Viva Las Vegas

Jessica thinks I should post my paper I wrote for my writing class regarding our first trip to Vegas. This trip is regarded in many circles as essentially our first meeting. She said it was funny so everyone should read it, so here it is. Enjoy.

“What the hell are you doing?”
I guess my boss thinks it’s strange to come into work and see his right hand man sleeping on the office floor. Who would’ve thought?
“Uh, I’m sleeping.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay then,” as he shrugs, snaps a picture with his camera phone, and walks away.
I can tell you from personal experience that thin, commercial-grade carpet on a concrete floor isn’t the most comfortable bed in the world, but I’ve had worse. I actually once slept on a tile stairway, but that’s another story. The question you’re probably wondering is why I would sleep at work, on the floor, with a coat for a blanket and pillow, with my contacts still in. The answer is simple: in order to get the greatest amount of sleep I chose to sleep at work instead of at home, because the drive to home and back to work would’ve chiseled off an hour of precious sleep. Every moment of sleep is important when you only get 2 hours of it. Plus, I kind of like doing the walk of shame, in that mysterious, you-don’t-know-me-but-you-should-want-to kind of way. I love to freak out the other employees.
It all began the day before, on a Tuesday. At least, I think it was a Tuesday. I remember I had the day “off” because I was out at some sales/tech clinic for a vendor of ours. It was fun in that half the day was spent learning, the other half, racing go-karts. This is significant because the event took place close to downtown Salt Lake City. I worked at Biker’s Edge in North Bountiful, so a random text from a random girl probably wouldn’t have been as inviting had it occurred any other day.
“Anyone want to drive me and Stacy to Vegas?”
Hmm, intriguing for sure. Usually I didn’t like to spend time with strangers, but I decided to respond. This could be fun.
“I will.”
I’ve only met this girl once, and that’s if you call it a meeting. I helped her friend move her bed to another residence, and then we hung out for 5 minutes while they gossiped about lame television shows and who would be at the club dancing that night, then I proceeded to excuse myself and go home. Yes, I’m lame.
“You will? We would want to leave like in a half hour.”
“That works for me. Where are you?”
“Downtown. Can you pick us up?”
“Sure.”
Next thing I know, I’m hanging out at a coffee shop with two beautiful females whom I don’t know but plan on spending at least the next 6 hours with, confined in a car. I must’ve been delusional. That or my life really was that boring back then. I think they knew I had no life. You couldn’t miss the hints, as they were peppered throughout our conversations.
Phrases like, “I can’t believe you would do this for us.”
“I don’t know anyone who would drive strangers to Vegas on a complete whim.”
Or, “Are you crazy?”
But hey, a guy’s got to do what a guy’s got to do right? So we take off on this sweet trip. I think it was like 6 o’clock or so. I love road trips. After a bite to eat at Subway and (the girls) grab a few essentials for their trip, we’re out.
First impressions are very important. And back in the day before MP3 players, your CD collection could easily be mistaken for representing who you are.
“Are all these Sarah Brightman albums yours?”
“Um, yes.”
“Are you gay?”
Off to a bad start already, but who can resist Sarah Brightman?
“Um, not the last time I checked.”
“Well, we’ll need to put in some real music, like Prince or something.”
“Who’s Prince?”
“Who’s Prince?!?”
“Yeah, who’s Prince? I mean, I’ve heard the name, but is it a group or a guy?”
“Are you kidding us?”
I guess that reversed the gay decision. What gay guy wouldn’t know Prince? I was an anomaly. I like that I can’t be defined.
But what of the girls? Could I possibly be spending some quality time with people who actually hadn’t heard the live version of Pushit from Tool? I did try to play it for them, but we were rudely interrupted by an officer of the law just outside of St. George.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“Um, cause I was speeding?”
“Exactly.”
“But an officer told me last week that the speed limit in a construction zone only applies when there are workers in the area. It’s 11pm, and I don’t see any workers, so can’t I go the higher speed limit?”
“That only works when the construction sign is orange, this one is white. Here’s your $85 ticket. Have a pleasant evening.”
Damn. The law is playing tricks on me again. I think it’s all a conspiracy.
Back on the road, cranking the tunes, I almost gave the girls a heart attack.
Kathud!!
“What was that?”
“It looked like a dead animal in the road. I couldn’t swerve cause of traffic.”
“A dead animal? Oh no!!! Was it a dog?”
“I don’t know, I think it looked like a coyote. I couldn’t tell.”
My car could tell it was big though, that’s for sure. I’ve also never seen girls so upset over hitting a previously killed animal. What am I dealing with here? Über-sensitive estrogen bombs? They were almost in tears! I almost had to resort to mushy feel-good music. Good thing I didn’t have to, or I would’ve turned that car around and made them hitch hike the rest of the way. Okay, maybe not, but seriously, I’m glad they eventually got over it. It only took them about 30 long minutes.
So we’re almost there, and I remember having a little conversation with myself while the girls were doing their thing.
“Hey, self, you’re getting low on gas. You probably should’ve filled up in Mesquite since there’s nothing between there and Vegas. You realize we have about 60 miles to go and we’re on empty right? Okay, just checking.”
60 miles on empty can be a long, long trip. I actually think I witnessed a miracle that night. It’s called the miracle of not-running-out-of-gas-in-the-middle-of-nowhere. I like miracles. They save my ass. A lot.
I don’t think the girls were too scared of me, but what did I think of them? They seemed interesting enough. The first order of business on their trip was to get their noses pierced. They almost had me convinced to pierce my eyebrow with them. I probably would’ve done it except for no piercing shops are open in Las Vegas after 12am, at least none that we knew of.
After all the fun and games, I drop the girls off and I turn straight around and head back home, all by my lonesome self. Six hours later (among some intense boredom), it’s decision time. Drive home and sleep for an hour, or snuggle up on the near-concrete floor? Tough call, but I did learn something worth learning. Never pass up an opportunity to get to know someone, especially girls, because you never know when one of them may become your wife. :)

Car Thieves

For my first ever blog I think I'd like to say that car thieves SUCK BALLS!

So my car got broken into again today. AGAIN. My stereo deck has a pretty sweet record though, going on 2 for 2 now. Twice I've been violated now and twice my stereo remains. I guess thieves get discouraged when they actually have to work for something. My deck requires work to get it out since it's bolted in. The worst part of getting robbed though, is that you just feel so violated. Why can't people just keep their hands off of other people's stuff? I do have to give those bastards kudos though for at least not being stupid vandals. My car worked okay, nothing was damaged (except for the stereo plastic faceplate, but that was already broken...), they left all my sunglasses (worth a lot of $$), left my clothes, everything. So, at least I got that. But I've come to the decision that I'm going to remove my stereo. It doesn't work anyway (there's something crazy with it) so why leave it in there when it never gets used? So tomorrow my stereo will be departing my vehicle and my car will be one step closer to complete ghetto-ness. That's my story. And I still really dislike thieves.