A Vegas Story

I went to Vegas for four days. That was a wonderful break for me. You know how much I love my job but no work and no play makes Ruthie a very grumpy and dull girl. I needed interaction with other people who didn’t get excited about blood and gore. I needed to be around other people who didn’t become positively frothing at the mouth at the prospect of tubes and needles sticking out of various human orifices. I certainly needed to meet new people who didn’t feel the need to put their lives in my hands. I needed some time off to not care about other people. Does that sound selfish? Does that even make sense?

If you have never been to Vegas, there is a reason why it’s called Sin City. If you have been to Vegas, then you certainly understand why those who visited go home with the mantra “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” What a crazy city it is.

Of course, the angel that I am (Jessie, stop laughing. Rose, you too), I hung out with my friends and I went to all the conferences like I was signed up to do. It was lots of fun. It was motivating, inspiring, and, oh so refreshing. I really needed that.

After being in a flightsuit for months, I needed an opportunity to wear something different other than long underwear and blue coveralls. The Gortex boots are really comfy but a girl gets a pedicure for a reason, you know.

So, at the convention, I got my wish. I was dressed in vogue business suits during the day and transformed into ohh la la at night. Okay, I’m exaggerating. (Jessie, Rose, shut up!) For two nights, I agonized over which cocktail dresses to wear. My stress level went up trying to figure out which shoes to wear with the dresses. And, well, the choices for matching purses were positively nerve-wracking.

At the gala night, the hotel mirrors cracked at the intensity of my scrutinizing as I donned my evening gown and adjusted myself to fit it. I tell you, that was not an easy feat. The housekeeping lady would have had a heart attack at the mess I left on the table as I scrambled to put my face together. That was even more of a challenging feat. I managed to find the perfect heels to match and I managed to stay upright all night without tripping or twisting my ankles. THAT was a major accomplishment. I didn’t win any awards but I plan on it next year. I might wear my Gortex boots for that, though. That trek to the stage could be a killer with six-inch heels on.

So, after four days, my spirit was renewed and I went home and soaked my aching feet and took care of the blisters while cursing those darned heels. Ah! The price of beauty. Vanity be damned.