By El Tarto
Posted on Wednesday, June 29th, 2016
I never used to consider myself to be a prude. I work in the medical field and have seen so many butts and vaginas and penises and boobs that I barely notice exhibitionism anymore. As a woman, I believe in women being able to dress in whatever they would like. I won’t go to strip clubs or those bikini barista stands, but I don’t judge women who choose to work there. I’m not big into gambling, but I don’t hate it. And yet for some reason, when someone mentions Las Vegas, I have to sit on my hands in order to stop myself from reaching up to clutch my pearls.
The one and only time that I was ever in Las Vegas, I went with my husband and his family- including his grandparents- and most of our trip was paid for in full by my husband’s parents. It sounds like a dream vacation- who doesn’t want to skip work for a week to gamble and drink on someone else’s dime? However, it was an utter and complete nightmare for me.
Selma and Thelma would have had a headache too
Maybe this is just a snobby Seattle thing, but I am not used to smoking indoors. Restaurants and casinos here don’t allow smoking and most places enforce the “no smoking within 25 feet of a doorway” law. As soon as the plane landed in Nevada, I felt like I was being punched in the face by the ghost of a million cigarettes. The taxi ride we took from the airport didn’t help- the cab driver was a very nice person but the taxi smelled like a horrendous combination of an ashtray, strong axe deodorant, and car air freshener in the “Broke and Desperate” scent. I had a headache by the time we got to the hotel- which also *surprise* allowed smoking inside. There was no smoking in our room, which worked like having a peeing section in a pool and putting a door in front of the non-peeing section. The smell and smog in the air combined with flashing lights and glitter everywhere was overwhelming and gave me the biggest migraine I have ever had.
In Vegas, there didn’t seem to be anywhere to go to eat, drink or dance that didn’t involve women (or men) in underpants. Some people like underpants and that’s great, but I would prefer to have a waiter shoving pastries in my face, not a standing on my table with pasties in my face. Call me crazy, but I prefer porn in the privacy of my bedroom and not blaring in the background of some bar while I am getting drinks with my father-in-law. Even if you don’t eat or drink in Vegas- the entire strip is littered with card snappers that are constantly shoving pictures of prostitutes in your face. The hotel had no fewer than five different pamphlets for different stripper/hooker companies. Billboards with neon flashing lights had lewd slogans about purchasing women to bring back to your hotel room. Finally, Vegas men seemed to take cat-calling to an exceptional asshole level with how they leered at me and hollered at me loudly. Being whistled at on the street is gross; having a 40 year old guy whisper, “I have a long tongue for kitty lickin’ ” and drooling at me in the Starbucks line at 7am is nauseating enough to make me give up coffee completely. My husband's 68 year old grandmother wasn't even spared from their ogling. I found the entire situation disrespectful and disgusting.
I should mention somewhere in here that my husband is an alcoholic. At the time that we went, he was not a sober alcoholic. He was immediately wasted the second we stepped off the plane and didn’t regain temperance until three days after we got home from our trip. I enjoy drinks, but I do not often get drunk. Las Vegas when you are not drunk is like being the designated driver at a college frat party- everyone around you is acting outrageous while you are sober in the corner watching a bunch of people run around like idiots.
Probably the worst part of the trip for me was dealing with my feelings when I returned. I got off the plane feeling exhausted, sick, and completely frustrated- mostly with myself. I thanked my husband’s parents for taking us and did my very best to avoid looking like an ungrateful jerk and took an extra day off of work with an attempt to catch up on sleep and make peace with my judgy feelings.
I shall not eat cilantro again, and I shall not go to Vegas again.
I was shocked to discover that I am apparently much more vanilla than I thought. Vegas threw a wrench in the opinion I had about myself being an open minded, down for anything person and was a huge blow to my ego. I have since convinced myself that travelling is like food. I tried cilantro and I wanted to love it, but I didn’t. Being vanilla doesn’t make me a bad person or a hater, and in this case it might just mean a future of luxury cruise vacations instead. Vegas was an experience- while I will cherish my selfie with wax Britany Spears forever- I consider Vegas to be the cilantro of vacation destinations where I shan’t return again.
About the Author:
I'm a survivor. I have survived stillbirth, miscarriage, divorce, domestic violence, depression and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I'm a full time medical assistant and a full time mom who enjoys reading, growing vegetables, and eating sweets in the spare time that I do have.
