Another Vegas weekend in the books. When you’re flying in, the place seems so small, but once you’re on the strip, every hotel feels like a mile apart. Everyone has their own Vegas. It’s a place where you can do anything. Well, we pretty much have our Vegas routine down. We stay at a nice enough hotel with a great pool. We do a little guilt inducing shopping during the day and then eat great sushi or steak one night, and a taco from a cart the next.  We play craps at the hole-in-the-wall Avalanche-esque casinos until three in the morning.   Oh, and one of the high points of our trip is always at the outdoor train wreck bar between Harrahs and The Flamingo hotel. I’d need a few days to really figure out how to describe to you just how much fun it is to watch Iowa farmers, mullet rocking hicks from the sticks, grandmas with fanny packs who believe they are 19 year old strippers, drunk gangbangers and moose loving Canadians converge on the same dance floor to rock out to  a rendition of Jungle Boogie by the house band.