I took Deborah to Las Vegas to see Garth Brooks and to celebrate her birthday in April. Deborah's a big Garth fan. I, on the other hand, am anything but a country and western music fan, but I gotta tell ya, it was the best concert I've ever seen. And that's saying a lot since I spent about 2-1/2 years on the road doing concert lighting and sound, which means that I've been part of and seen hundreds of concerts.
If you ever get the chance, please go see Garth Brooks at The Wynn Las Vegas. It's worth every penny of the ticket price.
While killing some time one afternoon, I took a walk past The Riviera Hotel & Casino where I observed the Crazy Girls bronze statue.
My immediate response was...
Just kidding. I ended up rubbing their asses like every other juvenile middle-aged male tourist since about 1980.
Remember, I went with my beautiful wife Deborah to celebrate her birthday,
so the picture of me with my tongue hanging out was taken by Deborah as I chased her on my hands and knees around our suite. But, chasing her with my tongue hanging out didn't work out the way I wanted, and it isn't really very romantic as I've learned. Soooooo, instead of looking a Deborah's beautiful body, I was told to look out our suite window at the adult pool at The Wynn. Now, if you look carefully at the picture, you will see one topless lady sunning by herself in the center of the picture. When you zoom in, like I did, you'll realize that either she needs bigger tits, or I need a better camera.
I can't write too much good stuff about The Wynn like I did The Venetian last September. Although we had a comparable 2-room suite and dined at the finest restaurants, the experience wasn't close to The Venetian. Sorry Steve Wynn, but the suites aren't better, and the food ain't all that. We did, however, bring 5 miniature bottles of Heinz tomato ketchup home with us from different room service meals. Judging by the price of room service, they must be collectibles, which I'm thinking one of the kids can sell on ebay for big bucks.
The only picture we got of the both of us during the trip was our flight back to Denver. When we arrived back home, the official birthday celebration began with the family. I had a cake created with Deborah jerking a barbell and her three kids--Dillon, Lexie, and Miranda--over her head. Except for Deborah's boobs, the likeness of the caricatures to the pictures I submitted to the bakery sucked. Cake Boss they ain't.
however, she still hasn't forgiven me for getting her age incorrect. The way I understand it now, her age asymptotically approached "50," but never actually reached 50 until it started decreasing and we began counting down. I think it has something to do with Einstein's relativity and traveling at or near the speed of light. Or something. Anyway, Deborah is NOT now, nor has she ever been, 50.
And if you could see her ass, you'd agree with her too.
Happy belated-blog birthday to my beautiful wife, Deborah. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I love you.
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