Yeah, I know it's been a little while since I last logged on.
Not much going on. Still slogging through the paperwork that is required when someone passes away, and likely will be for the next year. But everything is slowly chugging along, and hopefully either my husband or I will have a job soon.
We went to Las Vegas I think last week. Maybe the week before. I don't quite remember. All I know is that Las Vegas is the most depressing place I've ever been, and I lived in Pensacola, Florida for over ten years. And believe me, if living in Pensacola doesn't want to make you say "goodbye cruel world" by sticking an awl in your own eye or slitting your wrists with a wooden spoon, nothing will.
Las Vegas is fake. It's not fake like Disney World is fake, in that kind of delightfully creepy way. It isn't fake in the way that Six Flags is fake, in that wonderful "I can't believe I'm really on this roller coaster and I'm not dead or anything" way. It isn't fake like the movies, where even though you know it's fake, it's okay because it would be kinda neat if it WERE real.
No.
Las Vegas is fake in that Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph-why-the-fuck-did-I-move-from-my-comfy-hometown-where-I-could-have-gone-to-community-college-and-been-a-vet-tech-to-come-to-this-diseased-city-where-my-only-options-for-employment-are-cigarette-girl-bartender-cocktail-waitress-or-hooker way.
If you ever find yourself in Las Vegas and leave your hotel room in the wee hours of the morning (say, at about five-ish when you've had heartburn and are milling about looking for the cafe so you can get a glass of milk for almost three dollars so maybe you can go to sleep before getting up the next morning to go to your brother-in-law's wedding and not look like a goddamned zombie) and have to walk through the casino that you KNOW is there in EVERY hotel, you will find people despondently yanking the arms of the slot machines, obviously having no fun whatsoever, looking like they're kinda wearing their pajamas, and seeming for all the world like they wish they could summon the give-a-shit to ram their faces into the glass.
On the plus side, you can smoke all over the place in L.V. And then they've got "Star Trek: The Experience". I got my picture taken with a Ferengi, and we got our photo taken on the bridge of the Enterprise, in the tunic and everything. I even had pips! (I was the Captain. My husband had no pips. He was Ensign Throwaway! Bwahahaha!) And we blew a shitload of money on souvenirs.
But Las Vegas, in my opinion, is a blight upon the land, if for no other reason than the fucking traffic lights last an amount of time that can only be measured geologically. I cannot tell you how much time I spent sitting at those abominable lights. They are deliberately engineered so that you have to sit there and look at all the cheesy ads that are all over the place, advertising fashion that you cannot afford, shows for which you'd have to sell a kidney to be able to buy, and hotels that you will never, ever occupy for any length of time because the damned public restrooms probably have a dress code.
Everything about Las Vegas says "THIS IS NOT FOR YOU" in big, bold letters. With neon. And LCD. There are LCD screens all over the place, which have taken over the cheesy charm that I think the place probably used to have when it was all neon and Christmas lights blinking everywhere.
My husband and I had toyed with the idea of renewing our vows in Las Vegas at some point, but now we know that we wouldn't want to go back there if we can help it at all.
They have more pages for "entertainers" in the phone book advertising "slim, blonde, eighteen" or some such nonsense to come to your hotel room ("full service!") than we in Arizona have pages for restaurants. Admittedly, it's a HUUUUUUGE freakin' phone book in Las Vegas, but still.
It is a city devoid of hope. Ugh.
It took me two full days to get myself clean from that place.
And I might need another shower just because I reminded myself of it. Sigh.
Not much going on. Still slogging through the paperwork that is required when someone passes away, and likely will be for the next year. But everything is slowly chugging along, and hopefully either my husband or I will have a job soon.
We went to Las Vegas I think last week. Maybe the week before. I don't quite remember. All I know is that Las Vegas is the most depressing place I've ever been, and I lived in Pensacola, Florida for over ten years. And believe me, if living in Pensacola doesn't want to make you say "goodbye cruel world" by sticking an awl in your own eye or slitting your wrists with a wooden spoon, nothing will.
Las Vegas is fake. It's not fake like Disney World is fake, in that kind of delightfully creepy way. It isn't fake in the way that Six Flags is fake, in that wonderful "I can't believe I'm really on this roller coaster and I'm not dead or anything" way. It isn't fake like the movies, where even though you know it's fake, it's okay because it would be kinda neat if it WERE real.
No.
Las Vegas is fake in that Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph-why-the-fuck-did-I-move-from-my-comfy-hometown-where-I-could-have-gone-to-community-college-and-been-a-vet-tech-to-come-to-this-diseased-city-where-my-only-options-for-employment-are-cigarette-girl-bartender-cocktail-waitress-or-hooker way.
If you ever find yourself in Las Vegas and leave your hotel room in the wee hours of the morning (say, at about five-ish when you've had heartburn and are milling about looking for the cafe so you can get a glass of milk for almost three dollars so maybe you can go to sleep before getting up the next morning to go to your brother-in-law's wedding and not look like a goddamned zombie) and have to walk through the casino that you KNOW is there in EVERY hotel, you will find people despondently yanking the arms of the slot machines, obviously having no fun whatsoever, looking like they're kinda wearing their pajamas, and seeming for all the world like they wish they could summon the give-a-shit to ram their faces into the glass.
On the plus side, you can smoke all over the place in L.V. And then they've got "Star Trek: The Experience". I got my picture taken with a Ferengi, and we got our photo taken on the bridge of the Enterprise, in the tunic and everything. I even had pips! (I was the Captain. My husband had no pips. He was Ensign Throwaway! Bwahahaha!) And we blew a shitload of money on souvenirs.
But Las Vegas, in my opinion, is a blight upon the land, if for no other reason than the fucking traffic lights last an amount of time that can only be measured geologically. I cannot tell you how much time I spent sitting at those abominable lights. They are deliberately engineered so that you have to sit there and look at all the cheesy ads that are all over the place, advertising fashion that you cannot afford, shows for which you'd have to sell a kidney to be able to buy, and hotels that you will never, ever occupy for any length of time because the damned public restrooms probably have a dress code.
Everything about Las Vegas says "THIS IS NOT FOR YOU" in big, bold letters. With neon. And LCD. There are LCD screens all over the place, which have taken over the cheesy charm that I think the place probably used to have when it was all neon and Christmas lights blinking everywhere.
My husband and I had toyed with the idea of renewing our vows in Las Vegas at some point, but now we know that we wouldn't want to go back there if we can help it at all.
They have more pages for "entertainers" in the phone book advertising "slim, blonde, eighteen" or some such nonsense to come to your hotel room ("full service!") than we in Arizona have pages for restaurants. Admittedly, it's a HUUUUUUGE freakin' phone book in Las Vegas, but still.
It is a city devoid of hope. Ugh.
It took me two full days to get myself clean from that place.
And I might need another shower just because I reminded myself of it. Sigh.
Many friends of mine who have been to Vegas have told me if you're not looking to gamble or find a hooker there's no reason to be in Vegas. I can think of lots of other places I'ld rather see.
Hope to see you online more
I'm sorry to hear about whoever passed away.