I'll save you all the dragging, dreary details it took to get here, but they involved delays, holding patterns, some angry bouts of turbulence, malfunctioning seat belts, and landings in Louisville. All even less fun with a head cold sent straight from the devil himself.
All that said, Vegas was interesting. It always is.
First, the hotel was gorgeous. Gorgeous. We scored the bedroom with the king-sized bed and the jacuzzi. Heh. Three TVs and one remote, but that's neither here nor there.
It was Tracy's first time in Sin City, which was why we stuck her in the right side window seat - coming in for a landing, you get a glorious view of the strip. She'd taken her contacts out by then, so she had an unobstructed view of lots of blurry lights. We were all amused. Which was a welcome change after an hourlong departure delay and just before we sat on the runway for forty minutes. Southwest, I used to love you so.
Day one consisted of the buffet at Harrahs, wandering the strip, and introducing Tracy to nickel slots and the art of drinking for free (and in the middle of the afternoon). We caught Zumanity on Sunday evening (I've dubbed it "Nipples on Parade") and Toni Braxton on Tuesday night (I want a copy of Toni's dictionary, which apparently defines "singing" as looking cute for the jumbotron and sporadically moaning things that sound vaguely like words. Sometimes.). Headed down to Fremont Street not once but twice, because that open-air flea market feel never gets old, the Golden Nugget is just as good as anyplace on the strip, and Tony Roma's still does the best burger on the planet. Cleaned up at craps, then called it a night on the gambling to shoot back top shelf Long Islands (for $5.50! Only in Vegas, man.) and shoot the shit with Shad and Kevin, the cutest things to ever come out of Phoenix (seriously, they've been together a year and they're still holding hands and sharing a bar stool). I talked cigars and drunk bikers and Elton John with Kevin while Shad tried to drag Tanya into the men's room, and we all got happily tipsy, took pictures, traded info, and talked them into a trip to Chicago.
Riiiiight about then was when the sick started.
But I'm home. Not well, but not broke, so I guess it's a trade-off. Tracy's the lone Las Vegas holdout - she's soaking up the sun through Friday night, all by her lonesome. Tracey left Tuesday, the rest of us yesterday. Our last round of entertainment came on the plane, when Ken managed to wildly offend various surrounding passengers using only his brand new laptop and the second season of the Chappelle Show. Good times.
And now I'm back at work. Sick. Such is life.