Here are a few of my Las Vegas pictures. I'm really shit at taking pictures when I'm Effie on the run but I was clearly impressed by three things: City Center architecture, the pubesque light fixtures at Aria, and Payard macaroons. This probably does not bode well for my general psychological state. I really dug the monorail, also, but my cameraphone takes lithographs not pictures so everything came out as blurry phallic thing rushing out of frame.
Two observations about Las Vegas: It actually smells of sulfur (apropos figurative to literal hell smell) and most of the women I saw had breast implants. It may simply be a high per capita rate as I was staying at Caesar's Palace and didn't really sojourn off of the strip but, honestly, I felt truly dwarfed in every way with my ittybitties and distaste for heels. Also, I saw at least five women (most of an age I would usually consider past caring about such things) with nose job bandages. I did enjoy my stay but being inundated with fallacious body parts made me squirmy and insecure. Someone buy me boobs. I'll actually spend the money on pot and Turbo Tea as those two things take priority over my breasticles but it's the thought that counts and the thought is boobies!
Oh, third revelation: cocktail waitresses need dresses that fit them. Everywhere but for Rio (where I suspect they invest in Slovakian white slavery) seemed full of zaftig waitresses in sausage casing costumes. I am not tipping your love-handles.
Add-middle-dum:
I bought a $4 dollar lighter at the pool. Is it worth $4 to me now? Oh hell no. Was it worth $4 to me at the time? Obviously.
Sunned a bit and realized late in the game that my periodic rehydration (which kind of, technically is a word, spellcheck) and cooling of myself by sporadically getting in the pool for a few minutes was likely seen by the 985029834092384 jillion-of-the-butt-variety sunbathers, swimmers, drinkers, general hooligans and shit-asses as an opportunity to pee in the pool (which I can't bring myself to do not for moral, ethical, hygienic <there is more chlorine in that water than I could shake a pee at>, or sociopolitical reason but rather, strictly and sadly that I can't concentrate with anyone in looking at me range well enough to pee. I pee like a cat and I don't want to make starey-face pee-wee in the midst of a gaggle of strangers (or comrades either, actually.) I don't know that I've ever peed in a pool even at the time when incontinence was to be expected. (this is a high addendum.. can you tell?)
Fucking Pube-fixture!
Songs I love rightthisminute:
Yes, I like Bright Eyes. Wanna fight about it?
Couldn't find a band video of this song, only a Skins slideshow. That'll do, pig.
More Unkle. Ian Astbury is all up in it. Now if he could stay out of the Doors and up in things like this, I might forgive him his trespasses.
Two observations about Las Vegas: It actually smells of sulfur (apropos figurative to literal hell smell) and most of the women I saw had breast implants. It may simply be a high per capita rate as I was staying at Caesar's Palace and didn't really sojourn off of the strip but, honestly, I felt truly dwarfed in every way with my ittybitties and distaste for heels. Also, I saw at least five women (most of an age I would usually consider past caring about such things) with nose job bandages. I did enjoy my stay but being inundated with fallacious body parts made me squirmy and insecure. Someone buy me boobs. I'll actually spend the money on pot and Turbo Tea as those two things take priority over my breasticles but it's the thought that counts and the thought is boobies!
Oh, third revelation: cocktail waitresses need dresses that fit them. Everywhere but for Rio (where I suspect they invest in Slovakian white slavery) seemed full of zaftig waitresses in sausage casing costumes. I am not tipping your love-handles.
Add-middle-dum:
I bought a $4 dollar lighter at the pool. Is it worth $4 to me now? Oh hell no. Was it worth $4 to me at the time? Obviously.
Sunned a bit and realized late in the game that my periodic rehydration (which kind of, technically is a word, spellcheck) and cooling of myself by sporadically getting in the pool for a few minutes was likely seen by the 985029834092384 jillion-of-the-butt-variety sunbathers, swimmers, drinkers, general hooligans and shit-asses as an opportunity to pee in the pool (which I can't bring myself to do not for moral, ethical, hygienic <there is more chlorine in that water than I could shake a pee at>, or sociopolitical reason but rather, strictly and sadly that I can't concentrate with anyone in looking at me range well enough to pee. I pee like a cat and I don't want to make starey-face pee-wee in the midst of a gaggle of strangers (or comrades either, actually.) I don't know that I've ever peed in a pool even at the time when incontinence was to be expected. (this is a high addendum.. can you tell?)
Fucking Pube-fixture!
Songs I love rightthisminute:
Yes, I like Bright Eyes. Wanna fight about it?
Couldn't find a band video of this song, only a Skins slideshow. That'll do, pig.
More Unkle. Ian Astbury is all up in it. Now if he could stay out of the Doors and up in things like this, I might forgive him his trespasses.
Also: White Town = bitchin' song there, and fuckin Unkle is fuckin awesome. the end. ha