I didn’t think a blog post would be appropriate yeaterday, given everything that happened in Boston on Monday. My heart goes out to everyone who was affected, either directly or indirectly.
I say that I didn’t think it would be appropriate because this post is a bit more humorous and I know that the last thing people want to do the day after a tragedy but today I wanted to detail some of the things that can go wrong on a Vegas vacation.
For those who have never been to Las Vegas, there’s a definite culture shock. From the moment you get into the terminal in the airport you’re bombarded with ads for different shows, venues, girls, strip clubs, night clubs, day clubs, hotels, Celine Dione, and gambling. When you hit the street with the mob of other tourists dodging the card snappers lining the side walks who are giving out cards for escort services to the drunk sororities and bachelor parties staggering into each other at a slow car wreck speed, it can be somewhat disorienting and exhilarating at the same point.
Rookies who head to Vegas and hit the ground running tend to burn out quickly and wind up broke, stoned/hung over, married, stabbed, or possibly addicted to meth by the time their return flight comes around, and those are some of the better options that could happen. You have to pace yourself while you’re there or you’ll wind up repeating the famous words from Cookie Monster, “How the hell did I get here and where the fuck are my pants???”
It wouldn’t be unlikely to find yourself at a 7-11 at 3 in the morning waaaay off the strip waiting for a bus that’s not coming and have the group of surly gentlemen to your left look you up and down, with one saying “you ain’t from around here, are ya?” Not that I have any experience with that at all.
Not only do you have to pace yourself, but you have to be willing to sacrifice a little bit of yourself to not go to complete pieces. Let’s say you’re not down with the whole gambling, drinking, partying your face off thing. There’s also the fact that there’s massive portions of crap-tastic food everywhere, temperatures that are above the pasty cold death clutch that is Edmonton in the winter, and a LOT of walking while my wife power-shopped me into the floor, which means cool clothes, cushioned shoes, and a ready supply of protein bars we brought with us.
On top of that, with being out of your element and eating different foods, drinking different amounts of alcohol, and generally trying not to spend your life savings on that next hand of three-card poker, getting in some regular workouts can be paramount to feeling like a million bucks or like you just got ran over by the street cleaners after a bender. A TRX unit is a safe bet. Hang it from the hotel bathroom door, rock out a body weight workout, and hit the strip ready to break hearts and kick ass. They’re pretty small and can pack into any kind of luggage.
We were essentially in Vegas for a couple reasons. First, Lindsay’s sister was getting married at Caesar’s Palace, which was pretty cool. Second, we wanted an escape from the cold and snow for a few days, plus it was the first vacation we’d had since Christmas. Third, Lindsay enjoys shopping, and by enjoys shopping, I mean that she begins pre-shopping about 6 weeks before we actually arrive in Vegas, has shops mapped out, sales marked up, has contacted associates and can pretty much find her way around that place in the dark. It’s both incredibly impressive to watch and horrifyingly disturbing when the credit card bill comes in that month.
An added bonus was that Jerry Seinfeld was playing two nights at Caesar’s, which coincided with us going down there, and he put on a great show.
Aside from all that, there was copious amounts of the prime Vegas past time: people watching.
It’s both saddening and equally enraging to see people who are essentially throwing their lives away with smoking, drinking, and lack of thoracic mobility congregate into one place. People who need two stools to sit at a slot machine, one for each butt cheek. They’re on oxygen and still chain smoking like a chimney. They’re hauling ass up the strip on a Rascal scooter.
Actually, that looks kinda fun.
Equally annoying are the people who decide to go for a run on the strip.
At 5 in the afternoon.
As romantic as it may seem to say you’re going for a run on the strip, don’t. It’s like saying “Oh I’m going to go for a run through those marshy grass fields during high mosquito season.” For one, it won’t be fast. You’ll be dodging so many pedestrians you’ll go at about half your normal pace, which means you’ll essentially train yourself to become slow. Second, you’re probably going to wind up running into someone because runners tend to not have the greatest change of direction capability, and the sidewalks are actually somewhat slick so you’ll probably blow out a tire trying to make like Barry Sanders around the Mexican Darth Vader and run right into the Asian Elvis impersonator.
If you want to get a good run workout, go one block off the strip and start running. Pretty soon you’ll have someone trying to chase you, which will make for a faster run and a better overall workout.
From there, it’s important for guys to remember that if they’re in a relationship with someone they really care about, they have to wear sunglasses at night. In the evenings, girls like to wear heels ranging from between 3-9 inches high, and wear skirts ranging from between 9-3 inches long. They also like to accentuate other areas, meaning if your significant other catches you swivelling your head around, you’re in big trouble. Men can’t help it. It’s like a parakeet seeing a reflection of itself in a mirror: We are intrigued and have to investigate.
Apparently though, women are allowed to look, comment, and let their gaze linger, and that’s just dandy.
So in conclusion, stay hydrated, forget your budget, wear comfortable shoes, and always wear sunglasses. They’re useful in and out of the sun.
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