Don't Meet Me in St. Louis

I'm already home, you see. By way (in that routing weirdness that Southwest specializes in) of Las Vegas, NV. This gave me a couple of hours to gawk at the fake breasts, the hanks of hair weaves and the pointy heels that seem so incredibly uncomfortable that the thought of wearing them as far as Tukwila, Washington makes my feet ache in sympathy. Also I won $3.50 in the airport slot machines. My luck is clearly changing. ;)

If you've never been to Vegas, there's no way to describe the bizarre sight of slot machines everywhere. Grocery stores. Laundromats (that one makes sense, it's a good way to rid yourself of extra quarters.) I've often wondered if they rig the parking machines to mimic Wheel of Fortune. But when one has a long layover, it's the absolute perfect timewaster. Thank you, Las Vegas! I hope to be sent through your pearly gates again one day soon.

The fact that I wound up winning nearly four dollars and was absolutely gleeful about it says something depressing about me - I don't dream big. Also, it never occurred to me to keep FEEDING the beast. Next to me, another woman won big on the nickel slots. I believe it was up to $35. She was rather blase about it, all in all.

Now there's been some groundswell about my last post on Sex and the City. While I'm not ashamed to relinquish my keys to the City of Women because I didn't care much for the movie I should point out that I suffer from a faulty memory on some of the finer points of the television show. That is to say, my good friends, the Ms, seem to feel I have misrepresented Carrie and company. Fair enough. I stand corrected, Lady M! (One should never argue with a sexy mouthed woman.) However, my point is the same: there is something astringent about the way they approached relationships and I felt sad after seeing it. After all the many episodes of love and dating and wonder and fabulous sex and penis sizings and untold breakfast meetings which seemed - for reasons that defy understanding - to have taken place in the shoddiest diner in Manhattan, only Charlotte (who always seemed slightly addled) ended happy and grounded. (Mind you, with the typical "babies make you self-actualized!" tagline that is beginning to irk the hell out of me.) The others felt as scattered as at the beginning. (Yes, yes - I know the movie gives us happy endings. I just didn't feel them.) Maybe it's hard for movies to dramatize steady contentment. Interestingly, the Ms are both in happy contented relationships. I think either of them would make a good movie.

However, I have not checked their closets for Manolos. So there's that.