Arrive at the Vegas airport with no power in the power chair. Parking guy happy to help because he loves God. No luck; battery is dead; charger is kaput; not really God’s fault. Carrie IMs suggestion: buy a car battery charger at Walmart.
Of course Vegas has a 24-hour Walmart. And of course Carrie has solved the problem.*
Breakfast Saturday morning the girl at the next table has a head full of pink rollers.
Tim heads off to play poker; I find quiet corner of a lounge to read.** Overhear a guy explaining the relationship of free will to Christianity.
On the way to manicure, learn the reason for pink hair rollers and over-decorated 8-year-olds: MGM is hosting a cheerleading competition. Also, said 8-year-olds look like they could kick my ass.
Get a manicure. Nail polish is called Mrs. O’Leary’s BBQ. Love the color but love the name more.
Join Tim at poker where he is playing Texas Hold Em at a table with Orel Hershiser. First time I’ve seen a World Series ring in person.
Out to dinner wearing 4 inch heels.***
Christmas carols in the casino are a weird combination with the slot machine sounds. Also just weird. Perhaps for the first time in my half[assed] Jewish life, I find myself asking WWJD.
Sunday Tim plays Hold Em with Hershiser for another six hours. He takes off the World Series ring to let me get a closer look. It’s incredibly cool and diamondy. Hershiser is funny and a mensch, offering to help Tim with cards.
We decide it would be too weird to ask for a photo, so you’ll have to take our word for it.
An introvert strolls down the Strip:
Wow! This is so cool!
Vegas is full of such diverse, interesting, weird people!
A, um, little person dressed like Elvis. Cool? Exploitative? He has every right to make as big an ass of himself as anyone else in Vegas, right?
Fat Michael Jackson impersonator. Same questions?
Diversity! Let your freak flag fly!
Why do people bring toddlers to Vegas?
Funny sexist t-shirts. OK, well, it’s Vegas.
Disgusting sexist t-shirts. Yuk. Sigh.
Skinny Santa alone with his Christmas tree.
Geez there are a lot of people on the Strip.
No, I don’t want Girls Girls Girls!
And wouldn’t the Girls Girls Girls proprietors have better luck if they gave their sales reps clean Girls Girls Girls t-shirts?
Screw diversity and freak flags — what is the fastest way back to the hotel??
This is actually an example of the Introvert Curve:
Rinse. Repeat. The social interaction can be anything, really, from strolling down the Strip in Vegas to attending a cocktail party****. And what’s great is: I also have some sort of Introvert Amnesia that makes me forget this curve as I ascend the left side, my need to Get Outta There coming as a surprise each time.
Anyway, we headed home Monday having accomplished perhaps the most important variation on the Vegas cliche: What happened outside of Vegas stayed outside of Vegas. We really needed a break from litigation, worrying about litigation, and litigating the case in our heads at 3 a.m. … and we got it.
Now back to reality.
* She specializes in ass-kicking lawsuits on behalf of radically underserved groups and lifehacking. Ask her to assemble your IKEA furniture; she’s really good at that too!
** What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
*** Sorry no footwear photos. Images of age-inappropriate shoes worn in Vegas stay in Vegas.
**** This makes it sound like we attend sophisticated gatherings where people dress up and drink interesting mixed drinks. Mostly, we play poker and order out for BBQ.
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