|Aria: one of the newest Vegas properties|
There will be no shopping spree in which I'm in a montage-ready fashion show with well timed "stepping out of the changing room simultaneously" moments. No $5,000 purses will be purchased. And although I do intend on walking through that mall in City Center, I won't be gleefully chasing a woman who doesn't realize what aspect of Pretty Woman she is emulating up an escalator. Fireworks will not make me happy.
I will not be wasting time driving around in circles. Even if there are multiple beauties dressed in similar uniforms to cheer me on as I drive around in circles. And if I, by unseen circumstances, have a one on one talk with a sweet blonde haired mother of a child named after her dead racer fiancee I won't make her take a few laps in a race car with fresh tears not yet dried.
Cirque du Soleil will have zero role. More importantly, I will have no role in a Cirque du Soleil production of a jumpsuited icon. I will not take two girls with the same name out to dinner. If by some stroke of luck I get the opportunity, I will attempt to prevent a strange (VERY STRANGE) over side-burned roadie type mysteriously barge into their hotel room to make luggage disappear.
My show will be set - only for brief moments - in The Palace, not the Aria.
The only crying will be during a Marquette basketball game, by me - not any of the women I encounter.
Any sexual pun you'll hear will refer to burgers instead of fireworks.
A phone call will be placed to wish MySister a happy birthday, not to my life coach.
I want a flush of hearts at the Wynn, not to flush the hearts of losers.