Vegas is like a giant 24 hour Wal-Mart with booze. It attracts the lowest common denominator of American white trash. People who go out in booty shorts and flip flops with giant acrylic fingernails adhered to their finger tips so as to look classy. This place is a freak show. I never really liked Vegas. Maybe I was too pompous, too broke to be a high roller, too into reading books and having intellectual conversation, maybe it was that I found the entire experience of getting so drunk you don’t remember how you lost all your money, your house, your car, and your ID to be very appealing at all. Who knows?
So why am I here? I was wondering that last time I came and again last night. To me Vegas is like a roadside accident, you just can’t help but want to look at it. I have a masters degree in sociology. I am a professional people watcher. That is what my advanced degree is in, people watching. What in the hell am I supposed to do with that? Come to Vegas and watch! So I’m here and I’m queer and I have found that Vegas is no place for a nice girl like me. I’m too much woman for this party. My clothing is too nice, my pronunciation is too nice, I never get so drunk I puke in public, I’m too jaded to be construed as anything less than an experienced sex worker.
People are constantly telling me how fabulous I am. “You have beauty and brains,” yada yada yada. In this world you are not supposed to have both of them. The blonde bimbos make the blonde bimbo money, flashing that ass for cash. The brainy girls read, become teachers, and lawyers, and never have to “demean” themselves by showing off their puritanical private parts to pay the rent. It is not easy to be smart and sexy in this culture, the acceptable roles just aren’t set up for that. So here I am smart and sexy actually wanting to make enough money doing sexy things with strangers so that I might then take that money and hole up reading for a year. Hmm, is it any wonder that I have problems finding people who want to play with me? I challenge everything about the system of inequality and sex / gender oppression that defines and gives form to a wal-mart culture of prepackaged protestant ethics and cheap shit from china.
Last night I went out on the town. I got all dressed up. I wore a very tight waist cincher, fishnet stockings, a black pencil skirt and a pair or Dior fuck me pumps. I looked really good. Too good.
First I went to meet Penelope for a drink. She had an awesome entourage with her. Really nice people, smart, sexy, funny people. I was having a really nice time but I could not forget about the real reason I am in Vegas: to make money. After a couple hours at The Artisan I headed for the strip, to lure in some sexy middle aged overweight high roller on a winning streak.
I had a friend yeas ago who told me about working the casinos. I figured it couldn’t be that hard. I was wrong. As I watched all the hoochie girls in their stripper costumes work the guys for what was ostensibly a lot less than I was looking for I was approached by a decent looking black man with a French accent. We agreed on some arbitrary amount of money to do some kinky things that were of my persuasion and headed up to his room in the sky. It was a lovely room.
When we got there he panicked, said his girlfriend was coming in the morning and gave me some money to go away. Paid to leave. It’s not the first time I have been paid to leave and it won’t be the last. I didn’t take it personally I saw it more as an indication that what happens in Vegas is more and more about getting married and brining your children here to enjoy the sights. Sin City what has happened to you? Are you really that conservative? Have all of the sins been washed away, relegated to barfing in the sink and having sex with the person you came here with?
The two public golden showers I had lined up chicken out, never answered their texts / calls. Never called me back / never showed up …
I met a sailor, he was dressed in his white uniform and looked sharp. He was black and had a lot of medals on him. At some point he asked me about myself, so I told him the truth, he seemed to think I was full of shit. He asked me how long I had been in Vegas and I told him, truthfully, that I arrived this morning. He looked me up and down and started to insinuate that I was a liar. He suggested that I have been in Vegas for a long time. I told him that if he wanted to call me a liar he should just do that, not beat around the bush. I gave him my card and walked off, not interested in being accused of lying. My life is too interesting to lie. I don’t have to.
So last night consisted of some pleasant drinks with kinksters, a gallon of water consumed but no one to pee on, being paid to go away and being called a liar. Hmmm. I’m not sure I like this town at all but like a freakish roadside accident I will keep looking at it for another week, then one way or another I will get my ass to New England and finish this thesis.