prepping

On the drive home, I saw the curved half moon hanging low over baltimore, colored a cheerful pink skin color. Like a falsie from heaven. It reminded me to pack my silver bra.

The trip begins in less than 24 hours, depending on what I count as the beginning of the trip.

4:45 a.m. go to Leah's in federal hill
5:15 go to airport
7:01 flight to lax
12:40 pdt flight to Vegas

At this time tomorrow, I'll be sauntering around the apartment, maybe painting my toes, maybe berating myself for packing too much.

These two conflicting impulses--I have many of them. Torn asunder. On many subjects. For instance, on Las Vegas bachelorette parties.

I mean, need to exercise my social muscle. But I need to lock myself in a mountain cabin and write until I publish. I almost bought a body bronzer, yet I don't know the point of a body bronzer. I need to make out with a stranger like a Jersey Shore reject, I need to find a man who hates reality television.

Sloppy slash cynical.

Normally not in such equal measures. Usually I err towards heavily detached posturing. Cultural commentary with the other liberal art dickheads, leaning against the wall.

So what the hell happened? How did I plunk down the money for this? Whatever. I'm going to have fun. This blog will prevent me from being swept away while I take a quick dip into the shiny warm mainstream.

My parents once tried to plan a family vacation to Las Vegas (before the city embraced its sleaze) and I nearly went hoarse dissuading them. In part I knew it was not meant for families. It is meant for cheesy debauchery, winking, prepackaged sleaze.

Finally the conditions are right. My friend is getting married. This past Christmas she and I took shots and vomited a lot.

Anyway why am I writing so much? Only like two people are reading this.

Hi, guys.