Last night I returned home from Las Vegas and I've come to one conclusion:
I belong in Sin City.
There we were, Thelma & Louise, but younger, hotter and hipper, driving down the Las Vegas Boulevard strip in a 1970 Cadillac convertible with actual Nevada plates that read: DEVILLE. The rusted, primered V8 beast was complete with an opinionated bobbing head parrot named Ernesto who chilled on the dashboard. I in my leopard print cowboy hat, Kitty in her black rainhat, we painted the town so red they literally had a heatwave while we were there. By 70-degree day we got heckled and loved, and by 55-degree night we pimped it so hard we didn't even need the Deville to pick up genuine Las Vegas hotties while casino hopping:
5 foot 3 and 3/4": "You girls have nice asses."
Kitty and Kara: "We know."
5 foot 3 and 3/4": "Meet my friend Elvis the hockey player."
Enter hottie in Elvis glasses throwing flowers.
Kitty (to Kara): "Do we go with them?"
Kara (to Kitty): "If we don't, we'll never have the story to tell."
Now what do you think we did? Thumbs up. Of course we got them tanked (party 'til you puke) and proudly did the walk of shame home in the morning. (Notice I said proudly.)
But Kitty's hard driving blew the motor on the Deville. (It was a sad day.) We were forced to drive Venus, the Saturn L200 princess, even all the way to Arizona. Dorky, yes. Sure, less of a spectacle. But the three of us (don't forget Ernesto) now had a CD player. We instantly went from Thelma & Louise to Barker's Beauties as we drove up and down the strip blasting the disco version of the theme from "The Price is Right" over and over and over again and again on repeat and over again and again:
...Bababadaa Bababadaa Bababadadada-dadada-dadada-dadadadaa...
And it only got crazier as I got drunker and started catcalling at every drunk group of boys on the strip:
"Show me your tits!"
"Hey baby, how much?"
You think I have alot of nerve? Nothing beats being stopped at a red light while a random drunk boy fondles himself in front of your car right there on the Las Vegas strip. ("I said your tits, not your dick!") OK, maybe one thing beats that:
Sitting on top of the Palms hotel at the Ghostbar, drinking a Cosmo, talking VWs with Kitty, gazing out at the brightest twinkling lights ever... the Rio, the Luxor, the Aladdin, the Mirage, the Stratosphere, Treasure Island... Vegas just feels so right.
Give me more cigarettes. Give me more vodka. Give me more boys. Give me more goddamn Price is Right.
Give me Vegas, baby, Vegas.