Tag Archives: Las Vegas

Keep trying …

Yeah, so I don’t think I’ll be able to retire on my gambling winnings just yet.

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A good idea

Hypothetically, if you were a teacher at the start of your two-month summer break for which you didn’t get paid, plus you had been on full strike for the last two weeks of the school year and on partial strike for a couple of weeks before that and so had already lost several thousand dollars worth of your yearly salary, PLUS the dispute with the government that employs you showed every sign of continuing into the start of the next school year in September so you really had no idea when your next paycheque was coming, PLUS PLUS your daughter was starting law school in September and had found an apartment near the university campus and although she did have a student line-of-credit from a bank, of course you were planning to help her out with some of her living expenses –

(take a deep breath here)

– so if that was your situation, you would totally take your daughter to Vegas for four days, wouldn’t you? You would, right?

Well, I would.

Besides, Vegas is way more fun than just buying a lottery ticket.

Viva Las Vegas!

We are back from Las Vegas. Here in the Vancouver area, it is currently pouring rain out and something like 10 degrees Celsius. In Las Vegas it was constantly sunny and something like 35 degrees Celsius.

Which one of those do you think I prefer?

But we had a lot of fun over four days and spent almost all of our money. I came home with 40 dollars US and PG had a bit more. I won’t tell you how much we brought down with us, but suffice to say that the two of us have definitely done our part in stimulating the economic recovery of America.

A few snippets of our trip:

We ate at PG’s favourite French restaurant there no less than FOUR times, two breakfasts and two dinners. He may now be sated. Or he may not. He really loves that restaurant.

We went for a lovely dinner at a far more elegant restaurant one night. PG was quite astonished to discover that in the evenings, this restaurant had a dress code that stipulated shirts with collars and long pants for men. He did have the required shirt, but he did not bring long pants, only shorts. So the maĆ®tre d’ actually supplied him with a pair of dark dress pants almost in the correct size, in a discreet little red bag. I say “almost” the correct size, because PG was instructed to wear them OVER his shorts, so they had to be somewhat bigger. I almost died laughing. Good thing his shirt was fairly long.

I have come to the conclusion that Las Vegas is the skank capital of the world. I saw so many women wearing stuff that they really shouldn’t have been wearing! I had no idea that a piece of cloth about as wide as a bandaid would be an acceptable skirt for a woman who weighs in at around 200 pounds. Or that a woman in her seventies and with double Ds would find it appropriate to go braless in public (not a pretty sight, let me tell you!). Or how about the young woman with the short-shorts and the pubic hair sticking out? And stilettos with a bikini in a hotel lobby is just tacky – or maybe she thought she was Miss America. In 1965. I could go on, but I really need those memories to fade. Quickly.

We were gambling at some casino one night and I had to go to the bathroom. (When you drink many, many rum-and-cokes back to back for several hours, that is apparently just one of the side effects.) Anyway, I had to ask some attendant where the bathroom was located, then off I trotted. When I came out, I was completely lost. I had no clue which way to go. All I could remember was that we had been near a blackjack table that had a sort of canopy over top. Well, ALL the blackjack tables and the roulette tables and Texas-hold-em tables and every other gaming table had those canopies. I was screwed. I stood there in confusion, wondering what the hell to do. In the meantime, I had been gone a good fifteen minutes, PG tells me, when he figured that I had been gone so long that I was obviously lost. He sat at his slot machine in confusion, also wondering what the hell to do. Eventually, though, I did find him, by accident more than anything. He followed me to the bathroom every time I had to go for the rest of the trip.

We took a half-day tour to the Hoover Dam, which was absolutely fascinating. This was something that PG had really wanted to do, but I’m sure I enjoyed it as much as he did. It’s quite an engineering feat, even 70 or so years later. But I believe that the most impressive thing about it for PG was that part of the movie “Transformers” was filmed there. It must have been, because he mentioned that fact more than once. Like maybe thirty-five times. Because he likes movies. A lot. Especially ones with cars in them. Like “Transformers”.

Also at the Hoover Dam, I learned that the Colorado River, which it spans, is the dividing line between the states of Nevada and Arizona. Naturally I had to cross the dam to the Arizona side so that I could say that I had set foot in Arizona. PG rolled his eyes, but he dutifully took the photo.

Speaking of photos, did you know that camera batteries need to be recharged? And that to do this, you need to bring the recharger? And if you don’t know this and don’t bring the recharger, did you know that your camera will not last long, like maybe only the first day of your five-day trip? Yes, well. Now I know.

Oh – about recharging? Mobile phones need that, too. And again, you need to bring the recharging cable with you in order to do this. You must not leave it at home. Otherwise, your mobile phone is as dead as your camera. And this is not good, because …

… when we went to attend the 10 pm performance of the Blue Man Group, we learned that our tickets, which I purchased on-line at the same time as our hotel-flight package, were somehow VIP tickets. We ended up being escorted to our primo seats, 11 rows up from the stage, smack in the middle. It would have been a fantastic view, except for the world’s tallest couple who were seated in front of us, which made it only a bit less fantastic, really. The other part of being a VIP was that after the show (fabulously entertaining and highly recommended, by the way), we were ushered backstage, where we got to meet one of the Blue Men and have a little chat with him. And WE HAD NO CAMERA and now NO ONE BELIEVES THAT WE GOT TO DO THIS!

And the icing on the cake? When we came home after five days away , I couldn’t get into my house. DD had left for work through the garage in the morning and had left the front door on its night latch, so although I could unlock the door, the latch only allowed it to open about 10 centimetres. She was still at work and I knew that she’d be going to the gym before coming home. That, I estimated, would be in about two and a half hours. I did not want to wait outside my house for that long. Then PG noticed that the balcony door was just slightly ajar. So he literally climbed up the siding, hauled himself over the railing, and nimbly landed on the balcony. Then he went into the house to unlatch the front door and let me in. My hero.

In retrospect, I guess I should have brought my garage remote, because it did occur to me that DD might not unlatch that door. When she’s using her car, as she does to go to and from work, of course she goes in and out the garage rather than the front door.

On the other hand, nah – that battery probably would have needed recharging, too.

PS – My suitcase arrived there and back without incident. Whew!