What Happens in Vegas

I went to Vegas this past weekend, and to date, it was one of the most interesting trips to Vegas that I have had.  There’s always that enduring image of Vegas, the whole philosophy of “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”  Obviously, I’m not the kind of guy that’s going to really take FULL advantage of that aphorism’s assertion, however I have never been one to shy away from enjoying Vegas. 

Most of my trips to Vegas are limited to concrete Vegas like experiences.  Like all true Vegas attendees, it’s almost mandatory to drop ludicrous amounts of money at some silly fancy restaurant.  This time I went to “Cut”, Wolfgang Puck’s Steakhouse.  It was, contrary to popular opinion, a slight disappointment.  The steak wasn’t bad, I guess.  However, I have had many other steak’s a lot better than this place–which, in light of the reputation and hype, was a let down.  However, in the steakhouse’s defense, being that I was down $400 by that time, I was NOT very inclined to order the super expensive Kobe Beef steak…so maybe if I had the Kobe Beef Steak, my feelings about the place would be TOTALLY different.  As it was, since my friend’s steak ended up being dry and crispy, qualities that a good tender steak should NEVER possess, I am writing about the disappointment rather than the glorious satisfaction of “Cut”.  Morton’s still kicks ass.

In other areas too, this Vegas trip was shaping up to be just like the rest: I still lost a buttload of money at the tables, it was still a complete sausage fest with four lonely and single guys, and it was still filled with a disproportionate 10 hours at the tables and 3-4 hours doing whatever else Vegas has to offer. 

However, those three to four hours turned out to be QUITE an adventure. 

We ended up going to a local club.  We’ll leave the fine details out of this post, however, at the club something very interesting happened.  Some Thirty Six year old Cougar (and when I say Cougar, I MEAN COUGAR.  The absolute EPITOME of a Cougar), latched onto our group.  It was a very STRANGE experience.  I’m not even completely sure WHY we let her, but she SERIOUSLY tried to PIMP our entire group.  As a matter of fact, she was hitting on one of my friends there EXTREMELY hard, (once again, the juicy details will be left out of this post), and it was an awkward, but still, near epic experience.  She even invited him to come back to her hotel room with her.  Obviously, he wasn’t going to go.  She was THIRTY SIX, Married and with three kids.  She said she hated her husband cause he is an “asshole”.  But I just couldn’t BELIEVE that what was happening was REALLY happening.  It was something STRAIGHT out of a scene from Desperate Housewives, or some movie.  She was one of the most aggressive women I have ever met, and right when I saw her I stayed away from her as much as I could–something about her just didn’t feel right.  I guess the fact that she has three kids had something to do with it.

Anyways, because I wasn’t really feeling the whole Cougar thing, I decided to stray away on my own.  I ended up sort of on a railling overlooking the club.  This girl approached me, and started talking to me.  After the whole cougar thing, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of suspicion as she approached me, especially because this girl was, DAMN HOT.  I mean.  Honestly, I’m not the kind of guy that is self conscious and lacks confidence.  I know that I attract pretty girls, but this girl was DEFINITELY out of my league.  No questions asked, and I am not at all ashamed to say it.  There is genuinely no loss of pride–a man’s gotta admit defeat, when he knows he’s defeated.

We started talking, however, and it turned out that this girl is a stripper.  My initial hesitation was confirmed: she was probably trying to recruit me as a client, or something of that sort.  On this wavelength of discussion, this girl assured me that “her boobs were not fake, and they were real”.  She was so adamant to make her point, that she literally GRABBED my hands and forced me to feel them so that I could confirm that they are indeed, real.  Now.  The look of shock and surprise on my face, I am sure, would have been absolutely priceless.  I seriously could not believe that she just grabbed my hands and basically forced me to feel her up.  And to be honest, I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.  I JUST sort of FROZE in place, kind of uncertain.  HONESTLY?  WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS SITUATION?  Was I supposed to squeeze, and then give her a reassuring wink that I have discovered, just as she proclaimed, that they are INDEED NOT FAKE?  WHAT DO FAKE BOOBS EVEN FEEL LIKE?  It’s not like I even KNOW or have experience with such things!  GOOD LORD.  Awkward turtle x 1000!!

I quickly removed my hands, and just said, “hah, it’s good to know not all strippers get boob jobs” *nervous laugh.  All my discernment flags were flashing red like crazy at this point, and I knew I had to get out of there quickly.  By this point, she had her arms wrapped around me, and to confirm my concerns, she offered to go to some back room for a small fee.  Even offered a discount.  That was it, there was definitely not going to be anymore discussion for me.  I quickly fled the scene, told her that although she is gorgeous, I cannot and will not do what she’s asking. 

So I left.  And I didn’t even look back.

As a matter of fact.  I was DEPRESSED that what happened just happened.  Maybe some guys would have relished in the experience.  But not me.  To be honest, it just made me sad.  It made me sad that all she felt like she could offer me was her sexuality.  That her livelihood, the way that she makes money, is completely dependent on being a sex object to a bunch of horny guys out there.  She’s dehumanized by most of these guys–she’s not even a person anymore, and if she ever acts like a person, guys stop liking her.  As a matter of fact, in our conversation, she basically said “guys often reject me (as a stripper) cause they say that I seem too nice, and they want a ‘naughty’ girl”.  Hearing that, seriously cut my heart. 

And I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t do what other guys do to her.  When I saw her, no matter how much my instincts tried to take over, what I saw wasn’t a stripper, a sex object, or breasts.  I saw a woman who was as insecure as everyone else.  Who was hurting.  Who was struggling.  Who wanted to be accepted by me, even though it was a superficial acceptance.  I saw a woman who had a personality that was worth more than just $200 for one hour.  I saw a woman who needed God, who needed love just as much as everyone else.  And that reality just made me sad.

I left the club, early, feeling really down.  However, the night would definitely not be over yet.  I got into the taxi cab, and the taxi driver asked me where I was going.  When I said “The Venetian”, the hotel I was staying at, he started spewing out a stream of cuss words.  Obviously, I was at a loss of words.  In the thickest Russian accent imaginably, he lashed out furiously, “F’ing Venetian, everybody f’ing Venetian.  Nobody give big tip, everybody f’in cheap.”

Once again, awkward turtle was in full effect.  “Eh…please don’t kill me.  I’m sorry, should I take another taxi?”  I mean, the guy straight up looked RUSSIAN MAFIA.

“No, no, we go to Venetian.  Say, where are you from?”

“I am from Los Angeles.”  This reality brought a smile to the man’s face, because he was from LA originally, too.  He immediately became a lot more friendly to me, and started warming up to me.  The conversation went from awkward as hell, to mildly entertaining. 

However, all good things must come to an end.  The russian guy, in the middle of our conversation, suddenly had a bright idea.  “Say, why not I take you to a massage place nearby?”

“Massage?  How much is it?”  I asked, with an obvious suspicion to my voice.

“$80.  $80 dollars, 30 minute massage full body.  Then end with BJ, and you go home happy.”

Obviously, I was stunned.  I had basically been offered sex TWO TIMES ALREADY IN ONE NIGHT. 

“No thank you, but thanks for asking…”

“No problem.  You want to go, I will tell you where it is.  It’s there, palms…”

By now, I sort of tuned out of the conversation.  We were almost at Venetian, and because I sort of felt sorry for this guy, I gave him a rather large tip.  I think it made his night.

I got out of the taxi, and walked into the Venetian.  I was spent–I got into the elevator, with full intention of going back up into my room and trying to sleep.  However, the night just kept getting more and more interesting.  This time, when I got into the elevator, I heard the distant chatter of two obviously drunk girls in the distance.  It got closer, and closer, till eventually, they were fated to take the same elevator ride as me.

One of the girls was obviously incredibly drunk.  She could barely walk straight, and was talking in slurs.  She started talking, loudly, about how she was lost and coudln’t find her way in this hotel.  “It’s sooo confusing,” she blasted out loud.  She was caucasian, and by now, basically was leaning on me and “checking me out”. 

I’m a nice guy, so I offered to walk them to their room.  As we were walking, it became a quick reality that this girl was into me.  Either she was wearing alcohol lenses, or my working out has actually been paying off.  She started holding onto my arm, telling me how cute I was.  I made a quick comment about how “she probably thinks everyone is cute when she’s had a lot to drink,” in which she quickly reassured me that “NO!  Don’t blame it on the a-aa-aa-aa-aaa-al-co-hol” (she was joking and singing that one song, blame it on the alcohol, i dunno if you guys know the song).  Meanwhile, the less drunk of the two kept making comments about how I was such a nice guy to walk them back to their room, and how it’s so hard to find nice guys these days. 

We got to the room, and I knew that I had to leave AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.  However, the girl who was drunk started trying to kiss me, and then asked me if I wanted to come into the room.  Once again, obviously, I was not going to accept her invitation.  The other girl encouraged me to come in too, saying that we could “party together”.  Maybe other guys would have been tempted.  But honestly, I felt nothing.  If anything, I felt even MORE depressed by the situation.

I said my good-byes as quickly as I could (no point in staying in this awkward turtle x 3 situation), and walked hurriedly down the hallway back to my room.  God.  I felt dirty.  I didn’t even do anything.  And I felt dirty.

I went back to the room, and I seriously just sat in my bed for the next 2 hours, looking at nothing.  Thinking.  Pondering.  Feeling so damned depressed about everything that happened that night.  I felt saddened that so many people live in this reality, and that women are so often pigeonholed into this “sex object” existence. 

What has our culture become.  Vegas is a dark place.