1.15.21 :: Vegas

Going from the valley to the strip is like a personal ice bucket challenge. In four days, I interacted with a handful of people. In one hour, I've walked among hundreds. Inside, outside, inside fake outside... 

This place is surreal--and so bright. Last night, from the tranquility of my room high above the gambling fray, the frenzy of lights was romantic. Like watching a winter storm from the safety of a warm house. Stepping into the ruckus today, it wasn't long before I got caught in the feathers of a flamingo dancer (I thought I could limbo that situation but I'm not as limber as I'd hoped), stupidly turned circles to exit a swarm of bachelor parties, and made evil eyes at an evil couple who just couldn't keep six feet away while waiting in line at the Bellagio. (Yes, I realize my attraction is potent, but if you could just hang tight, we'll all see the Chinese garden in due time.) 

I hesitantly tapped my foot to the water show (Billy Jean), took pics of the Paris balloon and Eiffel Tower lit up in red, white, and blue, got lost in the Venetian, and ogled the latest Dior sneaker release...and I think I'm done. Normally, I love a fabricated life (and I did marvel at the ten foot-high jade charms). I mean, I'm a devout Disney parishioner. The difference here, I think, is the pandemic. But also the nostalgia. 

I've been hitting the pavement of Main Street USA since I could crawl out of the stroller, my blankie like a bridal train, gathering stray pieces of popcorn on the way to Peter Pan's Flight. In Vegas, I don't want to touch anything without a vaccine or a silkwood shower on standby--and I have no memories of this place. 

Suddenly, I'm longing to lace my boots and tromp through an endless field of dry brush and baby Joshua trees. To fill my cup with the Big Dipper. To strike a long match and set the fire pit ablaze. 

However, I made my fancy hotel bed and I must lie in it. (Such a hardship, I know.) And I do love a good food hunt. I wrapped up work in EST, napped to Bakeoff, and hit the town at six, early enough to avoid the sloppy bros. The Bellagio garden is themed to the lunar new year, which really filled my heart. I don't know if you'd ever see such a celebration of Asia in downtown Boston outside of Chinatown. Despite the Vegas crowds, I've so appreciated being around Black and Brown and Asian people all day. Back home, we're so divided and gentrified and scared to mix in. I remember a good friend from Kentucky asking me, "Where are all the Black people?" when she moved to town for college. You have to make a concerted effort to make your day diverse in the Boston burbs. Vegas clearly attracts everyone--and I'm into it--even if it appears as though I'm avoiding everyone like the plague.

This is covid times, after all.

After miles of walking and tense moments trying to tear myself away from the Chanel display while the security guy eyed my frizzy blue hair, I made what has become my daily pilgrimage: Din Tai Fung. And not only did I reward myself for doing nothing with another bounty of bao and dumplings, I bought a friend for me and V. A soft, plushy, big-headed fool of a buddy to hug so hard while I finish watching my K-drama tonight. 

Man, does anyone else miss giving hugs? This poor guy, named Bao Bao (On the box! Purely kismet that this has always been the name I want to give to my next cat!), suffered my suffocating arms as soon as I unwrapped him. And he shall suffer an even worse fate tonight whenever I sleepily roll over and squash him with whatever body part needs support.

Yes, Bao Bao, you've been adopted by a desperate woman at a traveling crossroads. Whether you journey to Disney, the Grand Canyon, or simply back to a Boston apartment where two cats will attempt to chew off your bamboo steamer hat, it's too soon to tell. More on the morrow. Sweet dreams from sin city, my friends.

xx