Lost Wages, am I right people?
Me at the Riv.
I ran out of underpants on Friday. I called the front desk.
"Do you guys have a laundromat here?"
"No, just drycleaning."
"Oh. Is there a laundromat nearby?"
"Nope."
"No?"
"No ma'am."
"Well, how do people clean their clothes here?"
"I don't know."
Thanks, helpful! And people do wash their panties in Las Vegas, but not on the Strip. I found a laundromat near UNLV and on hot, blue Saturday afternoon, I put my dirty clothes in a suitcase and stepped on the bus known to Vegans as the Deuce. Air-conditioned, with comfortable cloth seats, the Deuce is a double-decker bus that travels up and down Las Vegas Blvd, dropping tourists off at various casinos. Three dollars one-way, or seven dollars for 24 hour access. The night before, I bought an unlimited pass to the Deuce, and sat in the front row on the upper deck, videotaping my ride to a midnight movie playing near the MGM Grand. A drunk blonde boarded the Deuce at the Wynn and announced that the Party was <i>here</i>. Right where she was standing. The party followed her as she wobbled down the aisle, until she collapsed into a comfy seat. Then the party fell asleep.
The Saturday afternoon Deuce was party-free, packed with sober, sticky, sunburned tourists. Standing skin to peeling skin. At each stop, twenty-five people got off, and twenty-five more got on. The Deuce covered 2 miles in an hour. At Flamingo, I transferred to a regular, east/west bus. The clientele changed dramatically. The fat, chatty tourists were replaced by the working poor, the DUIs and a few wheelchairs. The bus stops in Vegas are made of a metal scrim, which allow sun or shade to peek through holes. People avoided the sun by standing, ghostlike, behind the scrim, like black paper dolls. A bunch of Boo Radleys waiting for the #202.
Two transfers and an hour and forty five minutes later, I was pouring detergent in a wash machine.
On Friday, Babble.com published a piece I wrote about being a comic and raising a kid. I spent most of the day in the my hotel room, refreshing my browser to read comments. (That's not my torso, by the way.) It's stupidly exciting when someone leaves a comment, good or bad. While googling, I found this site of user reviews of my shows at the Punchline a few weeks ago. I got three 4 (out of 4) star reviews, and one 2 star review. That user, called "DeeDee," cruelly brought my average down to 3.7 stars. She thought my pacing was "strange" and postulated that I was "bored and didn't want to be there." In summation, DeeDee felt my show was, "entertaining, but I wouldn't see her again." Aw yeah, I think I've found a new pullquote for my promotional materials.