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Vegas

Ohhhhhh, Vegas. The devil’s playground. Sin City. Where fear and loathing was born. The place where proclivities and addictions are front and center and accepted with open arms. 

Everyone should visit Vegas once in their life. Just to see what all of the (undeserved) hype is about. But once is really all you need. Because…what do you like about it? The bleak and seedy casinos where the house always wins unless you’re a cunning card counter like Rain Man or Zack Galafinzakias from The Hangover? 90% of the casinos in Las Vegas that I’ve been to are nothing like they seem in the movies. The 1995 Academy Award nominated masterpiece Casino would have you believing that women in glitzy gowns that look like Sharon Stone waltz around the floors blowing on dice for luck. In reality, it’s a bunch of overweight members of AARP with gambling addictions in flip flops and visors, staring at slot machines like drones willing it to drown them in a waterfall of coins. In other words, a commercial for anti-depressants in the “before” stage. 

Sometimes you’ll see a table full of bros there for a Bachelor party, which is cute I guess, but those boys will come home and get murdered by their wives if they blow through too much of their shared bank account money. So they only play one or two games and then they’re back poolside, shotgunning Midori sours and fucking strippers in their hotel rooms because, “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” *wink wink.* That kind of mentality is why that place sucks. 

Seriously though, gambling is just another term for LOSING your hard earned MONEY. I get that the adrenaline spikes are fun for some of you, but what’s the risk/reward? I was an executive assistant for a producer who flew me out to Vegas first class to basically hang out on the set of one of his movies, and sat next to him at a black jack table and watched in absolute HORROR as he lost EIGHT THOUSAND dollars in the span of THREE minutes. Eight thousand dollars would’ve paid my rent for five months and this asshole just let the little vested dealer sweep all of that cold, hard cash away into a lock box because he busted four times in a row. That’s supposed to be fun!?!

Okay, so you agree that gambling isn’t your jam. Great. What else is there to do that you can’t do in any other big city for cheaper and with more than two percent humidity? Seriously, I feel like I’m in the seventh ring of hell when I’m in that arid, flat, middle of nowhere, burning square of desert. It’s nothing but tall buildings and seizure inducing lights! What’s the appeal? The restaurants? The shows? The pools? Well, I live in Los Angeles and not only do we have the same exact shit, but it’s in a more pleasurable environment and inhabited by much classier, less touristy people. Vegas is the poor man’s LA. I said what I said. 

I understand completely when people from buttfuck nowhere Idaho want to take a trip to Vegas for some debauchery and bad decisions because it’s like a carnival of new experiences to them. Even people from a rainy, shitty city in the midwest probably want to be there just for a change in environment in January. But why people choose that city so OFTEN over literally any other sunny place in the western US is beyond me. 

There are two distinct types of people that flock to Vegas—the poors who just want to get fucked up in the sunshine poolside and share a hotel room with four other people and the one percenters who want to dine at Jose Andres’s newest restaurant, snort designer drugs, party to whatever trash Diplo is engineering together while screaming into the ears of high end escorts who are drinking the majority of the 1942 bottle they had to buy in order to get a seat at the club, and maybe catch a Cirque du Soleil show. I don’t particularly want to be around either of those groups of people. 

Vegas is tacky and trashy. It’s like I time traveled backwards to Disney World in the 80s, if it were located in Miami. Like I’m on the set of Scarface, what with all of the cocaine dust on every flat surface. It’s knock-off Ray Ban aviator sunglasses and neon colors. Trucker hats and too many leg tattoos. It’s fake tits and loud arguments at 3am between couples outside the club. It’s where girls get pregnant by married NBA players on “accident.” It’s a double wide trailer but make it razzle dazzle vibes. It’s a matted pink flamingo on meth. The entire city smells like cigarettes and tequila. It’s where dreams go to die. Enjoy, I guess? 

Y’all. Come to LA instead. Leave the Nevada desert dumpster fire that is Vegas in your rearview mirror.  

Published by loverlo

Actress, writer, lover. leskirvi@gmail.com

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