What Happens In Vegas (I Barely Remember)

Five blog posts in September. I'm ashamed of myself. I blame it on Vegas. From now on, I'm blaming everything on Vegas because that place is frickin' nuts.

So, flying across country takes a long time. Were you aware that there is absolutely nothing to look at between here and Nevada? Middle America is pretty much a series of green squares and brown circles. It's a good thing I brought my Netflix for the plane ride. Of the three movies I brought to watch, I randomly chose a flick that--unbeknownst to me--shamelessly displayed Christina Ricci's plump white breasts within the first five minutes. In retrospect, this was probably an appropriate precursor for Vegas, but at the time I blushed and slammed shut the computer screen.

Pay attention to movie ratings when intended for semi-public viewing. Lesson learned.

Speaking of breast-eses, I tweaked some nipples in Sin City. Yeah, I did. They were huge and concrete and bolted to the wall. It. Was. Awesome.

I also slept a total of five hours, give or take a nap, the entire four day trip. That was partly because no one in Vegas sleeps and partly because of Jill's snoring...but I can't blog about that or she's likely to write a scathing response about how I'm quite possibly the most difficult person, like, ever.

("Stop rushing me! I'm on vacation!"
"Yes, but it takes you for-freaking-ever to get ready!")

I should've blogged the day we returned because at this point it's all pretty much a blur of flashing lights and ding!ding!ding!'s. I know somewhere along the way we had a singing bathroom attendant. I wanted to be her friend. She sang the Happy Pee song and it made me smile as I hovered. Yes, I hovered. And walked. A lot. I'm not sure, even two weeks later, whether my feet will ever recover. My blisters had blisters had blisters.

Forsake style for comfort. Lesson learned.

I discovered something about myself in Vegas. I do not like to lose money. I don't like it one little bit. The morning of our second day, I escaped the sound of the lumberjack to grab some coffee. I naively thought I could sneak down through the casino to the Starbucks in my sweatpants without being detected by anyone. What a sweet, silly, small town girl I am. No one in the casino had even retired for the evening. Not only were the women still dressed to the nines, nearly everyone still had a cocktail in their hand. Nonetheless, I grabbed my coffee and poked around the casino. When I stumbled across a Sex and the City slot machine, I thought, cool, I'll kill an hour or two until I can wakey-wakey you-know-who without her killing me. So, I inserted a $20 bill--it was the only denomination I had in my wallet--and approximately 30 seconds later, it was gone. Gone, I say! I was hoping to at least grab a free beer, but no!

30 seconds, twenty dollars, no beer. Lesson learned.

Everything else that happened in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Well, okay, I'll share this one last pearl with you: "Ayyy ay ay, mami. I'ma workeen weeth ten eeenches!" Oh, dear sweet Mexican nudey card flipper, you will always hold a special place in my heart.

I'm neurotic today because...
...like the diligent student I am, I used my backpack as carry-on luggage so I could complete work during flight. Consequently, I was punished by the casino gods and somewhere between here and Las Vegas Boulevard lies my copy of Mountains Beyond Mountains, complete with presentation notes sure to earn someone an A.
No work on vacation. Lesson learned.