ok, fine. let's get this out in the open so you can make fun of me later:
yes, i'm going to vegas. and no, i will not be gambling or getting married in a crumbling elvis themed chapel. we are going because...frankly, i have no idea why we are going, now that celine dion has closed her liberacean extravaganza and started getting photographed with serious political personages like nelson mandela (who, in my view, was casting a slightly disgusted gaze at celine's entourage, what with the princess hair* - on the kid, not the mother - and grandpa mister celine, whatever his god given name actually is).
so: vegas? why?
well, i wanted to waste a few airmiles. i wanted to go somewhere that had green vegetation (and yes, i realise i am going to the desert for fucksake, but have you people SEEN fort mcmurray?!). let's be honest, i wanted to go somewhere that had semi-nude men in roman togas passing out drinks.
we rented a car for around 8 whole bucks a day. even with the plummeting loonie (insert visions of ailing airborne waterfowl here) this seems like a sweet deal. perhaps we will drive down the strip and whoop loudly like a band of drunken frat boys. perhaps not. but we are keeping our options open.
we are planning trips to red rock canyon, lake mead, hoover dam, and possibly death valley, something my parents are really pushing because the last time i was in death valley i was passed out in the leather backseat of a 1962 bentley and no force on god's green earth was going to make me exit the vehicle so i really did not see what my parents still refer to all these decades later as the most spectacular sunset ever. whatever. it was fucking hot. also, i had what my parents affectionately refer to as an angelic visitation (and i bitterly refer to as heat induced delirium) and for some reason they want me to go back and see if the angel will make a repeat appearance. he could, but i really don't think i'd recognize him - he was just some hitchhiker who calmed my fears of dying in the desert and having my corpse eaten by lizards. except apparently he was only in my head.
i won't tell you where we're staying because people make fun of me when i do. i am cheap. i refuse to spend big bucks (or moderate bucks) on hotels because i need the funds for crackwhores and meth (just kidding! who actually PAYS for crackwhores and meth?!!!).
ok. wish me luck. i may not write again until we come back (unless i get drunk tonight) and once we do come back it is unlikely i will blog about vegas cause what's the fun of blogging about what actually happened when it's so much more fun to speculate (note a distinct lack of detailed blogging about england/poland/ontario/nola/florida/vancouver)?
*i am a modern woman and realise that gender identity is murky nebulous concept, but i cannot believe that a young boy would actually want hair like that. i mean, come on! and even if he did, that's what parents are for! to prevent their misguided offspring from going to school every day wearing their teenage mutant ninja turtle pyjamas on backwards or sporting princess hair. the same goes for you, miss kate hudson!