(Note: we will return to Disneyland blogging once I have thoroughly beaten this horse to death)
So we went to Las Vegas last Saturday to have some fun. We took some friends with us and met other friends there. None of these people required us to prompt them to take potty checks (although The Lovely Rhonda did anyway). Only one of them needed a babysitter (more on that later). And all of us were of legal age to drink anything we felt inclined to drink and/or distribute perfectly good money to various casinos in exchange for free beverages and secondhand smoke.
So in other words, a fun group of people.
(Disclaimer to participants: I might make merciless fun of you in this blog post, and it’s all just for laughs. Disclaimer to readers: certain sequences of events and/or personal traits of persons described herein may be slightly embellished for comedic flair. Suspension of disbelief is therefore highly recommended.)
TLR and I flew in with our friend Josh on Saturday evening. We started this thing off right by getting our drink on at the airport:
My BFF from high school, Alison, joined us a mere half hour later. By this time we were already steeped in ennui, as evidenced by this photo:
Shortly thereafter we engaged a taxi and made our way through the unwashed masses to our hotel. In the interests of litigation avoidance, let’s just call it CARNIVAL CARNIVAL.
When we told the cab driver where to take us he said, “Oh man, CARNIVAL CARNIVAL? Who’d you piss off?” I am not making this up.
CARNIVAL CARNIVAL is a hotel that caters to families with children, and we are not ever staying there again. Not because the rooms were inadequate; they were perfectly nice — but a hotel that caters to families with children is overrun with — not surprisingly — families with children.
Children who were up at all hours. Bored, tired, whiny children in strollers that blocked the aisles. Horrible, screamy children with permissive/disinterested/incompetent parents.
Nevertheless we endeavored to have fun, and fun we had, but not so much within the confines of CARNIVAL CARNIVAL.
It did have several things in its favor, not the least of which was the 24-hour Krispy Kreme donut counter complete with barista service. We instantly loved the ladies staffing it when we witnessed them making merciless fun of an older couple who attempted to use a hotel-issued coupon to get a free cup of coffee. It turned out that you only got the free coffee if you purchased a dozen donuts, and evidently this was a deal breaker for them. It seemed to me that the bewildered husband-unit of this couple was still interested in coffee and a (single) donut, but no, the wife felt strongly that if you had to pay for the coffee it was no good. So off they went. We stepped up a moment later and although the Krispy Kreme ladies were being discreet about it, it was evident that there were shenanigans being perpetrated and, being us, we had no choice but to join in.
So anyway. We checked in and went to find some dinner, as Allie had not eaten and was beginning to wilt like a delicate little flower.
Did you know, dear reader(s), that casinos in Las Vegas are HUGE? We ambled around in increasingly frantic hypoglycemic states searching for an open restaurant within the hotel. Finally we located one. Unfortunately they were playing loud dance hits for the approximately zero patrons showing an interest in dancing. We sat as far from the speakers as humanly possible, and every so often a waiter was dispatched to visit us in the hinterlands. The food wasn’t bad, though, and they did serve drinks:
… As you can see, Josh doesn’t get out much.
Finally we all stumbled blearily to bed, it being 1am and myself having been up since 7am furiously cleaning and packing and so forth. (I recall allowing TLR to sleep in a bit that morning, which I mainly do in self-defense. A tired Lovely Rhonda is a cranky Lovely Rhonda.)
The next day we arose at the princely hour of around 9ish and got on with our day. We purchased discounted vouchers to some shows and then traipsed from hotel to hotel turning in our vouchers for actual tickets. We also ate things and drank things and timidly ventured into the shallow end of the gambling pool: penny slots. Penny slots are the equivalent of training wheels for noob gamblers and those with an aversion to spending money on anything intangible, i.e. me. We wandered idly from casino to casino, taking in the soulless debauchery, and finally I required resting. By this time my terrible non-functional feet were essentially hamburger, so I spent my rest period laying on the bed with ice packs pressed to the soles of my feet. GOOD TIMES, PEOPLE.
Also? Thanks, nurse practitioner, for grumbling about being asked to prescribe a few lousy TyCo and then screwing up the RX so that I couldn’t actually get it filled. Because it makes me feel awesome to ask for pain medicine to manage my not inconsiderable pain while I attempt to do something really reasonable like enjoy my fucking vacation — you know, like other people who have normally shaped feet — and then have you piss and moan about me like I’m a drug seeker, and then make it so that I can’t pick the stupid medication up anyway.
Usually I love NPs and feel like they are great at what they do — but you can bet your shiny metal ass that I’m going to have a word with the head NP (who owns the clinic) about this.
Okay, anyway back to the story.
Eventually, about midway through an episode of “Frasier,” I got the long-awaited text message from TLR. I sprang into action and hot-footed it (literally) down to the lobby, where I found and was hugged by Mel and subsequently by her enthusiastic friend Marie. And then TLR brought them both yard-o-margs, which set the tone for the rest of the vacation quite nicely.
Its resemblance to a bong is unsettling and merely coincidental.
So, Mel is a friend from the blogosphere. We met ages ago on a different blog site and have been virtually stalking one another for years, long before I met TLR, but had never met in person. Mel wanted to come to the wedding in January, but alas, her son inconveniently turned 18 that very same weekend. So no dice. But then when we started talking about Vegas, Mel hinted that perhaps that might be a little fun… maybe… We invited her, and she came!
And she brought her BFF, because meeting strange lesbians on your own in Vegas when you are as cute as Mel is probably a bad idea. She had no way of knowing that we are completely harmless, unless of course you run afoul of TLR’s sense of fairness in some way. In that case one half of us is not so harmless. I’m harmless in pretty much all events although I do occasionally exceed the speed limit by three or four miles per hour.
So once they got checked in we dorked around and had drinks and made our way to Caesar’s Palace.
A beverage containing alcohol purchased on the patio at Caesar’s will set you back fifteen dollars. Let’s just let that sink in for a moment: Fifteen. Dollars.
Later that evening we saw Absinthe.
How to even describe Absinthe?
Okay, imagine a Cirque du Soleil show but on a miniature scale. And then imagine that the master of ceremonies is the oiliest, most offensive person ever. And then imagine that his assistant is a frenetic, perverse, loud, short, extremely cute girl with the foulest mouth ever. And then let the rest of your imagination just go completely batshit crazy with all of that, and you might come close to Absinthe. If you’re not easily offended, by all means make it a priority to see this show. There was near-nudity, feats of daring, a high-wire act, gymnastics, foul language, sexual references, audience participation. It was raunchy and risque and so much fun OMG.
By the time the show was over it was midnight, which was 2am Mel time, so they were exhausted and went to bed. I think we might have stayed up a little while and gambled? It’s all a blur. Rumor has it that alcohol may have been involved.
I guess we’ll never know for sure.
Don’t miss the next thrilling installment: What Happened in Vegas, pt. 2! Coming soon to a blog near you!