Thrill-seeking, Vegas style
Something horrible happened and we got stuck in Vegas for three days. I know, right? ( Don’t throw me in the briar patch, B’rer Bear!) I had never been to Vegas, and it was a weekend, so I was in for an extraordinary treat. We weren’t left to our own devices — we have friends of 20 years who actually live in Vegas, like full-time, so we had our own personal tour guides.
The first thing I noticed about Vegas is that it’s hot as hell. Literally. I’m from Georgia, heat is nothing new to me. Georgia is humid, so I’m pretty used to taking a shower and never being able to dry off completely. The first time I opened the door of the truck, parked on blacktop, in 103 degrees of blazing sunshine, it took my breath away.
“Oh my God, I’m going to die.”
“Nah, babe, it’s a dry heat.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. When it’s nine million degrees, it’s hot, and I don’t care how dry it is, I’m seriously going to die.”
The second thing I noticed about Vegas is the abundance of incredibly stupid things you can pay money to do. Vegas is a thrill-seeker’s paradise. You can ride a roller coaster on top of a skyscraper, bungee-jump off the side of a crane, or be shot up into the air attached to a giant rubber band. You can zip-line through a building, or rent a Ferrari and drive as fast as you want around a tiny racetrack. There are any number of people willing to take your money so you can risk life and limb, to accomplish nothing other than being able to say you did it.
I’m not a thrill seeker, and I don’t understand people who are. I find it thrilling to polish my nails and have them dry completely without dinging them up. I’m also thrilled when I make it through one more day without becoming permanently horizontal. Call me simple.
Here’s my idea of thrill-seeking in Vegas: try wearing flip-flops while walking around the Fremont Street Experience. You’re trapped in a giant hangar with 11 million people who are looking straight up into the air as they mill about. You’re in grave danger of having your toes mangled by 7-foot-tall show girls in stilettos, as well as the 11 million people not looking where they’re going. Also, when you get home, your feet are so black on the bottom you have to GoJo them into submission. (Note to self: never again.)
Vegas was great, but if we hadn’t had friends to visit, we would have left after the first day. I was so completely over-stimulated by the third hour I had a hard time paying attention to anything for the next three days. I also got a little grumpy after seeing hoards of transvestites who had boobs ten times better than mine. Is there a boob factory in Vegas or what?
If you’re going to be traveling through any time soon, take time to see it, it really is an experience. But if you’re going to walk around, wear steel-toed boots, and remember, if it has boobs, it doesn’t necessarily like being referred to as Ma’am.