Before you ask why the heck I came to Vegas, allow me to explain 2 u a thing.
My sister is One Direction Fan #1 Forever and Always Amen. I’m guessing that my mom got tired of hearing my sister’s pleading 24/7, so that’s why I am currently in the lobby of the Mandalay waiting for the shuttle to escort me outta hurrrr, to da plane, and back to DAT MIDWEST.
Prior to this trip, I, like many other humans in the world, recalled Vegas to be tawdry capital. The only reason I decided to come was because I wasn’t doing anything else this summer and I love the southwest. Ahh… dry heat and scenic drives everywhere. How kind is the God in this corner of the States.
Once we checked in and hogged the fancy soaps in the bathroom, we went out to the strip. The anticipated wholesome family entertainment came in the form of girls in gaudy peacock uniforms and clothed men. Needless to say, I was very upset at the social inequality that oppressed the men here. I’m sorry, men of Vegas who didn’t feel as though you could have flaunted your probably amazing bods as easily as could women. Vegas has failed you. Society has failed you. I am so sorry.
Saturday was One Direction. I walked into the venue wearing make-up and a nice dress, but I walked out with pajamas and the hotel flip-flops. About 10 minutes after sitting down, I decided that I was not about to spend 4 hours sitting down in a tight-ass dress and lipstick. I returned to the room, put on my P4K volunteer tshirt and running pants, and languidly walked back to my seat. I didn’t foresee myself singing along to anything (mainly because I knew half of one song and three-fourths of some other). I took out my Russian for Travellers, and sat reading for a while. I have to say, I think that I will be a fluent reader of Russian by my birthday… not that I’ll know what the hell I’m reading, but I’ll for sure be able to sound out words holllllaaaaaaaa~~~~~~~~
More importantly, I was wrong about everything. One Direction was really amazing (and sexy). Like, I am a new woman after the concert. It took me back to my Backstreet Boys days when I would wear the tshirts and beg my dad to buy me CDs and all that jazz. I also really enjoyed seeing my sister cry for the entirety of the show because she was so happy. (not as sadistic as that sounds.) ANYWAY to elaborate a little bit more on how attractive the band was, let me just say that there is exactly one direction I would go on One Direction. Wait? What? Did I say that? *looks away suspiciously*
Sunday I was walking around with my sister on the strip wearing what some might call an all too revealing dress, but what I would fain designate appropriate for the occasion. My sister said that she hardly felt comfortable with my parading around my boobs -which earlier that day didn’t fit into a large bikini top from the surf shop (which sucked because I forgot to bring my bathing suit)-, but that she supposed it was fine as long as I didn’t wear the dress back home. I asked her why, mostly just to mess with her, but then I realized just how important that question was. She said she didn’t want people calling me a “whore.” I told her that for her sake, I wouldn’t wear it around her, but that I couldn’t make any promises when I’m not in her immediate presence. The thing is, why would I care if some phony Puritan called me some unfortunately assigned misnomer. I don’t judge people when they are hypocrites for appearing to be saints when they are assholes. I just call it the duality of humanity.
I felt pretty damn good in the dress. I had red lipstick on, and I felt like it was appropriate, at least for Vegas. But why couldn’t I wear it in suburban Illinois? Ok, there’s the whole weather problem, but that’s beside the point. I don’t think I would want to associate with people who judge me by my dress, literally. So like, fuck you, societal standards of what’s appropriate for 1. brainwashing my little sister into thinking she can only feel comfortable when you tell her to 2. making it that much more difficult to find decent people in this world. Like, actual decent people, not just people who abide by your arbitrary dumb-ass body shaming ideals.
Everywhere should be a lil bit like Vegas. Everyone everywhere at all times should feel safe and happy wearing whatever s/he wants because flying out to the middle of Bumblefuck, Nevada just to wear revealing clothes all the time can get a lil expensive.
I’m waiting for my shuttle-carriage after an incredibly sober revelry on the strip musing about how much better my life would be if only I could play the electric violin like the guy I saw on some corner. The small vacation was enlightening in that I 1. found a reason to succeed in life (in order to afford a Tom Ford wardrobe) and 2. realized that I shouldn’t be judging anyone, ESPECIALLY little boys and girls who are just as I was when I was 12.
The only fear I had was of not finding adequate aquatic attire, and the only loathing I had was for the seaweed on our enormous Hawaiian pizza. I’m starting to think that Hunter S. Thompson should have seen One Direction instead of taking mescaline. In fact, Herr Doktor, I have a prescription for your pleasure in the afterlife:
2 bags of sass, 75 owl pellets (for dissecting in your free time), 5 sheets of coloring paper, a salt shaker full of sugar to play tricks on people (try the Houdini shop in NYNY), and a whole galaxy full of pictures of One Direction, overpriced tshirts, red lipsticks, tight dresses…. and also a quart of water, a quart of fun, a case of Lederhosen, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s to drown your sorrows in your suite, and two dozen cupcakes. Not that you need all of that for your trip, but once you get locked into chaperoning your sister, the tendency is to mess around as much as possible. You’re welcome.
Thank you, One Direction for being the most attractive boy band ever…., thank you mom for paying for a bomb-ass room at the Bay, thank you Viviana for being a spoiled brat, thank you Grandma for letting me keep all the fancy L’Occitane soaps in the bathroom (I accrued over five), thank you red lipstick for all the conversations with attractive people who felt it appropriate to ask ME for directions to the bathroom, but most of all, thank you Based God.