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April 23, 2007

This one will be short and sweet, or sour, or maybe just a teensy bit disturbing, or some kind of combo of all previously mentioned adjectives. Anyhow, Scottsdale. As my roommate once overheard in some conversation once with some person, Scottsdale is “a place where you can make only $30,000 a year, but live like a millionaire!” This is not referring to the fact that things are cheap, because out in the desert oasis of Scottsdale, one would almost forget that you in the desert, and might mistake the Old Town bar scene for something out of Hollywood area (you know, minus all the celebrities). The clothing, the cars, the attitudes and the amount of silicon that bounces around in this city are, well, like nothing else I have really ever seen (thankfully). But there are bonuses to going out in a city like this. For instance, you can pay three times as much as you would normally ever consider for a bottle of beer; you can come home smelling like a wet ashtray, whether you are a smoker or not; you have the possibility of having beer spilled all over you without an apology; and my favorite, which happened to me this past Saturday night, you can first be mistaken for a hooker, then be asked and assumed an exotic dancer, and then, to round out the night, you can have an obnoxious drunken lesbian come up and ask you if you are also a lesbian, and when you reply with a polite, “no,” then feels that it is ok to grab your whoo-ha and walk away. All very interesting events that managed to happen all at the same bar/club thing, and all within an hour of me being there. Oh, Scottsdale.

If it doesn’t freak you out that Scottsdale has its own magazine to keep you “updated” on how to stay trendy in Scottsdale, I don’t know what will.

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