08.17.2002 - 08.18.2002 - Fantasy Vs. Reality

I had very little to do with the timing of my trip to Vegas. The Moms suggested I schedule a flight on such and such day at such and such time and I did. Had I known that my last real day in Sin City was my Uncle and Aunt's-- my host and hostess-- wedding anniversary, I probably would have gotten the Hell out of Dodge a day earlier. I wanted a vacation to forget about my guilt, not to accumulate more.

Thankfully, however, they didn't seem particularly upset that we intruded on their day (though if they were, they'd never show it). We started the day with our now traditional dip in the pool and continued by experiencing the cornerstone in any Cheap Bastard's Vegas Vacation, the $4.99 all-you-can-eat buffet. Seeing as how I am lucky enough to be both cheap and a total fatass, these glutton fests tend to be a bigger draw for me than snorting coke off a stripper's big fake bosom.

Seeing as how I shun what most dudes consider to be the pinnacle of the Vegas experience for a plate full of clam strips, I think I can officially give up all hope that I might someday become a badass.

If I can't be a badass in the general sense, I figured I might as well be a badass in the field of snow crab leg eating. Mission accomplished. My work here is done.

It could have been the tryptophan. It could have been the heat lamps. It could have been the fact that I got roughly an hour of sleep the night before. For some reason, however, and I don't care which one, I came home and took the most beautiful nap I've ever taken in my life. I hesitate to call it a nap because the sheer force and majesty of it transcended the word. This was Supernap. I'd like to think that I'll know Supernap's glory somewhere down the road, but somehow, I doubt I will.

When I woke, one of my cooler cousins showed up. He's in an improv troupe, he has fairly the same sense of humor as me and he's fairly close to my age. I'd probably enjoy hanging out with him if I didn't have trouble talking to him.

The fact that I'm too timid to hold a normal conversation with a family member speaks volumes about my social retardation.

I spent a good long time just hanging out with my family, partly because I wanted to see them all before some of them move even farther away and partly because I didn't particularly want the solo experience to be my last taste of Vegas for a while especially after Friday night's Happy Fun American Party. Finally, just after midnight, I decided to go out and do the tourist thing for a while and take pictures.

I've never owned a camera, so for a long time, I've had to rely on my often faulty memory to conjure up specific times, places and people. While at the Grocery Outlet just before I left, I noticed a big display full of disposable cameras just as I was leaving and impulsively grabbed one. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but when I finally had to use it, I realized it was kind of pointless. I don't really care what these big hotels look like. If there are no people in the pictures or I'm not catching anyone doing something, there's really no reason to have the pictures. I used up about a quarter of the camera before I decided I should sack up and do some last minute gambling.

After a couple hours of not losing very much at all, I decided I'd repeat my last few moments of my previous trip and hit up the Hard Rock Casino. Last time I came to Vegas, this was one of the few places I felt welcome. I did not, however, visit on a Saturday night, and I don't think I will again. Apparently, this is the spot for all the rich and beautiful on Saturdays. Celebrities and people with six hundred dollar shoes just make me uncomfortable, and I'll be damned if I can get a drink if I'm the only person gambling with anything less than twenties. Still, I was able to play for over an hour without losing any money. It was nice to be able to leave because I was tired, not because I was out of cash.

When I got in the truck, I was kind of disappointed that I couldn't find music befitting my exit. Last year when I left, Elvis Presley's Suspicious Minds serindipitously came on the airwaves as I cruised away from the Hard Rock. This time, unfortunately, I had either Vanessa Carlton or Puddle of Mudd. Do you know I'd walk a thousand miles if I could just have some special song magically appear on the airwaves instead of something that would be ignored were it not written and performed by a young girl?

Because I knew it would be best if I didn't even try to sleep for the fortyfive minutes between that point and check-in time for my flight and I hadn't eaten anything since the buffet incident, I decided to cruise through the Del Taco drive through. I thought eating might kill some time, and there's no finer late nigh/early morningt dining than two poorly made tacos and a basket of fries.

The line of cars at the drive through stretched almost to the end of the parking lot of the strip mall where it was located. The wait kind of upset me, but I really had nothing to do and no reason to complain. What seemed like hours later, I finally had my food and I was on my way. Just as I pulled out of the parking lot, none other than Mr. Elvis Presley chimed in over the radio with Suspicious Minds. If this isn't a cause to believe in fate, I'm not sure what kind of sign I'll need.

Not too long after I finished my heart clogging late night value meal, The Moms knocked on my door and informed me the time had come to gather my belongings, put on some pants and hit the road. After approximately three gallons of coffee, a blur of a car ride, three thank yous, three "it was good seeing yous" and three hugs goodbye, I found myself stumbling past the checkin counter into a seat where I hovered somewhere in the blurred line between asleep and awake until I had to board the plane.

I thought about calling Jackson to make sure he'd be up in time to pick us up. Judging by his sleeping habits and not his reliability, there was a good chance he'd probably sleep well past our arrival time and we'd be stuck sitting outside the Sacramento International Airport for several hours while we waited for him to show up. I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt, but I figured calling his cell phone and leaving a voicemail probably wouldn't hurt.

A short flight during which I somehow managed to remain completely awake later, we touched down in Sac town and I called Jackson to see if he was at the terminal yet. When I asked him where he was and he replied, "Salinas," I felt a wave of "oh fuck" pass over me before I abruptly hung up and started calling around.

Luckily, The Rodzilla was home, awake, not terribly busy and willing to save us. We had a nice chat on the way back and The Moms got to meet my other roommate for next year. That Rodzilla sure is a nice boy.

When I got home, all I really wanted to do was take a nice shower and maybe a quick nap before I took The Moms back to L-town, but when I arrived back at my lovely apartment, I discovered the electricity had been turned off.

Here's a tip: don't move in with someone who smokes weed. If you must, make sure that they smoke less regularly than three times a week and ABOVE ALL don't allow them to go anywhere near the utilities bills.

Roommate Chris moved out back in June because his new lease started then, and, well, if I hated my roommates I'd be itching to get out too. He agreed to pay double rent rather than ask us to find someone to sublease, and since all the bills were under his name, he'd just continue to take care of them. It quickly came to our attention after he left that he had been taking the money we gave him for bills and keeping it for himself. Rather than just pay enough of the bill to keep everything on, after he moved out, he stopped paying altogether. Because of this, our phone, cable and now electricity have all been out at times.

Angry, I grabbed my suitcase again, threw it back in The Momsmobile and informed her that I'd be sleeping at her place that night.

I wasn't particularly happy to come home from a place as surreal and fantasy-like as Vegas only to be slapped in the face with reality-- ESPECIALLY an Amish reality.

At least I was able to bathe and sleep some once I got back to Livermore. Once the electricity is back, I'm sure I'll be able to blank out while I watch TV and think about what a great little spontaneous vacation I had.

Or at least I can think about the cheap drinks, ladies and buffet.

-- Jeffy