Last night I landed around 11 and my aunt, Jimmy and I went to the Hard Rock Hotel and the Palms where we met up with the neighbors and some other people.

I met some cool people on the planes and at the bars yesterday. The guy on my first plane is probably around 45 years old, seemed very successful, had owned a business a long time ago in New Jersey and is currently working in D.C. or something. He told me all these crazy stories about his sisters and his nieces and the twisted paths they took to get to where they were today — one is a union president in Montclair, one is the executive editor of USA Today, one is a photographer, one works part time in Europe and another lives in Brooklyn and works in publishing in Manhattan. Oh, and his sister with a brain tumor manages a really nice restaurant in New York City.

The couple on my second plane was heading to Vegas on vacation. The guy works in shipping, so he shipped his motorcycle to Vegas so that he and his wife could drive it out to California and up and down the Pacific Coast Highway. They said they were staying at the Luxor, so I suggested they check out the House of Blues for breakfast. He said they would.

At the Hard Rock, some eccentric older gentleman with an accent and a mustache insisted on standing at the bar right in the middle of our group. He kept eavesdropping on my conversation with Aunt Kim and bought her a drink.

The guy we talked to at the Palms was middle-aged. He moved to Vegas 18 months ago because he is a builder. He has a 12-year old daughter, a house in L.A., a house here in Vegas, and he says “fuck” a lot — too much for someone his age. I pointed that out to him. While I was offering constructive criticism, I should have told him, “Say it, don’t spray it,” but I figured one communication tip per night would probably suffice. I forget his name, though.

Guy at bar: “So how do you know her?”

Lisa: “She’s my mom’s brother’s wife.”

Bartender: “She’s what?”

Lisa: “She’s my aunt.”

Bartender: “There you go. That’s much easier to understand.”

Lisa: “Right, but he already knew she was my aunt. I thought he wanted more specifics — like what side of the family. So, she’s my mom’s brother’s wife.”

Bartender: “Oh.”

Lisa: “As opposed to my mom’s sister or my dad’s sister or my dad’s brother’s wife — you see?”

Bartender: “You’re hurting me.”

Aunt Kim: “That was hilarious.”

Guy at bar: “I think I’m fucked up.”

After that exchange, Jimmy and I quoted some Napoleon Dynamite and then we headed out to pick up the Hummer from the valet. I drove it home. My aunt was a little tipsy, as she should have been — she just dropped my grandparents off at the airport yesterday after their week-long stay. My aunt said it was their fault she needed a drink. I told my mom that on the phone and she agreed that having my grandmother around for a week can be very “taxing.”

I’ve just finished a nutritional breakfast of Cocoa Puffs, and I think I’m ready to start the day. Peace out.

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