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Only cool things are supposed to happen in Vegas, right? Only fun, can’t-wait-to-tell-everyone-at-home stuff happens in Vegas, right?
Alas, with me, that was so not the case when I first got to Vegas. Something that easily qualifies as the most embarrassing, white elephant producing moment in the history of my lifetime happened in Vegas.
I was in Vegas for a friend’s wedding. I ended up inviting a guy friend of mine to meet me there since he’d been there several times, knew what to go and where, and which hookers were the best and mostly disease-free (or at least had only those ailments that could be cured by a round of strong antibiotics). There were also some potential fringe benefits that would come along with the visit, if you catch my drift. We’ll call this friend, "M–."
For a couple of months prior to befriending M–, I’d been chatting it up with a guy known as The Crush. M– knew about The Crush. The Crush lived a goodly bit away from my southern home, so we’d just been emailing, phoning, and all other manner of instant, there-but-not-there communication that happens with long distance potentials.
You might be asking yourself, "now Self, why didn’t DR invite The Crush to Vegas? Seems that’d make just as good a place as any to meet him for the first time." I didn’t invite The Crush to Vegas because I initially wanted to go all by myself, single chick in Vegas with her girlfriends, to just have fun. Do my own thing, see what I wanted to see, do whatever with whomever whenever…you get my point. Being a single mom, I don’t often get off days at a time like that, so I was going to do.it.right. I was going to be a Big Girl. Yeah, yeah, at the last minute I chickened out and invited M– who made last minute plans to meet me.
I get there on Wednesday, do the wedding bit. Fast forward to Thursday night. Wedding’s over, dinner’s getting ready to be eaten, and it’s about time to meet M–. Now, I’d never met M- in person, so I wasn’t quite sure what he looked like other than pictures we’d sent, and vice versa. We’d agreed that he’d just call when he got to the hotel, and we’d figure out who the fuck each other was – I was pretty easy to spot as I’m sorta tall, and at the time, I had a particularly obnoxious shade of red hair. Call comes, I go to meet M–. We figure out instantly who each other are, exchange pleasantries, and then something weird happens.
It was like someone put jumper cables on each of us because the sexual electricity was just POW right there. Unexpected, really, and "whoallyfuckinshitwhat’sthis?" is all that I could think of (never mind my throbbing nether regions). It was like a movie script - the two protagonists rush into the elevator, on to which 50 fucking people have to get on right then so it goes really slowly to ever fucking floor until it gets to mine, which was really pretty high up. FUCKERS. We rush out of the elevator, are practically running down the hallway. Hands everywhere. Mouths everywhere- hey, what? -it’s Vegas, no one’s even noticing because I don’t have sparkling tassels on my tits shaking all over the place. At least I’m still fully clothed - nothing unusual at all in Vegas. I’m jamming my keycard into the card hole which of course won’t work fast enough and of course I’ve put it in backwards and of course I push before I twist the handle and of course we both slam into the door and then I twist and WHOOOOOOOOOOSH we’re in the room. He pushes me up against the wall, kissing, groping, and my mind is still reeling thinking, "what in the fuck is happening here. this wasn’t planned. wait a minu-oh fuck, I don’t care SHUT UP!" We quickly rush to the bed not separating an inch. We’re kissing and....the phone rings. Somewhere in some remote region of my brain, the telephone ring registers - what the fuck? My ex knows to call my cell if there’s something wrong with the kids, so I’m thinking this is weird, and I’m just not going to answer it. M– says, "answer it."
I did, and little did I know that the next ten minutes would be the most awkward, mortifying, socially uncomfortable minutes ever for me. I’d already avoided one heart-slowing moment earlier in the day when The Crush half-heartedly talked about surprising me in Vegas by meeting me there. Nononononononono that was NOT in the plans. That would have been bad. Uncomfortable. Weird. Strange. No. No. Back to the phone…
A couple of minutes pass, I’m wondering what in the hell is going on. Then the knock finally comes. I look through the peephole, and my next thought is just absolutely nothing. Literally, nothing. It’s like a black hole opened up in my brain and that’s all I could see. Nothing. I open the door, and there the bellman stands with a dozen red roses. I’m thinking, aw, M– is so sweet. He sent flowers but arrived later than they were supposed to. I look at him, kinda confused but ready to thank him.
The look on his face was ten times better, I guarantee.
Guess who sent this bouquet of a dozen blood-red roses? Yes, The Crush
Now guess who didn’t send them. That’s right, the guy who was by this point half-naked in my bed did not send these (of course, gorgeous) brilliant, blood-red roses. Yes, he was aware that I’d been talking to The Crush, but it was still just one of those pieces of your life when time did.not.move. Not a second. Nothing. It was frozen.
I’m standing there with my hands full of this huge vase of red roses with, of course, a card attached that I am supposed to read. I’m looking at M–, he’s looking at me, we’re both staring at the flowers. The card on the flowers is screaming READ ME at this point, but the last thing I want to do is draw anymore attention to this massive white elephant that has taken residence in the room right this minute.
I put them down without looking at the card. I’m standing there, dumbstruck, horrified, uncomfortable, unsure of what the next socially-correct course of action is. Do I read the card? Ignore it? Jump back into bed with Mr. Electricity? Read the card then jump M–‘s bones? Sit on the bed with and read the card? THERE ARE NO RULES FOR THIS THING! The synapses in my brain are firing, searching, trying to recall anything I can on what proper social graces would dictate in such a situation? What would Ann Landers do here?
M– insisted I read the card. I don’t want to. Not right then. I’d rather these (beautiful) roses be a million miles away and the card, too. I don’t want to stand there in front of the class and read it. M– says, "read it."
Fine. I read it, and yes, it was sweet. My brain processes that but please remember, I’ve still got sex running through my head like you wouldn’t believe. There’s not a lot that can completely deter me from the deed. This came very, very close, but nature’s winning.
Now what? How do we recover from that? There’s some nervous laughter. A little avoiding of eye contact on my part. A little nervous hair-twisting. Some stuttering and then shuffling off completely of any words, or at least any that make some kind of sense. A big, "soooooooooooooo, now what?"
As it turns out, M– is quite a good sport. Thankfully, a very horny good sport. We quickly commenced discussing and engaging in the fringes of our friendship, and the rest, as they say, is history. The roses sat there screaming for attention all weekend (and yes, they did get some!) I watered them, took care of them, and even carried them all the way back down south with me. Let me tell you though, with as much action in that room as those roses saw, I’m surprised they weren’t shocked white.
You didn’t know that white elephants are voyeurs, now did you?
DR is a single mom who lives and dates in Georgia. She has never once uttered the phrase "Vegas, baby, Vegas!"