Vegas, Baby!

Chris and I returned from Las Vegas on Monday, and I think I've finally recovered today. It was the first time for both of us--now we're no longer Vegas virgins. Stacy and Neil met us there, and we partied like rock stars. Okay, we partied like middle-aged rock stars, but we definitely stayed up later than we have in a long time.

While Chris and I were in the security line in the Indianapolis airport, I realized that my driver's license was not in my purse. Now, you must understand that I'm a nervous flyer, anyway. My head tells me that air travel is safe, but my heart tells me that we're going headfirst into the side of a mountain. To add the lost license to my fear of flying almost sent me straight to the St. Vincent's Stress Center. I did, however, have my Social Security card and my voter registration card. When I showed these to the security gal, she marked me as an "SSSS" and told me I'd have to go through additional security. All I could think of was a full body cavity search by a burly woman in a hidden concrete bunker. Luckily, that wasn't the case. After careful and intense examination of my cell phone and my digital camera, I was good to go.

Vegas is one of those places that everyone should visit at least once. I mean, really, where else can you see at least ten billboards full of boobs in every city block? From cigarette smoking seventy year old slot machine players to CFMP-wearing twenty-two year olds dressed in band-aids, there's no better place to people watch (which, incidentally, is one of my favorite pasttimes). Stacy and I spent a lot of time shopping, but I spent even more time gawking. What fun!

I lost my prescription sunglasses and a decent amount of money, but still managed to have a good time. The incident that put me over the edge was when we were denied admittance to a nightclub because I didn't have an ID. I'd been drinking a bit before we went (well, the drinks ARE free when you're gambling!), and when the bouncer said "no," I grabbed my boobs and shouted, "Come on! Do these look like the boobs of a twenty year old?! For God's sake, I'm a 36 year old housewife with 4 kids!" He wasn't impressed. Neither was Chris. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.