I found this picture as I perused the magazines in our room at Little America—the Tower Suites!! You know, I used to consider staying at a motel–any motel—a luxury. Mostly we slept on the floor at relatives’ homes, or their couches. Once I even booked rooms at Little America–it was a cottage room, for $65, I think. At the time, about 1989, that was quite a bit of money. I walked in, felt intimidated and walked out. I stayed at some other motel in Midvale.

But I got a windfall after that and I stayed one night at Little America and now I am totally addicted to nice hotels. I’ve become a hotel snob. The best nice hotel I stayed in was when I took my sister to Green Valley Spa last spring, you guys, you have no idea how cool it was. I think I’m going to take Bill back there for our anniversary. He will shit a brick, but he’ll love it. Plus I have a $50 off coupon. They even offered me a free night because I wrote about them for the paper, but I had to turn it down.

Oh, I digress. I found this article about Clark Goble! Bill and I had lunch with Amira and a random John. I’m pretty sure Bill almost fell asleep. He was funny, we were talking and he finished his food and he said, “Let’s go!” That’s how he is when we have family dinners, too. We make him sit and visit with us now, but I don’t think he knew what to say to John and Amira and I was in my “celebrity stare” phase. I wanted to drink them up because who knows when I’ll meet another blogger in person.

John was very mental about us paying for lunch—I know that feeling because Brian Gibson insisted on paying for our dinner and we felt stupid. So he gave me a bar of Clark’s chocolate. I’m so sorry, Clark, I guess good chocolate is wasted on me. It tastes sort of like the chocolate I melt to make candy and good cake, very bitter. But John said it’s much less bitter than usual bitter chocolate and Clark is famous.

Then I went back to the hotel and there was Clark staring at me in the magazine and I could hardly believe he was so young because I’d always looked at him as sort of a father figure and remember when he got so mad at me for being vulgar on M* (I so deserved it). He’s a kid! You guys, I take absolutely no satisfaction in being immature at my age and having kids boss me around. It’s not just you guys, either, it’s all the young people in my ward. I call them for advice when I should be the motherly advice giver.

Anyway, then Bill and I went to a Jazz game–I think I already wrote about that and it was fun because people all around us acted really stupid and I spoke Russian to the lady asking me to move, pretending I couldn’t speak English. She was very nice, sighing and saying to her husband, “She doesn’t speak English.” I laughed and said, “I’ve always wanted to do that.” Now, of course, I intend to do it all the time.

I think if you really want to see a game, you should pay a lot of money or stay home because we could hardly see anything. The guy in back of us kept cussing and yelling and Bill gave him dirty looks and I thought I’d have to get out the pepper spray to keep him from beating Bill up. I so would have had Bill’s back. He’s big, but he’s old. Although when he loses it, he loses it.

Next morning we went to this fancy brunch at Little America, more food than you can imagine and all delicious, at least the little I ate. Bill came back and said, “you know, I feel guilty about this food, there’s too much and then they’ll throw most of the leftovers away.” And I’d felt that way, too, especially since a lot of the employees were in the guest worker thing where they came from Afganistan and Africa and I wondered how they looked at us eating all that wonderful food.

It was a nice trip. We consider a nice trip any trip we don’t end up on the verge of divorce. Oh—we went and walked all around the Grand America and this guy let us look at his room, Bill embarrassed to the gills that I even asked, but the guy didn’t mind. They’re very nice and the bubble bath is bigger. I’m going to stay there someday. :)