Eli's Weblog ≡x≡

Thursday, January 28, 2010

What Happens in Vegas is You Pay 12 bucks for a Sandwich




It's come to my attention that some people are still reading my blog. Some of them, incredibly, are still denying Facebook, and so have missed out on months - if not years - of quality Status Updates. So here's a few photos - the wedding, Las Vegas, Santa Monica: the sort of things you're used to in blogs.

Yes, we were in L.A. for x-mas. I've spent around 2 years of my life in that city over the past 18 years, but this time i really enjoyed it because i lied to my mom and said a Czech driver's license was valid in the States, and so she let me have her car and i drove all up and down and around the state. (Mom! Sorry i lied! First time - honest!) Seconds after the keys tumbled into my palm my wife and i sprinted to the car (picked up some good ol' american Mickeys bigmouths on the way) and high-tailed it for Vegas. We stopped off at a real trucker diner so that Petya could see what a mountain would look like if it were made of eggs and pancakes. For some godless reason, the diner was hit with a 15-minute blizzard - unheard of in them there parts! The lone waitress squeaked about the beauty of the snow and Petya had to be restrained from killing her - too much misplaced cheer, i guess. After the godless blizzard we yee-HAH'ed a blazin' path to Sin City, which went in my estimation from the best city in America to the #45 best city in the flash of a white tiger's toothy growl. [somebody edit that last phrase for me, plz]. See, i was in Vegas 8 or 9 years ago, and i was able to drink and vomit and hold my own and blackjack and burn holes in my clothes to the appropriate extent. This time it was more like being dropped into a lego labyrinth/windtunnel and having to run through mile-long buffet queues while hemmorhaging 50-dollar bills, though i will say that my bride and i did appreciate being offered sex-for-money every 2 meters by cadres of blimp-sized pimps-on-commission. Well, "pimps" is too kind a word for these flyer-flicking toutes.

On a very very very up side, we did hook up with my High School "Pipe-Club" co-member, Carolina, and her magnificent husband Dusty, whom i called "Rusty" all the first night we hung out. I haven't the slightest memory of what we talked about, but the great thing about these hotel rooms is they come with a big desk and a nice chair behind it, and you can struggle to that chair in the morning and put on sunglasses and fold your hands on the desktop and say to your wife, "What was said last night, woman?" And she will be able to tell you because 95% of the contents of the currently empty 750ml-bottle of Absolut didn't go into her bloodstream in the 3 hours leading up to a cherished school-chum reunion. My bride informed me that i hadn't terrified these people and that we were invited to visit them in San Diego, which is a good place to visit them since that's where they live. More on that after i eat something.

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