04.30.02 :: 12:10 am
Las Vegas is INSANE. Insane. I know peopple know this but I didn't know it until this weekend but yes, insane. You can just wander around the streets, alcoholic beverage in hand, just like that. You can do whateverthefuck you WANT in Vegas.
And I am so proud I didn't inherit my dad's gambling gene because, although I gambled (hi, slots, you're my new lovermothers) I always came out ahead at the end of the night. So, yay me. Also, the $1 No Bust Blackjack table at the Sahara. Go there. And say hi to the new friends we made, Russel and Galen, two of the funniest fucking guys alive.
OK, first of all? Russel? He is the living embodiment of Trent from "Swingers." Walking into casinos, saying hi to all the cocktail watresses, making passes and every single hottie ... hilarious.
And then, getting drunk with them at the foot-long hot dog place, My Boy and I laughed so hard, we were crying.
Oh, and I really need the desert weather to come over here. Because the skin was behaving and my allergies were nil, and oh yeah, rocking the tan and the odd sunburn in odd places (left butt cheek, right armpit, whuh..?).
Las Vegas. My Boy spent most of his money on cowboy shirts because let's face it, cowboys rock.
We thought it might be funny if we eloped at the little White Chapel in front of our hotel, but then discovered that you actually DO need a license and who are we kidding, we were kind of chickenshit ("What if this affects the real wedding next year?" "What if it fucks up the paperwork?"), what it comes down to.
Ahhh, Las Vegas, you whore. I love you.
With your yard of margaritas in an Eiffel Tower-shaped drinking vessels, how can I ever thank you? Especially for the new-found inside jokes about casino noises ("gling gling gling gling beepity booopity boop ching ching ching!") and rednecks and "No bust!" and everything my frazzled brain is not remembering.
Suffice it to say, I'm going back.