Viva Las Vegas

I realize that I am often in the minority here, but let me say this, I HATE LAS VEGAS.

Las Vegas is not only infested with an immeasurable amount of freaks and weirdos, all of which seem to gravitate towards me. “Hey man, want some of my chips?” Unfortunately he meant Lays and not Poker. Naturally, I declined the invitation to reach inside his chip bag while standing on the elevated escalator crossing the street. Moments like this are why I ALWAYS use the toilet stalls and NEVER the urinals in this town. I need to utilize every defensive measure I can there in order to avoid the unnecessary and unwanted.

This factor would be enough on it’s own, but when coupled with the fact that the proximity between hotel complexes is so unbelievably deceptive, you get an end result of sore feet and countless bizarre interactions. If you ever want to kill someone I suggest walking from Paris to the Stratosphere in the heat of the summer. I nearly lost Melissa the day we took that walk.

All these and more make up my nightmarish bank of memories from Las Vegas, but there is one moment in time that towers above all the rest. One that was so traumatizing, so terrible, and so terrifying, we do not speak of it. I had nearly wiped it from my mind till this past month when my friend Jessica and I went to see Blink-182 and I somehow ended up reflecting on this God-awful story and she responds with, “why hasn’t this been a blog!?!” Well, Jessica, here you go…

For my birthday in 2015, Melissa and Nancy flew out to see me in California. We should have known right away the trip was cursed when I parked my car right on top of Nancy’s foot as she struggled to get her bags inside my backseat. This regrettable act caused her to have to elevate her foot the entire forty-five minute ride back to my house. Thankfully, it didn’t worsen, but the possibility was certainly there. We deceived ourselves into thinking all was well because from there on out we experienced nothing but memory-making moments everywhere we went. Well, we certainly made memories that trip in Vegas, but NOT the kind I wish to hold on to.

We drove from Temecula to Vegas and jammed the whole way to the sweet hymns and harmonies of Miss American Dream, Britney Spears. I don’t remember for a fact, but I’d wager we probably stopped about four times to pee and get drinks because that’s our norm, but nonetheless, it was good vibes all around at this point.

My California Dad, Mark, got us an AMAZING room at the Elara by Hilton Grand Vacations. It was a beautiful suite on one of the top floors of this skyscraper. We were all super pumped about this room because from it we could look down and see the theater they built for Britney, The Axis. I mean, WHAT IF WE SAW BRITNEY GETTING IN OR OUT OF A VEHICLE FROM OUR HOTEL WINDOW!?! I’d died. No need to walk to the Stratosphere, I’d simply die right then and there. Britney Spears is Life.

Well, we wasted no time at check-in telling the hotel concierge that we were there to celebrate my birthday by seeing Britney for what would have been our fifth time. Rather than celebrating along with us, he frowned. The three of us stood there and waited anxiously for his next words, but when he spoke we were instantly wishing he hadn’t.

“You haven’t heard?” He asked harshly as we continued to stand before him dumbfounded. “Britney rolled her ankle on stage the other night. She’s since had to cancel a block of shows beginning with tonight’s.”

He might as well have driven a stake through my heart and turned me to vampire dust. I’m not one to shoot the messenger, but nonetheless, the time for small talk was over. I remember hurrying the process along, so we could get to our room as soon as possible to begin the grieving process.

When we got to our beautiful room with a now highly regrettable view, we each reacted to this news in our own way. Nancy has a heart of stone, so she went on as if nothing happened. I hate to say it, but you almost wouldn’t even know that she cared. She’s unbelievable. This may surprise you ever so slightly, but Melissa and I on the other hand reacted a little bit differently.

Melissa threw herself down on the couch face first and sobbed incessantly into her hands for the better part of two hours. She was a complete and total mess. We had to close the curtains, so the view of the theater below didn’t escalate her condition. I felt like I needed to be alone to face this reality, so I went to the master suite and drew myself a bath.

I climbed in the bathtub and turned on the Toni Braxton Pandora radio station and just cried and cried and cried till I had no more tears left to cry. I can’t marathon my emotional outbursts quite like Melissa, so I capped out around forty-five minutes, but I’m sure all my tears added an extra inch or two to my bathwater. We were distraught!

Our friend Kamber, who lived in Vegas at the time, was able to get us tickets to see Cirque Du Soleil’s, Michael Jackson ONE. It wasn’t Britney, but it was excellent. Sadly for Kamber though, she never got to find out just how enjoyable the show was! She had to rush to the emergency room where her middle child was being taken for an injury he had sustained while Kamber, Nancy, Melissa, and I were eating dinner before the show. Our entire Vegas vacation was cursed!

Any other time we went to Vegas after Kamber and Charles moved there we would stay with them. This made our trips out there infinitely better because we were able to visit with them, see whatever show we were there to see, and best of all, NOT STAY ON THE STRIP! We wanted to be with Britney on this trip, so we chose to stay on the strip. It was a damning choice. We walked everywhere we went and fought relentlessly with one another the entire time because we were all in sour moods from heat exhaustion and crazy people – namely ourselves! Worse than all that though was the fact that mine and Melissa’s eyes would swell up with tears each time Nancy would crudely pull back the curtains to let the light in. All we could do from that window was look down with our unfulfilled hearts and see Britney’s lifeless theater.

I wish this feeling of destitution on no one. Not even my evil boss from Macy’s Escondido who tried to tell me some time later that Céline Dion was trapped in a loveless marriage. It was that nasty lie of hers that propelled me to find a new job. I definitely could not allow myself to work for someone so demented, alas, this is another blog for another time.

Once our four frightful days in Vegas had finally come to a conclusion, Nancy, Melissa, and I were all carrying our luggage down the hotel hallway towards the elevator as Melissa and I were bitched nonstop about how much walking we did this trip. That was when Nancy took the opportunity to remind us of something that would have been better suited for her to bring up a few days earlier.

“I don’t know why we didn’t just drive everywhere. We had a car,” she said condescendingly.

“NANCY! WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!?!” Melissa and I shouted.

“Why are you just now reminding us of this!?!” I demanded from her.

“Given that you drove your car here I figured you’d obviously know you had one at your disposal!” Nancy shot back.

“Damnit Nancy! You know we weren’t in the right frame of mind after Britney cancelled! You should have reminded us of this days ago!” Melissa said as she began to cry.

I’m not sure any of us spoke again till we reached Temecula. It was four grueling hours of strained silence. So, when people talk to me about Las Vegas this is the shit I think of. Weird ass people, awful ass walks, Britney cancelling her show, and Nancy keeping to herself that we had my car at our disposal. Las Vegas is the worst.

As always, thank you all for reading! I do hope you were able to smile and laugh at our expense! Let me know below how you feel about Vegas! I’d love to hear! I’ll return next week with another story, but until then, I wish you all THE BEST!

BOOK UPDATE: I wrote the synopsis for Shithead this morning! Those I shared it with applauded its originality, directness, and intrigue. A synopsis is a requirement when submitting my book to a literary agent. I must hit a home run with this, so that any literary agent coming across my work will be fascinated enough to want to read more. I realized I had written a winning synopsis when it helped my friend Anita discover her sister is her Shithead. That was a proud moment for me. THANK YOU to each of you for your invaluable input! You’re simply the best!