Vegas Vacation – Part 2

I have already mentioned in Vegas Vacation Part 1 that the cardinal sins were pretty much wiped out in the first day.  Greed occurs as you slip that first buck in the slot machine while waiting at baggage claim.  Pride, lust, and sloth can be handcuffed together in one roll.  Gluttony comes as I beg for more.  Wrath is one I don’t particularly relish, but once a drunk bastard steps on my boot, hell hath no fury like a Louboutin scorned.  What’s left is envy, and thanks to a particular friend, it kept raising it’s ugly head day after friggin’ day.  As I think of it now, all I can hear in my head is that damn electronic crescendo of a slot machine paying off…and it paid off about ten times.  Frack you, Chele, and those numerous little pieces of paper that said $568.75!  Triple diamond, my envious ass…

Hell, let’s go shopping!  I’m close to the forum shops; I can smell them.  No loss is so bad that a little retail therapy can’t cure, and Chele can hold the damn bags!  If I’m going to lose money, it might as well be on footwear.  The casinos are not the only establishments that ply you with drinks to get you to stay longer.  I martini’ed my way through Stewart Weitzman, Donald L. Pliner, and Louis Vuitton, and I found a little something to masticate at Jimmy Choo.  I was seduced by the feminine wiles and champagne cocktails of Tory Birch, Nanette Lepore, and Carolina Herrera, and quite frankly, I let them have their way with me.

To round out the trifecta of Vegas shows, from headline to strip to performance, we chose Zumanity, the adults only Cirque du Soleil cabaret that explores the full spectrum of human sexuality…from rein to rainbow.  You can read the entire story here, as the review deserves its own blog.  If you manage to score tickets down front, it won’t be the only time you get lucky that night.  Enjoy.

It’s day four, and the remaining time is spent playing blackjack, roulette, and taking a craps lesson from one of the Sopranos.  I asked him what he did before becoming a craps dealer; he said waste management.  OOOK.  Any other time I would have made a crack about Big Pussy, but the way he wielded that wooden hook, I decided to fuhgeddaboudit.  Instead, I thought to grab my girl and ply Chele’s fingers from the Triple Diamond slots for one more walk down the strip.   She cashed in another friggin’ $564 dollar voucher while I quietly lobbed polysyllabic curse words her way.

Walking down the street we have to wind our way through the flickers and a motley crew of Jack Sparrow, Elvis, Michael Jackson, and yes, Santa Claus…and no, I DON’T want to sit on your lap!  I look back from my quick pace and see that a flicker has cut my partner away from the herd.  I hear him ask, “Where is your husband?”  I walk up and reply, “That would be me.” The element of surprise.  Huh?  What?  The prey escapes the hunter.  Jesus Christ!  Oh, I’m not blasphemous, he’s standing by Elvis.

A nice walk and two of those pomegranate mojitos later, we are ready to leave.  I put one last $20 on number “10” for that journalist friend of mine.  34.  Damn.  Loser.  Not really.  As I look back on these last four days I have laughed more than I have laughed in a long time (mostly at Peepshow).  I have shared spectacular moments (and meals) with women I love.  I have met new people, and I have made new friends.  What part of that could ever be considered a loss?  I leave money poor, but heart rich.

Ladies, where next?   New York?  Des Moines?  Get out the map and Chele’s show schedule.  Who knows, we could be bringing this flickin’ sideshow to a venue near you.