April 29, 2002
The End
After an eight-hour "flight" from Vegas, we got home on Sunday night. I was a little tired, but I managed to stay up well past midnight. We hit I5 around four o'clock, and it was practically bumper to bumper until 152. I couldn't believe how ridiculous it was. A two-lane interstate, of course it's full of semis going to wherever they're going, and all the stupid people driving 55 in the fast lane. I don't need to waste my time talking about traffic here.
After our fabulous dinner at the Eiffel Tower, with a remarkable raspberry soufflé for dessert, and I mean remarkable, we saw O which fucking blew me away. I was prepared to be dazzled and stunned, and the preparation was a little understated. From the moment the curtains were whisked away until they were returned to the stage, I was on the edge of my seat. I was simply amazed, and that's all I can really say, except that anyone who hasn't seen it needs to go and see it, and book the tickets well in advance, because if you're not a guest at the Bellagio, it's booked until the end of May. We found out that little trick, and that was the main reason for staying at the Bellagio, and really that was the only reason. After Steve Wynn sold out and the Bellagio came under MGM management, their level of service went down hill pretty bad. But whatever. You're not supposed to be in the rooms anyway.
Saturday, I spent the day at the pool, as I said, burning my lily-white ass in the hot desert sun, and cruising, darlin, cruising. Married men, straights, even the fellow gay boys appreciated what I had to offer. I haven't done that in so long, I forgot how much fun it is. Especially when the married men's spouses glare back at you for invading their turf. Yeah, whatever. Glare at your husband, hobag. He's the one looking at me.
And it ended on Saturday night at one of the newest casinos, the Palms. It's off the strip, and it has a very young crowd. R and I had a blast looking at all the little hos in their thigh-high denim boots, their blouses cut down to there, and the hair, oh Lord, the hair. By the end of our brief stay there, we decided that desperation does not make one look attractive. It was so obvious looking at these guys and gals that all they wanted to do was hook up and get laid. Why else would the girls imitate Jennifer Lopez? And it doesn't make you look any more attractive either. I mean really, if you feel that the only way to find a date is to become an outrageous carricature of something else, then you're playing to the wrong audience, or at least you're only going to get a sloppy one-night stand. What is the old saying? A 2 at 10 is a 10 at 2? And I can say that only because I knew that it was going to be near impossible to get laid on this trip, so I didn't even try. I was myself, and it was easy.
Whatever. I'm home now, so I can concentrate on the mundanities of every day life in the Bay Area where it's freezing. We left the desert, drove through Baker with the world's tallest thermometer at 75 degrees, and at nine o'clock in San Francisco it was like 50 or some shit. Damn, that's cold. But I love it. This was the longest Vegas trip I'd ever been on, and it was a little too long. I wanted to go home on Thursday, and by Saturday, I was ready to stay for another week. I guess there was some sort of adjustment period that I went through. Anyway....
