The official name of the Strip, by the way, is Las Vegas Blvd. And I’m not a “Stripper.” Get it?
While I did not rant (you would have been soooo proud of me!), I did point out that this minuscule bottle of White Zin is not the same thing as a Rosé from the Loire, even if they are the same color.
Well, now that the end of the world is nigh, I figured that I may as well find something that’s worth drinking while the Earth is exploding (or we’re being invaded by aliens, Zombies have attacked, the waters have flooded the desert, blah blah blah. Or whatever).
He’s said to be very courteous, very open to his fans, and an all-around nice guy. And hot. Definitely hot. For a while he had a girlfriend from Vegas. It wasn’t me.
It’s Saturday night, and I’ve spent the last several hours visiting my mother in the hospital (she’s doing fine, by the way. Flirting with the young single male help. She’s 90 and disappointed that they won’t flirt back), and talking to the Wineaux Guy.