Food baby is pleased

I love Paris Las Vegas for its shopping, its beauty and its food. Did I mention the food? I have access to world-class restaurants within walking distance and, yet, I am addicted to Le Creperie, Le Boulangerie, Le Notre and, as of tonight, Le Village Buffet.

I was contemplating dinner at the Venetian, but meh. I realized it was 3:30 p.m. and the dinner buffet was opening at the Paris. I also realized that the $25 for the buffet equaled what I paid at New York New York earlier in the day for coffee and an omelette il formaggio, so what the hell.

I tried to pick mostly healthy things at the buffet. I just so happened to pick ALL of them. And then some. And then some more!

I took a crab leg and a crab claw, the latter I couldn’t crack to save my life, and the former — while tasty — left my hands smelling like a stripper pole. UGH. When seafood smells like seafood, it’s time to stay far, far away from it.

In any case, the Food Baby is pleased. I’ve got a 13th-trimester-caliber muffin top going on tonight. Not to worry, though — I’ve spent my life savings here in Vegas — I won’t be eating again till January, if I’m lucky! It occurs to me that food has been a sex surrogate. And I’ve been sort of fine these past few months with living on salads. But when my hunk o’ man meat was unable to come (heh) on this trip, I had to compensate for one void left unfilled by stuffing another!

Anyway, it’s about 7 p.m. and I’ve single-handedly liquidated Citibank with all my spending on clothes, jewelry and food. It occurs to me that I should take in a show at some point before I hop on a plane and head back to hades.

It also occurs to me to maybe listen to the voicemails that have been left for me by people who CLEARLY know I am on vacation, or otherwise they wouldn’t be trying to reach me that way. Humph. It’s bad enough I can never find time to schedule a vacation — why you gotta take a dump on the days I’m trying to sneak in before I re-tether myself to my cube? Nah, don’t wanna set a precedent of sharing my rare days off, although I may live to regret that little rebellion.

I mean, at the rate things are going in my industry, I may not even have anything to go back to, in which case, I might just not buy a return ticket when there may be nothin’ to which to return.

Oh, on that note, if you saw what I wrote on F-Book last night, I TOTALLY blame the recession for the dearth of available men in the bars. I went out last night (and not a goddamned decent club is open in Vegas on a Sunday, Monday or Tuesday night, FYI) and was appalled at the tumbleweeds rolling through the club I DID manage to find.

Damn. I’m FINALLY allowed out of the office — my only chance to meet someone! — why God WHY isn’t there anyone out there to meet?!?!

Oh, speaking of, I have been getting my kicks by watching men grab handfuls of Trojans in the hotel stores before a night out. *snicker* I mean, if I’m the only chick available for pickup and I wouldn’t do ya, who the hell are ya gonna score with?

Oooh, I totally forgot — I was at the MGM Grand the other night, contemplating something or other around midnight. I’d just come back from dinner at Tao with my friends and who the hell knows why I was wandering the streets at that hour. I know I wasn’t lost — I’d apparently had a double-shot of stupid ’cause I could see my hotel but I couldn’t GET to it.

Anyway, a guy actually MISTOOK ME FOR A HOOKER. Which, I was showin’ the girls and all, but I wasn’t whorish or anything. He wanted some company and was trying to get me to come with him. I’m like, wow, but uh NO. One wonders whether someone like me wasn’t sniggering as he was buying condoms in the hotel probably not too long before he saw me!

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