Time to become fascinating again . . .

Travel Lodge

Las Vegas Travel Lodge

Okay, I haven’t blogged for a couple of weeks.  I’ve just been uncommonly bored lately and nothing really seems to fascinate me.  However, I can’t let that stop me from sharing my thoughts with you.  The title of this blog is “I’m So Fascinating . . .”.  I need to accept that when the world around me becomes dull, it’s not my fault.  I’m still as fascinating as I ever was.  I know, right?

Anyway, I was thinking about Las Vegas this morning.  I’m going in about seven weeks and I can’t think about anything else.  I’ve got to be getting close to my twentieth visit to my favorite place on earth, so I decided to figure out exactly how times I’ve visited right here on my blog.  And I need to practice writing about myself for when I publish my memoirs.  It’s a difficult thing to do when you’re as humble as I am.

The first time I visited Las Vegas was when I was eleven-years-old.  My family drove from Edmonton to Los Angeles during the Christmas break in 1977.  We were only there for a night, but do I remember a few things about it.  My dad drove up to this Travel Lodge beside Circus Circus (which is still there according to this photo from Trip Advisor).  I don’t believe that there was anything wrong with the hotel, but it was sort of disappointing to be sitting in a motel room staring at the only hotel in town that was marketed to attract families with kids.  We were on our way to Disneyland, though, so it wasn’t the end of the world as far as I was concerned.

I think we took our poodle with us.  I have a vague memory of being out in front of the hotel looking for some grass so that the dog would have somewhere to pee.  I also remember going for breakfast at a Denny’s (or somewhere like that).  My brother got in trouble from a waitress for sticking a dime in a slot machine.

That was about it.  I think I need to revisit the north strip when I’m there in September. Perhaps I should have booked the Travel Lodge for old times’ sake.  Maybe next time . . .


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