So, this summer has been a trip weather-wise. While some parts of the country have been baking in an incredibly endless heat wave, other parts have been shivering. Specifically, San Francisco. It has sucked! Mark Twain may or may not have said, "The coldest winter I've ever spent is a summer in San Francisco", but if he didn't, I'm saying it now. I finally had enough in July and decided to go to Vegas for a couple of days to relax and bask in the heat of the desert.
I hadn't been to Vegas in years, and chose to go there for very specific reasons:
1. It was close by plane so I didn't have to drive for hours to chill.
2. It was cheap.
I also told myself that Vegas would be good because I thought they had cleaned it up: All the trashy reality shows that I watch, and everyone knows I love trash in my reality television, seem to indicate that Vegas wasn't the child-friendly neon Bright Horizons daycare that I encountered on my last visit.
Watching "Rehab: Party at the Hard Rock" and seeing everyone on every other reality show go there to act a ho, I was under the impression that people who aren't tall enough to ride the rides were no longer welcome. WRONG! WTF?! Why were there more children than slot machines at the Luxor? When I put my chips on the table, I expect a dealer to appear, not a child.
Again, I must reiterate the fact that I do love children, I do. Just where they are supposed to be: Anywhere but Vegas. Okay- that's a bit excessive, but you know what I mean, I hope. There are certain things that we all love, but just not in every situation, because everything is not good in every situation. The closest analogy I can think of is this: Mini-skirts. I love wearing mini-skirts. When I was growing up in Texas, as soon as the cold, dark shade of winter lifted itself into spring, this bitch's legs were out until the shade fell again the next year. Not only was it cooling, no matter what anyone said, I thought I had nice legs. Still do. But, since I live in San Francisco, I can't wear minis in the summer anymore. Not that my legs get cold, they don't, but because of the random gusts of wind that reveal either my thong or granny panties, neither of which anyone wants to see. Also because of the fact that if you're running around with a mini on in our cold ass summers, you look like you're trying to full-on sell it, not lease it out for an evening of drinks, dinner, and laughs as all we bitches do to a degree when we likes a dude (or chick).
I am not trying to drone on parents, but I will because this is my blog: Why, why, why, why, why, why infinity would any parent choose to bring their progeny to Vegas for a vacation? Why would you introduce a world of decadence and depravity to your child before he or she finds it, as he or she surely will, at a later date with friends or lovers of which you don't approve? Either leave them at home with oma or opa, hire a babysitter, or do what my parents did and take them to Six Flags?! You chose to be a parent- vacation in a child appropriate place until they can stay home alone or with a trusted adult. I know you wanna live the life and wild a bit, but if you can't afford to not bring your kids, you cannot afford to go to Vegas. Period.
Why am I waving smoke away and curbing my NC-17 language because your kid is walking through the casino? Wanda Sykes said it best years ago: She was at a bar (a bar, mind you), and cursed. She looked over and saw a kid and covered her mouth after expelling a grown-folks' tirade, apologizing. Then she thought about the fact that she was at a bar- where children shouldn't be- why was she apologizing? She didn't go drinking at playgrounds, why was a child in a bar?! That's how I felt in Vegas. When I go to Disney movies and get mad because a kid is squirming or talking, that's on me: Disney is not for me, and I need to shut it and adjust to the peeps it was made for. When I am swearing at the slot machine that took my money or drunkenly, verbally, ogling the hot 21-year-old boy who staggered past me loud enough for him to hear, stop, and make-out with me, I am not apologizing to any child's parents for acting my age and B.A.C reading.
When I came home, I told my roommate that I was willing to cut my pinkie fingernail super short to not see kids in Vegas (like most Americans, I will bitch until I can't talk anymore about what irks me, but I am not willing to adhere or promise to any discomfort that accompanies a solid commitment such as "I'd give my right arm" blah, blah, blah). I have been thinking about it off and on since then, but it all came to head in my mind today when I read a CNN.com article called, "Vegas' awkward coming-out party".
The article was about something that I had seen at the Luxor: the Sunday gay-themed pool party. The article writer mentioned early on that Vegas is "long a bastion of straight male culture, with its bachelor parties, strip clubs and Sinatra-esque swagger, this desert town has been making deliberate attempts since about 2005 to become a destination for gay and lesbian tourists, and to increase its own gay community."
The article continued on about a father from LA (Los Angeles) who brought his four kids to Vegas, and the pool at the Luxor, during a gay-themed party. He went on to say (of the party), "It shouldn't be like that, you know, in front of the kids." Really? You think that your children, aged 3 to 13, had more business at the pool of a casino than a gay grown-up? He also said, "It encourages the kids to think it's normal, which it isn't." But you think it's normal for your children to see flyers, billboards, and other postings advertising strip joints and other lascivious activities that celebrate the notion that your daughter could land on a pole? That's okay-but gods forbid if there are (BUM! BUM! BUM!) gay dudes having fun in a swimming pool in broad daylight? Shut the front door!
You have no problems taking your kids to the Vegas strip- all the strippers, escorts, faded dreams, incontinence diapers, alcoholics, meth heads, broken hope- none of that discourages you: It's dudes in speedos making out and dancing (who will probably know what to do to save your kid's life in the future when he/she ODs in a hotel out by the airport all alone but for the memories of the childhood fun in Vegas with moms & pops) by which you can't abide?
You probably don't double down on 11 and you're wrong about this too, my friend.
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