Vegas

Oh, did you think I disappeared?

(What an egomaniacal thing to say, really, because come on.)

BUT DID YOU?

THAT’S BECAUSE I DID. I wasn’t hiding it or anything, as I tweeted often enough, but we went to Vegas! We went to Vegas! And it was, in a word, perfect. Honestly, it was Vegas, and it was six days, but it didn’t feel that way at all. It was really quite perfect. I suppose I get why people were all, “STOP WITH THE SIX DAYS IN VEGAS OH MY LANDS!” because if I’d been drinking and/or gambling heavily for any part of that trip, I’d be all, GET ME OUT OF VEGAS OH MY LANDS. But instead, neither of us had a drop of alcohol, and we gambled modestly, much to the disappointment of the casinos, I’m sure and we … well, we were in bed no later than 11 p.m. most nights, and up with the chickens. Oh, we adjusted just fine to the time change … eventually. Like, on the last day. HELPFUL.

What we did do was lie about a lot, rising only to do important things like eat, take baths and go to the pool. We did mix in the occasional roulette game in, and yes, we saw Cirque du Soleil (Ka), but other than that, we did a lot of nothing, which is precisely what we wanted to do. Plus, it was easy — encouraged, even — since our hotel (Bellagio) upgraded us to a suite the size of my entire house. I’m pretty sure this means we used up all the good luck we’ll have for the entire year. Look for another season of miscarriages and illness, coming to you direct in 2011/12! (I hope not, but I’m not convinced, because I tell you, THAT STUFF DOES NOT HAPPEN TO US, EVER.)

I think, too, one of the best parts about Vegas is that you can just let go and be a stupid tourist. There is no pressure to fit in as if you are a local. Gawking is encouraged. You don’t have to pretend to be cool, because NO ONE is cool in Vegas, and if they are, they’re faking it. Everyone is a goofy tourist gazing up at a fake Statue of Liberty with a weird sense of displaced awe.

Honestly, I don’t understand how ANYONE drinks a lot of alcohol in Vegas. This isn’t a judgment, but more of a physical observation. Isn’t alcohol … dehydrating? And MY GOD, PEOPLE. It’s the desert! The desert! If I had any complaints about the trip at all, I’d say that I wanted to hook an IV of saline to my arm, because I was so! thirsty! ALL THE TIME. I COULD NOT GET ENOUGH WATER. Cocktail waitresses were coming around non-stop to supply me with nothing more than Fiji water for a handsome tip. And yet, there were people drinking GIANT BONGS of daiquiris and bloody marys and I’m like, HOW ARE YOU PEOPLE NOT DEAD? You must be so THIRSTY! The thought of even a glass of wine made me shrivel up in desperate thirst, and you guys, I LOVE WINE.

Oh, and here are the pictures I took while on vacation:

Aren’t they awesome? Yes! I took so many! SO MANY PICTURES OF NOTHING. This is why I’m not a photographer. I cannot be relied upon to remember to do anything of the sort, and by that I mean, I never charged and/or brought my camera anywhere with me.

Vegas is, obviously, just! so! much! It’s funny how certain cultures have fashion standards that in other parts of the country would be considered unacceptable and/or easily mocked. Hell, I see many of the get-ups hawked by my comrades in San Francisco, and invariably think that if ANYONE wore that here in Boston, things would … not be met with the same enthusiasm. People may be quietly shuffled off to asylums, in fact, although they look perfectly normal in San Francisco. Ditto other parts of California. The brightness of LA and Orange County always looks so, so right in context, but so garish when put in contrast with the darkness of New York. (These are things I learn from the Real Housewives.)

Conversely, Boston’s tendency toward staid, classic neutrals (Look out! Muffy’s got a new LL Bean tote!) and the occasional foray into the hilarious world of preppy chic (I had a boss who wore pants embroidered with PUPPIES from Vineyard Vines) is equally laughable out of context. Yet in the summer here, Nantucket reds are almost de rigueur, particularly on the Cape and the islands. For God’s sake, I HAVE A PAIR. Throw an outfit like that together in some parts of the country and people would assume you were being ironic, or at least pretending to do a Pretty In Pink re-enactment, because why ELSE would you be wearing wide-wale cords with … are those ANCHORS on your pants, or are you just happy to see me?

And then there’s Vegas, where things that fly there would fly … well, honestly, I am hopeful that some things are only in Vegas, because, SERIOUSLY. I saw more stripper heels worn by non-strippers than I ever hope to see again. God, does everything need to be sequined? Why so loud, Vegas? Dresses coming up higher on women’s backsides than my UNDERWEAR. And oh my good grief, I played roulette next to a man wearing a rhinestone SHIRT and he didn’t even look that out of place. A RHINESTONE SHIRT.

A mom — A MOM, A VERY OBVIOUS MOM — wearing clear high-heeled platforms with light-up soles approached her daughter in the pool. THE POOL. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. LIGHT-UP STRIPPER HEELS. The fact that she was wearing a hot pink sequin monokini cut to her appendectomy scar is almost unremarkable in comparison. And yet, she really didn’t look that odd. No, you guys, it was ME, in my navy and red-striped Ralph Lauren tank who looked lamely subdued and terribly un-fun.

The best part of all, is that it was really special and important to just hang with my husband, alone, without any distractions or small animals or small people yelling, “MAMA, WHERE IS KITTY?” and hearing, “Gabba? Gabba? Gabba? GABBA SPACE?” on repeat. It was something we didn’t know we needed, but did, and it turns out I still really like the guy, quite a bit in fact. And it made me realize that it’s important to spend more time, just the two of us, and I’ve promised myself to book a babysitter once a month to get out and remember what that feels like. It’s the least we can do for each other, I think.

Most importantly, however, Sam was fine. More than fine, actually. Happy and thrilled and in totally capable, loving hands. My parents were amazing — they came here, spent the week at our house, took her to all of her regularly scheduled events, plus the park, active play-time, etc. etc. She was loved, she was happy, and we are very, very lucky and grateful. (Thank you again, Mom & Dad!)

I have to tell you, though, seeing her this morning for the first time in a week? Best thing ever, even if she did cling to me with the tenacity of a spider monkey for eleven consecutive hours. Worth. It. Man, I love that kid.

I hope you had a great week.

*Sara Bareilles

30 comments April 20th, 2011