Vegas was, admittedly, better this time around.

I'm still not much of a fan - honest to Pete, there is nothing there to do to pass time if you're not interested in live spectacles of any sort. And I know: if you're not into spectacle, don't go to Vegas. And I promise you, I wouldn't. But I have to go, per my whole, you know, employment arrangement with the folks who deposit money into my bank accounts every other week.

I still found things to do to pass the time once work was over. Even before then. My favorite part about the whole trip was probably Sunday, sitting at DB Brasserie, drinking wine and eating some amazing tuna tartare, listening to an animated frog "lip sync" Louie Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World." I decided right then and there I'd make the best of it because, let's be honest, how many people get to do this sort of thing? Not many. Really and truly, in the grand scheme of things, I'm lucky to have been able to visit so many places on someone else's dime.

(As an aside, I'm not a hater, really I'm not, but a certain uber blogger and her lovely husband need to stop with all of the complaining. About, as a friend mentioned, things they control. I'm starting to wonder if they can use a writing mechanism other than whining to explain what's going on in their lives. The device has jumped the couch.)

From a work perspective, the trip was very productive and while I'm not an engineer or scientist, as most of the folks in my client's industry are, I'm beginning to have a much better understanding of things such as ball grid arrays and soldering. Also? I got to hear the inventor of the Roomba speak and he was a hoot.

Personally I was probably the most well-rested individual in Vegas, as I think I was in bed by 9:30 p.m. every night, and up by 5:30 a.m. every day. I ran the strip - but only once because I am pretty sure my efforts to run Sunday's Shamrock Shuffle in under an hour screwed up my IT band. I managed to run it in 57:25, but also managed to injure myself. After a four-mile run on Tuesday morning, I called it quits the rest of my stay. I've hurt my IT band before, and it sucks, and I wasn't about to take any chances with the season just starting. I did walk a lot at night, and found a couple of dresses on sale, each only $25. I walked around for a long time at the Bellagio, smelling the flowers and taking pictures.

It was so nice to spend some time in warm weather, just to feel even a smidge of sunshine. I would step outside in between sessions at the conference and just breath deeply.

I played the slots, only once though. With about ten pulls I won $50 after putting $20 in. I cashed out after that. I'm not a gambler and the whole process of sitting there, punching a button on a noisy, crass machine seemed awfully sad. Maybe if you're there with people, on vacation, who are drinking with you, standing around you, cheering you on as though you had something to do with it? Maybe then it would seem less depressing. Mostly gambling reminds me of these really bougie, quasi-relatives of mine, whom I haven't spoken to in years, and anything I associate with those people is reason enough to avoid.

It was still nice to win something, though.

There was some pool time, and one day after work I saddled up next to the pool to take in the sun and the palm trees and had a creepy Italian man in Speedos saddle up next to me. As an added bonus, he turned out to be a racist creepy Italian man in Speedos. I won't repeat for you what he had to say about the Obamas, and African-Americans as a whole, but let's just say that with the direction he was heading in, I was seriously waiting for him to let loose with, "What more do they want from us?" After his tirade, he pummeled me with the sort of questions one only asks so he or she can talk about him or herself. He managed to make it clear that he was "very wealthy" and "building a home in South Hampton" and "what did [my] week look like?"

After I'd reached my breaking point, and could finally get a word in edge-wise, I told him I wanted to just read my book. In response he started to do push ups next to my lounge chair.

That's right push ups.

He was the last of three men to hit on me this week. I am not the sort of woman to get hit on, so apparently something was in the air and if you had breasts and were in Las Vegas, look out. One from the plane, sitting next to me, kept invading my personal space, asking me if I was here for "business or pleasure." The other literally got up in my face and stopped me after I was finishing up my run. He was German, so I had a hard time understanding him. But I could understand him staring at my breasts though. I'd had my headlights on. Obviously an invitation.

Aside from that, not a bad trip. I'm glad to be home.

Posted by Erin at 07:34 AM | filed under: Odds and ends