This is actual the show that started the path to broke-ness that I chronicled last week. We were wandering up the strip from Mandalay Bay...yep we walked all the way back to the Venetian from there. And that is a BLOODY. LONG. WAY. Navigating around people. Dodging in to places reported to have penny pressing machines. Dodging the lines of men (and a few women) handing out cards, broadsheets and magazines about where to find nude women who will do anything you want. JEEPERS.
Anyway, as we came upon the half price ticket place, I asked Mike if he wanted to see anything. He said he wouldn't mind seeing Blue Man Group, which actually surprised me. But we got ticket vouchers which we had to exchange for actual tickets at the box office.
I didn't want to pay for the more expensive tickets, so we got tickets in the red zone. It turns out that the red zone has the four front rows and then all the ones behind the good seats. The four front rows are called "The Poncho Seats". The gentleman at the box office assured us it was more of a drizzle than a downpour. Miss BittyCrazy said something to the effect of "HA!" on my Facebook page when I mentioned this. So, we got them.
We arrived and donned our clear plastic bags with hoods. And sat. And waited. And sweated a bit. And laughed our way heartily through the show. And nary a drop assaulted us. Mike didn't know what to expect from the show, but he expected to have some form of liquid aimed at him. The lack of this disappointed him. Had I known, I'd have saved some of my water and spit it at him after. Oh well.
"We're wearing garbage bags and paying a lot for the privilege"
1 Comment -
One should ALWAYS have some water on hand to spit at one's husband and, if all fails, hock a loogie.
November 18, 2009 at 6:36 PM