Vegas is never boring. It may be sinful and outrageous and explicit and indulgent, but never boring. I think this is because people who visit there take liberties they would never take in their normal lives. Case in point:
Well, I hope she wouldn’t wear these in her normal life.
One walk done the Strip and you’re inundated by the sights and strange, awful smells.
You have strangers jumping into your photo ops. This is not my grandpa. He just wanted to be in the shot or hit on me. Not sure which.
You have men dressed in pink who say they want a photo with you, then they charge you money that you have to pay or you might get “offed” and shoved in someone’s trunk for dead:
You have Hangover wannabes:
And have dudes who wear angry shirts:
You have star crossed lovers enjoying margaritas on their 15th wedding anniversary. Collective “awww…” from the blog world.
And then, just when you think the night is over, you run into Dolly Parton:
I may have lost all my money, but at least I got to see her big boobs in person. I asked if I could feel her up and she said yes! It was good for both of us.
Great trip except for when I did a major party foul and spilled my vodka lemonade all over the blackjack table. The pit bosses don’t like it when you do that. Especially when you soak all the cards and dealer’s chips and they have to wipe them off by hand. Then, as a joke, they call security on you just to see if you’ll crap your pants. I didn’t. I save that for the trails. They obviously don’t read this blog.
And, in case you die-hards are wondering if I ran in the horrid desert heat, why YES! Ken and I did the smart thing and slept in, then went out for a 5 mile run, hung-over at 8am when it was 95 degrees. Maybe this blog should be called Shut Up and Puke, at least on those days.
Don’t forget my CSN $100 giveaway!