Ain't No Showgirl.

So, I'm nearly recovered from the trip to Las Vegas last weekend. Nearly. Almost. Probably.

I learned one very important thing, I don't love Vegas like everyone else loves Vegas. I'll admit, I did have fun, like 75% of the time. The other 25% I sort of hated it.

The Boyfriend went because he was going to a Hypnotism seminar, so now he's all qualified to be a hypnotherapist, which is awesome. Like seriously, if you want to loose weight or stop smoking or be more confidant; he's your guy. (He also can make you do silly things if you want that, and magic.) So, pretty much contact him for everything, because I'm dating a certified hypnotherapist and highly talented magician.

Anyway, he was going for the seminar which would give him his official qualifications, complete with diplomas, and I was to go with him. We stayed in the Paris, which was beautiful. It had a fake sky which was lovely and it reminded me of my own trip to Paris in 2004 (let's not count how many years ago that was).

Outside the hotel though, it was an entirely different animal. There was more than enough stimulation for me inside the hotel, what with the crowds, lights, sounds, slot machines, roulette wheels, blackjack tables, and tourists. Once outside, I was completely overwhelmed. My poor little crazy brain couldn't handle everything.

The evenings were better. The Boyfriend was back from his classes, I was properly dosed with Xanax, dressed up all pretty, and headed to get a few drinks with his classmates and instructors; who are all pretty cool guys. So, to recap, I liked Vegas when I was xanaxed and somewhere in the hazy border of tipsy and drunk. Not quite the way I wanted to experience the world, but it was sort of the only way at the time.

You know that whole "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas"? Most girls, when they get way a little too drunk in Vegas end up with hilarious and somewhat embarrassing stories of dancing on tables, kissing strangers, and falling down. I ended up crying in the bathroom of our hotel room because "I didn't want to be drunk anymore" and "I wanted to go home". If that doesn't describe my inner introvert, than nothing does. (Also, naturally the crazy took the next morning to convince me that I ruined everything, stress and crazy are great friends). Then the flight home was more crying, because my bag wouldn't fit in the stupid overhead bin and I had to wait for everyone to board so I could bring my bag up to the front to be kept in a closet.

There were good things, though. There was meeting up with a friend I haven't seen in years, feeding ducks at a park, meeting new and awesome people, and having fun at shows (Anthony Cools, Kevin Lepine, and Penn and Teller. Here are pictures to prove that I did have fun.

And OHMYGOD guys! I have found heaven, and it is The Pinball Hall of Fame. I'm pretty sure that just about every pinball machine ever made has been restored to it's former glory and everything is completely PLAYABLE!!!! I played pinball for hours with my friend, and then The Boyfriend and I went there before our flight home. Oh man, when I die, I'm gonna haunt that place forever.

Even the handicapped parking is awesome at The Pinball Hall of Fame.

So, all in all I learned that I am no Vegas Showgirl. I am not made for Sin City. I do not love the lights. When I go back again, I know it will happen, I will bring books and stay in the room until I am lured out by the promise of a few drinks and a game of pinball.