What a long strange trip it's been... I just walked in the door, having spent the past three nights living like a drunken tourist down at the MGM Grand. Honestly, that was not the plan for the weekend when I got up on Friday morning, but trying to stop it from happening would've been like trying to stop the sun from rising in the east.
I'm unshowered, unshaved, my suitcase smells like an ashtray, all the Benjamins in my wallet have been replaced by Jackson, Hamilton, and their ilk, and my body feels like I've been on a Lindsey Lohan-esque bender for a week. My system is as worn down as the battery on my cell phone.
Seriously, 72 hours ago, I had no idea what I was in for.
But I'll have all the details later, once I put together all the clues from my digital camera and credit card receipts. Right now, I need to hit the shower, the medicine cabinet, and the pillow, because lord knows we spent enough time hitting the bottle.
Out for now--