Tuesday, February 12, 2013
As I was taking the hottest, longest bath of my life while overlooking most of Las Vegas from 45 floors up, the Beach House song Irene came on my Spotify mix. As the singer (who shall remain nameless... the less I know about that amazing witchy woman, the better) crooned, "It's a strange paradise," over and over and over I thought, Yes. That is exactly what this place is.
Because so much of Las Vegas is like paradise. Completely over-the-top, indulgent, air-conditioned paradise. Our panoramic view of interesting architecture, gorgeous mountains, and the ever-changing sky; people who seemed genuinely happy to wait on us hand and foot; the insane talent that is Cirque de Soleil; the dinner conversations that consisted mainly of, "mmmmm," and, "this is sooo good..."; the window shopping that felt like walking through the pages of Vogue magazine; the art and beauty and complete sensory overload everywhere we looked; and the luxury of doing whatever I wanted ALL DAY LONG. It was pretty fantastic.
But also really strange.
I've never been anywhere that changed so much depending on what time of day it was. Most of the day feels like a collective hangover where things like walking from one hotel to the next in a borrowed robe (ultimate walk of shame) or falling asleep in the lobby of your hotel (or someone's hotel...) and sawing logs like it's your job are perfectly normal occurrences. You can look fabulous if you'd like, but if you prefer to skip the shoes and keep rocking last night's makeup, that's totally fine as well.
We got to go to Cirque shows at 7pm both nights and both nights I felt totally overdressed. Going into the show I looked like I was trying way too hard. Coming out at 9? I was simply wearing way too much clothing. Evidently while we were oohing and aahing over the insane acrobatics and creepy big babies, everyone else was changing out of their sweats, cleaning themselves up and slipping into a sparkly tube sock and stilettos. Meanwhile my ass cheeks and torso were totally covered. I know! I'm such a Puritan...
Over dinner last night I was telling Liam and Finn about my trip (it was a quick one!) and when I got to the part about our room, Liam got really jealous. I had sent a MTV Cribs style video of it to my sister who was staying with the boys so he knew exactly what he had missed out on. I couldn't lie; our room was really cool. But no matter how much my boys would have enjoyed the view, I did not for one second regret leaving them home. Vegas is totally for grown ups. Sure, there's a Sponge Bob standing outside the humongous M & Ms store posing for pictures but right next to him is a guy in a "GIRLS DIRECT TO YOUR ROOM IN 20 MINUTES!" shirt passing out fliers. Um, NO. I sincerely hope my children will not experience Las Vegas until they are old enough to enjoy the fun bits while not being too disturbed by the rest of it. Twenty one sounds just about perfect.