In light of my new experience revelation/philosophy, I spent the better part of yesterday researching plane tickets and hotel rooms.
Yesterday morning it was between South Padre Island, Texas, Nashville (maybe I want to venture down to the south?) and Atlantic City (I think I might actually save that until I turn 35 so I can re-live that Sex and the City episode, without being pregnant Carrie, of course. But even if I were, it’s Atlantic City).
Last night, it was between, well, nothing. I felt myself getting frustrated. But then, a text from my lovely mom reminded me that experiences should be fun. Read: NOT STRESSFUL.
Given the fact that in the past few years my vacation destinations have included the Luxor, Mandalay Bay and Hard Rock, I was not at all surprised at my frustration. Vegas is easy peezy. And as much as it hardens my heart to say this (but it’s true) nothing in Vegas is real. Drinking enhances everything. It enhances your shopping abilities and enhances the sight of that tacky wallpaper and carpet combo in Paris.
Although I love Vegas for celebrations, birthday parties and bachelor party crashing, the thing is….
I’d rather experience tacky wallpaper in a small town or quirky people at the world’s longest yard sale.