I’m aware of the saying “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” but since my time there didn’t involve a felony (that I can remember) I don’t know that I have to stick to this rule? I mean, it all started out so…well…nothing says “this is going to be a fabulous vacation” like almost dying in an airplane toilet and then being tortured by your hotel room.

Before we even boarded the bucket of bolts that would carry us from Austin to Vegas I was already jumpy since it was my first flight away from my son. Add this to the fact that my intestines are forever destined to violently expel themselves from my body whenever I have to step foot on an aluminum can hurled through the air via magic (I’m pretty sure this is how it works…also…I’m pretty sure all airline personnel have my photo on hand so they can be sure to sedate me), and this awesome combo gives you a passenger who spends the majority of her in-flight time in the ladies room. Which is precisely where I was when our pilots had to do loop-de-loops at 30,000 feet. I can only assume we were being attacked by alien war planes looking for Tom Cruise or maybe just a part of the plane detached and we had to fly down, grab it and reattach it with duct tape or something? Who knows, all I could think at the time was: “sure, this is totally how I’m going to die. In a toilet. In mid-air. Respect intact.” Amazingly, and probably only via Matrix-like reflexes on the part of our pilots, our plane finally landed (I’m still convinced that that’s how I’m going to die – I’m psychic).

We happily checked into our hotel room. It had a kick-ass view, I’m pretty sure that’s how it tricked us into staying:

But…then the room basically spent the rest of our time trying to waterboard us into submission Apparently, “state-of-the-art” and “computerized” means “you guys are my bitches” to a hotel room. Every time we set the temperature it would set it 10 degrees higher. And if we wanted complete darkness, it refused, and would turn on all the nightlights instead, which, take my word for it, is totally worse because then it’s just you and this eerie poltergeist-like glow which makes it impossible to go to sleep since you know that as soon as your head hits the pillow the room will definitely suck up your soul into it’s air vents, keeping you trapped there forever, and making you witness to all of the nasty stuff that goes down in a Vegas hotel room, like Celine Dion and Rene Angelil having sex (I’ve seen CSI, I know!).  Not to mention, I saw the mannequins in the lobby, they’ve seen such crazy shit, even wearing more diamonds than Lil John’s pimp cup doesn’t seem to brighten this one’s day:

The room even taunted us by supplying a phone in the bathroom. I was hoping I could use this to help us escape but instead I just got Don Johnson’s private line:

I guess the “Emergency Backup” toilet paper should have been a clue that we were destined to spend some serious time here:

I’m not sure how but our room finally released us. I think we might have offered it our first born or something? We’re hoping it will accept the cat instead (it’s ok, she says she’s super excited to go be a virgin sacrifice in Vegas):

I was pretty convinced, having just stared down death and beaten our captor, we were going to win it big!  That’s right, baby, hit the mega jackpot or, even better (in my we-won’t-have-to-get-back-on-another-fucking-airplane mind), win one of those kick-ass cars that revolve over the heads of chain-smoking, dead-eyed elderly folk sitting in front of the Wheel of Fortune slot machines! As a matter of fact I had already picked out all of the stuff I would buy with our millions (Oprah says it’s important to have a goal). If I’ve learned anything from Donald Trump – aside from how to “charm” a nation with unintelligible racist remarks – it’s how to spend money on important shit.

This mutant phallic pottery is perfect for any B- Celebrity party I might throw. They just need some tortilla chips and being passed around by a few strung out heiresses:

Nothing says “welcome to my mc-mansion” like stuffed foul that’s been bedazzled:

And what collection of expensive crap isn’t complete without a stylish puppy suit:

Alas, though, we didn’t win big.

But we comforted ourselves by buying a few practical things.

My husband says this is the perfect glass, not only can he be hands-free to play endless games of Craps but he can sip his manly 4-foot daiquiri at the same time! Also, he plans to continue using it at work for…you know…water:

I’m not sure there is anything more perfect when hangin’ with a group of preschoolers:

That also includes these (G-E-N-I-U-S!):

So, I guess all-in-all it was a good vacation. We survived. We certainly have a new lease on life.

I’ll leave you with this picture. Can you guess if we bought it or if it was just on the list for when we spent our millions: