On day 3 of our Vegas trip, DD and I went to a shooting range and shot some machine guns. And shot-guns. And AK-47s. And a handgun – so quaint and wee! Let me tell ya, that stuff wakes you up WAY better than a cup of coffee!
Afterwards, I dragged DD to Tao Beach Club, a small exclusive pool at the Venetian. I was feeling sociable and wanted to get my flirt on while getting some rays. My eye was immediately drawn by the small group of people playing beach-ball in the pool. I nudged DD and told her to check out the hot guy, meaning the white guy who looked like a low-key version of Brody Jenner. DD, assuming I was talking about his friend, the only black guy in the pool, agreed that he was definitely my type. Sigh – no matter how often I exclaim that I don’t have a type, my friends persist in disbelieving me.
Approximately 4 minutes after DD and I settled down on the ledge of the pool, someone hit the beach-ball too hard, and it flew towards me. I playfully hit it back to the group, thereby earning myself a smile from the black dude. Within 20 minutes, that beach-ball was making its way to me with surprising frequency; DD gave me a knowing smile. I soon was an active participant from my seat on the ledge of the pool. I didn’t rush to join in – I had some tanning to do, and a drink to enjoy before ramping up the flirting. #priorities
(Only in Vegas: at Tao, all alcoholic beverages must be consumed on the deck or in the pool but alongside the ledge, possibly to avoid messes like we experienced the day before. The lifeguards, who walked around with handcuffs dangling from their belts, only used their whistles to aggressively call out any guest bold enough to venture into the pool with a drink in hand. These same lifeguards, so alert, so disciplined, did not react whatsoever when a douchebag decided to dive in headfirst into the 3-foot deep crowded pool. Because, you know, a spinal injury would cramp the party much less than someone puking in the pool.)
Post tanning and libations, I joined the beach-ball crew. Inevitably, black dude (henceforth referred to as “LA”… I never got his real name!) struck up a blatant flirtation with me. His Brody Jenner lookalike friend (“Brody2.0”) clearly had his eye on a cute friendly brunette in a pink bikini. During one of the pauses during the game, LA chatted me up; his flirting style was overt, silly and harmless – the kind of flirting I can respond to with my eyes closed. The perfect way to spend a sunny afternoon in Vegas. Until this exchange:
Baby girl, when are you leaving Vegas? Tomorrow? Aw, baby girl, I’m leaving later today, but having seen you, I’m strongly considering delaying my flight by a day, what do you think?
Think?! I think that is a terrible line. Despite knowing it was bullshit, my brain went into full overdrive:
Why would he say that? That’s not cool. I can’t handle this kind of pressure, why can’t we just flirt, make out and be done with this? Oh lord, I am overreacting. I hate overreacting. He can’t realize I am overreacting, that would kill all the fun. Goddamnit, why did he have to say that, I AM FREAKING OUT.
Ignoring my brain, I continued flirting with LA – he was fun and cute. However, just to make sure he understood who he was dealing with, I warned him I was very vanilla. Taken aback, he asked DD whether or not that was true. Much to my relief, DD immediately confirmed it, and then blithely added, “Vanilla, but she’s been known to enjoy her chocolate sprinkles.”
Which, effectively peaked LA’s interest like nothing I had done before. Every guy likes a challenge, right?
Meanwhile, Brody2.0 was making serious progress with Pink Bikini; coy fondling in the pool, the odd neck-nibble. LA watched approvingly, and then confided in me that Pink Bikini was married. Sure enough, I soon noticed her wedding ring. Noticing I was upset, LA explained that they had already discussed it: Brody2.0 was aware that he probably wouldn’t score, but it was still a worthwhile gamble to him.
At that moment, my enjoyment of Vegas sharply diminished. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” suddenly seemed a bit too pathetic for me. While Pink Bikini hadn’t swapped spit with Brody2.0, or technically cheated, it was obvious to me that had her hubby witnessed her antics, he would have been pissed. And the fact that guys were cool with her just confirmed my cynical view that most men are pigs. I didn’t want to witness any of it – from her suspended morals, to the guys’ willingness to oblige her.
Still, I tried to ignore it, and enjoy my flirtation, and calm my mind every time LA joked about his flight. Neither he nor I were married, so we could flirt/fondle all we wanted, right? DD definitely thought so, she took me aside and told me to “RELAX, and have fun for once!!”
Fun. Ok. No problem.
When the DJ suddenly released a hundred beach balls into the small pool, that seemed to be the signal for everyone to simultaneously hook up. The pool, which had previously been largely empty with people lounging alongside the edges, was suddenly filled with couples aggressively making out. I was so perplexed at the correlation between beach-balls and hookups, that it took me several minutes to notice that I found it all very trashy. Possibly because LA was upping his moves on me, and willy-nilly, I was enjoying being found explicitly attractive, I was 2 cm away from his mouth before realizing I was one kiss away from being one of those trashy couples. Playing up being a tease, I avoided kissing him and when LA went to get drinks, I asked DD to help me extricate myself from this uncomfortable scenario.
She told me to grab my stuff, and we walked out of the pool. Confused, I questioned whether or not we should say goodbye, as we had just spent 4 hours partying with LA and Brody2.0. Patiently, she told me Brody2.0 didn’t give 2 shits about either of us, since neither one of us was Pink Bikini, and could I please walk faster? LA was looking for us.
And that is how I handled Vegas. Vanilla ftw!
Looking back, I’m embarrassed at my inability to navigate that situation with grace. But I’m grateful that DD is such a good friend – she accepts my Vanilla-streak better than I do myself.
The rest of the trip:
- I didn’t understand how to properly Vegas
- I didn’t understand how to properly Vegas: part II
- I didn’t understand how to properly Vegas: Shmoney dance