I probably shouldn’t be writing today. Still very tired, and still probably feeling the effects of the snickerdoodle cookies…
So. Vegas. Me and Coco went to Vegas Saturday night because she needed a getaway and I had some leftover miles that were expiring at the end of October. And since my birthday is only a week away, I decided to start the celebration early.
Vegas is a very different place when your status is married versus single. Especially is you don’t have any special kind of “arrangements” with your husband. And last night, during a quick dinner debrief with my friend Ruby, she tells me those types of things end badly anway, at least they have with all the married people she’s known. “Someone gets emotionally attached to the person they’re supposed to be having unemotional sex with.”
A fair assessment, and to be honest, I’m not sure about the kind of arrangement I really want with hubbie. What I really want, is probably what every other married person really wants: the ability to time travel. I’m in Vegas, I’m partying, eating a snickerdoodle cookie at Rehab, sipping on a 20 ounce marg, letting go, I snap my fingers, and I’m single. I’m at home, hung over, lonely, desperately needing a foot rub, I snap my fingers, and I’m married. If only the Quantum Leap theory was more advanced…
“Where are you from?” Cute guy with faux hawk yells in my ear. Coco and I were at one of the most obnoxious clubs I’d ever been to, Tao, and had momentarily lost one another in the crowd; not difficult.
“Los Angeles,” I yell back, “how about you?”
“Germany,” he answers and then starts gettin’ down to the music.
It’s dark, and the beats are low and deep, and we fall into the rhythm, no further conversation necessary. These types of places are based purely on animal instinct, attraction, because any logic is purposely numbed. I feel his hands on my hips, and move mine to his. I lose track of time, because he knows how to move.
Until I feel something splash on my back. Someone’s drink has spilled, partially on me. I turn around, and guy walking by apologizes. I look back to the cute guy with the faux hawk, and snap back into reality, “I have to find my friend,” I yell in his ear. He asks me, in his thick German accent, if I’m sure. Hell yeah. I know where this is going, and it’s not going anywhere it can, even though, for a moment, and if I was a time traveler, I would definitely want it to.
I find Coco and realize me and hubbie need a getaway, soon. And I need to get my ass back to video poker. ROYAL FLUSH BABY. One day.
p.s. Rehab is the best day pool party I’ve been to yet in Vegas. Not the place to go to if you need a nap.