift. The 20′s group had had enough sun and was going upstairs to do whatever it is they do before they do whatever cool things in the night. The 30′s plus crowd was starting to  show up.

A nice couple sat down next to me. I was immediately endeared to the wife who said she envisioned after 30 minutes in the sun, she would be tan and skinny for dinner. Because isn’t that what happens at the pool?

I loved that philosophy. (And may steal it later.)

We laughed about my chair. And my bag ‘o sunscreen. And we discussed food.

Oh how we love food.

Food can make  two strangers the closest of friends in an instant. Speaking of new friends, my new friends gave me the most marvelous tip. RM Seafood at the Mandalay Place inside Mandalay Bay.  You know, Rick Moonen from Top Chef Masters?!

I totally spaced that his restaurant is in Vegas, so I was stoked to hear that it was not only there, but that it was highly recommended by my new fellow foodies.

And that, my friends, is how not to do the Las Vegas pool scene.  But, it is how to meet cool people and find fantastic food.

Look for more about Vegas in the coming days…

This past weekend, I had a chance to romp through one of America’s all time cities – NYC.

My lovely hostess (who is getting ready to announce one of the most exciting blogging projects ever) showed me a wonderful time.

And I left with so much more yet to see and experience. (Thank goodness Blogher will have me back in August!)

But my work conference was over and there was a snow storm on its way. I felt like I had been gone for ages. (In reality, four days.)

So, I hopped on a flight back to K.C. by way of Milwaukee. (Down side: two flights. Upside: Midwest , so that meant four free cookies!) As I was walking to my gate, a Midwest agent said, “Are you going to Kansas City?”

I said yes. And she told me she had been paging me. Wow, I had no idea! And then she asked if I was Pinnell party of two. Sadly, I was Queen of Quirky party of one. And that was a direct flight to Kansas City that I was not scheduled to be on. Drat. With the weather coming in, a direct flight was sounding mighty fine, even if it meant only two cookies.

Three hours later, after an hour of circling over Milwaukee with crazy falling snow illuminated in the flashes of light from the wings of the plane, I was really regretting not being Pinnell party of two.  The captain was keeping us updated on the Milwaukee airport which was closed to remove snow from the runway.

Um, folks, we’re going to circle until we can circle no more.

We landed in Madison to refuel, and much to the detriment of my (very attractive “Jonathan Antinesque” hairstylist) seatmate, as it was his final destination, yet he could not deboard the plane.

By the time we finally touched down in Milwaukee, I figured my KC flight was a gonner. Visions of  me curling up on an airport bench overnight haunted me. When I exited the plane, I asked the agent to show me where to go to book another flight to Kansas City.

She told me the flight was next door.

What? You mean it’s still here?! (It was more than three hours after the flight was scheduled to leave.)

Yes, in fact it was.  Because as luck would have it, the  flight crew from my flight was the flight crew for the Kansas City flight.

I almost skipped to the gate, until I saw the half-asleep, dagger shooting eyes of those poor folks who had been waiting for my flight. Yeah, that probably sucked for them.

But let me tell you, flying over Milwaukee, up and down, attempting to land was no picnic!

By 3 a.m. I had never been so glad to be back in my city with my man and my dog.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ts5w70_lbOA]

See, I had a little surprise up my sleeves.

The other Stephanie (see the Cast of Characters at the top to read more about her.) is turning 30 this year (youngin’!) and her husband planned a fabulous surprise for her in…

VEGAS!

She knew she was going with him, but she had no idea that her three best girlfriends would be there.

Do you know how hard it was to not tweet, blog or Facebook status post that I was freaking going to VEGAS with my boyfriend to see one of my best girlfriends?!

Luckily no one slipped up. And she was genuinely  surprised when on her first night in Vegas (Thursday) the boyfriend and I walked up and said hi to her in a bar, followed by her college roomie and her man. (She hadn’t seen Shannon in EIGHT years!)

Then, the next day at the pool, her OTHER friend Stephanie (that’s three. three Stephanies in Vegas.) and her husband showed up just in time for fruity drinks.

What a weekend! Poolin’, drinkin’, gamblin’ and eatin’. It was perfect. I can’t think of a better group to hang out with. 

[Edited to add picture of all the girls courtesy of Stephanie #3]

Once everyone arrived and we convinced Stephanie that there would be no more friends popping up out of nowhere, we spent time gabbing and catching up. It was fun getting to know Shannon and catching up with Stephanie #3 I had met her once before.

Stephanie’s husband had made a reservation for all of us at Mesa Grill Friday night. It was a-mazing. We were all passing food around the table and raving about everything. 

Saturday Stephanie and I went shopping and then we hit the pool.

Shannon and her man had to leave early, so that left just the three Stephanies. We enjoyed sushi and a Penn & Teller show that night.

[Edited to add a picture of the Stephanies. We are counting ourselves to make sure you aren't confused.]

I’m so happy that Stephanie was surprised in Vegas and that I could be in on it. But it turns out the surprise was on me…

(To be continued.)

Wow. I’m lame. I told you about the first day of travel and then I just left you. In Fayetteville, N.C. of all places. Terribly sorry about that.

  When we got to Myrtle Beach things got really hot. 

 But not in a Paris Hilton kind of way.

 Myrtle Beach was on fire.  

 By Saturday evening, I too was on fire. Well, that’s exaggerating. But I felt like I was.

 Yes, I wore sunscreen. But apparently I missed some places. Lots of places. Or, my skin was just trying to tell me that a red head with freckles has no business out in the sun for seven hours drinking margaritas with new friends.

 There I was, slathering on the SPF like it was going out of style. And I was telling all the normal skinned people how much they were going to regret it that they weren’t being as diligent as I was about the sunscreen.

 They were going to regret it all right.

 They really regretted my sunburn when fun, loveable beach Stephanie turned into cranky, sunburned Stephanie. I was a Stephanini.

http://www.jammin993.com/

More to come…

Woke up at 2:30 a.m. to shower and put a suit on. Oh, and possibly the most uncomfortable  cutest shoes in the world.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I didn’t want coffee. I wanted to sleep. I was a grump.

The most amazing boyfriend in the world drove the grumpiest girlfriend in the world  to the airport.  I arrived before the Delta staff. Which didn’t help my mood. While I was waiting around, I  decided my shoes were probably a bad life choice.

My boss met me in the terminal.  I was beyond trying to form coherent sentences. And the Delta staff had finally decided to arrive. It was nap time.

We  boarded the refrigerator disguised as a plane where I fell into frozen coma only to wake  myself up with a loud snore. And yes my mouth was open and yes there was drool on my chin. Loverly.

I limped through the  Atlanta airport in my stupid shoes, crossing  three terminals and making two gate changes before we were finally on our plane to Fayetteville. Oh, but then our plane had a weight problem. Too many breakfast burritos? (yum!) I’m not sure how exactly they knew this would help but they were asking two people to get off the plane. (gulp) Despite the fact that we didn’t have time to wait for the next flight, I was terrified to raise my hand for fear they would say, oh that will do. We really just needed you to get off the plane — you and your ginormous suitcase.

(Did I mention the fact that it took five minutes to shut the suitcase Monday night?)

In Fayetteville we rented the cutest little yellow VW Beetle and I probably annoyed my boss by proclaiming my love for it in every parking lot we retrieved it in. “Look at that cutsie wootsie yellow bug! Whose a good car?!  My little yellow buggy is. Gootchie gootchie goo….”

Meanwhile Bad Betty was in rare form. For a minute she thought we were still in Kansas City. Silly Betty, we aren’t in Kansas anymore. She did pull through and found a darling tea room for lunch downtown where I pretended  a Ceasar salad with fried Parmesan chicken on top was a healthy lunch option and drank my weight in sweet tea. The latter  haunted me half way through our first customer visit.

While the visits went well (Of course. I’m awesome. I’m doing the awesome dance. In my cute little Bug.) my inflated ego got a big ole fat safety pin in it when I realized I had booked our rooms at the Fairfield Inn for LAST week. Oy. Luckily there wasn’t a rush in Fayetteville for mid-level hotel rooms and it worked out.

By dinner I was slap happy and goofy and no longer trying to hide it. And now I’m just delirious and watching 90210 in my hotel room.

I’m really not sure why I’m still up. For a while I was just trying to stay up because going to bed at 7 (or was it 8 EST…) is lame. But now it’s like a game I can’t quit. I’m such an addict.

But there is more sweet tea drinking, customer visits and hours in the Bug with Bad Betty to look forward to en route to Myrtle Beach tomorrow.

And if any of this makes sense then I need a cookie.

Mmmmmm. Cookie. With Sweet tea. yuuuuuuuummm. I’m working on a serious weight problem for the plane ride home.

I hesitated in calling them — my former radio boss and his wife. While they were dear friends, they were our friends. Despite the fact that I worked with both of them for nearly two years. Memories of the four of us sitting on their back deck, drinking Miller Lite cans and belting out Family Tradition override memories of the three of us goofing off in the office having hysterical giggle fests when trying to cut commercials (so the word “panties” in a K-Mart commercial sent me over the edge. Hi. I’m 10.).

But then I realized that I can still have the memories and their friendship. I just have to own it. It is MY tradition now. I was the one who moved to North Carolina to find my career. I was the one who took the leap from print to radio. I was the one who forged the friendship.

Sure, they will ask about him. I’m prepared for that. Yup, he’s remarried. Yup, he’s living in smalltownville Kansas. Yup, that’s all I know. And they’ll shake their heads and say something about how funny he is, maybe even alluding to a memory like the time he put marinade on his cooked chicken and got deathly ill. And something else about how surprised they were that we divorced. (They were in our wedding.) And I’ll say, yup. It happens. And that will be it.

But one thing I’m curious about is, will I  be as impressed with the solidness of their relationship, their marriage as I was back then? Will my divorce cause me to see it through different eyes? Maybe. 

I do know that there will be Miller Lite cans. D will heat up his gas grill that he has converted into a charcoal grill (because it tastes better) and it will take nearly all night. And while we wait, we’ll talk and carry on and forget that we are hungry. Later, we’ll throw on some food as an afterthought. And laugh because that’s kind of a tradition.