Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Monday, May 5, 2008
Sun(ful) City
Spent the weekend in Las Vegas with John -- a trek we make once a year and normally, tied to some sort of business thing for him. This trip, we stayed at the Rio, off strip, and it was a nice change. Wonderful room, great service and food, uncommonly friendly dealers, but tight-ass slots.
I was ready to get outta Dodge and can there honestly be anywhere else on the planet to truly escape? Well, maybe a remote Caribbean island, overrun by Cabana boys with tight buns and an endless supply of Corona, limes and chocolate syrup, but I digress...............
Within 36 hours, I'd managed to demagnetize every player's club card I owned, broke my second pair of glasses and dropped more dollar bills than I'm willing to admit. It would have been far less painful to stand outside the main doors at the Rio and hand it to people. And who would have thought that magnetic closures on a purse could render hotel room keys useless? I'd already done THAT twice. John declared my little taveling handbag a lousy "moteling purse."
Saturday, we went down to the stip and joined the hoards in town for the Kentucky Derby. Weather was awesome, so it made for great people watching. There must be some sort of obscure Nevada law that I don't know about, requiring overweight women and young girls to wear skimpy clothes. Sure, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, but it blows the mind that people dress like that outside their own bathroom. Tight, low slung short shorts and cropped shirts with "belly" hanging over, under and beneath anything resembling a clothing ending point. A couple times, walking up Las Vegas Boulevard, I got behind a woman (NOT a teenager) who appeared to have two pigs fighting to get out of the back of what would loosely be called her shorts.
And then there were the bachelors and bachelorettes. Again, another odd Nevada law: get stone assed drunk at noon and wander outside. We followed a group of 20-something bachelorettes for a while, all wearing bikini tops and shorts -- rather well, I will jealously admit. Have no idea if she was the bride or bridesmaid, but one yungin couldn't walk without help. Behind her, on a cell phone, is another bridal party member, telling somebody, (and use a good Valley Girl/nasal voice on this) "Oh, she'll be fine. She's drinking water now."
We saw several bachelors who probably wished they'd stuck to water. One guy had to leave the restaurant where we had breakfast Saturday morning in a rippin hurry. His buddies were laying bets he'd hit the trash can before he found the bathroom. And another group of bachelors were piling into a limo Saturday night, but not until two of them chugged some drink in a glass resembling a bucket. Yeah, and the limo driver didn't want puke in his car.
Scantily dressed, publically drunk and flat out stupid! Nothing beats a weekend in Vegas for entertainment.
I was ready to get outta Dodge and can there honestly be anywhere else on the planet to truly escape? Well, maybe a remote Caribbean island, overrun by Cabana boys with tight buns and an endless supply of Corona, limes and chocolate syrup, but I digress...............
Within 36 hours, I'd managed to demagnetize every player's club card I owned, broke my second pair of glasses and dropped more dollar bills than I'm willing to admit. It would have been far less painful to stand outside the main doors at the Rio and hand it to people. And who would have thought that magnetic closures on a purse could render hotel room keys useless? I'd already done THAT twice. John declared my little taveling handbag a lousy "moteling purse."
Saturday, we went down to the stip and joined the hoards in town for the Kentucky Derby. Weather was awesome, so it made for great people watching. There must be some sort of obscure Nevada law that I don't know about, requiring overweight women and young girls to wear skimpy clothes. Sure, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, but it blows the mind that people dress like that outside their own bathroom. Tight, low slung short shorts and cropped shirts with "belly" hanging over, under and beneath anything resembling a clothing ending point. A couple times, walking up Las Vegas Boulevard, I got behind a woman (NOT a teenager) who appeared to have two pigs fighting to get out of the back of what would loosely be called her shorts.
And then there were the bachelors and bachelorettes. Again, another odd Nevada law: get stone assed drunk at noon and wander outside. We followed a group of 20-something bachelorettes for a while, all wearing bikini tops and shorts -- rather well, I will jealously admit. Have no idea if she was the bride or bridesmaid, but one yungin couldn't walk without help. Behind her, on a cell phone, is another bridal party member, telling somebody, (and use a good Valley Girl/nasal voice on this) "Oh, she'll be fine. She's drinking water now."
We saw several bachelors who probably wished they'd stuck to water. One guy had to leave the restaurant where we had breakfast Saturday morning in a rippin hurry. His buddies were laying bets he'd hit the trash can before he found the bathroom. And another group of bachelors were piling into a limo Saturday night, but not until two of them chugged some drink in a glass resembling a bucket. Yeah, and the limo driver didn't want puke in his car.
Scantily dressed, publically drunk and flat out stupid! Nothing beats a weekend in Vegas for entertainment.
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