So, no blogging yesterday because I ate a bad patty melt on Wednesday night and spent the next 24 hours crawling from bed to toilet & vice versa. Feel like a wrung-out towel today. Had to cancel my interview with the headhunter yesterday because I couldn’t have made it to the lobby, let alone across town. Maybe someone’s trying to tell me something.

I hit all the hotels/casinos on Fremont today, doing job apps and dropping off resumes; Golden Nugget looks to be the most promising. One of those joints actually had their office space virtually wallpapered with those insipid Successories posters. They might as well hang up a flashing neon sign reading “DON’T WORK HERE” and maybe smear “GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN” on the opposite wall in human blood.

I’m just about to go check out an apartment. The two most promising areas seem to be near downtown and around the UNLV campus. Downtown is a little on the shady side, but still livable.

Random notes from today and yesterday:

- In-n-Out Burger is almost as good as White Castle. Almost.

- The Fungus channel on XM radio is, by a huge margin, the greatest radio station on earth. In 20 minutes of driving around Vegas, I heard the Clash, the Ramones, Johnny Thunders, the Dead Milkmen, Husker Du, and NOFX. I loathe subscription services of any kind, but I’m actually tempted to get XM for that one station alone.

- Living in Manhattan permanently rewired my brain’s method of dealing with crowds. As soon as I hit the Fremont Street Experience, it was like someone flipped a switch and New York Rules kicked in: there are no other pedestrians, only obstacles. You see everyone but look directly at no one; you allow nothing to break your forward momentum, not panhandling junkies nor doddering old ladies nor Japanese tourists milling about aimlessly; you slip and weave like a boxer, moving around everything in your way while not allowing anything to touch you. It’s completely automatic and instinctual, and I found it took conscious effort to STOP myself from doing it. Handy skill to have, though.

- There are about three speed limit signs in the entire city of Las Vegas, so most of the time I have to guess how fast I should be going. It doesn’t help that I’m driving a rented sports car with California plates that practically screams “pull me over!”

- Everyone’s strangely obedient of crosswalks here. I see big crowds standing on either side of a completely empty street, waiting patiently for the signal to change. I don’t know if that’s a cultural thing, or a stupid tourist thing, or if maybe the police actually ticket people for crossing against the light. In any case, it’s weird.

- I miss my dog.

After lunch I got knocked on my arse by one of those “icepick stuck into your eyebrow” headaches. I’m blaming it on a delayed effect from the bitch on the plane. I passed out for a few hours in El Culo de Vegas.

The nap and a hot shower did me some good. Headed out to Fremont Street to fortify myself at a buffet. Prime rib, fried shrimp, sushi. Four tall glasses of ice water. Some sort of sickeningly sweet Oreo creation for dessert. A couple of double gin & tonics while I walked Fremont. Finally starting to feel like myself again.

I’m back in the hotel, digesting and blogging. Need to find a nearby location with decent wifi service; the hotel doesn’t offer it.

And no, pdb, I haven’t done any whoring.

Have arrived in Vegas, picked up car, checked into hotel, and eaten lunch. Afternoon will be devoted to scouting apartments.

Morning weirdness: after doing a “random fill” of my iPod last night, I put it in shuffle mode this morning and hit Play. First track? The Dead Kennedys cover of “Viva Las Vegas.” No shit. I take that as a good omen.

Morning infuriation: my flight was ruined by possibly the worst woman I’ve ever met. We didn’t exactly exchange business cards, but I’d lay odds on her being a stripper at ~1000 to 1. Preposterous robo-boobies on prominent display, tramp stamp on the lower back, makeup from a child’s coloring book and the kind of tan you don’t really get in Michigan in December. She was part of a group headed here for a wedding, apparently. Might’ve been hers, I’m not sure. In any case, she spent the entire flight guzzling straight vodka, hurling obscenities (loudly!) at the rest of her party and completely ignoring her 4-year-old daughter. Bear in mind, this was a 9 AM flight. Security was waiting for her at the gate when we landed. Hopefully, the flight attendants will get hazard pay for that one. I’m just glad she didn’t push things quite far enough to get us diverted to Denver. Dammit, you stupid bitch, you’re not supposed to start acting like that UNTIL YOU GET TO VEGAS!

Anyways, I’m staying downtown at the El Scumbag, err… El Cortez. Trashy, full of despair and frustration… my kind of place. Anyone reading this in Vegas should buy me a drink. It’s the right thing to do.

Nothing of substance today; busy packing and getting ready for the trip to Vegas tomorrow. Will have the laptop with me, so updates shall be forthcoming.

I have completed the first seven stages of my preparation; Preparation H is next.

Damn, that joke just sucked.

A fire in the fireplace, Rollerball on the DVD player, the puppy‘s head in my lap, tequila on the rocks…

Life is, at times, very good.