I am back from Vegas….and I am broke.  And sick.

Two weeks before we left my dad came down with a nasty cold, you know the one….gross cough-headache-achy all over-feverish chills-all around disgustingness.  For two weeks I evaded it.  I bobbed and weaved even when my mom came down with it and Timbo added a sore throat to the mix.  I felt victorious.

Then I went to Vegas, and that cold laughed right in my face .
Struck down in my prime.

I toughed it out, and although I couldn’t manage any all-nighters I did keep up with the Vegas Veterans.  You know the ones…..sparkly hats-empty pack of cigarettes-fanny packs-totally reasonable shoes.

While there I did some very legitimate research, here is what’s up:

Of the many dealers, bartenders, taxi drivers, servers, street performers, and cops I “formally interviewed” only one was a born-and-raised Vegas kid.  So what are all these Vegas natives doing?  Do they avoid the tourists and become teachers or do they move to Nebraska on their 18th birthday?  Or is there a whole Vegas underworld I should know about?

No one, I repeat no one said they “hang out” on the strip on their downtime.  I get it.  I don’t like dealing with $9 beers and Stumble McGees either.  But then are we “faking” industry nights?  Am I not talking to the right people?  Is it a gimmick to make me feel like part of the gang….you know a local.  With that many people working on one road, do you all know each other.  Is it like Cheers?  Where is Norm?

Do you think the Chippendales hang out with the Show Girls by the pool?

Taxi drivers can make a real good living off drunk people.  Let’s face it, when you are bombed your best friend is the guy who is getting you to Fat Burger faster…..he totally deserves all your Blackjack winnings.  Or at least a couple of those escort cards that you collect at every corner.

Most people who visit Vegas act in a way that they would normally deem inappropriate back home.  Dresses are shorter, heels are higher, boys walk around with foot-long pink frozen daiquiris….but almost everyday you see a reunion of some sort.  What a small-big town, huh?  So my question is…how do you explain that pair of thigh high stockings to your frat brothers when you get back home?

If you have an accent, can sing, do magic, throw fire, or tell fortunes….become a bartender.  Get rich.

Bartenders would never want to be a Dealer, Taxi drivers couldn’t stand bartending, and Drummers are super cute but none as cute as Timbo.

How many Transformers, Mickey Mouses, and Spongebob characters can you fit in one town?  This place rivals Orlando….this seems like a fantastic “children clause” built into Sin City.  We can definitely bring the kiddos, they will love drunk Elmo.

On an unrelated note, thanks to getting down with the sickness my flight home was a bust.  I always have trouble with my ears.  If you have ever sat next to me on a flight I am sorry for the rapid gum chomping, compulsive water sipping, and yawning on repeat.  My ears are overly sensitive, and that could be a whole post on its own.  for today let’s just say that my ears are still stuck at 38,000 feet.

Completely clogged ears, shooting pains, and a ridiculous equilibrium is all up in my business.  I need help folks.  How can I get them to pop?  I can’t hear a thing.  T wants to take me to the hospital but this is about the third time my ears neglected to let loose.

Do you have any tips for helping with those pesky ears while traveling?
Do you think I could get my hands on an astronauts helmet?  Or Jay Z headphones?