The Weekend

Let's see if I can get all of this right. So I arrive in Vegas on Friday night around 5-ish. I check into my hotel, The Luxor and sit down for a minute. Then I pick up the phone book to call my family there. I knew they would be busy preparing to move, so I found accommodations for myself out of their hair. Found the number, dialed, and got a recording. "We're sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and dial again." So I check the number and dial again. Same lady's voice, same recording.

So, I sit back and wonder what the fuck.

The next day, Saturday, I talk to Mom. She tells me that they're already in Iowa. "Oh, I see," I said. So my contacting them kinda just fell through the cracks and they left early? I'm not sure how to take this yet. I got kinda pissed and then really depressed. I hung up, went downstairs, sat at the slots and got free wine to drunken me up. By the end of the night on Saturday, I was bawling my eyes out. I don't know what to think yet, so I can't really continue this, uh, this whatever it is.

Let's back up a bit, to Friday night. After I got that miserable recorded message, I ordered some room service, watched CNN repeat the same news and same video clips over and over, and then I went to the spa at the Luxor. Now, the Oasis Spa at Luxor is open 24 hours a day, six days a week (they close early on Tuesdays). It's segregated men's and women's spas, which is so nice, no offense ladies. And it is known as the cruisiest spa on the Strip. I like the hot tub because it relaxes my weary bones, and this particular night, after an eight-hour drive and some confusing news, I needed to relax.

So I'm down there, minding my own business (really), when I see two guys go into one shower stall together. The showers are quite private, with two doors separating the shower from the outside world. From what I've read on various parts of the Internet, the male attendant who works the night shift is supposedly gay or gay-friendly and wouldn't mind if a little hey-hey was going on around the joint. It was Vegas after all, anything goes, right?

About fifteen minutes later, I see "Mike," the attendant grab a basket of towels, open the exterior door to the shower next to the two guys and start knocking on the occupied shower's door saying something like "you can't do this, you can't do this." English was not his native language, so I think he was at a loss for words other than "you can't do this." The two guys come out of the shower dripping wet with their towels barely secured around their waists, effectively blocked in by the basket of towels and the open door. "Mike" had set up a barricade. "Mike" pulled over one of the uniformed janitors to be a witness to this "crime." Both "Mike" and the janitor stayed in front of the two guys as they pleaded for their freedom saying such things as "we're sorry," "we meant no harm," "we'll leave right now and never come back," among other things I couldn't hear clearly enough.

Keep in mind, please, that I am sitting about twenty feet away from this, with a clear view, but sitting, and melting in a divine hot tub with jets pounding my lumbar region, and fountains dribbling water near my ears, so the only thing I really heard was the shouts of either the two guys or "Mike." I inferred the rest.

Shortly after they had emerged from their shower stall, a uniformed security guard entered the spa. He looked around the place for the attendant and spied a half-dozen naked, soaking men in the hot tub who were enthralled in the proceedings. One guy sitting next to me mentioned that this was a crime. I looked over at him with shock (really), having witnessed him and another unnamed male person in the eucalyptus steam room having a go at things. He continued clarifying that it happens all the time and that they probably didn't tip "Mike" enough money to keep his mouth shut. "Oh, I see," I replied. Is that all it took? And the "crime" the naked stranger referred to was the fact that these two guys were being ostracized in the face of plenty of other offenders who got away with it.

So, after a brief interrogation by the rent-a-cop, "Mike" escorted the two visibly shaken men to their lockers where the security guard took over and escorted them out of the spa. I don't know what happened to them after that. All I knew was that I had had enough relaxation for one night, and it was my turn to leave. I dried off, dressed up, and left. I took a shower in the privacy of my own room. It was a shame, even though by someone else's standards clearly unacceptable behavior. I mean, who gives a rat's ass? They weren't hurting anyone, the spa's reputation clearly preceded itself, and honestly, there wasn't a straight man in the place that night, except maybe the janitor, and even he looked like this was a waste of time.

So back to Saturday: I hadn't seen Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones yet, and they were showing it in the Imax theatre in the Luxor, so I sat and watched it. It was pretty fun and big. That was before the slots and the wine. I thought the movie would distract me a little. I guess it worked for about two hours.

Sunday I relaxed some more, reading a little, watching a couple of DVDs I had brought with me on my laptop, watching the Oscars (no comments about the Oscars by the way, good show, congrats, etc.). Today I drove home. Another eight-hour trip.

I have decided that I want to drive the big rigs. Yes, it's true. I love to drive, and I would look stunning behind the wheel of those behemoths, cruising (not literally) down the highways of America. If our little software dealy doesn't work, or if and when they sell the stuff to the highest bidder, I think I might seriously consider driving a truck. Go ahead, hit me with your best shots. I've already got one person who thinks I'm joking. But she's a foreigner to whom English is still a burden, so I don't think she understands me too well.

I guess that's all. I'm very disappointed in my weekend. I don't know what to think about this. I guess I'll have to process this in my own way, the subconscious. Speaking of which, and I simply couldn't close my entry without mentioning this, I had the most fun dream last night. I dreamt that I was bitten by a very old vampire who ended up siring me. I went off in search of Angel, and ran into Willow instead, who threated to stake me with her own little version of "Mr. Pointy." I convinced her that I would not kill her and therefore she had no reason to stake me, and I took off flying search of Angel. While the dream was certainly a release dream, it clearly illustrates that I am in need of more real human interaction, n'est-ce pas?

And that really is all.

I was silly enough to write this at 8:47 PM