Triumphant (?) Return

I am finally back!  After Vegas, I spent a week in Rehoboth Beach, DE with my brother.  So in order to go over my asinine behavior in order, we’ll start with Vegas…

I tried desperately to win a shirt from a place called O’Sheas — if you got a suited blackjack, you won a fabulous shirt with a creepy leprechaun on it emblazoned with the phrase, “I Got a BJ at O’Sheas!”  I thought it would make a good nightshirt.   

I ate enough sodium to choke a hamster.  For real.  There was not a single day that I didn’t eat 1 — 3 meals involving high-fat, high-sodium food.  But it was all delicious.  We ate at a place called the Golden Steer, where Frank Sinatra killed a man or some such, and it was honestly the best food I’ve ever had in my life.  This was assisted by the awesome martini I had before-hand, no doubt. 

My man rented us a cherry-red 2007 ‘vette to tool around in for the first couple of days.  I have to tell you, this kind of changed my life.  I’ve been belting out all the words in perfect time to Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” for years.  But I have to say, it made the Camry we got for the remainder of the trip kind of a downer. 

I got ridiculously drunk one day at the pool and managed to burn the backs of my legs on a huge, defunct mechanical bull they had set up in the pool area.  Yeah, just review that sentence really quick.  They have bikini bull riding on like Thursday nights or something, and I felt it was necessary to sit on the bull in the 115 degree heat for a picture.  Because I am retarded. 

We flew there and back first-class.  Which has officially ruined me for Coach.  Never again.

So we get home from Vegas and the dog is just ecstatic.  For one day.  One day when, incidentally, we have to wait around for the airport to deliever my husband’s luggage that they lost.  Didn’t get there until 1 AM.  Un-fucking-acceptable.  Then I washed my travel clothes, threw them BACK in the suitcase, and toodled off to Rehoboth.  The dog, apparently, was heart-broken.  I got back yesterday and she came outside, saw me unload the car, broke into a full gallop, cleared a bush and flew into my arms even though I was fully standing and she’s a 20 lb. rat terrier.  I think she actually cried.  Can dogs do that?  She couldn’t have had it too bad, though.  My husband even took her to his weekly poker night with him.  She was no doubt fed all kinds of pizza, wings and beer.  Which might explain why she vomitted copiously this morning.   

Anyway, Rehoboth was totally different after Vegas, and totally relaxing.  It’s amazing how relaxing the beach can be just after a week where each daily activitiy revolves around losing money and drinking.  My brother and I did just exactly as we pleased and spent lots of quality time on both beach and boardwalk, to say nothing of the cute actual town of Rehoboth.  You could stay there for months and not hit all the charming bistros, pubs and restaurants.

We did have one elderly long-time visitor of fair Rehboth warn us about being stuck in a bar with “all guys” (she accompanied this dire warning with the classic gay-limp-wrist flip… Wildly inappropriate!!).  We should have eagerly asked her where we could find such a bar. 

Within less than an hour of being in town, we noticed a rather inordinate number of the mentally handicapped — there must have been a Special Olympics or similar in the area.  However, I still felt put-out when, while on my cell phone to my husband, a surly retard took it upon himself to mock every work I was saying.  Where was his wrangler?!  Wrangle that tard, lady! 

(I know, I know…  But in my defense, who wants to be made fun of BY a retarded person?!)

One night we managed to shut a bar down and were then invited to an impromptu poker game by the owner of the largest, most successful restaurant in the area.  I’m sure he thought we were just a couple of rubes (note: my brother is, in fact, a poker rube), but it was only a $20 buy-in, so we trotted off to some woman’s apartment at 1 AM to play some Texas Hold ‘em.  The woman was very nice, and had the poker table all set up with chips, et al, and so we started playing.  The wealthy restaurant owner and his pal were out in an hour or two.  My brother and I ended up outlasting everyone except the female hostess.  After rounds and rounds, we finally agreed to split the pot.  HAH.  So we effortlessly won some cash and got free drinks in the process.  We still don’t know how we staggered home, though, at 4 AM, not even knowing where we were, really.  A secret skill found only in heavy alcohol comspumption, I suppose.  When I asked my brother how he played so well (he never even could get the chips straight; what color was worth what), he replied, “I dunno. I was just looking for pairs.”     

We had our own beach umbrella the first day, but a hearty wind picked it up and, torpedo-like, slammed it into a sleeping girl’s boobs.  She woke up, unharmed, and laughed it off.  Still.  It hit her hard enough to break one of the support rods (metal).  After that, we just paid to have the nice cabana boy set us up an umbrella each day.

Finally we dedicated one important day to eating boardwalk food and playing at the midway games.  We tried something terrible…  Bacon ice-cream.  Just take our word for it:  it’s like Bacos, mixed with vanilla and liquid smoke.  But the popcorn, lemonade and corn-dogs amply made up for our folly.  Our favorite game was called “Muffin Pan Alley” which we kept calling “Muffin Tin Junction” (or similar).  Also?  Skee-Ball?  Is FUCKING HARD.  Don’t laugh.  It is HARD.  And physically draining.

It was really hard to leave.  And this morning I got up, for the first time in two weeks and had no casino, no beach and no brother.  Ugh.  What the hell will I do with myself now?!  I guess I’ll go grocery shopping, since my husband bought exactly enough food to survive this week, consumed it, and now we’re living on mustard and icing. 

Thanks for missing me — it’s nice to be back if only for your bloggy adoration.