I could have called this post “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”, but that would have been a lie because I’m clearly sitting here writing about the weekend I spent in Las Vegas, rather than not writing about the weekend I spent in Vegas. So the true title would be more like “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, except for the parts that I’m telling you about here, which aren’t the secret parts that actually will be staying in Vegas, but do enjoy these selected elements of the 36 hours I spent in Vegas, hi Mum and Dad!”

That title was too long.

Here’s the backstory: Matt, whom you met in the last photo of this Cedar City post, celebrated his birthday last weekend by arranging a trip to Las Vegas with his friends. Because Matt is a swell guy, he invited Sam and me along for the ride.

Thus at midnight last Friday night, after the audience had pattered away from Les Misérables, Sam, Matt, and I jumped in Matt’s car, turned on some music, and drove out into the black night towards the glittering lights of Las Vegas.

Yes, I did indeed eat a pint of frozen yoghurt with a spoon in the backseat of the car, and yes, I did indeed look like a vampire whilst doing so.

Did someone say “the glittering lights of Las Vegas”? Oh, right. That was me.

At 1:30am, Las Vegas really does glitter. After over two hours of driving into seemingly endless black, we suddenly found ourselves instead driving towards a river of gold, beckoning, beckoning.

Upon entering Las Vegas, the spinning shining pumping lights swirled at me from all directions, and I momentarily forgot that Matt had stolen my cowgirl hat for his own purposes.

And then I forgot everything but to laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh, because oh, America! Even after all this time, and after so many visits, you still hold the power to astonish me and make me shake my head in gobsmacked surprise.

This Bhang cannabis chocolate was fo’ realsies legitimate (or as legitimate as medical marijuana can be), with the packaging including the ingredients list and even the nutritional information. I was lost for words. Absolutely lost for words. (‘Murica!)

Hypothetically speaking, one might posit that the Bhang peanut butter pretzel cannabis chocolate would be the most appealing flavour to a chocolate reviewer, and that it might hypothetically taste like basic sweet dark chocolate with underlying notes of grassiness. But one would never know for sure; one could only guess. One could only ever guess.

Oh, Vegas.

No. 33 ½ . That is all.

The next morning, our not-quite-baker’s-dozen of men and women awoke in our rooms of the getting-very-old-and-creaky Circus Circus hotel and casino (where, twenty years ago, I stayed with my family). We stepped out into the morning light and almost wilted in Las Vegas’ burning heat, quickly dashing to the comfort of air-conditioned cars to make our way to The Omelet House, a hidden nook of breakfast magnificence known and accessible only to those with secret Vegas knowledge.

While omelettes themselves make my soul cringe, I am duty-bound to like any place that serves pumpkin cake dripping in butter as a standard breakfast component. This pumpkin cake tasted like gingerbread, like pumpkin pie, like sweetness, like heaven.

Not going to lie; I preferred the pumpkin cake to the English muffin with egg white scramble and turkey sausage, though the fruit cup with sweet strawberries, ripe bananas, and juicy grapes was not too shoddy either.

We shan’t speak of what this place served as “coffee”, though.

Coming up next: Las Vegas gambling, clubbing, and a glimpse of my beloved homefolk.