They're like a rainbow!

I probably shouldn't be telling you this since What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas™, but last year I was on a little Rolling Stones concert kick with some of my NYC peeps and one of the places we saw the tour was at the MGM Grand. I swore after that trip, my 3rd time in Sin City, that I would never be the same. This realization, stated defiantly in the middle of the airport on the night we were all leaving town, had nothing to do with The Stones and everything to do with our hotel.

Vince & Donna planned ahead and got a beautiful suite at The Wynn. Shoni & I ended up kickin' it old school at The Tropicana, mostly b/c of location (across the street from the concert venue) and partly because the price was right. Or was it mostly because the price was right and partially because of location? It doesn't really matter except to say that this is precisely the kind of thinking that inspired the sayings, "you get what you pay for" and "you'll pay for what you get!".


This is where The Golden Girls went for a booty call, and then to die.

By the time we met up at the airport, waited in the 2 hour cab line to get to the hotel, and waited in the 2 hour check-in line to get our room, all The Trop had left to offer us--even with our guaranteed reservation of a double-- was a king. This news was softened by the fact that we'd still be able to get room service and alcohol, so we didn't bother to fight a battle we'd seemingly already lost. We dragged our weary selves through the lobby, the casino, past the maze of kiosks that had closed hours before we arrived, past 2 bar areas; and finally made it to the elevators where we would unknowingly enjoy the last few moments in our lives before we got emotionally scarred from the sight of this:


Neither of us are naive innocents, but this was a shock. Have you ever seen so much bamboo'd mirror in your entire life? I swear, we did not pay extra for this kind of room (unless you count paying in dignity, not dollars).

Shoni went in the room ahead of me and actually screamed out loud; while I was too distracted with my own poor attempts to keep the horror I felt on the inside. Surely you've heard of a mirrored ceiling, but I defy you to find a scarier proposition than doing anything at all in this veritable fun-house nightmare, multiplied by 3 (as anything in that space will be reflected off of not only the ceiling but also BOTH adjoining walls)! Even something as harmless as the first time you open your eyes in the morning becomes uniquely traumatic as you meet your own hungover gaze at 3 different angles. DO. NOT. WANT.

The high points of that weekend, which included the concert and the incredible dinner the 4 of us had at CraftSteak, have not erased the memory of sleeping in that room. However, when I read THIS post on drunken Teletubbies (Teledrunkies?!) over at Taj's place, I was reminded me of something else from that weekend I shared with friends, back in the days before I started this blog:


Hmmm, this looks strangely familiar...


I think it's the colorful shirts and the interesting dance moves...


Yes, that's it! The Rolling Teletubbies.


If you've never been to a Stones show, it's kind of like this. Just kidding.



This should help get the Teletubbies out of your head. Of course you'll be stuck wondering what play-doh rabbits have to do with a classic Rolling Stones song, but this is a risk you're going to have to take.



Thank you, good night!


All concert photos by Vince & Don.