by Melody Bowen
Sin City, Stereotypes, Stillettos, & Shame, Shame, Shame on Me!
As I write this tonight, I'm sitting in a hotel room in a suburb of Pittsburgh, PA, where I'm attending a database conference for nine days. No, that's not a typo; I'm here for nine freakin' days. (So those of you who have been berating me for not writing frequently, look for more writing this week because there's a whole lot o' nothin' to do late at night here all by myself...)
So much has happened in the last couple of months that I'd be sitting here writing until my fingers were worn down to little Vienna-sausage-sized stumps if I wrote it all, so I'm forced to hit the highlights tonight I suppose. Hmm... where to begin?
Let's start with Vegas. (Vegas, baby!) I took a little vacation last month and went to Las Vegas for the first time in almost 10 years. Last time I was there, the MGM Grand was the biggest and best thing happening on the strip, and the city of Las Vegas was on some sort of "bring the family" kick, creating shows and attractions and mini-amusement parks in a feeble attempt to get Mom & Pop to bring the rugrats along on their vacations. Apparently, the city came to its senses and realized that most of the folks showing up with the kiddies in tow were often of a certain "type" -- mulleted men in dirty wife-beater shirts, their scrawny yellow-blond wives wearing black t-shirts that color-coordinated with the 3 inches of black roots in their hair (I call it the "Methamphetamine Barbie" look), sad little dirty-faced children whose regular entertainment included belching competitions with their brethren and watching hours and hours of WWF wrestling... (Sorry, I know that's a stereotype, but in my defense, sometimes stereotypes become stereotypes for a reason...). Anyway, it appears that Sin City is back, and they could give a desert rat's ass if you bring the kids along, as long as you bring your money. And today's Vegas, quite frankly, well... it ain't for the faint of heart. It's sex, sex, sex... with a side of sex (not that I'm saying there's anything wrong with that, mind you).
I joined my friends Gloria & Emily there at the Stratosphere for a couple of days, then my fiance' joined me for the last few days of the trip. I spent six days in the searing sun there (OK, so most of it was spent listening to the whoosh of the air conditioning and the bells ringing in the casinos, but you know what I mean). Anytime I had to venture outside, I was reminded of why Irish girls don't regularly move to Las Vegas. It is seriously hot there! (And don't give me that "but it's a dry heat" crap. It's freakin' hot!) The good news is I had a great time with my friends and fiance', and I even won 400 bucks in one spin on a slot machine. The bad news is that I lost about a buck in each of a series of 400 or so other spins, so I basically broke even. Which I guess is OK, because it beats losing most of a paycheck there.
We stayed at the Stratosphere Hotel. Pardon me... make that the "Ghettosphere". (A cab driver gave me that term.) When I'd booked the trip, I'd been all excited about staying at the Stratosphere on account of it being the tallest building west of the Mississippi, compounded with the fact that the incredibly tall building had three -- count them, three -- thrill rides on top of the building. My excitement about the prospect of that much adrenaline dulled my usual sense of caution that leads me to check out hotel locations thoroughly ahead of time, and I failed to notice that the Ghettosphere is actually located on the far north end of the strip, far enough away from everything else to make it dangerous to walk outside at night. I'd say it's the most beautiful hotel on the part of the strip that screams "sh*thole". (I'm definitely not going back to Vegas unless I can stay at the Bellagio, where walking outside late at night puts you among happy, semi-tipsy-to-mildly-drunkish folks having their time of their lives, as opposed to the Ghettosphere, where walking outside late at night finds you among some smacked-out, drunk-since-the-'70s, mildly-crazy-to-downright-psychotic crack junkies who are having the "trip" of their lives). Yikes! What I saved on that hotel room was spent on the cab fare that was required to go anywhere, because walking down the street even one block from the Ghettosphere meant being confronted with the decay of western civilization...
Not that I didn't have a good time! It was great hanging out with my friends. I saw some great shows, hilarious comedy, won a little cash, and I had a foot-long hotdog and a beer (a PBR, no less) that cost me a grand total of 99 cents. It was worth the flight to Vegas just for that meal alone! I even had a couple of 99-cent Heinies too (Heinies as in "Heineken", not heinies as in "booties"). Although, come to think of it, I did see a lot of heinies on that trip (also worth roughly 99 cents), especially on the backs of cabs, where the ads for the "Crazy Girls" show was nothing but a rear-view picture of half-bent-over girls in thongs. I even saw one girl's thong-clad butt on a giant billboard in front of Bally's, and I felt a little relief that, for the first time in my adult life, I was viewing a photo of a stripper whose butt was officially bigger than mine (because it was on a billboard, after all). All in all, it was a fantastic trip, despite the nonstop booties and the blasting-furnace climate and the decay of western civilization outside the Ghettosphere.
And, no, Ned & I didn't get married while we were there. (Sorry, Rocco, I think you lost twenty bucks on that bet!)
Oh, man, so much more to write, and so little time left in this incredibly long day. I'm going to have to continue this one tomorrow. I haven't written a word yet about the rumor that led me to think (briefly) that my ex-husband (remember "Blowhole"?) was dead... or my run-in with the jerks at Arvest Bank in Rogers... or the cunning, sneaky, fearless mouse living in my utility room... or the professions of undying love from an ex that made me go, "Tttttppppphhhhh..."... or my ever-expanding list of entities who would be the first to incur my wrath if ever I really snapped and plunged into the sweet abyss of insanity... or my excitement about my upcoming trip to the world's biggest amusement park... or my deal-of-a-lifetime purchases of bridal apparel... or -- omigod-how-could-I-forget-this one -- the really-fabulous-if-only-ever-so-slightly-slutty silver stillettos I bought in Vegas... or my epiphanies about my extended family... or any of the other positively life-altering events of the last few weeks. OK, I'll save some more for tomorrow! (Gasp! Gasp!) For now, I'm off to bed here in Pittsburgh.
Note to my pugs, who are home with my Mom hundreds of miles from this hotel room: I miss you, my little curly-tailed, snorting, pot-roast-with-legs-looking puppies! Today, a beer-bellied guy with a combover kind of snorted a little beside me in the hotel elevator, and all I could think was, "Awww.... I miss my puglets!"