Leaving for Las Vegas

<—–Previous Vegas Post

On May 15th, I hopped on a plane to go to Vegas for Bloggers in Sin City.  I took a giant suitcase that I didn’t actually fill up.  Because clearly I needed to make sure there was ample extra space in there for any and all purchases I might possibly probably definitely make while I was there.  I had done this before.  I knew what I was doing.  My dad was nice enough to drive me to the airport, which was great because I didn’t want to have to spend money on a cab before going, as I knew I’d likely be spending a lot of money on cabs in Vegas.  And taking public transit with a giant suitcase, a carry on, and a giant purse?  Doable, but not at all ideal.

I went through bag check, security, and customs pretty quickly.  A lot faster than I was used to in the past.  It seemed so much less stressful to travel alone, with no one pestering me about whether I have everything or warning me not to lose things or making sure we’re on time.  Why did it take me this long to actually take a trip by myself?  It’s something I would totally like to do more often.

Guess who got “randomly selected” for a pat down at security?  Yeah, I’m used it.  Although at this point I’m pretty sure there’s nothing random about it.  My friend asked me if it was a hot guy doing the pat down.  Nope.  Instead, it was an old Filipino lady.  She gave me a choice and said I could either go into that large scanner booth, or get a pat down.  I opted for the pat down.  Then she asked if I wanted the pat down to be done in the private booth.  I said no, I was fine just doing it there.  I wanted witnesses.  Something about the need for a private booth made it seem like there would be more than just a pat down.  If it isn’t enough that your shoes are already off, they make you lean against the wall, bend over, and let them look under your feet as well.

Customs was better than security.  When the guy asked me what I was going to Vegas for, I said “A blogging conference.”  And then he asked what that meant.  He was like “Is that just like a let’s all meet up in Vegas thing?” and I said yes.  And then he asked me what I blogged about.  I believe my answer was something like “Just random stuff.”  I wanted to say “I blog about awkward interactions with airport customs agents,” but I somehow felt that would not be the best response.

I was really bored while waiting for my flight, so I decided to text people and browse the internet.  Because that’s what an iPhone is for, right?  But the battery life on that thing is so shitty that I had to stop at some point or else it would have been drained before I even got on the plane.  There was an “Everything under $20” store right by my gate.  Because of course there was.  Why wouldn’t they want to entice me to start spending money before even getting to Vegas, where I would inevitably be spending even more money?  I resisted for a while then decided to take a look.  Apparently “everything under $20” means, everything is $19.99.  I decided to save my money for more important things.  Like food and drinks and slot machines.

I flew with West Jet, which I thought was supposed to be a good airline.  But for the first time ever, there were no TVs and not even any music on the flight.  I mean understand that it was a short flight so there wasn’t much point in beginning to watch a movie.  But I expected little TV screens with the option to watch a show.  Nope.  Despite my disappointment, the flight went smoothly and I arrived when I was supposed to.

And now I’ll stop boring you with the unnecessary details of my flight and proceed to actually talk about Vegas.  You know, when I feel like it.

Next Vegas Post—–>

Free birthday pasta at Boston Pizza

Two days after my birthday, I decided to use my Boston Pizza birthday deal.  If you sign up for the Boston Pizza email club, you get a coupon for either a free pasta or a free dessert.  Since the pastas cost more than the desserts, it seemed only logical to redeem the coupon for a free pasta.

I met my friends at the Boston Pizza on Broadway after work.  Unlike the Red Robin on Broadway, the Boston Pizza does still exist.  I’m glad I avoided having two fails in a row.  That would have been embarrassing.

I chose spaghetti and meatballs for my dinner.  Simple, yet delicious.  And it came with garlic bread.  The portions are huge, so I still had some leftover as well.  And it’s very rare for me to have any leftovers.

spaghetti

Spaghetti and meatballs

Stella Artois happened to be on special that day.  When I went to Red Robin, I didn’t get asked for my ID.  I was surprised, since I get ID’d everywhere.  I thought maybe now that I was 24, that was it.  But I was mistaken.  I got ID’d at Boston Pizza.  I’m pretty sure my waiter was younger than me too.  Oh well.  He brought me my beer and that’s all that matters.

beer

Stella Artois

When you sign up for the Boston Pizza newsletter, not only do they send you a coupon on your birthday, you also get a coupon for a free starter, just for signing up.  I didn’t want to use two coupons in one day.  I’m not sure if you’re allowed.  So the following week, I went to the Boston Pizza on No. 3 Road in Richmond and got my free Boston Pizza bread with bolognese dip.

bread

Boston Pizza bread

There was no Stella on special that day, so I opted for a cocktail.  I don’t remember what it was exactly.  It was sweet.  And I loved how it came with a gummy worm.  That’s true class and maturity right there.

drink

Cocktail with a gummy worm

The Boston Pizza deal is pretty awesome, since you get an entire pasta and they give you over a week to redeem it.  And the starter is a nice bonus.  The only way it could be better is if they offered free birthday drinks as well.  But that’s probably asking for too much.  I’m more than happy with free pasta and bread.  I love my carbs.

Clubbing

It’s stupid.  It makes no sense.  It’s a major waste of money.  And yet we do it anyway.  Why?  Are we stupid?  Maybe it’s just me who feels this way.  I’m a major hypocrite.  Much of what I do in life is highly counterintuitive and clubbing happens to be one of those things.

I remember one day I was having a conversation with a few of my older coworkers.  They were recalling a time, not even that long ago, when they could take $20 to the bar and get plastered.  Upon hearing this, I sat there upset, with a “this is so unfair” look on my face.  If I were to take $20 to the bar today, I wouldn’t even be able to get in anywhere.  Some clubs have a cover charge of $21 now.  Why?  Why such a random number like that?  I remember when I heard that I thought, wait, 21, is that the cover charge or the age you have to be to get in?  It’s dumb, you can’t even give them a $20 bill, you have to fish in your purse for change.  I feel like in this case, it should be acceptable to give them a twenty, and then throw 100 pennies at them just for the inconvenience.

As I was trying to figure out which club to go to last night, we were trying to weigh the cover charges, length of lineups, etc.  One thing I hate is when pubs suddenly start charging cover at night.  I don’t want to pay money to be able to be at a pub.  If you think about it, it really doesn’t make much sense.  I’m going to pay you money, to allow me the privilege of being able to spend more money once inside.  And then there’s coat check which goes up to like $5.  And then you get creative, shoving your jacket into your bag so you can check them both together, or saying, no, I don’t need a jacket even if it’s cold and raining, I’ll be fine…  Or risking it and leaving your jacket/bag in a corner, under a table, hidden, assuming no one will take it, because it’s the decent and honest people who frequent the clubs…

In the end, it’s probably not even the money that’s the biggest problem.  It’s what you’re paying for and what you’re getting from the experience.  What I usually get is stepped on, shoved, drinks spilled on me, creepy people staring, ugly guys hitting on me, and my personal space invaded.  I remember telling a friend once that I hate crowds.  And then he said, but you go clubbing all the time.  And yeah, I couldn’t explain myself with that one.  I don’t know why I keep going back?  Maybe it just seems like the appropriate thing for someone of my age to be doing?

But really how I justify it is that I like dancing.  And it’s more socially acceptable to dance badly when you’re at a club.  I mean I’m not the worst dancer in the world, but I wouldn’t say I’m great.  So-so maybe, at best.  I remember a few years ago, my very conservative aunt and grandma had a conversation with me about clubs and how they were bad and I shouldn’t go to them.  My aunt said that girls in Vancouver go to clubs because they’re looking to hook up.  What’s funny is that at that point in time I had only been clubbing a couple times.  But after that, I began to frequent them more.  Maybe because I was told not to?  Who knows?

But yes, I go clubbing because I like to dance.  I’ve learned that clubs are an awful place to meet guys.  I mean I’m sure it works for some people but not for me.  I don’t go there for that purpose.  It’s just unfortunate that more often than not, the ugliest guy in the club will be the one to express interest.  And if you want to go and just dance, couples tend to ruin your experience by surrounding you and getting in your personal space.  I’ve realized that gay bars are better, because you don’t have to deal with the creepy straight guys.  Although, the creepy straight guys have caught on that us straight girls have become fans of gay bars, and now they show up there too.  They’ve gone and ruined a good thing.

So will I continue to go clubbing when it never really turns out the way I had hoped?  Probably.  Simply because I tend to do things that are counterintuitive.  And because I can.  And because I just want to dance?  And people say I may as well go while I’m young and still can.  At some point in time I suppose I will just suddenly stop being able to?  Although every time I go, there’s always the one lone old person on the dance floor, probably desperate to feel young again, pretending as if this is where they belong.  Maybe someday that will be me.  Maybe I don’t appreciate what clubs have to offer right now, but when I’m old and lonely, I will see the value…