Vegas is a strange city. Especially for someone like me who doesn't smoke or gamble. And I'm not even European (they're everywhere). But despite my complete lack of compatibility with Sin City I still always have fun there. Since my husband and I aren't big gamblers we mostly just walk around looking at the hotels and the huge hooters on constant display (Vegas should be called Tits City).
As I previously mentioned, we stayed at the Wynn and it rocked. It's beautiful and the service is great. Though the lady that checked us in was a little startled when I assured her we were married (my license still shows my maiden name-don't ask. The nice lady assured me that she did not care. However, for some reason it was very important to me that no one thought I was sinning in Sin City. So crazy. I should have told her I was his mistress and really livened things up.....not that it would have blown the socks off of Registration Lady.
Anyway, we ate at lots of fine restaurants and saw three shows- Love, Blue Man Group, and Sarah Silverman. Love is the Beatles Cirque du Soleil and if you love the Beatles you will love Love. Not a lot of the usual Cirque acts as it leans toward a lot of interpretive dance.
It was actually the second time we've seen the Blue Man Group and though the show was almost exactly the same it was still very entertaining. I almost had a heart attack when one of the Blue Men climbed out into the audience and started looking for a volunteer for some stage antics. The thought of going on stage was both horrifying and strangely attractive to me, but alas they chose another victim just a few seats down from moi.
Sarah Silverman was at the Hard Rock hotel which, by the way, is full of a new strain of dude known to my husband and I as the "Super Douche." Lots of guys wearing sunglasses inside the dark, smokey casino, smoking herbal cigarettes and decked out in Armani Exchange gear from head to toe (you can tell b/c a giant version of the logo appears on each apparel item). Beware the Super Douche.
Silverman was funny though I think she was high or drunk or both. Kind of felt like she mailed it in a bit, but I was distracted by the 60 year old couple who never smiled, giggled, or even grimaced during the show. If you know anything about Sarah you know her humor is profane and racist (as in making fun of the racist by pretending to be one) so this older couple was an odd fit. I felt like I was there with my mom. Un.Comfort.Able.
Over all it was a lovely trip, but I did come away with a war wound. Everything in Vegas is 100 miles from everything else and my husband has some sort of taxi-phobia so we wind up walking 400 miles a day. Now, if you you're a chub like me all this walking will start a small forest fire between your thighs. I was literally begging Husband to take a cab from Ceasers to the Wynn after we'd walked, walked, walked, and walked from 11:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m. Husband indulged my checking the cab stand, but revolted when all that was available was a Town Car for $30 whole dollars. Husband could not believe I'd really pay $30 to be driven a couple of blocks. Couple of blocks?!?! Try a couple of miles! I would have paid a billion dollars for that Town Car. I finally had to confess that my chunk thighs had rubbed together all day to the point there was no longer flesh, but raw fat. A look of horror crossed his face, but he kept on walking. I trotted behind him, stopping every once in awhile to slightly squat and let the cool air calm my razzed thigh burn. Oh, the misery! When I finally squat-walked into our room I praised Jesus for the soothing effects of baby powder.
Thank goodness we rented a car and drove around in the desert the next day so my thighs could recover.
The only sad moment was when I could not get the seat belt around my ample ass on the plane ride home. Damn you U.S. Air! I hid the buckle under my shirt and took a chance on cracking my skull wide open when thrown out of my seat from violent turbulence. I'm so on a diet. Except for today at lunch.
Viva Las Chubbies!
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