I ditch my family that night to check out the gay scene. I researched online that Flex has strippers. I call to confirm because I’m really tired and only have one bar in me tonight. I am told on busy nights, like Tuesday, some of the guys (read: trade) come in and strip. OMG I have found heaven. If heaven is on the dark side of the moon and smells funny. I am the only person in Flex. Literally. Ok not literally. There’s a table of 6 kids not drinking, a bartender paying video poker and a guy circling the bar. But are these people? I have no proof. So again, I am the only non-working person in Flex. I say fuck it and order a drink. I’m doing an article of the quiet side of Vegas I guess this fits? Any quieter and it’d be a Marlee Matlin interview.

Suddenly lights swirl and a microphone blares. No I’m not fortunate enough to have a stroke, it’s a drag show. A drag show performed for only me. The table of kids are drag-groupies and fellow performers. They do love themselves and I guess… that’s a good thing? Now y’all know I love me some drag (please say that sentence with the appropriate accent) but this was just bad. One cute little Asian bitch werked it but the other skank, I mean girl, just stood there in a corset and didn’t know her words! And then THEN this living large queen gets up there and lip-synchs in.. wait.. wait…wait for it, because you may die inside too.. yes, COTTON! I kid you not BEIGE COTTON PANTS and matching BLOUSE! What kind of self respecting drag queen doesn’t sparkle? I try to give tranny realness points but Hell no COTTON! AND AND AND the worst part is I don’t have anyone to roll my eyes to! I am alone. Circling guy has left the building and the kids think THIS is fierce and the bartender is losing his few tips to video poker. This isn’t relaxing Vegas, this is some sort of retina torture. Can you imagine not being able to look at a friend, fuck buddy or even fellow patron and just say “fat bitch is tired.”

Sorry. I’m back now.

In desperate need of a dose of fabulous I decide to check out Simon’s at Palm Casino. Ahhhh. Joy of joys. This quiet restaurant with it’s glass walls and amazing wine list sits beside a lovely pool. The atmosphere is clean but not antiseptic. The design is simple and comforting but not obvious with interesting bits of twist. An herb garden they actually use. A small fire pit. Bundles of bamboo gorgeously wrapped. Browns and off whites swim. You want to hang out. You want to sit back. You want to muse. But you’re there to eat! And thank god. The food, mainly sushi and American standards, is like the atmosphere: simply, lovely and hint of the unexpected. The zucchini loaf and pretzel bread when you sit down is a good example. As is the delicious and spicy Wok Charred Edamame. Another twist? How about the Old School Cadillac Margarita. It goes for $42 cause it’s made with Don Julio 1942 and Grand Marnier 150. Out of you price range? Don’t worry. Most drinks are under $13 and if you just have a nosh, a roll or 2, even the budget conscious can heal the visual scars Vegas can rip. It’s good to have a few pockets places like this to get you back to you. Side note: They also have a fun pajama brunch on the weekends.

Another place I found where I could slip away (and not just from my family) was the library. I know: WHAT? Yeah I’m gunna go into Vegas to go to a freakin library. Ok picture this: Las Vegas. 2009. You’ve lost the $500 you’re allotted yourself to gamble. You’ve seen the Vegas strip, a Vegas show, a frat boy puke. Your family is running around in circles deciding what to eat where and when in a passive aggressive circle that makes war desirable. You get in your car and drive 25 minutes off the strip. Go to the Western Sahara branch Library. Enter the huge beautiful building. Go upstairs. Grab a graphic novel or your personal pleasure and roll up on an airy bench and just mini-vacate from your vacation. Trust. Shhhh. You’re in Vegas you’ll need the down time.

THEN on the way back down Sahara Boulevard you can buy STRIPPER GEAR!! Yes, lingerie and hooker attire to make the him, her or just you celebrate your inner slut! Come on, it’s Vegas, Buy a feathered boa or candy-panties. I dare you to.

I’m sitting at the Black Jack table with my Mom. I pretty much only play with Mom because I kind of suck at cards and it’s the only way I can actually visit her as she probably hasn’t left her seat for HOURS! Seriously. It’s 1am and she’s up $700 and isn’t leaving the table any time soon. I’m playing her second hand, which is to say: she’s playing two hands I am only occupying the seat and either motioning for a hit or pass as directed.

My Mother after telling me “one always split 6’s with 8’s” asks me if I’ve had fun on this trip. Without a pause I say “Yes!” It occurs to me I’ve been running around so much trying to find relaxing things to that this is the first time I am at a table. That I actually have had a really good time. My Mom continues, “I know Vegas isn’t really your thing, but we appreciate...hang on, hit me…again, stay… you coming out here to see us.” I laugh, “No I’ve really enjoyed myself. I never knew there were so any cool things to do here?” “Like what?” slurs the drunk lady next to me. Her lipstick is everywhere, her breathe a rancid cigarette, her chips almost gone, and she wears more gold than Mr. T. “Well lots of shows and I went to this great restaurant…” she cuts me off, “you come to Vegas for the tables, tell him! Vegas is about the tables.”

Duh. Right. That’s what Vegas is all about. The shows are as over the top as possible. The Casinos are as loud and tacky as possible. The drunk bitches are as obnoxious as possible. Thus, the beauty is as beautiful as possible. The style super styled, the comfort truly comfortable, the delicacies delicious, the elegant lush, and the charm the most charming. And I guess even bad drag as bland as queenly possible. That’s the Vegas experience. It has no sides just extremes. And much like al of life, it’s about balancing those extremes. I feel so Zen I figure it must be a sign from a higher power. The Gods are with me! Don’t ever waste cosmic intervention at Vegas! So I run to the craps table like a whore to free KY!

Hey! I relaxed. I mellowed. I fancified. Now I’m screaming “Come on 7, Daddy needs a spa service!” (See I’m still in theme.)