So I’ve decided that when I die and (fingers-crossed) go to Heaven, I hope it’s like Vegas. Chris and I spent two hours tonight just chilling next to each other; smoking, drinking and watching our money go up and down. Which actually isn’t that different from our normal loves except we could smoke inside and drinks were free.
I will admit I was a bit disappointed though. We arrived after five hours of driving, Chris’ mom and aunt wanted to take us to a casino for dinner and some nightcap gambling since it was my first time in Sin City. So I go and get all dressed up, rocking the new edgy hair, heels and cleavage…I’m in Vegas, I’ve got showgirls and hookers to compete with. But my effort was for naught when we walked into Santa Fe Station…a local’s casino.
Off the beaten path, far from the glitz and glamour of the strip lies the local’s casino. This is the most depressing place on the planet, made for the Las Vegas citizens who want to keep their gambling habits much more shameful and quiet than the tourists. They have these frequent player cards, as you watch your money float away you rack up points. You can then redeem these points for toasters or waffle irons or any number of small kitchen appliances. I don’t know why appliances are the prize of choice, maybe because the public has to keep selling their own to pay off gambling debts.
But man was the people watching fantastic. Mullets as far as the eye can see, my favorite of the evening was the brown mullet complete with bleached blonde tail down to his butt. Every type of white trash stereotype was represented- all of them chain smoking. The only two expressions I saw on anybody’s face were pissed-off or blank. Night after night amidst the blinking lights must have fried their brains.
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