Well I survived my first trip to Vegas (barely...I became sick upon return, delaying this post several days.) What can I say about this town? It's a slice of American life. Mullets, sequined t-shirts, and denim shorts galore. Funny, I never thought of Sin City as a family destination, but there were thousands of kids tagging along with their wide-eyed and open-walleted parents. Some of the attractions ARE a little like a kids' theme park, except when you walk outside, instead of Mickey and pals you have dozens of men in neon shirts labeled "Strippers Straight to Your Room" handing out fliers. (What's with the flicking?) I wondered whether they get up in the morning, open their closets to reveal 20 neon t-shirts on hangers, and ask themselves, "Pink or green today?"
Vegas gambling refused to secure its appeal to me. Watch a dealer burn through your chips in mere seconds? No thanks. Spend all night playing poker with friends at nominal wages, with full-volume potty-mouthed trash-talking? Yes please. And they didn't have several of the games I looked for. Where was War; Pick a Number; Rock, Paper, Scissors? What, no Monopoly tables? I kick ass at Monopoly.
The first night of clubbing (Saturday) began with little promise. We attempted entry into Light at the Bellagio. Instead of a line, we found more of a mob, with a primped asshat hand-picking people to enter. Our party contained four guys and two gals, not an ideal scenario. The bouncer first said, "It'll be a while," and then gave us a straight up "No." Not being a hot chick, I tried my best to look suave and important, meanwhile mulling a thousand other selection methods that would have looked upon me more favorably... an essay contest, a mathletics challenge, a dance-off... but we had to play the hand we were dealt.
Only we didn't. Two guys left to gamble, and an attractive woman we'd been chatting with in "line" joined our group, making us 3 girls, 2 guys. Score.
[I learned later, thanks to the New York Post, that Eric Trump was turned away at Light on his 21st birthday in January because his party was all dudes. Man, those Light guys take the sausage factor seriously.]
Not long after entry, we discovered Charles Barkley and Michael Jordan lounging not far from us. Their presence didn't become apparent to most of the club until they stood on a table and began dancing. Digital camera footage to be posted soon. Tom Brady was there too but we didn't see him. (Upon my return from LV, I learned stories about my ex-roommate Nicole's last trip. According to lore, she crossed paths with CB too. Offended by the manner in which he sent his minions to fetch him girls, she linked arms with him and proclaimed in a drunken state, "Charles Barkley, you're an ass.")
The $30 cover at Light provided access to a no-name dj playing top-40 hip-hop, and well drinks at $12 a pop, but my groove was to be gotten on and I didn't care. My groove also took precedence over stargazing. A man in a suit kept nudging me away from CB. With my back to his posse, my groove apparently grew too expansive and infringed upon CB's possesphere. Excuse me for dancing on the, what's it called, ah yes, DANCE floor.
Twice during the evening, I was asked by dance partners, "Where did you learn to dance like that?" Rather than reveal that I had watched Footloose, Napoleon Dynamite, and the Thriller video precisely 900 times each, I played coy and changed the subject to Terri Schiavo.
Seeing washed-up ball players was nice, but the real star power came out earlier in the day. Walking along the Strip, whom did I nearly bump into on the crosswalk but THE Rita FREAKIN' Rudner. I mean this is the "Comedian of the year. Year after Year," according to the billboard a block away at New York-New York. I only wish I had camera footage of that!
Easter Sunday in Sin City was notably slow. Except for the random people dressed as superheroes roaming the halls of the Monte Carlo.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but I couldn't resist poaching what I deem one of my favorite sentences of all time: "I'm not always a good Southern girl." Yes, ma'am!
I've finally posted visual evidence of the Jordan/Barkley incident.