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The 946th incident that shows why I shouldn’t be taken anywhere.

December 1, 2009

Today I had another one of my experiences that makes people, me included, wonder how it is I manage to function without being killed or jailed and why I don’t get kicked out of more places. It’s truly astounding. More on this particular incident in a moment. A little background.

The hubs is back in Utah. Middle of nowhere Utah, like 80 miles from Salt Lake City. The only restaurant is a Subway. He’s staying in a hotel on base where, most of the time, he’s the only person there. Snow and a hotel all by himself…I told him to stay away from axes and to not go all “Shining” on me. I doubt that they have bartenders at base hotels so I also feel fairly certain if he sees one he should run, though there’s not really anywhere to go. My viewing of that movie, mentioned in a previous blog, so traumatized me that I have actually blocked out how the movie ended and have no recollection of it whatsoever. Now may not be the best time to remind me as I am a little worried how this creeptastic trip is going to turn out. The only positive outcome I can come up with is that maybe J will get me a sister-wife for Christmas and I will finally have someone to change sheets on the bed, put away laundry, and dry my hair for me.

I am in Vegas, which is one of my favorite places on the planet and always makes me happy. I’ve been ten or so times in the last couple years. Something about the gaudy and the glitz and the lights and the energy and there always being something to see just makes my little heart break out in song. I was NOT singing yesterday when I was dealing with Sunday after Thanksgiving air traffic and the droves of idiots brought out by the holidays. I am sorry, but if you can not successfully board a plane or ride a tram from one terminal to the next, I think you SHOULD be weeded out from the gene pool. Eventually no more idiots would descend on airports to spend holidays with their family as there would be none left. (In addition, I also feel if you can’t or won’t use their/there/they’re or too/to/two correctly that you should also not be allowed to breed because you are a complete idiot. I feel strongly about those who use lol, omg, lmao, and the like as well.) I have been flying by myself since I was ten and have never gotten on the wrong plane, missed a plane, been run over by a courtesy shuttle, etc. It is just not that hard people.

I am also sick which makes me crankier than normal and staying on my least favorite part of the strip which also does not improve my mood. I was in such denial about staying at Mandalay Bay that I actually asked my cab driver, out of habit, to take me to the Venetian. Halfway there I realized my error and had her turn around. Shockingly, I didn’t make it the whole way there and pitch a hissy fit when they didn’t have a reservation for me. I did make a brief trek to the Fashion Show Mall when I arrived. The Tory Burch studded leather satchel in cognac that I let my hubs buy me as a Christmas present cheered me up immensely. As did, my successful Macy’s excursion. It pains me that in Alabama our department store choices are Belk and Dillard’s. Yet we wonder why people think we’re rednecks and make fun of the South? If you want camo, we’re your place. Anything else? Not so much.

I did come to the conclusion that it is probably a good thing I’m not skinny as I see nothing wrong with wearing an ostrich feather or sequin mini skirt. And since I’m already a total whore for anything with a rhinestone or sequin, I’d probably end up looking like a former showgirl most of the time. If I were in anyway coordinated and could do things like walk in crazy high heels while balancing thirty pounds of feathers and sparkle on my head while wearing giant rhinestones on my nipples, I probably would have looked into being one. Not the scary kind from the movie with the girl from Saved by the Bell but a classy, Moulin Rouge-esque showgirl.

I walked by the Bellagio fountain, grabbed some yum lobster bisque, learned that I can stare down the hooker heckler pamphlet guys so that they don’t even TRY to give me their nudie girl baseball cards (I’m sure you can collect a set but these don’t come with gum),checked if the Bellagio conservatory was decked out for its’ Christmas spectacular yet (it wasn’t), took Nyquil and collapsed in bed. I even felt too badly to go sit at the Parasol Down bar at Wynn for drinks and watching the Lake of Dreams spectacle-one of my favorite Vegas cheapies.

I woke up to blood clots in my nose and with a voice sounding like a drag queen, which was not the best start to my day. I made it thru work and ended up exhausted and prone on my bed by 6pm. After showering, I contemplated which restaurant I could go to with wet hair and sporting pj’s. Unable to conjure up anything, I accessorized my wet hair/sick motif with black cashmere and jeans. Grabbing a bite to eat at one of the 24 hour cafes here, I finally had to leave when I was almost unable to resist flinging my diet coke at the woman at the next table who had ordered three different items and sent them all back.  It’s not like we’re at Fix or Voodoo Steak lady, shut up and eat your food. I ordered pancakes with bacon and eggs and was appalled when they came stacked together sandwich style (completely bizarre and not okay), yet I managed to eat and I am the pickiest food person on the planet. As someone who prefers her different food items to not even touch, this was a particularly hard concept for me to swallow, literally.

Deciding ice cream was the only thing that was going to help my throat which must have been sandblasted and then lit on fire; I take a walk to Luxor as they have a Swensen’s. To this day, I miss the one that used to be on South Parkway and those damn yummy wafers. Having never been inside Luxor, I thought I would wander for a few minutes and check it out, possibly take a picture or two since bratchild is Egypt obsessed and would enjoy seeing a ginormous faux sphinx and obelisk. As I pull out my camera and snap a pic, this is where the trouble begins…

The below is pretty much an actual word for word account.

Security man: “Ma’am, we are currently not allowing anyone to take any photos or videos within the hotel.”

Me: “Are you kidding? That’s ridiculous.”

Security man: “Until further notice, that is our policy for the safety and privacy of our guests.” (Gestures towards sign stating this.)

Me: “Seriously?” (Looking confused and annoyed.)

Security man: “Yes, that’s what the sign says.”

Me: “Really? You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m just going to take a picture of that fake sphinx. I’ll just be a minute.” (Me pointing camera)

Security man: “Ma’am if you continue to take pictures I’m going to have to confiscate your camera.”

Me: “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Security man: “Yes, we are trying to protect our guests’ privacy.”

Me: “We’re the only people standing here. I couldn’t take a picture of another person if I tried, unless it was you. No offense but I don’t collect random pictures of men I don’t know as travel souvenirs” (Writing this I actually wish I had as I feel a visual would have added a certain something.)

Security man: “Well, that’s the policy.” (Saying something is a policy, especially if it is pointless, has never really been a tactic that works with me.”

Me: “Why?”

Security man: “We have several celebrities staying here right now and during that time frame, our policy is to restrict photography.” (That freaking word again! During this time I vaguely-I’ve been taking cold medicine-recall 2 young slutabees squealing over some thuggy guy with gaping holes in his lobe and unfortunate hair surrounded by his similarly clad, wholly unfortunate, entourage-he was some sort of reality TV person. I had no idea who.)

Me: (after sharing above tidbit with security man and unable to even guesstimate the dude’s name) “I don’t even know who that is and trust me, I have no desire to take his photo. His only career option is likely to be Playgirl or a sperm donor for that Heidi chick and her freakjob husband. Isn’t it online and totally lame now? Maybe he can pose with that Palin chick’s baby daddy. Or Bruce Jenner now that he has a new face.”

Security man: “Ma’am, they’re married so I don’t think Sarah Palin refers to her husband as a baby-daddy.”

Me: “Not her, the daughter that’s squeezing out babies and passing them off as her mom’s.”

Security man: “So we’re clear, you won’t be taking anymore photos. We really are supposed to protect our high profile clientele.”

Me: “No offense, but it’s the Luxor so how big of a celebrity can they really be if they’re staying here? Honestly. I’m not even famous and I’m not happy about being here. I only came here for the Swensen’s and if I had handlers, I’d have people to take care of that and wouldn’t have needed to traipse over here.”

Security man: “Michael Jackson used to stay here all the time.”

Me: “He’s creepy and dead. Granted, he had some pretty good music while he was still black but after he made himself a white woman, everything went downhill for him. That’s not a very good advertisement for this joint.”

Security man: “Ma’am I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.” ‘

Me: “Whatever, I already got my ice cream and that was the only good thing about this place!”

(He escorts me back to Mandalay Bay. End scene.)

And so are the days of my life…

© Amy Lloyd Mayfield and Amy’s Blam, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Amy Lloyd Mayfield and Amy’s Blam with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Allison permalink
    December 1, 2009 9:46 AM

    You freaking crack me up.

  2. Majken permalink
    December 1, 2009 3:09 PM

    Oh dear. That is so funny. And the security person had no sense of humor. Tsk.

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