"Viva Las Vegas"
So I went to Las Vegas this weekend. It might not've been the BEST idea to go to Sin City to watch General Conference. Most people migrate IN to Utah this particular weekend in April, instead of the other way around. But it was offered, and I accepted, mostly because I didn't think it through, and the prospect of a road trip held me enthralled. Friday afternoon Bart, Chris, Charlotte, and I took off for the fakest city ever invented, and wow, did we have a glorious beginning. What with Bart's tack in his ear and Chris's megaphone and a whole lotta loud music.
One of my favorite moments--indeed, a moment that basically sums up the entire experience--was when, as we were driving down the Strip and were approaching the Luxor with its glowing light shooting off into the air, I noticed some particles (a lot of particles) floating in the light, and I asked no one in particular what was in the air. Bart's response? "Sin." And hoo boy, was he right. I'd been to Las Vegas twice before, but never like this... and by "like this," I mean staying at the Chapel of the Bells motel right past the Sahara on the strip.
The first night was fun as we were all starving but devoid of cash, and Bart wanted to gamble, and Chris was ready to kill a prostitute to eat, except he was afraid of the herpes he would contract, and we were milling aimlessly about the Strip. I will compare Friday night's Strip outing with Saturday's that was mainly spent sans boys as they were being lectured over the evils of gambling during the Priesthood session of Conference (ah, life's little ironies). Friday night, we were caught in a swarm of intoxicated, poorly-dressed, white trash individuals, a fleck in the sea of humanity swirling about Las Vegas's casino district. Saturday, a drunk man walked up to me in the New York, New York casino, put his arm around me, saluted me with a "Hey, baby," and proceeded to ogle me, as I replied, "Hey," looked at Char, extracted myself, and walked away to collapse with her in a fit of laughter. And to think I ever complained about BYU boys hitting on me. And that was not the only experience of that night with drunk men and ogling.
Saturday during the day, though? Absolutely fantastic. If you can count driving around Las Vegas for two hours looking for a church building in which to watch conference as "fantastic." Bart concluded that God didn't want us to hear that session of conference. We finally did locate a church, though, and in the process became so familiar with downtown Las Vegas that, should you ever need to find anything there, just give one of us a call.
And then we went to eat at Jack in the Box. And didn't want to stop at In-N-Out later that night. Jack in the Box = okay food for way less money than a six inch ham and cheese sub on the strip. In-N-Out = sooo much better than Jack in the Box. I love my life.
People watching in Vegas is fun. The sixteen-year-old thug-like boy carrying a fake baby in a fake car seat was particularly hilarious. The 13,287 women with over-tanned cellulite legs revealed by their too-short skirts went far beyond the realm of hilarious into crying-in-the-corner shameful. Which brings up a point: Why were drunk men checking me out so violently and eagerly? I was fully clothed in some J.Crew pants (Who the heck wears J.Crew on the Strip? Me, apparently) and my "MOVE ON" t-shirt (which Charlotte insists the men were too drunk to read even though they were staring hard enough), and I definitely hadn't showered. Though if I HAD showered, I would definitely have come out dirtier. (Remember, Wedding Bells Chapel motel.) What is wrong with people?? It would've been far more productive for them to have checked out the drunk girls who tried to hit on Bart by making some half-hearted comment about the ESPN Zone and having been there once, the girls having managed to notice his brand-new and very cool hockey jersey that had been purchased from said Zone. You could smell the alcohol on their breath; it was literally stinking up the entire tram car. I'm sure they would've slept with anyone.
And at the conclusion of this post, I'd like to report that I have returned unmarried, unlaid, and unintoxicated; I have neither been sold into prostitution nor lost my virtue, though I am dangerously tired of guys being too stupid and arrogant to believe that girls should and do have opinions. Also: Just because you meet someone one weekend and discuss dating and maybe there is a proposal and talk of marriage does NOT mean it is cool or decent to call said someone up and ask if you and three pals can crash at his place for a couple nights, especially not if the last time you have spoken with this someone, you (or another person acting as you) were telling him that the thought of sex with him made you sick to your stomach and you could never marry him. I don't consider myself a jerk for not calling.
P.S. I saw a Days Inn and laughed myself silly. Not that anyone noticed. Days Inns have that effect on me.
P.P.S. For Char--"I hate my life."
One of my favorite moments--indeed, a moment that basically sums up the entire experience--was when, as we were driving down the Strip and were approaching the Luxor with its glowing light shooting off into the air, I noticed some particles (a lot of particles) floating in the light, and I asked no one in particular what was in the air. Bart's response? "Sin." And hoo boy, was he right. I'd been to Las Vegas twice before, but never like this... and by "like this," I mean staying at the Chapel of the Bells motel right past the Sahara on the strip.
The first night was fun as we were all starving but devoid of cash, and Bart wanted to gamble, and Chris was ready to kill a prostitute to eat, except he was afraid of the herpes he would contract, and we were milling aimlessly about the Strip. I will compare Friday night's Strip outing with Saturday's that was mainly spent sans boys as they were being lectured over the evils of gambling during the Priesthood session of Conference (ah, life's little ironies). Friday night, we were caught in a swarm of intoxicated, poorly-dressed, white trash individuals, a fleck in the sea of humanity swirling about Las Vegas's casino district. Saturday, a drunk man walked up to me in the New York, New York casino, put his arm around me, saluted me with a "Hey, baby," and proceeded to ogle me, as I replied, "Hey," looked at Char, extracted myself, and walked away to collapse with her in a fit of laughter. And to think I ever complained about BYU boys hitting on me. And that was not the only experience of that night with drunk men and ogling.
Saturday during the day, though? Absolutely fantastic. If you can count driving around Las Vegas for two hours looking for a church building in which to watch conference as "fantastic." Bart concluded that God didn't want us to hear that session of conference. We finally did locate a church, though, and in the process became so familiar with downtown Las Vegas that, should you ever need to find anything there, just give one of us a call.
And then we went to eat at Jack in the Box. And didn't want to stop at In-N-Out later that night. Jack in the Box = okay food for way less money than a six inch ham and cheese sub on the strip. In-N-Out = sooo much better than Jack in the Box. I love my life.
People watching in Vegas is fun. The sixteen-year-old thug-like boy carrying a fake baby in a fake car seat was particularly hilarious. The 13,287 women with over-tanned cellulite legs revealed by their too-short skirts went far beyond the realm of hilarious into crying-in-the-corner shameful. Which brings up a point: Why were drunk men checking me out so violently and eagerly? I was fully clothed in some J.Crew pants (Who the heck wears J.Crew on the Strip? Me, apparently) and my "MOVE ON" t-shirt (which Charlotte insists the men were too drunk to read even though they were staring hard enough), and I definitely hadn't showered. Though if I HAD showered, I would definitely have come out dirtier. (Remember, Wedding Bells Chapel motel.) What is wrong with people?? It would've been far more productive for them to have checked out the drunk girls who tried to hit on Bart by making some half-hearted comment about the ESPN Zone and having been there once, the girls having managed to notice his brand-new and very cool hockey jersey that had been purchased from said Zone. You could smell the alcohol on their breath; it was literally stinking up the entire tram car. I'm sure they would've slept with anyone.
And at the conclusion of this post, I'd like to report that I have returned unmarried, unlaid, and unintoxicated; I have neither been sold into prostitution nor lost my virtue, though I am dangerously tired of guys being too stupid and arrogant to believe that girls should and do have opinions. Also: Just because you meet someone one weekend and discuss dating and maybe there is a proposal and talk of marriage does NOT mean it is cool or decent to call said someone up and ask if you and three pals can crash at his place for a couple nights, especially not if the last time you have spoken with this someone, you (or another person acting as you) were telling him that the thought of sex with him made you sick to your stomach and you could never marry him. I don't consider myself a jerk for not calling.
P.S. I saw a Days Inn and laughed myself silly. Not that anyone noticed. Days Inns have that effect on me.
P.P.S. For Char--"I hate my life."
posted by juxtaposer at 7:02 PM
4 Comments:
Elvis. I win again.
And, I agree. You're not a jerk. That's the LAST place I'd want you staying in Vegas.
Oh, and In-N-Out? So good.
you are adventurous wow
You so should have stayed at Days Inn. And stolen the pen. But then they might have closed the Days Inn. And emailed me a survey about your stay.
It would've been out of our price range. Hint: If you want to go to Las Vegas, go Sunday through Thursday. Or bring a native with you and crash at their place.
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