I've just completed five frivolous days in Las Vegas. I love Las Vegas. Or more (im)properly, the Las Vegas Strip. It is unabashed, a spendthrift: a parade of wattage.
Las Vegas is also tolerant. It accepts all kinds, all levels, all classes and clasps them to its opulent, false bosom.
Yet, everytime I go, at the end – like at the end of every holiday – I'm left wondering how it could have been better. This particular trip had aspects that were both good and bad. I've assembled some points to illustrate.
Boyfriend went along!
Our cab driver that drove us to Paris: she was a bisexual, and a justice of the peace (licensed via the internet). She offered to marry Boyfriend and I, en route.
Mandalay Bay Hotel's 'Beach'. Simulated sand and waves: it was hard to drag Boyfriend away from the falsified beach experience and back to the authentic monetary loss opportunities in the casino.
MBH has a wonderful aquarium: I favored the golden crocodile; with its rough-hewn checkerboard pattern of yellow and black. I didn't think it needed at all to improve its shining tail.
Coming back to our room on Monday night to find that 'Dirty Harry' was on. At every instance of Harry Callahan-justified act of violence, Boyfriend and I chuckled appreciatively.
Discovering the 5 cent machines (Boyfriend's limit). My favorite: 'Da Vinci Diamonds'. I always did well; perhaps it sensed that I was an art major. Boyfriend's favorite, however, was 'Hot Flashes', which featured purple-haired harridans, credit cards, make-up and caricatures of young men in red speedos. I don't know what it sensed about him.
Winning $100 on a game that involved chickens. I got 77 free spins. I apparently had got 'Eggcited!'.
Waking up at 6AM to the sound of pounding on the door across the hall. A girl was bellowing 'Let me in! Let me in!' It wasn't difficult to figure out her situation: having completed her Walk of Shame, she was trying to get back into her room, but her roommates were passed out and unable to open the door.
The cheese plate with chutney at the Bellagio Buffet.
Forgetting the procession of days.
THE LABOR DAY WEEKEND
Getting a glimpse of one of the girls from across the hall running down said hall wearing only a thong.
The terrible attraction a simulated beach has for Young Adults. MBH positively reeked of them.
The Girl From Ipanema in the olive bikini stepping off the elevator to go to the pool. Most people just went down to the beach level. I believe she was going to make her rounds through the casino, however, first.
Girls, when your dress is so short that I start to pray you have invested some finances in panties stock, your dress is not only 'so' short, it is too short. You look classless and silly.
Not a single restaurant bore the following sign: 'Patrons wearing any article of clothing that would indicate to the management that they have just got out of the pool will Absolutely be refused service. Show some respect, people.'
Not having the time to do some serious shopping. Ceasar's Palace, we hardly knew ye.
Waiting 2 hrs (and looking at the same people for 2 hrs) for the Bellagio buffet. After turning the 'final' corner and still seeing an endless line extending before you, I then announced, "And this is where you shoot yourself."
Babies and strollers on the casino floor. It's just not right. I'm not talking morally: I'm talking visually, aesthetically.
The cabbie who tried to involve us in an intense political discussion. He was rather truculent. (Even though he drove a cab – HA!)
So there you have it; my Vegas experience in 20 easy steps. Go when you can, won't you, and perhaps I'll see you there – because I'll most certainly go again.