Next lifetime, I'm coming back as 5'9 blond with implants and a fake tan.
I'll live in Vegas and wear fishnets. With lacquered fingers, I'll deliver screwdrivers and cocktail napkins into the trembling hands of old men.
"Sometimes, I take a lover," I'll tell them in my breathy Marilyn voice, "but my real passion is the can can."
(And while I won't be very good at it, they'll pat my behind and smile.)
"I'm up 16 cents!" My friend John announced, waking me from my reverie. We were sitting in front of the penny slots in Caesar's Palace, and I had closed my eyes to escape the sting from what felt like one hundred thousand cigarette smokers.
Earlier he bet that I was the only woman in the casino carrying a bag of thrift store clothing.
That was an easy one. I certainly was looking forward to wearing my new red Chinese dress - I found it for $4!
With thirty minutes to spare before our meeting, we had discovered Las Vegas's largest Goodwill, conveniently located next to In-N-Out Burger.
But that was hours ago. After the meeting, we did the tourist thing - saw the hotels, the fountains at the Bellagio, the slots. And that's precisely when my soul started aching. Maybe it's the fact that the casino floors don't allow natural light. Or those ridiculous women wandering around in wedding dresses. The slap slap from the Salvadoreans handing out call girl cards rang like a shotgun in my head.
So I did what any sane person would do: asked where the closest Mexican food joint was.
A native Las Vegasan (read: car rental agent who relocated from Detroit in 2007) recommended a taqueria in nearby Henderson. Convincing John to get up from the slot table, we shielded our eyes against the bright desert light. Then we plugged the address into my GPS, turned up Death Cab, and followed the sunset.
Inside was cool, the people friendly. The fry bread enveloping my chicken burrito tasted wonderfully sweet - even their salsa was made with fruit. I ate as much as I could before we had to go back.