Hi ho Hi ho it's back to there I go...

This will be a short session. Quick update:

Found out a couple of weeks ago I'm pregnant.
No money and no insurance makes new mother a dull girl.
Moving back to MN. (*sigh*)
Hope to be there by turkey day. Yum Yum.

So there you have it. My Vegas adventure ends not in an explosion, but in a little whimper; the kind of whimper one hears when the magical pink lines appear side by side on the pregnancy indicator.

And so I embark on a new kind of adventure...boy oh boy am I in for it.

Pussy-ass selfish piece of dogshit...

Situation:

Friend who has seldom ever heard a kind word from a man gets involved with a completely whiny bastard who blames everyone and everything else for his troubles, simply because he was the first to offer her kindness.
Now she's stuck with the responsibilties of being his emotional "binkie" and is likewise taking responsibility upon herself for his destructive mannerisms, which of course he had LONG before latching himself onto her.

Solution:

Inform said friend to come to terms with the fact that this leach was fucked up before he met her, and will be fucked up during his emotionally-draining time with her, and will henseforth continue to be fucked up long after she's realized the dead-end and moved on.

So I have.

From a phone booth in Vegas...

Friday night in Vegas...and here I am at my computer like a feeb. Brilliant.

The boss is back in town. It's always a blast when he's here. This go around he's scored VIP tickets to Ashley Simpson's birthday party at Cesars, *yawn* and wants me to go. Apparently her waste-of-space sister, Jessica will be singing there. I don't know what's worse, listening to them sing, or watching them get all drunk and slutty and ending up in a magazine somewhere next week.

I wonder if smacking them both upside the head would get me a spot on Access Hollywood. Hmm....

Haven't decided if I want to go or not. Can't imagine Clay showing up for something like that. Still it might be fun to see who shows up. I'd love to call my best girl Kelly and fill her in on the buzz. We'll see.

So it's movie night and popcorn burrowing for this Vegas gal...yet again.

Back in town!

I landed in Vegas via Dallas, TX at 8:00pm this evening. Whew! What a trip. With Mom's 50th birthday on Friday, and Grandpa's induction on Saturday, it made for a busy weekend. It was good to be home though. It had been too long.

Can't say I was sorry to leave though, although I was a bit saddened to go. Minnesota is my home state afterall. But what I find myself doing is driving around all the old haunts when I'm home, and it just makes me sad. Not in a "throw myself off the nearest 10 story building sad," just a little down. Places that I grew up, and the memories that linger there are still very present to me. I'm all for moving on, but that's exactly what I did by moving to Vegas in the first place, moved on. My little town froze in time for me when I left. It's weird to see that things have changed so when they haven't changed for me.

But I'm back in Vegas, where I smoke when and where I want, I can order icecream at 2am, and nothing ever closes. It's good be home. Clean indoor act my ass! :)

You can't go home again...

So I'm in Winona, Minnesota this evening. My grandpa is getting inducted into the MN Baseball Hall of Fame on Saturday, so my brother and I thought it would be fun to come home for an extended weekend. We flew in on Wednesday, and here it is Thursday night. I'm bored off my block...

The pace here is so much slower than anywhere else. People drive, talk, walk, breathe and live at a slower pace here. I didn't feel as though I needed to speed things up when I moved to Vegas, but I must have, because here I'm in a perpetual state of falling asleep. Maybe it's because I didn't get a whole lot of sleep the past couple of days. Maybe it's because my mother's fridge is actually full...and I'm taking advantage of that fact by eating at all hours. Or, maybe it's because the midwest actually does move a little slower. It's people take the time to say 'please' and 'thank you' and hold the door for you. Today the mailman actually waved to me. Craziness I tell you!

I do love the color when I'm home. I adore the mountains of Vegas, but the color is a tan-desert color, and here everything is green. Today my step-dad and I went to go visit the graves of my grandmother and his mom. I remember thinking how big the town was while growing up, today it felt so completely small. Places that took "forever" to get to in my youth we reached today before I could even finish my smoke. Small town, small minded, white-bred protected town. When the biggest news is whether or not the high school football team will ever win a game, and the old timers sit around on their front porches, and no one locks their cars when they run in for groceries. No one locks their houses for that matter...and the biggest "Wha the fuck?" of all is that you can actually pump gas here BEFORE you pay for it. Kind of like an entire city on the honor system. I'm surprised I wasn't eaten alive when I first moved to Vegas.

So it's 8pm here and I'm falling asleep. Apparently I'm morphing into a small town MN girl again. Not sure if I like it or not.

Tomorrow is Mom's 50th birthday. We're having a big party for her. It should be fun. We're excited. The big 5-0. Wow. I turned the big 3-0 this year. It wasn't fun. I can't imagine that it will get easier. Oh well...la dee da.

Where were you?

I remember when I was in high school, and we were trying to figure out a tragedy that could be linked to our generation. Those historical moments that are forever cemented in our minds.

My friend Micah once said, "Our parents remember where they were when JFK was shot. Our grandparents remember where they were when Pearl Habor was bombed. What is our defining tragedy?" We agreed it was probably the Challenger explosion. I remember where I was, what I was doing, and the fact that my fourth grade class saw it explode on live television.

And that was that...until a sunny day in September, 2001.

I was woken up to a phone call that morning. It was my friend Serena. She was bawling and trying to drive to work at the same time.

"Jessie, oh my God, it's terrible! They're bombing New York City!" I calmed her down enough to get some information from her. Apparently, the Twin Towers in New York had been bombed. At the time, of course, I didn't know yet it had been planes. She told me to turn on the tv. It was already all over the news.

The rest, as they say, is history.

I immediately called my mother. She was 1600 miles away, but after the Pentagon was hit, there was a feeling of 'no one is safe anywhere.' And I needed to hear her voice. So many people would never hear their mother's voice after that day, and more than anything I wanted to hear hers.

I was glued to the television for weeks after, just like the rest of the country. I was saddened beyond words, and angry beyond actions.

I watched history unfold before me. I remember exactly where I was, and what I was doing. It is something I'll tell to my children's children.

I'm getting too old for this shit

So last night at about 8:30pm, my boss calls and asks what I'm doing. I inform him that I'm doing what I normally do on a Saturday night, which is hunker down on the couch in my sweats with a bowl of popcorn and an old favorite movie. (Yes, Vegas nightlife is wonderful).

Apparently that's not what HE had in plan for me, because he'd made arrangements for Studio 54 at the MGM Grand. So, I shed the sweats for a tight pair of jeans and a cleavage shirt (I'm 30, not dead) and met up with him and friend at the casino.

What transpired, ended up being (as always when I go out with the guys) an extremely fun evening, followed by an awakening to such bodily pain I wish I was dead. Whether it was from the booze, the thrashing my body took on the dance floor, the "too tight" shoes I wore, or just the fact that I'm not 23, I woke up to a hangover that could kill a moose.

All in all it was a fun night though. They've done some revamping of the place since I was there last, and now they actually have dancing girls/guys suspended from wires that "air dance" over the crowd. They also drop balloons and sparklies from the ceiling throughout the night. Quite a spectacle.

As I've said before, I'm the funny one. That means, while at the bar, I crack jokes, do a bit of dancing, hang out with the gang, and basically play the "dyke" roll when ugly guys hit on my cute girl friends. (That ones been over used, however, and the guys don't shy away anymore like they used to. Now they just ask to watch.)

Anywhoo...in any case, I'm not usually the one getting felt-up on the dance floor, especially when all my friends are enough eye candy for a Victoria's Secret catalogue. So when the young, unsuspecting bloke slimed up behind me and started to grind my ass, I didn't think too much of it. Apparently he was just passing through. Then he grabbed my waist. 'Ok,' I thought, 'No biggie, I'll just go with it.'

I shot off a 'keep your eyes on me' look to my boss, who gave me a drunken nod. I hate how guys are so obtuse at times...and the dance continued.

When the guy's hand slid down the front of my jeans however, I felt this little game had gone just a TAD too far. I elbowed him in the face, grabbed my boss (who is 6'5 and quite intimidating when he needs to be) and he stepped in and shoved the guy aside. And for the first time, I was the girl in the middle of the group being protected as we danced. As terribly shocked as I was, it was good to know that all my years of "protecting the flock" as it were, had paid off. I have to admit however, I rather enjoy being the funny one. Being the cute one just has WAY too many issues.

Paris Opera House, where it all began... 

How much do I want to own this dog? 

Anne and Me 

The man, the myth, the legend, Mr. Yummy himself 

Me 

The tower 

Title This...

So here's what I don't get...

This is my third entry tonight, and I feel as though I should have something at least intelligent to say. Give back to the world, if you will. But I find myself unable to find something worth writing, nor can I tear myself away from this unabashed podium I find myself standing upon.

It's Friday night in Las Vegas, do you know where you are? Yeah, I'm sitting at my computer typing shit just to type it. Tremendous.

Last Friday I was at the Palms drinking, dancing, and trying not to become physically ill as all the drunks felt each other up on the dance floor. Come to think of it, did I punch that guy? My hand was a bit sore the next morning. Oh well, what happens in Vegas, stays with me, because I fucking live here.

It's like trying to live in Amsterdam...

"Johann! Hello, it's Sven, listen we're in town tonight and we wanted to smoke a bowl and drink some absynth and go get legal prostitutes! Want to join us?"

"No, sorry. I have to go grocery shopping and do my laundry."

Sometimes living here sucks. You get to watch all the tourists get plastered and plunk their tax return into the slot machines, while you have to stay sober and go home early for that damned responsibility known as a job. Of course, some people don't stay sober. Some people come into work smelling like booze and last night's hooker. These are the people I end up interviewing.

Emily Dickenson Wannabe

Shivers in the heated air
Your voice commands my soul
I ache to give, to get, to share
Your breathing makes me whole

With you there is no distance
No ocean, land, or space
That could offer me resistance
Or keep me from your face

With your gentle hands to guide me
I could melt beneath your sighs
And surrendering most freely
I would drown within your eyes