All previous posts aside, Mr. Stapler and I managed to patch it up and go to Vegas this weekend and have a good time, despite all my dire pessimism. We handled it in a way that would make our repressed WASP ancestors proud: we didn't talk about it until we got home.
"Avoid conflict at all costs," that's my motto.
Las Vegas. Is there any place MORE ill-suited to the Highly Sensitive Person? It is almost like it is purposely designed to appeal to the sensorily challenged. Everything is huge! and loud! and bright! and smoky! I'm thinking - "Yes! I noticed!"
I get overwhelmed in Vegas quickly and I always want to find a nice corner to relax with a drink and people-watch, but that isn't what casinos are designed for. Don't relax! Don't sit! We will put 5 different kinds of music on at once and plant smokers next to you so you won't be able to stand it for long - you MUST get up and gamble!
I'm always wondering "Is there a bookstore-cafe about? A nice botanic garden perhaps?"
I know, by now you are thinking "Hey, dumbass, what did you expect? You didn't go to London or Paris! You went to LAS VEGAS NEVADA." But Norm MacDonald was playing at the House of Blues and Mr Stapler loves him some Norm, so we simply had to go back to Vegas, a place we had visited in December and had left, brushing its dust off our shoes and swearing never to return.
It was a good show, worth the trip. The Hosue of Blues is a great venue and there was a fun, playful crowd of Norm-lovers.
We spotted a confused-looking late-middle-aged couple come in and Mr. S said "Oh, man, they are going to be offended. They don't know what they have gotten themselves in for." They sat in front of us.
Mr. Stapler had a young 20-ish hipster girl with a tartan mini skirt and zillions of tats and piercings sitting next to him.
When Norm got going, he was pretty raunchy. Hilarious, but filthy ("When I think of all the times I have f***ed, the person I have f***ed most is my own hand. Why? Because my hand is a filthy whore!"). The middle aged couple was weeping with laughter. Meanwhile, the hipster girl sat with mouth agape, looking like a stunned mullet. To me, that was almost as funny as Norm.
We missed our flight home and had to be on standby for a couple hours. What is it about sitting on my big butt in an airport that makes me so dang tired? I am wiped out this afternoon. Some scientist oughta look into that.