I love Vegas.

 I’ve been there 4 times, twice in the past year. It’s an escape. I can forget about the real world for a few days. I shut my email off on my phone, don’t take work calls, drink beer in the afternoon, snap a few pictures of people who offend me and lose myself in Oz (The Wizard of Oz slot machine is the bombdiggy yo!). It’s really the beer that does it though. Oh, how I love my afternoon Blue Moon!

 The last time I went however, totally different story. It was filled with panic. Constantly looking over my shoulder, watching, waiting. And driving my sister completely and utterly batty.

 I had a stalker.

In Vegas.

A bazillion miles from where I lived.

WTF?

 I had been chatting with this kid (yes, kid. I’m not proud (holdupasec, maybe I should be? Go cougar!), but he was about 10 years younger then I was.) We never actually met. Only chatted on the phone and via text (you know how I love my texts.) I’m sure that I had mentioned casually that I was going out of town. Why wouldn’t I? I had no reason not to.

 I got the first text my second day there. He’s all, guess where I am? I’m all, I have no idea, Tampa? At work? He’s all Vegas. I’m all, no fucking way. Where? He’s all Caesar’s Palace. I’m all no fucking way, I don’t believe you. He’s all why not? I’m all cause I’m in Vegas. He’s all no, are you really? I’m all, I told you that a week ago. Where are you staying. He’s all New York, New York. I’m all…..

 Fuuuuuccckkk! That’s where I’m staying.

 I’m all I don’t believe you. Why are you trying to scare the bejeezus out of me? Then he texts me a pic. Of a receipt. From Caesar’s Palace. With the current date on it. Thank god I’m not at Caesar’s right now.  So I tell dear old sister what’s going on. Fear of judgment from her for talking to a much younger boy out the window. She’s all did you tell him you were here? I’m all sure, why wouldn’t I. She’s all do you know what he looks like? I’m all I think so, I’ve only seen his picture on match a few times though.

 I quickly sift through the file cabinets in the way back of my brain. You know the ones that I am thisclose to getting ready to dump in the Blue Bayou and desperately try to remember what he looks like. Then I do a quick scan of the casino.

 Shit.

 This place is filled with young, cute boys who have dark hair.  Hmm, that one’s kind of cute over there. Oh, why didn’t I notice that one sitting at the bar before. Wow, I could totally do…..oh yeah, I’m being stalked!

 So, for the rest of the night, I am forever looking over my shoulder at eye candy that I can’t enjoy because I’m too worried about the fucktard that booked a trip to Vegas after I told him I was going to be there.

 Next day. Another text. This time with a receipt from my (our) hotel. At this point I’m really getting ready to find a security guard and tell him to be on the look out. But I don’t think that would go over too well and they would probably escort me out of the hotel and lock me up in the loony bin. And I can’t have that. The Wizard and Blue Moon are calling my name.

 So I do what anyone would do. Go to another hotel. Not book a room or anything, just to play the slots. And drink. And forget. But every time I get into a crowded area, I feel like I’m being watched. It’s not like I could put on a hat or anything. That would like totally mess up my hair. Which has been great this whole trip cause by the way, no humidity in Vegas, thankyouverymuch!

No body is having any fun. Least of all my sis, because I’m constantly having her keep an eye out as well. We head out that night to see Criss Angel’s Believe. Which was not fun.

And not because of the stalker guy. Because Criss sucks in Circque show format. I love Criss Angel, but I highly recommend that you skip this show.

 At Il Fornaio (which I highly recommend. Food is delish) for brunch the next day. Peach Bellini in hand, runny eggs on plate, heaven. Incoming text. This time he’s all why have you been ignoring me. I’m all cause you are totally freaking me out dude. He’s all why? I’m all I’m in Vegas too and it’s just weird. Don’t text me ever again. Can I have another Peach Bellini, please?

 From then on, I don’t respond to any of his texts. No more pictures of receipts come through. Phew. But I still can’t relax.

 That night we go to see Cher. Who is fabulous! I think she definitely can turn back time. Damn she’s hot! But then I start to think, did I tell him I was going to be here tonight? Will he show up? Forget this, I paid too damn much money not to enjoy this show. Cabernet, please!

 The rest of the trip goes textless from him. I’m still watching out, but at least I’m able to concentrate enough to pick the right bonus so I don’t get stuck going to Oz and get to deal with the flying monkey’s instead.

 I think I need to go back to Vegas.

And not tell anyone I’m going.

 Glinda and the Blue Moon are calling my name.