I know you probably gave up on the conclusion to the Vegas extravaganza. Those of you who know me personally understand the delay. The rest of you, I apologize for the inconvenience. And without further ado, the second to last installment of Vegas Diaries. Since the diaries are scattered when I completel them I will put together a compilation post for easier access.

Princeton, the Showgirl, and Frog Prince drop me off at the airport. While Princeton jumps out and gives me a kiss, the other two just wave from the car. I begin to roll my suitcase toward my gate.


Again shutting my mind to the times I've been here before. Forgetting the salty tear flavored kisses. The promises of phone calls and returns. Returns. But of course I always came back from Vegas alone. This time is no different. I told Princeton that when I landed I was going to head to my local instead of home. "That's why we love you," he said and hugged me as if my depressive drive for alcohol was actually endearing. I just couldn't stand going home to an empty apartment. To face the evidence of how little missed I am. To know that I could vanish for days even weeks, and no one would really care, or even notice.


I rolled to my gate and check in wearing my black cowgirl hat. The side of the airport where I would be taking off was a glass wall facing a mountain. The sun was setting making the mountain appear purple in the darkening sky. Purple mountains majesty. It used to be a phrase in a patriotic song, now it's just a color in a crayola box. On my fingers was chipped fingernail polish, pompeii purple. I wonder what color nail enamel will be named after September 11th. What is the appropriate nail color for utter fucking catstrophe?


I decide to check my phone messages on the pay phone. My cell is long since dead, and I suppose I should make sure that the apartment has burned down or anything. Kiss Kiss has left me some messages. Saying since I'm not returning his calls I must be having fun. Right. I call him. I'm so desperate for his sanity I practically lick the receiver of the phone like a dog.

We chat and joke as usual. I tell him briefly about the adventures. I want him to tell me he misses me. There's a pause. He doesn't, but he senses the mood shift. "Come home, Bunni," he says "Just come home." And I want to. There's nothing I want more. If only I knew where that was anymore.


I go back to the gate and sit with my bag. When the plan boards, the seat next to me is empty. I put Marv my co-pilot in all my travels on the seat. I've finished reading Fear and Loathing, so I pull out Sideways. I figure although it is not Vegas based it is still an appropriate book. An alcoholic failed writer on the road trip from Hell facing his failed marriage. Some good light reading.

When I land, I make good on my promise. Exhausted as I am, I make it to my local where there is a band of friendly faces who circle around me, trying on my hat, asking about how much I won or lost, inquiring about the shows that I saw. They think I'm lucky that I spent Thanksgiving in Vegas.


Lucky certainly is a word for it.