Monday, August 12, 2002

Vegas: Like a Pretty, but Insincere Woman

We flew in on a nice new airliner with a horrid little lunch that consisted of a dry little bun with a slice of mystery meat and some faux cheese, with a packet of yellow mustard jammed beside it. A teeny bag of Fritos came with it. Dry. Jail food!
We got to the downtown hotel via a crowded shuttle, but it was kind of cool because we stopped at a few hotels on the strip and got to see them up close.
Westward Ho puts the ho in hotel, although it would be more aptly named Westward Mo.
Finally, we got to our hotel, and our room was gorgeous, spotless, cool and quiet.
Then we strapped on our fanny packs and hit the 106ยบ streets.
The Golden Nugget stole the first of our money without benefit of cocktail support.
We wandered to other nearby casinos and lost more, then to my once beloved Binion's Horseshoe, where I attempted to replicate my $1,000 jackpot win from last April.
The Double Diamonds machine acted as if we'd never met and hadn't shared a thousand dollar secret. She wolfed down 20 of my hard earned dollars as if I meant nothing to her.
I walked away from her, heartbroken and bitter, determined to find another.
Then I went to some dollar machines my sisters had scored big on and they too showed little regard for my needs. Binion's casino can kiss my butt.
At around 6 or 7, we got hungry. We had prime rib and all the trimmings for less than 8 bucks each. Ooof. I had to have a nap afterwards. In Vegas!!! At around 9 we rehit the streets and won and lost more money. By the wee hours when we dragged in, I was down more than 200 bucks and fell into a deep coma-sleep.
We awakened around 11 on Saturday and breakfasted at Binion's coffee shop, where for $4.99 they brought a pot of coffee, two eggs, hash browns, toast and a smoked ham steak the size of a Ford pickup hubcap. I developed a breakfast belly that strained at my fanny pack. It was not a good look for me.
No humidity and using too much greasy hotel conditioner plasters one's hair down. I got called 'sir' about 12 times that day. I think my breakfast belly must have canceled out my breasts.
By Sunday, we'd hit the Stardust and spent 7 hours winning and losing the same $50.
Sunday night we managed to donate more money to the downtown economy.
I got frustrated and started downing beer and long island ice teas. Went to sleep drunk and exhausted around 1:30. Woke up at 6. Took a shuttle to the airport, had a blowout on the freeway, had to be rescued by another shuttle, lost another $20 or so at the airport, then came home.
Once in San Antonio, I bought a bottle of water at an airport cafe. The fucking cashier called me sir.
I think I may need to chat with my haircutter.

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