The moment you get off the plane, you just know it. You’re in another world…Las Vegas.
You battle vertigo as the lights of slot machines and giant screens promising riches, excitement, and sex greet you around every corner of the airport terminal. You walk faster and faster, charged by the insanity, unable to resist that pull.
It’s time to f*cking party.
We were returning to the scene of the crime for the Consumer Electronics Show (CES)—we hadn’t been to Vegas since we got hitched there WAY back in 2005. One of our taxi drivers congratulated us with a high-five for everlasting love, against the odds.
So, yeah. Back then we were pups. This time we weren’t. But when you have to attend a conference in Disneyland for adults, you need to leave your healthy treehugger Yogi ass back in Portland and prepare yourself for lung and liver debauchery.
Before I get into the debauchery, I’ll tell you that our late afternoon flight got canceled and we had to hang out at PDX for four hours. Thankfully, Portland has been voted the best airport in America the past few years.
They made a big deal about the new carpet, but we didn’t give two shits about that. What we did give two shits about? Organic food options, clean water fountains with water bottle filling stations, and good beer.
We so Portland.
AIRPLANE DELAY TIP: No matter how annoyed you are, drink two beers and play on the people mover.
Because all of the hotels were sold out by the time Mr. H booked a room for the conference, we ended up at the Golden Nugget. Downtown Vegas, away from the shiny Strip, is more our speed anyway.
Anyone from Southern California will likely alarm you by telling you they grew up in Vegas. I did. It was a regular vacation for me and my dad. It’s an easy drive, and back then it used to be cheap.
Give me some old Vegas any day. I miss the seediness of it all—that’s the history and the culture, like it or not.
What I wouldn’t give for the sound of filthy coins spitting out of the machines. I came to expect that sound, and loved it in some strange way. That’s long gone now, having been replaced by TITO (ticket-in, ticket-out). Only a few of these noisy, dirty slots still exist in the old casinos…good luck finding them.
Bedraggled and exhausted, we were floored when we were offered an upgrade. With such a late check-in, we half-expected no room, not this.
LATE CHECK-IN TIP: No matter how tired you are, be nice to the front desk person and you may be rewarded. (I know, I used to be one.)
It was like being in one of those wild Vegas movies, but in the 1970s. That’s what the high-roller two-level suite in the Spa Tower looked like anyway.
The suite was banged up, well-abused by misfits doing God knows what over the years, spruced up with gaudy accents and art. I won’t even post the picture of the “chandelier” on the bottom floor, because the mini lampshades and beige tapestries will upset all of you. Shitty chic would be considered a compliment.
There were mirrors everywhere, above the bed (blush) and in the bathroom, so you could watch yourself use the bidet. Yep, we had one.
Our old asses had two choices after we unpacked and sprayed down the room with our antibacterial Thieves spray.
- Eat a late dinner and pass out.
- Eat a late dinner and go out.
We were in Vegas. You know exactly which one we chose.
We don’t go out anymore. Been there, done that…many, many times.
However, a friend who was being wooed by some old clients invited us to free bottle service at a popular nightclub, Light. We tried and failed to get into a club many moons ago when we were there for our wedding.
To get into a Vegas club, you need to:
- know someone that works there
- have a table with bottle service
- be a regular stripper/dealer/prostitute/escort/high-roller
We had a table, so why the hell not? We knew we would get in and drinks were free. We also knew we were far from the age of 21, and the only way we were going to make it was with sushi and green tea.
PRE-GAMING TIP: No matter how “Vegas, woohoo!” you are, eat a power dinner and save the booze for later.
I was the only woman at Light without a micro mini dress and thick black eyeliner. About a half hour in, I knew I had to drink faster if I was going to be able to take anymore. The neon lasers were making me schizo and I had surpassed my annual quota of butt cheek sightings—mind you, it’s only the first week of the year.
A few cocktails later, I danced a bit and began enjoying the people-watching. And just like the old days, we closed the place down at 4am.
NIGHTTIME ANTI-HANGOVER TIP: No matter how wasted you are, chug water all night and eat a gigantic greasy breakfast at hotel (ours was Claim Jumper) before bed.
The next morning/afternoon we woke up mostly intact. Mr. H pushed the button next to the bed and the drapes creaked and moaned as they drew open to reveal the best thing about our upgraded room…the kick-ass view. Snow-capped mountains to the right, pool just below.
MORNING ANTI-HANGOVER TIP: No matter how pathetic you feel, chug more water, eat that organic apple you were smart enough to bring from home, double fist coconut water and a dirty chai, then take a well-deserved hot shower.
The main reason I accompanied Mr. H on the biz trip was to see this girl…
…my childhood best friend, Laura. Now a Vegas native, I hadn’t seen her in 18 years. Girlish excitement was an understatement.
Because I had a business dinner to attend that evening, the usual non-stop Vegas day-drinking was out of the question. Hanging out by the awesome Golden Nugget pool and watching people go down the shark tank chute—also not an option. In January, the desert gets mighty cold.
We all ate delicious pepperoni pizza at Pizza Rock, then Mr. H traipsed off to the conference. Before he left, he said: “Now don’t you two Irish girls get into too much trouble.”
We nodded obediently. But, we still had a few beers downtown that afternoon. Walking down Fremont Street, thrillseekers flew overhead on the zipline, while a poor man’s Spongebob waved next to a half-naked gypsy woman wearing an open robe with nipple pasties.
With a pleasant buzz, we headed over to my kind of attraction, one that can be enjoyed year-round…the Neon Museum.
Vegas isn’t exactly known for preserving history, but this non-profit is doing just that. Lovingly called the Neon Boneyard, visitors can only view the signs under the supervision of their tour guide.
I’ve been to many different museums in my life—from Dachau to the Louvre, from the Guggenheim to Pearl Harbor—but this museum was strict. You are not allowed out of the tour guide’s sight for a second. If you have to go to the restroom, you have to ask. And if you think you’re going to be drinking a monster cocktail in a bright plastic carafe with a crazy straw, think again.
The Neon Museum is probably the only dry place in the city. It makes sense that they have to use precautions to protect the signs from sloshed individuals who might be tempted to mount them for the sake of an epic social media pic before slicing their leg open on a rusty edge.
There are day tours and night tours, and I’ve heard they are both amazing. Not all the signs light up, but the ambience at night is hard to beat. Plus, the darkness conquered by blinding neon gives off that true Vegas vibe.
NEON MUSEUM TIP: No matter how gung-ho nerdy you are, drink a couple (but not too many) before you arrive, and bundle up if you’re doing the night tour.
Vegas reminded me of how I used to be—nonstop, overindulgent, careless and carefree. That really hit home for me when Mr. H told me he heard “I Just Can’t Get Enough” blasting in The Venetian’s casino. That could have been my theme song when I was younger.
Things are very different. Now I can get enough.
I practice the appreciation of life and simplicity. I want to drink tea in my jammies while dreaming about the next time I’ll be on my Yoga mat or hiking on one of Oregon’s beautiful trails. I like clean water, air, and food. If I have all of those things, I’m set.
Besides the travel tips sprinkled throughout this crazy Vegas tale, I thought I would help you guys out if you’re coming home from Las Vegas and wondering how you will ever piece your life together.
Our Vegas recovery routine included:
– water (lots of it)
– healthy snack
– nap (I love you more than anything, Bed)
– more water
– garlic infused honey
– ginger kombucha
– dry brushing (gotta scrub it off)
– epsom salt bath
– launder ALL smoky clothing
– Postmates dinner delivery (Lardo, aka comfort food)
– good, strong beer
– movie with cats on couch
– chamomile tea
– sweet, sweet bed
– 11 hours of sleep
We’re as good as new again.
As an old fart, how do you survive Vegas?