I looked at the large tumbler filled with ice cubes and White Zinfandel fresh out of the box. It was topped with a colorful bendy straw. I sighed. Surely there had to be more to wine than this.
I can pretty much vouch that even the most passionate of NZ Sauv Blanc winemakers avoid the addition of cat pee into their wines.
And then for some reason, tiny insects decided that they just had to commit suicide on my freshly painted doors. Besides tweezing their little carcasses from the paint, there was even more razoring, sanding and repainting!
Over the years their wines have evolved – “grown up” so to speak – and so have I.
“We come here to go to shows, spend money at the restaurants, spend a lot on rooms and at the tables, and tip well. This feels like extortion.” They “used” to like coming to Vegas.
The only bad thing – if you want to call it bad – is that I still haven’t quite accepted the fact that I’m not the aspiring HGTV star that I think I am.
We – the locals – were spared having to pay the fees until December 29, when, according to the thought processes of the MGM Illuminati, locals would pay, too, therefore increasing their revenues by – get this! – millions. Hahahaha! Delusional!
I want to go someplace in 2018. By someplace, I mean not Vegas. Not even (gasp!) California, my go-to wine-guzzling destination.
I have a knack, apparently, for mixing cultural elements in food and making them delicious. I love that about me.
I, for one, went from "annoyed" to pissed. I don't know who did the editing/abridging, but I'd bet my firstborn that it wasn't Rex Pickett. Sorry, Zach! That was figurative.