I am sure both of you missed me as I certainly have missed you two.
Let me begin by saying that I HATE VEGAS! It is such a cesspool and once I got back to my own bathroom and shower, I had to give myself an ammonia dip in order to wash Vegas out of my pores. I don’t gamle and I don’t have a billion dollars to go see a show and I have been extremely careful of the foods I eat lately that even the restaurants did not iinterest me. All I did was watch people.
I have a quick story to tell and will share with you some other interesting moments and pictures of the trip once I get settled.
As both of you know, I am an insomniac. Actually, I am more of a random sleeper than an insomniac so one morning at about 3 AM, I woke up to walk around the casino at the Paris Hotel. The cigarette smoking, the loud noises and flashing lights were the obvious things I noticed. But then I began to see that there were a couple of different types of gamblers. The first type, the ones I call the “social gamblers”, I had no problem with. These are the groups that are out all night to have a good time and do not have a lot of expectations of winning money. These were the bachelor and bachelorette parties. Everyone was having a good time and were drunk beyond drunk.
The other type truly scared me. These were the little old ladies sitting by the slot machines playing all alone…at 3 AM. They were in a zone of just pushng the two buttons required to play the slots and they NEVER stopped. I can’t imagine how much money they won/lost. It seemed really pathetic and I think it highlights that addicts, of any sort, are truly alone.
But I got on the elevator to go back to my room and with me came an older man; short and fat and what little hair he had left, it was gray. He had a woman with him who VERY clearly was someone who was charging by the hour. She was at least 18 inches taller than he and was about 22 years old and had shorts on that left nothing to the imagination. As they entered the elevator, they were having a conversation about a tatoo on the back of her neck and she was showing it to him. Here is a paraphrase of the conversation:
Idiot Guy: Wow! What is that?
Hired Wench: Oh, it is a tatoo that means a lot to me. You see, my brother was diagnosed with cancer and he was bed-ridden the last years of his life. The only thing he enjoyed doing was drawing cartoons. [her voice obviously breaking up] When he passed away, I had one of his drawings made into a tatoo. Now, I always have something to remind me of him. [visibly teary-eyed]
Idiot Guy: Oh….[3 second pause]….are your tits real?
She sort of snapped out of her fog and thew herself together and reached down and grabbed his hand and placed it on her chest and said “what do you think?”
Then they got off the elevator.
WHAT THE EFF WAS THAT?! I just stood in my corner trying to process the last 30 seconds of my life. Blink…blink blink.
I have other stories to share with both of you. Stay tuned.