Conversations in the Cab

It would seem that, sometimes, there is a distinct gap between the best intentions and reality.

Because when I was doing my pre-trip planning, all of the kitsch-o-rama I wanted to investigate seemed relatively close to our hotel.

At least it looked that way on Google Maps.

But in a real-life illustration of the word "mirage", it appears (or doesn't appear) that although something looks close enough to reach out and touch - in Las Vegas, it takes approximately 14 hours to walk there. Huh.

As a result, the Baron and I spent a little bit of time in taxis.

Never one to waste time just gawking, we always choose to gawk and sass at the same time.

One of our topics of interest were the billboards all over the damn place for some magician that neither of us had either heard of. Keep in mind, The Baron and I are pretty pop-culture savvy - we are even irksomely aware of those who lurk around the sketchy boundaries of the D-List.

So imagine our amusement when someone completely unheard of promotes himself as "Amazing".

Baron: There’s another billboard for The Amazing Jonathan – you should blog about him.

I hear he’s pretty amazing.

Baroness: That’s funny, because I’ve heard he’s not. He is - in fact- The So-So Jonathan.

Baron: Yet I hear he’s Amazing.

Baroness: Amazing? Hunh.

Baron: Yup. That's what his mother said when I was talking to her.

Baroness: And when I was talking to her, she also said he only got a "C" in math.

Not so amazing.

Great at magic, can't balance a chequebook.

Baron: Really? Only a "C"?

Baroness: Right. "The So-So Jonathan".

Baron: I'll alert the media.

****************
Another conversation was initiated when we rode down a couple of the less-savoury side streets, and actually saw, um, working girls working their, um, girls.

Baroness: That reminds me - did you see all those meeting displays in our hotel’s ballrooms for the "American Association of Orthopedic Surgeons"? I’ll tell ya, if I was a gold digger, I would be over there like a bullet. Hanging out. Schmoozing. Marrying one of those guys would be the catch of a lifetime.

Baron: (stony gaze)

Baroness: You know, kind of like you're the catch of a lifetime, hon. Yup, I already have my catch. So happy. So content. So lucky. Lucky, lucky me. Yeah. Lucky. Great catch.

But I'm just sayin', you know. . . IF I was a single woman, living in Las Vegas, looking for a way upward and out....

Just sayin', is all.

Baron: And pray tell, what clever pick-up line would you use?

Baroness: How about “I understand you’re a doctor. Would you please take a look at this?”

Baron (pretending to be orthopedic surgeon): “Why? Is there a foot in there?”

Baroness (pretending to be the gold digger): “No, but there could be . . .”

Baron:

(stony gaze)

(long pause)

A foot?

Babe, c'mon. That is a completely impossible measurement.

Even for an orthopedic surgeon.

Baroness: Maybe not for the "Amazing Jonathan". . .

Baron: Be thankful you're married, Miss GoldDigger, with lines like that.

Oy.

Baroness: Yet here we are, sucker.

(smug smirk)