The boggled types say to me, "If you want to see Paris, why would you go to a cheap knock-off in Vegas? Go to Paris!"
Um, right. My trip to Vegas is costing me exactly $22 in airfare thanks to my AmEx points. Maybe I'll live in Happy Cashflow Land in my next life.
I don't go to Vegas because I feel I can do Europe on the cheap. I'm not a moron. (Although the creperie at Paris Las Vegas is mighty fine, I must say.) I go to Vegas because it's absolutely, utterly RIDICULOUS.
Perhaps a visual reference will help to emphasize my point.
Yes, that's me. At the Caesar's Forum Shops. With a ginormous griffin.
I repeat: A ginormous griffin at the mall. Right there adjacent to Victoria's Secret.
THIS is why I love Vegas. I make a point of embracing the ridiculous at every opportunity. Why? Because life is really bloody difficult, especially these days. Many people who know me only through online life very likely perceive me as 16 year-old at a slumber party. My online repertoire mainly encompasses chatting about menfolk and shoes. I actually love this about me because during the day I'm...well, older than 16, and I've spent the last couple years learning lots of things I never wanted to learn.
The company I work for has been particularly hard hit by this recession, and, being HR, I've had to personally say goodbye to over 60 co-workers. They rage at me, cry, spill their fears, all those things they need to do. I've done everything I can to listen, comfort, and assist them as they work through that transition. It's stressful, guilt-ridden, exhausting, yet ultimately gratifying work knowing that I'm making this as "easy" as possible for them. (And striving onward and upward to prove that we HR types don't always suck.)
But it is work. And it calls for very grown-up skills. Even if we weren't in the midst of scary economic times, my workdays are all about strategy, counseling, risk management, compliance, investigation, and all those activities that could possibly turn me into a boring adult.
So, when I'm not doing that, I make a point of being ridiculous. I don't know any other way to bring balance to the Force. (Knew I'd get a fangirl reference in there somehow.) And when you're in Vegas, it's nearly impossible to think about anything unpleasant because you are so overwhelmed by the ridiculous at every turn.
Where else on the planet can you encounter Elvis, Darth Vader, and Spongebob all within a matter of hours?
Find me one other locale where I can fondle a $4,000 Dior handbag while sucking down a margarita as the beefcake security guards flirt with me. (No, I don't care that they're actually paid to do that in order to encourage me to recklessly max out my credit card while inebriated. I'm having a good time here!)
The very first time I went to Vegas with the girls, we spent an evening having dinner at Quarks at the now (sadly) defunct Star Trek Experience. Within moments of sitting down, we were accosted by a Klingon demanding, "Where is the man in charge of these women?" followed soon after by a Ferengi duo who were quite taken by the one among us who was showing the most skin (you know who you are!). I've no doubt that the gangs of fanboys who'd arrived for dinner were none too happy that a table of women had commandeered the geek playtime for a good hour or more, but I'm fairly certain that the heavily-costumed actors were taken by surprise that we actually knew our Trekkie shiznit. That was our time; ridiculous, fabulous (if we do say so ourselves), and full of the glee brought on by the Rikerita.
What's not to love about that? Viva Las Vegas, baby.