Twelve hours into our big weekend, my head has been pounding for approximately two hundred minutes. Is it me, or is the combination of flashing lights, ringing bells, leering frat boys, tittering drunk girls, and despondent old people everywhere we turn slightly disturbing? Not to mention the lack of one square inch of real estate unencumbered by something garish or gilded. Seriously, I think I fit in less here than in Hawaii, where I was surrounded by water that caused me to hyperventilate. I’m pretty sure the look on my face is perpetually disdainful.
On top of the judgmental attitude I can’t seem to repress, I foolishly only packed fashionable shoes rather than functional ones and can hear my bunions protesting already. Somehow I doubt limping + crying = sexy. Now I’m faced with trying to find affordable footwear in a town where a $110 tank top doesn’t seem ridiculous. (To be fair, it was expertly bedazzled).
So I don’t seem a complete killjoy, here are some pluses so far:
- Extraordinarily kind lighting everywhere there is a mirror
- Padded headboard (great for when I’m reading or typing of course, dirty mind)
- Very nice cab drivers
- Starbucks in our hotel
- Nice-smelling soaps & lotions
- These guys - my bff Jen & her good man Dave
Now if I could find a Goodwill on the Strip, I will gladly stop complaining. Out loud, anyway.