How does a person forget to pack pants when going to Las Vegas for a four-day conference?!?
I'll tell you how. First the person, we'll call him Aloysius, goes out drinking the night before he leaves and decides to wait to pack until the next morning at 5:30 a.m. Oh, and then, as an added display of mental dexterity, the drunk person, Aloysius, also decides to spend the night with his friend. We'll call her Lola Falana. So Aloysius crashes at Lola's place and the next morning packs rapidly, making sure to bring the rope he sleeps with. He then arrives in Las Vegas with t-shirts, shorts, swimming trunks, a rope, and a pair of sandals.
Notice how I remembered the swim trunks. I spent a couple hours by the pool today enjoying the live music and the live bodybuilder also staying at my hotel. He knew he was hot so he stood up the whole time talking to his friends. He didn't want to sit down and possibly have somebody miss his glorious physique. Whatever. I enjoyed staring for a few moments, but its nothing I haven't already seen in thousands of magazines and/or at the gay bars.
Tonight at The Bellagio there was a lovely cocktail and hors-d'oeuvres reception for all the conference attendees in nice clothes and me. I actually sought out the two other guys wearing shorts and tried to get them to talk to me, but they snubbed me because, I guess, their shorts were nicer. Or it could have been my sandals. Screw 'em, I have a tan and they are sweaty in their long pants. I don't need more friends anyway.
The only other person who would talk to me at the conference tonight was the lady with arthritic feet who was trying to figure out the shortest distance to her room from the conference hall. I
I'm only down $103 and my bathroom has a sunken tub. The fountains at The Bellagio made me cry tonight. More on that later.