Elevator Magic, Nudity and Sunday Morning in Vegas

After I showered and de-fuzzed my tongue Sunday morning, I made a half-assed effort at getting dressed and mosied on down to the cafe for breakfast. As usual, I was seated at a table in the middle of the smoking section, completely unable to blend in and hide. My slightly under cooked scrambled eggs and toast were mediocre, but at least it wasn't from the gift shop.

After breakfast, I walked around the casino, which I did often while I was there. The place was huge and I think I covered every inch at some point during my stay. After I'd had my fill of little old ladies feeding what was left of their social security checks into the hungry machines and scantilly dressed cocktail waitresses artfully dodging strollers full of fidgeting babies, yet never spilling a drop, all before nine a.m., I went back to my room.

When I'd checked in on Friday night, the thermostat in my hotel room was set on 65 degrees and I'd made no effort to change it. While it was already nearing 100 outside, my room was like an igloo, and I loved it. I went into the bathroom, got out of my clothes and back into my robe. I despise clothes when I can choose to go without them. I opened the curtains wide and plopped down into the chair, gazing out at the mountains in the distance. I spotted a 7-Eleven about a mile up the road. I'd have killed for a Slurpee. I considered how much it would cost to get a cab there and back. It was too far to walk in the heat. So close.. yet so far away.

I'd only slept about three hours the night before. I don't know why, but I woke up at the butt crack of dawn every morning I was there. After I sat there for a while, I made some phone calls, checking in with the Amazon and some friends, just to let them know that I was still alive and hadn't gambled away my plane ticket. I went over to the bed and laid down, turning on the television and eventually dozing off for a nap. Naps weren't something I was able to take advantage of very often when I was home, I figured I should make the best of it.

It was late afternoon when I woke up, refreshed and wide awake. I went back to the window, I remembered the dream I'd had back when I first started logging my dreams in a journal. It was September 11, 2001 when I made the first entry. I was writing it in my little blue notebook as one of the guys from out in the factory came into the office and announced that terrorists had flown a plane into the World Trade Center. In the dream, I was in a plane flying towards some mountains in the distance. They weren't like the tree covered mountains we have here, but they were alot like the ones I was seeing out my window. When the plane landed, there was a sign by the runway that said, "Welcome to Nevada." At that time, I hadn't even realized that Las Vegas was in Nevada nor did I ever imagine I'd go there. Now I wondered..

That entry in the little blue notebook was the beginning of a spiritual journey of sorts, a roller coaster ride of digging for information, learning all I could about the different aspects of metaphysics, parapsychology, dreams, visions and anything else that I thought might be related. I'd gone all the way to the other side of the spectrum at one point, teetering on the edge of becoming one of those crystal wearing, bonfire dancing, gong banging mystics, then working my way back to a comfortable balance, somewhere between my Southern Baptist co-worker and my Pentecost-turned-alien theorist-pyramid toting-sage burning friend.

I was comfortable with who I'd become spiritually.

Then why, on this trip which I'd felt so led to take, hadn't I felt the presence of those unseen energies, the ones who bring me signs in the form of certain songs seemingly playing from nowhere, pairs of mourning doves waiting for me in the yard when I get home and whispering those things in my ear which I know to watch for? Why did I feel so alone?

I got up from the chair and picked up the remote for the t.v. from the bed. I turned it on, found a music station and turned the volume down low. I returned to the chair and sat down, facing the window, resting my head on my arms crossed across the headrest.

"Talk to me, " I asked of no one in particular.

Nothing. No pictures in my head. No surge of emotion. Just nothing.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I think it was the first time I'd really relaxed since setting foot at The Orleans. It was then that I heard something, just barely, the beginning notes of a song, one of a handful of songs which I recognized as a sign of sorts, to let me know I wasn't alone. It was coming from the television.

"There you are"

"We were always here..."

"You could have said something"

"You never asked..."

I smiled. They were right, I hadn't. I'd been too self absorbed, my mind too occupied by other things to simply stop, take a deep breath and listen. You would have thought I'd have learned by now.

Now, I can hear the collective eyeroll as all ya'll read this and that's perfectly okay. There was a time not that long ago when mine would have been rolling right along with you. I can't explain it. It's just... how it is.

I'd killed pretty much the whole day at this point. I was getting a little hungry. I decided to brush my teeth, slap on some war paint and go back downstairs for dinner. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when I felt compelled to go change the t.v. channel. I don't hear voices (don't go calling the nervous hospital to come pick me up) or have sudden visions, complete with the raised brow crazy eye like t.v. psychics. There is just this instant knowing that this is what you need to do at that moment. I found the remote with one hand, while still brushing with the other. I went through the channels .. sports.. sports...sports...yuck... Dick Clark's Bloopers and Practical Jokes. There we go. I went back in the bathroom and listened while I got ready, as Ma used to say, like one of them painted up city women.

"I'm here with my good friend Drew Carey..." Dick was saying.

What the..?

I walked back towards the bed, one eye with eyeliner, one without, holding the brush and my mouth gaping open. I'm not real sure what was said after that, I just know that the next clip they showed was the entire cast of The Drew Carey Show, complete with Mr. Wick (played by Craig Ferguson) lined up in a court room, doing their version of the "full monty." And they went all the way. Damn those fuzzy little boxes that block out the man buns on network t.v. DAMN THEM!!!

*snort*

What? When I implied that I'd seen Craig Ferguson naked while in Vegas, ya'll didn't think I meant in person did you??? I mean, did you think I'd be outside his hotel room, swinging from his balcony railing on the 21st floor like an oversized orangutan with one hand while frantically snapping pictures with the other????

*snicker*

After that little bit of eye candy, I finished getting dressed and headed out to the elevator. When the doors closed, I was surprised when the numbers began going up instead of down. In truth, I probably just didn't notice that I'd gotten on the wrong one. The button panel inside had special instructions for accessing floors 20 and 21. You had to have a room key for those floors in order to get to them. I had speculated that if Craig were staying in that hotel, that's where he'd most likely be. I won't lie to you. I had entertained thoughts of sneaking up there. I'd never do it, of course, but I did briefly consider the possibility. There was a time, over twenty years ago, when my friend Deneene and I, in a drunken stupor, had found the fire escape to the top floor at the Hampton, Va. Hilton, where we suspected Def Leppard was staying. Our plan was to quietly sneak up and down the halls, putting our ears up to the room doors, listening for English accents. Needless to say, it didn't work. We were escorted from the hotel property and threatened with arrest. The next day we learned that we weren't even at the right hotel.

I watched in amazement as the numbers climbed...18....19....20. The elevator stopped. The doors opened. The carpet, the wallpaper, everything I could see of the hallway on the 20th floor was like night and day when compared to the rest of the hotel. There was no way I was going out there, but it was amazing that the opportunity just presented itself that way. One would assume that after the young family boarded the elevator and the doors closed, that it would then start back down. But no. The doors closed and it climbed again.....21.

The universe was really, really leading me into temptation.

But no. I was older now, more mature and a whole hell of alot less brave. Oh yeah, and sober. Thank God this hadn't happened the night before. I might still be sitting in a Las Vegas jail if it had. Now THAT would be a story. And, I reasoned, he probably wasn't even staying there.

After the young family got off on the 21st floor, the doors closed and I breathed a sigh of relief, the elevator went down to the lobby and I stepped out onto solid ground, making my way back over to the cafe.

As I stood waiting for the hostess, a petite Asian woman with dark red lipstick, I pretended to be admiring the ceilings and thought to myself and to no one in particular, "Ya know, everytime I've gone anywhere to eat since I've been here, I've had to sit in the middle of the dining room, alone. It'd be nice to get a seat where I can blend into the woodwork."

The hostess approached me, inquired about my smoking preference and lead me to the rear of the cafe. Just as she walked toward the same table I'd had breakfast at that morning, she stopped. She turned towards me and cocked her head a bit to the side, almost as if she'd changed her mind, "How about a booth?"

"I'd love a booth! Thank you."

Ya'll are going to hate me but... I have to stop there for tonight. Stay tuned, there's more, I promise. As much as I'd love to finish, there are critters to be fed, Amazons to torment and launry to wash.

See ya'll in the morning :)