We arrived in Vegas fresh, hydrated, and well stocked with penis-shaped party supplies and outfits too slutty to wear at home. The Las Vegas airport greeted us with an enormous banner featuring Carrot Top in pancake makeup, surrounded by women in bikinis. The text read, “Carrot Top Fantasy.” I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that prhase somewhere before.
oxÂ·yÂ·moÂ·ron [ok-si-mawr-on, -mohr-]
â€“noun, plural -moÂ·ra
a figure of speech by which a locution produces an incongruous, seemingly self-contradictory effect, as in â€œdeafening silence,â€ â€œpoor little rich girl,â€ or “Carrot Top fantasy.”
Every square inch of Vegas is decorative. There’s fabric on the ceiling, crystals on the tabletops, tassels on women’s nipples. In the evening, as I removed my tassels to pump breast milk in the private massage room of our suite at the Wynne, I thought to myself, I need more agate doves in my life. Where can a girl get her hands on some agate doves?
The answer of course, was the lobby. So we swiped a few on our way out to see KA, which was magical. Seriously, people, if you haven’t seen any Cirque du Soleil, you must. Those shows will make you dream better.
I’m joking about the doves, of course. They were glued down.