Every Monday I free-write whatever comes to mind.
I can’t promise you quality. I can’t promise you the feels. I can’t promise you anything, really. Except that it will always be raw, it will always be unedited, it will always be all over the place, and it will always be me. Oh, and it will always be done in my pajamas. Always. Because that’s how I roll.
Hmmm. What to talk about today…
How about Vegas. Might as well since I have a few pictures I took for one of my BIG FAT DAY OF THAT posts but not enough to actually make a post.
I was there a week or so ago. I go there often, at least once each year, sometimes twice. By the way, that picture above is me screaming “VEGAS!” at the top of my lungs.
I love Las Vegas. It is so my kind of place, and not for the same reason that it is for most people, though I’m sure we have plenty of reasons which cover the gap.
I mean, where else can I play chicken in a hotel lobby with a hoidy toidy lady with a fancy dog, lose that battle, and then walk out onto a sidewalk where a perma-stoned dude in dreads creates a freestyle rap just for me, all in hopes of the one dollar tip I’m going to put in his bucket.
No, really. That happened. I don’t have a picture of the lady with the dog. But I have this.
Yeah, I love Vegas for the epic people watching more than anything. On this last trip, I saw…
A topless pregnant woman covering her nips with one of those fancy Asian fans. Also wanting dollars in her bucket. I’m not sure if a dollar would have gotten rid of the fan for a picture, but she scared me so I didn’t try.
A morbidly obese fifty-something Mexican man with a Fu-Manchu beard, holding up a sign saying that he had access to the hottest prostitutes around. PS. He had B.O. Bad. I’m still not sure why I didn’t get the best feeling from him.
A paranoid schizophrenic who called me a f***ing blue crosser. Whatever that is. I think he was complimenting me.
A woman made of gold. I’m talking her hair, her clothes, everything. Upon talking to her, I learned that her boyfriend is also made of gold. And they have gold babies. I just don’t get how you could be made of gold and still want dollars in your bucket. Seems like you should be out spending yourself. Cut off an elbow or something. It’ll feed you for life.
A man dressed in a fancy shirt that is so fancy he had to tell me, a perfect stranger, that it was a thousand dollars and there were less than five hundred of them made in the entire world.
A man in his undies, trippin’ out of his gourd, being pinned to the ground by six cops at once, and somehow still was showing the strength to give them a hard time.
A drag queen who had to be at least 6’8” and hotter than any other girl I saw walking around Freemont Street.
A drunk young man eating dog poop on a dare. Huh? I’ve been drunk. I’ve never been that drunk.
Tinkerbell. Who happens to be hot. Who happens to also be an SDL reader. Hey, Tink! (PS. I got her digits.)
A cute little Asian lady who just likes taking pictures with tall men (I didn’t approach her on this one!).