pretty hate machine

what happens in vegas stays (forcefully) in vegas. i like to think I'm the kind of girl who can rough it when necessary, but this last trip to Vegas has proven that while I tow the line between modern girl of spoils and struggling wannabe, I have to make a decision about which way its gonna go. f'reals. I'm either the Eliza Doolittle/Shug Avery/Holly Golightly for the brown girl set or I's isn't.

See: I left the driving to Greyhound and that was a MISTAKE. The lowest of the low, scummiest of the scummy. I'm not even for a little bit the kind of girl who looks down at people with her nose way high up in the air. Even w/ my job being what it is and the awesomeness associated with it, what I get exposed to, blahblablah, I never let myself forget that when I go home, I put my pants on, one leg at a time, and DONT make gold records. i dont care how much you schmooze, and get hooked up...or how many celebs you drink the night away in close company of, i have to manage this lifestyle on MY salary. and that aint much.

I was literally shaking as I left the yard watching my car through the nasty window. I checked my neck every 1/2 hour, fearing some vagrant would go for the jugular. I was approached by a homeboy who pledged that his 9to5 as the Vons lead bagger was not paying enough and he'll be in Vegas to Monday at the Best Western if I wanted to stop by for a drink. Yeaaaa....no. Flying is a hassle for me, I'm a spoiled airline brat and w/o my Daddy's benefits I'm useless. Unfortch, LAX to LAS is not a priority for Delta and therefore, no flight really fit my schedule. I took control of the stench with incense and stink eyed every single person boarding. my bag of nickels never leaving my side. (note: a bag of nickels will knock out a potential rapist, aggressive beggar, and terrorist, amongst other things)

Cut to Sunday, my return to the bus station for the ride back to LA, lets just say...there was an altercation of some sort and I am now banned from the Greyhound station as well. (Previously, I was banned from the Wynn for "alleged" buffet theft) The foghorn leghorn sheriff reminded me, without looking me in the eye, (a clear sign of "Jesus christ, I love/hate this fucking job so much but this is what I do and then I punch my wife later-itis" ) said "This is the wild west, and this is how it goes.." WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT STATEMENT IS THAT. If I go to customer service and walk away unhappy, in the real world in 2008, i can write a letter and get my money back. THERE i end up arguing with 4 to 5 ignorant ass people simultaneously. If there was an Olympic sport in verbal jousting I would have disappointed my country. I couldn't and would not compete with this ghettorazzi swarming around me as I dont know anything about living below the poverty line. They won, un-fair and un-square. Fine. The benefit is I dont work there, I dont HAVE to take Greyhound and ultimately I dont need to associate myself with that kind of drama anymore. Growing up I was pulled out of school every other friday to jaunt somewhere for a shopping trip in some major city around the US, taking the Greyhound was my way of relaxing instead of being on a plane. WRONG. Just file that under "dont do that shit ever again"

Meanwhile, there's so much NOT to tell we all know how Vegas is, its just pure fun. a lot of laughter, lots of dancing, pole swinging, wave pooling, party buckets, candy, room service, ogling, boob flashing, debauched recanting of hilariously vile tales.

we acted like fools, kids in a candy store. we rawked it, we got pissy, ate crap, worked on our collective alcoholism, spent $ we didn't have or need to, (i) gave the hand to bouncers, ghetto ass bus employees and sleep was scattered in there. each night the need for sleep became more dire, each night i grew crankier and crankier...nightly i reviewed the movie "very bad things" in my mind, OVER AND OVER AND OVER.

you know the deal, wyn doesn't skim on the lavish when she can swing it...suite was phat, dinner at Koi for the birthday boy and lap dances for EVERYONE! club, afterparty, booty bouncin' on stripper poles, poolside at various casinos, i made new best friends...no, not the strippers...

what does escape me about about Vegas now that I've been twice in a summer: how the hell did Tupac die on a fight night? I sneak a danish from the buffet, I'm banned from the Wynn - he gets in a riotously explosive brawl with several negroes and is shot on LV blvd and nobody saw a damn thing. that is rigoddamndiculous.

where is ja rule to make sense of all this?