Only in Vegas...

Today I was treated to a taste of Vegas I'm actually going to miss.

I got a really good discount on some show tickets to take my stepdad to a show for Father's Day (pays to be a local with connections), so I made the necessary calls. I waited until the sun had begun to go down to actually make the drive down (we've been having weird heat here lately. It has actually been hottest at 5PM, no at 1 or 2 like it usually is).

Traffic on the I-15 is one of my biggest gripes, but tonight it wasn't that bad. This may have been because of the hour, or because I got off at the Spring Mountain exit before it got the chance to slow down, but it definitely added to my mood. I started to take in the Strip, realizing that there really is nowhere in the world quite like it and on some level I will someday miss being able to see the colorful neon buildings from anywhere in the city.

I pulled into the Mirage, continuing to wax nostalgic about the memories I've had and the new buildings that have gone up in the past few years (and sadly noting the number of abandoned projects that stand with unmoving cranes as a silent witness to what the Vegas economy has become in the last 18 months). I headed down to the casino floor to get to the ticket box office. On the way through I took special notice of the people around me.

I passed a woman in a white sundress and a big sash across her chest that read "Bride-To-Be" with a half dozen women in purple sundresses following her around in a fit of giggles. They looked like they were having a lot of fun.

Then I saw the group of guys making bets over who was going to be able to drink more tonight without getting sick. I rolled my eyes. The night was young, and these guys were still sober, but I could imagine what they'd be like as they stumbled across the Strip with the giant 3 ft tall plastic glasses filled with alcoholic concoctions. Then I imagined them waking up tomorrow not entirely sure what they'd done the night before but knowing they'd had one helluva time.

I got to the ticket counter and noticed that there were a whole range of people in line. People dressed like they were going to the opera. People dressed like they were going to the beach. People dressed like they were going to a nightclub. And me....dressed like I'd spent my day in a UNLV dorm (UNLV flipflops, UNLV shorts, UNLV t-shirt...I was a walking billboard for my alma mater).

Then, I headed back to my car. I passed through the giant atrium with the huge skylight that had the coolest (and tallest) palm trees I've ever seen. The atrium is inside the casino (which is filled with smoke) so you can't smell any of the gorgeous flowers...but I'm sure the flowers would smell lovely otherwise. I crossed the bridge and was passed by a group of girls. One was playing a eukelele and singing.

On the way out, I passed several international visitors in clothing that seemed to say they were from India talking to a man in a Yamulke about the best places to eat in this particular casino.

I took a moment at the top of the parking garage to take some pictures of the buildings around me and consider exactly what I'm about to be leaving.

Don't get me wrong. There are some quirks and some weird things about Vegas that make it interesting...that really set it apart from other cities. These are things you'll never find anywhere else. But this is a place I'd like to visit...not a place I'd ever want to live permanently.

But...I will miss it.

Stoney's Night Out (Attempt Numero Dos)

"So I was thinking," says second-sister on Friday night, "What's say we go to Stoney's tomorrow?"

This is how the fun always starts with us.

Saturday night, after spending the day trying to keep my younger brothers from losing their minds (my parents are out of town and my teenaged brothers are sometimes not really 100% trustworthy), I made it back to my apartment to try to find something (anything!) to wear. Usually I would throw on a sundress (my latest outfit of choice) but I decided that I wanted to ride the mechanical bull--totally negating any skirts.

Well, darnit.

Open up the closet only to realize that I have a mound of dirty laundry about as tall as a professonial bull rider where I quickly realize I've tossed my best blue jeans, my favorite capris, and all of my gauchos. Half of my nice sundresses are there also, since it seems I haven't done laundry since Bill Clinton was claiming he had not had sex with "that woman."

Finally I see that up on my overhead shelf I have a pair of Daisy Duke shorts that I bought when I was in high school (a million and some years ago). I'm looking at a night with my cats if I can't find something to wear (read: I was pretty desperate) so I drag them down, say a prayer, and yank them up my caboose.

Ok--for your info they fit just fine. I've gained a little weight since senior year, but I'm healthier now than I used to be and most of my mass is muscle--honestly! However...I'm a grown woman now and that means I have things I didn't have in high school. Like cellulite masses clumped on the back of my thighs. Yeck. I'm out of options though, so I pray that all the guys will catch me from the front or side and that it will be too dark/they will be too drunk to notice that I look like a commercial for liposuction from behind. Throw on my Texas Longhorns t-shirt (HookEmHorns!) and off I go.

Secondsister invited her friend Gorgeous. Between us we look like a bad joke...you know, the ones that start "So a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walked into a bar...." We look pretty good. We have plans to have some fun.

"You gonna ride the bull?" SecondSister chides. She normally would, but her back is giving her some trouble today (convenient excuse!) so she can't.

"Ok!" I say. Check that thing off my list.

I pay the guy $10 (he works on tips) and toss my sandals. Then, like a pro, I mount the mechanical bull and prepare for a ride.

*Here is where I put my disclaimer. I've been riding mechanical bulls for about three years now. I like to see how long I can stay on without being thrown and I prefer to have no-stops-pulled when it comes to how the guy runs the machine. However, being female, I can not escape this particular bull-operator's fancy for making you look hellaciously suggestive. I'm just looking to ride, he wants you to look like you're about to drop your top for the bar. Yuck.

The ride starts with the usual "Vibrating Bull" where the operator shakes it back and forth. I casually scratch my forehead with my middle finger. This is not why I paid him $10. He continues with the slow up-and-down of the bull. I yawn. I'm not playing this game. The bull operator is now tired of me not playing along. He spins the bull around and promptly throws me off.

I'm slightly ticked. I mean, if he'd done the bucking that he does for the guys, I could've stayed on. Spinning is harder to hold on because he spins you one direction and then the other--because he wants you off.

Whatever. I smile, tip SecondSister's hat to him and put my shoes back on.

Now they're playing the Cha-Cha slide on the dance floor. I go running. I love to dance. Any dance. I love to two-step but that's hard to do if you're not in the mood to be molested by guys you don't know. So--SecondSister and I just hit all of the line dances we know (and I sometimes screw up the ones I don't). Unfortunately, tonight her back hurts enough that dancing is out. So she sends me and Gorgeous to the floor.

I start dancing. Come on--the Cha-Cha slide is about as difficult as making toast. They GIVE you the directions.

Gorgeous refuses to dance. I don't care. She goes running, I keep dancing.

Then I look over and who should I see next to me but SecondSister. I want to hug her. Talk about friendship! I know her back is going to be killing her in the morning, make a mental note to buy her painkillers, and we dance the song through.

The whole night comes to a head though when we find a table and take a seat. I'm sitting in such a way that my legs look pretty good (casually hiding my cellulite and showing just the runner's muscle I've been working so hard to get). I only know that this worked because several cowboys came by and sat at the table next to us. I looked over just in time to watch one of them take a long appreciative look at my legs. He didn't bother with my top half--his eyes started on my shorts then from shorts to knee, from knee to ankle, back up to knee, then back up to shorts. He nodded, smiled, and looked away without ever acknowledging me. It was as if he said to himself, "Huh. Nice legs." and went on with his night.

It made my night.

SecondSister and I left soon after and headed to one of the 24 hour pancake houses where we giggled and contemplated the decade we've been friends. It was a great night.

Chalk one more up to the check list!

A Stone's Throw from a Tiki Lounge

Yesterday was Wednesday, which is to say that yesterday was my weekly night of shenanigans with my second-sister (best friend). We were originally planning to go to Stoney's--the country bar and dance club at the far south end of the Strip. They just opened a new location in the Santa Fe Station (far north side of town) called Stoney's North Forty. My ex-boyfriend told me that this was the place to be.

First mistake: taking advice from my ex on good hang-outs.

We showed up at Stoney's North Forty with a load of expectations. I wore a handkerchief sundress and my boots. My friend was in her trademark pink cowboy hat. We were ready to take advantage of cheap drinks, cute cowboys, and a dance floor. We were sorely disappointed.

The room was maybe as big as my parents' living room. It was also full of people who were most definitely drawing the Senior Citizen discount. We had been promised young people. We had been promised good dancing. We left with a mission.

"Fine." I said, "Stoney's South Strip it is!"

Fast forward to two extremely determined cowgirls making a 20 mile drive to the other location, where we had never been disappointed before.

"Are they open?" she asked, as we pulled into the mega-parking lot.

"I'm sure...maybe its just early." I said.

"It's nine o'clock." my friend said. "Where is everyone?"

Well...as it turns out: Stoney's North Forty has lady's night on Wednesdays (where they STILL charge you an entrance fee. Seriously?) and since this is the case, Stoney's South Strip now is no longer open Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday--which forces you to go to the lame new property to get your kicks. With the senior citizens. And the claustrophobia. Are you KIDDING ME?

Completely disappointed, but still looking for a cheap buzz, I suggested that we head over to Frank's Tiki Lounge on Charleston.

Frank's is a dive (to put it mildly) in a not-too-pleasant part of town. From the outside it looks like a concrete Cold War bunker.

Walk inside though...and its as if you've been transported into every terrible 1940's-1950's surfer movie you've ever seen. Tiki lights, Tiki gods, and terribly uncomfortable chairs compete with the really overdone surfer music for "tacky-prize-of-the-night." Its a neighborhood bar so the people are certainly not glamourous and its small so you're not going to find a lot of night life there.

In truth, Frank's has one real purpose on its little corner: Getting you drunk quickly and cheaply.

I've never had a mixed drink as good as they make them there (or as strong!) and for 8 bucks you get a buzz in a glass. Its awesome. Before you know it, you're floating away to happy land with a fruit/rum/ice mixture rated on a scale of 1-5 skulls based on how trashed you're going to get.

Being that I was the designated driver for the night, I couldn't get such a buzz...and so really got to soak in the tacky-factor from Frank's. My friend, on the other hand, had two drinks and didn't even make it all the way through her second one before she was basically rolling on the floor hysterical.

The best part of course, was her insistance that she could shoot things down the top of my dress with appropriate aim. Suddenly ice, lime rinds, match sticks, and all other weird objects were fair game for the shoot-things-down-my-blouse game. Funny, yes, but would've been funnier if I would've also been imbibing...since Frank's is certainly not the place you go for atmosphere.

I hobbled her out of there at half past ten, sloshed and hatless. Someone would come running out to tell us that the hat had been put on one of the Tiki gods behind the bar.

Only in Vegas.

Just another real night in Sin City...

My God-Son: The Midnight Firefighter

I'm moving to South Carolina in 7 weeks. I figure now is the time to make good on all of the promises I've made over the last 24 years that I haven't been following through on. Do all the things I haven't yet gotten the chance to do. Pictures by the gaudy "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign, roller-coaster-tours of the city--you name it, I'm doing it.

I even offered to babysit my god-son overnight. His mother (my best friend) and her husband have not had a night to themselves since they wed, a little over two years ago. They started the arrangement up one kid and since they lived in the direct middle of nowhere-close-to-me, my babysitting services have been long discussed but never actually seen. So, in my vigor to check things off my list I made the mistake of telling my friend that I'd watch her baby boy overnight (if her mom would take the 4-year-old girl, of course) so that my friend and her hubby could take a night off.

HA!

Six hours into my insanity driven idea I was laying on my bed trying to comfort a 2-year-old who was having a nightmare only to realize that the child had brandished his manhood sometime during the night and promptly made like a firefighter, spraying his little hose all over the bed. There I was, covered in baby pee, with four blankets and a feather mattress topper also covered in pee, and the baby finally sleeping soundly. I changed him to a clean diaper, put another blanket underneath him for the time being, realized that the only blanket he didn't pee on was his own, and promptly fell back into a coma induced by chasing him around for four hours before bed time.

The night proceeded just like that, me up every five minutes, and the baby not even stirring except to babble in his sleep. So, when five in the morning rolled around and the baby was standing on the bed, happy as can be, and ready for breakfast, I was still mostly dead.

Next step was to take all of the bedclothes to the laundry mat this morning. First thing. There, the little firefighter ran around as though his diaper was on fire for an hour while the manager looked at me funny and I silently made the decision to make an appointment to have my tubes tied as soon as I make it to South Carolina.

I am currently down $10 in quarters, at least 3 reasonably large clumps of hair, half my sanity, and 5 years off of my life.

Oh well...at least the sheets are clean.