Viva Las Pukas, or Riding the Escalavator

WARNING: There is some talk of barfing. If that is too much information for you, stop reading now.

So remember I was going to Vegas?

Yeah.

I actually blogged in the airport but you'll have to wait for that one. This one is coming first. Because I'm thirty now and I feel like doing things however the heck I want.

Oh, wait. I've always done that.

So we stayed at the Flamingo. If you are in college, stay at the Flamingo. If you like having a non-smoking room that smells like smoke, stay at the Flamingo. If you like having a room with a fortune from a fortune cookie (that isn't yours) remain on the floor THE ENTIRE TIME you're there, stay at the Flamingo. If you like having tanning oil scent pumped into the air they pump into the casino and lobby, stay at the Flamingo.

If you do not like these things, stay elsewhere.

I've included some pictures for you and I promise you story details, but pictures first, okay?
I woke up one morning and realized that I had indeed started growing Satanic horns in the night. I could not get them to go away. This should have instantly alerted me that this trip would be unlike any other trip to Vegas. Bad girl, go back to Phoenix.
Views from my room.

So the conference was great and I learned lots of stuff. It was like sitting through a time share sales pitch. I felt as though everything I did was wrong and I immediately needed to change it. All of it.

The excitement came when we wandered into a karaoke lounge on Monday night. So fun. No drinking. But as a completely mean girl, I love to sit and heckle the people on stage. Not loudly. I'm not that mean. Sheesh.

The problems came when we went back to the lounge the next night.

Oh, people.

The drinks were a'pourin' and I was having a great time. Here's a snippet of a phone call to Jeremiah, with some paraphrasing.

E: Whatchin' doin'?

J:Sleeping. It's almost one.

E:Tell me a little about that.

J:Are you drunk?

E: laughs hysterically

J:So, yes?

E: I did the running man dance. And the grocery shopper. And the dice. And the sprinkler. And then I came back to my hotel and I rode the escalavator.

J:Babe.

E:Now I think I'm going to throw up.

That's about it. Vegas is one mean city, for sure. I didn't actually throw up until about five, but at that point I called boyfriend back and was still laughing hysterically about an ice cube on the floor that wouldn't melt because my room was so cold. I thought I was funny. He thought I needed some food to absorb some of the remaining alcohol. The puking took care of that.

I flew home with the barf bag on my lap the entire flight and I was actually green.

Would you like to ride the escalavator with me?