Sin City

Ahh Vegas, the land of Barbie like breasts, fanny packs, Speedos, and a few to many man-capris. The trip started out on a bad note as my parents had to pry my daughter out of my hands. I had been holding her and sobbing for at least an hour and she was getting annoyed. I had never even left her for more than an hour prior to this trip out west. I get on the plane with a constant feeling like I had forgotten something (probably be because I didn’t have a diaper bag, stroller, carryon, pack-n-play, etc.) I’m a nervous flyer anyway, add to this the hysterics involved in leaving my first-born and as you can imagine I am a total wreck. Somewhere in the process of getting to Vegas I lost my father’s cell phone which I had borrowed so I could call Lauren every 5 seconds without wasting any minutes. I flashed back to being 16 again as I called every lost and found repeating, “umm hi, I lost my dad’s cell phone.” I’m not really a Vegas kind of gal, call me crazy but, I’ve really never liked gambling, female nudity or protitution. I was amazed at what falls into the “uniform” category when it comes to being a professional cocktail waitress. Apparently they hand out the breasts with the flashy bathing suits, support hose, and heals. As I passed one on the way to breakfast at 8:30am I thanked God that I had had the opportunity to go to college (and graduate, even if it was the 6 year plan). I never ever want a job that requires shaving or waxing my bikini line, no thanks, I’ve got better things to do with my time. Things were going great, Michael showed me how to work the slot machines and I won $50. I was even thinking that maybe I might feel like doing “the deed” and then I felt a weird twinge in my nether region. I tried to ignore it, I thought maybe it was all the greasy food washed down by more alcohol than I had consumed in the last year and a half. Little did I know that this little twinge would be a defining moment of this trip, the end of my desire to get my “freak on” and the beginning of (gasp) my period. Yep, after nearly 18 months the red visitor decided to rear its ugly head on my romantic getaway. I’m still not sure if this was truly the worst one of my life or if I had just forgotten what all the red visitor brought with him. I paid $8 for a bottle of Aleve and $9 for a box of 10 cardboard encased tampons (which I absolutely loathe, why don’t I just role up a sheet of sand paper and shove it up my whowho) I felt like absolute crap and I laid in the hotel bed until it was time for the show we had already purchased tickets for. I was in no condition to be attending a show but for what we paid for those tickets I managed to rouse myself from the uncomfortable bed, wash down two more Aleve with my long island from earlier, and head out the door. In the middle of the show, being the hypochondriac that I am, I thought to myself “I must be having a miscarriage this feels like contractions not cramps.” I was sweating and uncomfortable and wanted nothing more than to slide out of my chair to the floor and curl up in a ball. I sat there suffering for what felt like an eternity watching men in tights throw men in thongs around like monkeys flinging poo. After two days of popping Aleve and Imodium like tic tacs I had managed to weather the storm just in time to head home. To cheer myself we did a little shopping just before heading to the airport. We spent just over $150 and left the bags in the cab we took to the airport. I never located my dad’s cell phone, some Indian cab driver is wearing two very expensive golf shirts and his daughter is probably wearing some really cute outfits from the baby gap, and the icing on my little cupcake… I’m back in the saddle again. I was just relieved to get home and see my baby!