wet vegas...girls girls girls!!!

I was sitting here this afternoon, trying not to pass out from moisture loss while the air conditioner was being maintenanced--3rd time's a charm, we hope--and Alex came home for a few minutes to grab something. An ice cold Cherry Coke Zero, I believe it was. Anyway. When he arrived at our front door, he was greeted by Crystal, Deja, Tawny and their 12 or so friends whose advertisements had kindly been left for us, tucked behind the "Privacy Please" magnet which warmly greets our visitors. According to the ads, these girls will gladly come right to our home, wearing nothing but funny little spots of light over their nipples, for anywhere from $35 for Candy to $150 for Belinda. (I guess Belinda has seniority.) What exactly happens once these ladies arrive isn't clearly defined anywhere. My guess is, it's got nothing to do with Scrabble.

Prostitution is not legal in Las Vegas. You have to leave the city limits for that kind of action. But fear not, there's plenty of action in town. Every 30 feet, there are flashing neon signs advertising LOOSE SLOTS. And in front of them, you'll find whole families, mom, dad, kids, uncles, grandma (remember, Vegas is a family destination, too!), whole families handing out flyers for escorts, whole families wearing bright red or yellow shirts with bold, black lettering: LIVE GIRLS DIRECT TO YOU! 702-WET-VEGAS. Many of these flyers end up scattered about the sidewalk. Many are gladly received and pocketed for later. There are more strip clubs here than Starbucks, if you can imagine such a thing. Billboards dot the city: "Ladies! Don't leave town before your $500 audition for Gearbox Films!" "Wanna be a star? Bait & Tackle wants you!" I've been perusing the local audition listings, and let me tell you, if I wasn't so keen on keeping my clothes on in public, I'd be fighting off the job offers!

Funny what different cities mean to people. People go to New York to shop and eat at great restaurants and go to museums and Broadway shows. People go to New Orleans to see graveyards and get drunk and flash their nipples. People go to Seattle to drink coffee and listen to local music and get out in nature. And people go to Vegas to do things they wouldn't do anywhere else. Think of the flights: Flying into Vegas, the plane is abuzz, people are chatting and excited, there's at least a dozen guys reading "Beat the Dealer" or some other gambling guide in order to have a proper foundation for kicking the casino's ass (TIP: It takes more than a plane ride.) Flying out of Vegas, there's no sound from the passengers besides the occasional moan of the hung-over, the sudden cries of "Why did I hit that 15?" The regret is already there, with Vegas barely out of sight. But it doesn't keep people from coming back, ready to do it all over again! Everyone is prepared to PARTY when they get here, in whatever way that means. For some people, it's the entertainment and the restaurants. For others it's the gaming. For others, it's the nightlife, which begins at noon and ends around noon. For most, it's all those things combined into one endless day-night of snippets of sleep between booze and boobs and the bountiful buffets. Where else would you do that? New York may be 24 hours, it may be full of beautiful women and places to party with them. But you don't meet them sitting in a g-string by the pool. And in Vegas, people show up EXPECTING to get lucky.

I've never lived in a place like this. It's, well, different. Not in a bad way, just in a different way. I don't know where I fit into this city of sin. I don't live that kind of life. Not that I'm opposed to it. Hell, I gladly support immoral behavior in others! And I've had a few scattered moments of immorality myself, if you can imagine. But these days, I'm a quasi-married woman who likes to curl up with a good book and a cup of herbal tea at night with my cat purring next to me. (Okay, as I wrote that, I kind of threw up a little. I'm not THAT tame. Am I?) Truthfully, I love to party, I love to dance, but I hate to do it in pick-up joints. Unless I'm on good drugs. And single. Neither of which is currently the case. And Vegas is basically one big pick-up joint, far as I can tell from the magazines.

I know, most of the people who live here aren't out partying all the time. I mean, they live here. They have jobs. And kids. And mortgages. None of which I've got. But they're regular people doing regular things. I guess it's me that isn't all that "regular". I'm not here to settle down and be a grown-up, and I'm not here to party and pay for sex. I'm here to live with my boyfriend for more than 5 months a year, I'm here to write and audition and see what happens, I'm not on vacation and I'm not here to stay. I've never lived in a place like this. And I'm talking "place" in not only the physical sense but the mental and spiritual, as well. Where the hell am I, and what am I doing here anyway? Whoa, man...I'm kind of tripping out a bit. Wonder what advice Belinda might be able to offer...