Las Vegas: Part One

I don’t want you to think I’m a wretched person, writing about a surprise trip my husband planned for my birthday weekend, on a blog entitled “The Low Point.” It was the best birthday I’ve ever had and a lovely surprise and it was chock full of food, which I might love more than said husband.

But like I said, low points happen all the time, even during the good stuff.

So, the jig is up: I was correct in thinking it might be Vegas (so glad it wasn’t Chicago) and it did, in fact, have to do with Donald Trump because we stayed in the Trump International Hotel, across from the Wynn, in all its wondrous five-star glory. I’ve stayed in two five-star quality hotels/resorts and this did not disappoint at all. It’s entirely non-smoking, there’s no casino, and it feels like a five-star resort you might visit in any city versus Las Vegas. And I liked that.

Photo courtesy of

And then we bought wristbands that allowed us to visit up to seven different buffets during a 24 hour period (we managed to hit up four of them, and yes, you may be totally impressed with our eating abilities) and I finally got to H&M to buy cool person clothing and we saw “Ka” by Cirque du Soleil in the MGM Grand, which blew my flipping mind.

Photo courtesy of

The Low Point

The porn packets are still happening. And I guess if you’re totally into porn, that’s actually great news and might be the high point. I feel really sad for you. I remembered them from seven years ago, when I first visited, and there was this small part of me that thought perhaps things had changed and they wouldn’t be there any longer. I’m kind of an idiot super hopeful, what can I say? In case you aren’t aware of what I’m referring to, they’re essentially how they sound; people stand on the street corners and shove little packets of soft porn in your face, hoping you’ll grab them and then call the phone number for GIRLS DIRECTLY TO YOU IN 20 MINUTES.


I try to be a calm, collected individual most of the time. I really do. But after the third packet had been shoved in my husband’s chest (he didn’t take any, naturally), I quite loudly said, “Hell no! Not for MY husband!” as we walked by. Don’t worry, I didn’t get the crap beaten out of me — nothing really awkward happened aside from probably one or two strangers glancing my way and husband probably wanting to crawl into a hole in the ground and die. We were on vacation — we didn’t know anyone. It’s cool. But he did mention that I should probably stop saying disparaging things like that, or “You need to find a new job!” to these individuals, lest one of them had their music on low enough that they could actually hear me and then decide to, you know, kill me. Just right there on the Strip. “Mormon Woman Killed by Illegal Immigrant Peddling Pornography in Las Vegas”

It might have made it to the Tonight Show with Jay Leno.

We’ll never know.


One thought on “Las Vegas: Part One

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