Five things learned while in Vegas:

1. I have acquired a rather strange and disturbing habit of creating words. And not even good ones. For instance, while driving on The Strip the day after Christmas (a 55-minute, 4-mile boondoggle of epic proportions. That’s right- four miles in 55 minutes with five people in the lovely Mitsubishi Galant.) I referred to one of the many Bad Drivers with Even Worse Hair as a “jackbag.” For those of you keeping score at home, that’s a festive combination of “jackass” and “assbag” that rids both words entirely of their profanity, and therefore, any joy in using them. Although, my Mom did seem to prefer it. "Oh Amy, you swear too much."

2. Although The Boyfriend and I did lose $50 over three nights and two days (which is practically winning), I scored a definite moral victory when compared to my Dad. In buying two shrimp cocktails for $.99 each and two beers for $2 each, he paid with a crisp, clean $20 bill… and failed to retrieve his change back. That’s a $14 tip for the guy selling shrimp and hot dogs at the Golden Gate Casino. Keep in mind this is the same man who tipped $1 to the valet people each time he valet parked the aforementioned Galant. Generosity knows no bounds. (On a separate note- do people know about valet parking in Vegas? You only have to tip a buck! It’s the only cheap thing about the place.)

3. Apparently, my sister has a public somewhere in China. Or she’s just tremendously hot. While getting ready to watch the light show in downtown Vegas, a Chinese gentlemen and his mother came up to her requesting that she take a picture with him. Of course, the fact that she was wearing her Jenny-from-the-block hipster sunglasses and some particularly spiky heels, while standing right next to a strip club didn’t have anything to do with it, not at all.

4. No one tries to give my Mom porn fliers. Not once. Not ever. She thinks it’s because, and I quote: “I probably look like their mother.” For those of you not familiar with the charming Las Vegas custom, Mexican immigrants who speak little to no English hand out fliers with pictures of hookers to drum up business for those ladies. MEXICAN immigrants. My mother is a farmer’s daughter from Kansas. I’m not sure what else to say about this.

5. Do not ever, EVER under any circumstances go to see Le Folies Bergere. I mean it. The highlight of the entire performance was this guy spitting ping-pong balls out of his mouth and dropping bouncy-balls on a piano to the tune of “La Cucaracha.” That was the HIGHLIGHT. I saw enough jazz hands and inappropriate pelvic thrusts to last me a lifetime.

I can't wait until next Christmas.