Last month Hubby and I had a mini-vacation in Las Vegas. The trip was his Christmas gift to me because my favorite band was playing a concert there at the fabulous Cosmopolitan Resort. I am frugal to a fault; we stayed at Bally’s for $100, and it was fine.
It was the first time Hubby and I had been to Las Vegas in 28 years, which is due to the fact that the last time resulted in a terrible fight when we decided Vegas was the only place we were NOT compatible. He thought we were going to sit at Blackjack tables the entire time; I thought we were going to have foofy drinks and check out all the casinos. When I woke up at 4am Sunday morning and Hubby was still out gambling, I was madder than a wet cat and I’m pretty sure I gave him the silent treatment for at least 24 hours. It’s not that he lost money (he didn’t), but I didn’t get what I wanted. And one of the things I’ve learned in the past 28 years is EXPECTATIONS ARE EVERYTHING!
When I say Vegas has changed a lot in 28 years, I’m not kidding. Wow! Everything is Over the Top. The buildings are beautiful, the restaurants are amazing, and the shopping is ridiculously expensive. We didn’t go INTO any shops, but what a cool experience to walk through an underground shopping mall created to look like a street in Paris. During our 48 hours in the Vegas, we saw huge aquariums, amazing works of art, terrific views of the city, dancing fountains, and the Bellagio’s Oriental Gardens which were breathtaking. Picture if you will 3D butterflies the size of a small car . . . made completely from flowers (mostly carnations) so they even SMELLED as beautiful as they looked. Magical!
And can we talk about smells for a sec? After we arrived, I washed my face, redid my make up, redid my hair, and put on fresh clothing so I’d look my best for the Bastille concert. It took maybe five minutes of walking through the casinos before my hair and clothes smelled like a big, stinkin’ cigar. OMG. It was disgusting.
And can we talk about clothing for a minute? I’d brought my coolest going-out duds, because, well, you know: VEGAS. Vegas in the old days meant bling, it meant high heels and high rollers and high stakes; it meant your biggest earrings and your reddest lipstick. OMG again: What I saw were people who looked like they were sneaking out to the grocery in the morning before their showers and hoping not to run into anyone they knew. They looked like the photos of Walmart shoppers I’ve seen on Facebook. Oh sure, there were a few exceptions to this rule, and I have to admit, the pair of jeans I brought for Saturday were too big and spent the day awkwardly pulling them up (oddly there are no suspender stores in Vegas, and the belts were all too pricey).
I’d promised Hubby some Blackjack table time since he was so kind to attend the Bastille concert with me. I actually had a great time during our three hours at a $5 table at the Flamingo (it’s hard to find $5 tables these days). The dealers and other tourists at the table were funny, and the bar brought us free drinks! Well, can I tell you about free beers for a sec? After number two, JUST SAY NO! I thought I was fine, and then I stood up and it was all, OH NO, why are my legs made of rubber? And how do flip flops work again? I lost about an hour there and have hazy memories of walking briskly, exploring more casinos and zig zagging through massive crowds. We walked 11 miles that day . . . which counteracted the very late dinners and too many cocktails!
Our room at Bally’s was very large and very clean and not too outdated . . . but alas, no in-room coffee pot. Picture me at 2 am Friday night looking through all the drawers and closets so I can have the coffee set for morning, yelling, “NO COFFEE POT??? What is this, RUSSIA???” When you’ve stayed out too late in Vegas and the next morning you’re trying to shower and ready yourself for the day and there’s no coffee until you can be seated at a restaurant, it’s hard to put two words together. But we survived . . .
And the Bastille concert . . . well, the concert was amazing. (She takes a moment to smile, remember Dan’s face so close, swoons just a tiny bit.) Eve and I saw Bastille on Tuesday in Phoenix, and even though it was really good, the guys in the band explained they’d spent the day in Texas making a music video. (You could totally tell.) STILL fabulous, and so fun to attend the concert with my girl. But in Vegas, they were really ON. The Vegas concert was in a third floor ballroom at the Cosmopolitan Resort and we had standing room tickets, which I prefer since you can move away from people who are being arses. Bastille put on an amazing show which I’ll never forget.
But I kind of got in a fight with some girls. It really wasn’t my fault. I mean, clearly the event had been oversold, and we were packed in too tightly. Picture me: dreamy look on my face, completely engrossed in the performance, hand placed over my heart ( so embarrassing) when all of a sudden a group of six “Woo Woo Girls” pushes up through the crowd and stand directly to my left. And they begin to talk . . . LOUDLY. We’re only 25 feet from the stage where Dan is singing his heart out, and these girls are SHOUTING—how rude, right? Why do you go to a concert to chit-chat?? I tap the shoulder of the lead Woo Woo girl and put on my sweetest face, and I say these words: “I’m saying this with so much kindness in my heart and you all seem like such nice girls, but I’d like to ask you a huge favor—-could you please be a little quieter, because I’m having trouble hearing the band?” (Followed by a pleading, sweet look and sorry smile.) Well. Lead Woo Woo gets a really mean look on her face and says loudly to her friends, “OH NO, I think we’re in trouble!” Then she says something I can’t hear to the other Woo Woos and they proceed to SCREAM through the entire next song. I sighed. At least I tried, right? And then they were truly much quieter after that, so HA HA, joke’s on them. I vow to continue requesting proper behavior in a civil manner for the rest of my days, no matter how embarrassing it is to my husband or children or friends who are with me.
I know I’m going on and on, but I MUST tell you about the floor at this concert venue. It bounces. Yes, you heard me correctly. I swear on a stack of Bastille albums that the floor was bouncing up and down at least 3 inches when people were dancing. The lead singer came out on stage for the first time and stopped singing. After the song, he explained that the movement of the floor moving up and down was “surreal”–I guess that’s one word for it. I hope not to read in the future about the thousands of people injured when the floor of the Chelsea Ballroom at the Cosmopolitan gave way!
Apologies for this rambling all-over-the-place trip report, but that’s how Vegas is: too much to eat, too much to smell, too much to see, and too much to talk about! I’m still not sure if I liked Vegas, or not. I’m thinking in 28 years, we’ll try it again.