What Happens in Vegas...Can Stay in Vegas.

Last week I was in Las Vegas.

Ahem.

Before we go any further, I feel the need to point out the fact that there are several things wrong with that sentence. The first being that I just wrote a sentence that involved Las Vegas and myself; the second being that I was there for a week.

Las Vegas is many, many things. Some of it is glitzy and swanky and glamorous. Most of it is crazy and exhausting and if we’re going to get right down to it, rather seedy. Some people love it and travel there multiple times a year. I am not one of those people. And even if I was one of those people I would absolutely, without a doubt give Las Vegas a time limit of three days. Three days gives you enough time to wander the Strip, check out the swanky casinos, do a little gambling if that’s your thing, lounge poolside, and grab some good eats. Beyond that? Well, the city gets really exhausting really fast.

I was out in Vegas for my company’s annual sales meeting, which, if I am to be fair, both catered to and encouraged that exhausted state of mind I blame on Sin City. I swear, these meetings would be exhausting even if they were held somewhere like Des Moines (no offense Iowans). From the minute you drop your suitcase off in your room to the final closing dinner and party at the end of the week you are on the go. You hop from one session to the next, from one evening event to another, with a bunch of mingling, meeting, and being “on” in between. I promise you it is no exaggeration that I believe I slept a total of 20 hours throughout the entire week. (Seriously. I just retraced my adventures over the five days combined with what time my alarm went off each morning and I came up with 17.5 hours of sleep. I’m bumping it to 20 to sound a tad more sane.)

Of course, being who I am, I actually kind of love this annual meeting. In no way, shape, or form could I roll this way for more than a week and I'm certainly thankful it only comes once a year. Still, for the five days all 1500 of my nearest and dearest coworkers descend on a hotel and I scurry from conference room to conference room with my team, wine and dine with cohorts over dinner and finally connect with people I’ve emailed about projects all year? Well, it’s rather fun. This year proved especially nice, seeing as I've been in my current role for just over a year and that gave me a very nice personal timeline. I was able to take stock of how many people I’ve met in this company over the past year and there were even a few moments where I thought to myself, 'Wow. I helped make that happen' or 'I saw that thing through from start to finish.' Moments like that make the daily, year long work grind feel a lot more worthwhile.

But getting back to my point.

Me and Vegas? We’re not that close. I liken that city…well, to Bradley Cooper. Girls LOVE him, swoon over him. Not me. Sure, I suppose I’d say hello to him if he and I were in the same spot, but I just…I just don’t get the obsession. I’m more of a Ryan Gosling girl, myself. Which, to get back to the city comparisons, is also why I prefer cities like San Fransisco, New York, and Boston.

Always a fan of tangible lists, I began keeping a mental list of why I wasn’t a fan of Vegas. Here’s what I came up with:

Reason why I'm not a huge fan of Vegas #1 – you’re never outside during the day.

Oh sure, you can go outside, but when you’re on the Strip in August? You’re not going to last long out there. Seeing as I’m a girl who needs and craves fresh air (fresh being a relative term, I know) this bothered me.

Reason why I'm not a huge fan of Vegas#2 – you can still smoke everywhere.

One of the happiest moments of my adult life was the day that most major cities banned any and all smoking in both bars and restaurants. Gone are the days of waking up reeking of cigarette smoke from your previous nights adventures, there is no more dealing with Febrezee in between laundry days, trying to make your jeans wearable again. In fact, I’d almost forgotten about all those tricks to deal with a lingering smoke smell until this week.

Reason why I'm not a huge fan of Vegas # 3 – the crowd gets a little…um, how do I put this delicately?….Skanky.

When I landed and checked into the hotel, I was wearing a standard airplane travel outfit of mine, which consisted of pinstriped nautical looking pants, a white blouse, flats, and a cardigan. I knew I was going to look a tad out of place until I changed in the hotel but gang? As I walked through the casino to get to my elevator? I have never felt more like a buttoned up New Englander in my life. One of my favorite games throughout my week in Vegas became “Are they really a prostitute or are they just visiting?” You’d be surprised how difficult it is to tell the difference.

Reason why I'm not a huge fan of Vegas # 4 – back to that, um, interesting, crowd.

Vegas hotels are cool. I will definitely give them that. There is no end to their elaborate creations and the glitz and glam shows up at every turn. We got to stay at the brand-new Cosmopolitan, which certainly did not disappoint. Our hotel was only a few blocks away from the legendary Paris, where I was able to hold working lunches with co-workers a few times over the week. If you haven’t been, Paris is designed to, well, feel like Paris. There’s the Arc De Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower. They have quaint French restaurants looking out onto the strip and the Casino itself is meant to feel like you are wandering the streets of gay Paree.

At one point, while wandering through the casino floor with a friend, I hoped in to one of the ladies rooms which is meant to look like it’s part of the Metro station. You wander in and there are quaint little white tiles on the floor and walls, just like in Paris. There are antique looking, rounded gold mirrors hanging on the walls, just like in Paris. French music is playing in the background. This is nice, I thought to myself. While catching a glimpse of my reflection heading to the bathroom stalls, I remembered I was wearing all black. Huh, I thought to myself. I’m even dressed like a Parisian. How lovely. Into the bathroom stall I went, thinking to myself that perhaps I’ve been a little too hard on Vegas. Maybe if I’d just let go of reality I could pretend I was actually in Paris for the afternoon.

And then I walked out of the bathroom stall. There, at the sink, were two women, both wearing very, very short denim cut-off shorts and very, very tight tube tops. They were not the type of women that should be wearing either. They were both brushing their peroxide blonde hair and smacking their bubble gum. Next to them stood the classic “yard” of beer in neon pink to-go cups. We are back to reality. I am very much not in Paris.

After all my moaning and groaning, I will say this. If you're going to go to Sin City, it's a good place to go with a corporate credit card in hand. So thank you for that, work place. And…well, if I never returned to Las Vegas again in my lifetime? I think I’d actually be okay with that. Hunter S. Thompson might have gotten that title right after all.