Living in Las Vegas means that there is no shortage of home parties or private shindigs riveling the razzle dazzle on Las Vegas Blvd. While some parties are themed on exchanging sexual partners, selling items that go buzz in the night or snorting powdery substances from glass surfaces, most are not unlike the typical house party one would find littering the suburbs of our great nation. So yes, Las Vegas does have Super Bowl parties well outside of the casinos and bars sans half-naked showgirls. In fact, I was invited to two such parties.I don't have to recount the details of the most watched annual sporting match in America. Nor do I have to give a recap of the commercials we have grown to appreciate...although I did feel that Careerbuilder.com had the best spot by far. What I found most interesting about yesterday's home galas were the extraordinary differences between the two affairs.
I spent the first half of the game at "Home A" and then hightailed it across town to "Home B" unfortunately missing what I reasoned was a rather flatulent performance given by the aging Bruce Springsteen. I swear that I could have been in two completely different worlds with those parties. Although both parties were full of young, college-educated, hard-working, home owning, fun-loving, beer-guzzling, significant-other possessing, positive-minded professionals, boy they were different! Both had unnecessary amounts of cheese and grease-based foods, and featured flat screens and DVR for our game-viewing pleasure...but there was a marked difference in the mood and energy. It took me the longest time to figure out why. Duh! Home A's party consisted primarily of women. Home B's party consisted primarily of men. Are we really that different? Really?!? Maybe I'm crazy.
At Home A, there was a quiz regarding facts about the game. Whoever earned the most correct answers would receive bragging rights...which is a pretty big deal. I found myself paying more attention to scoring points on that quiz than paying attention to the Cardinals trying desperately to insert their heads as far up their own asses as humanly possible. All guests maintained a respectable distance from each other. All commentary about the game was said in tones reminiscent of Mystery Science Theater 3000. (Why won't they bring that show back? Why?) No one dare scream, nor make sudden movements, nor jostle about. It just would not have been prudent. I did enjoy myself in that "I'm a responsible lady enjoying a micro brew" kind of way and even managed to come in third place for the quiz even though I had to turn in my answer sheet early.
At Home B, I could hear the yelling as I was parking the car. Everyone was practically sitting on top of each other.... by choice. In fact, there was collateral damage to the home's Lazy Boy which was rather quickly and efficiently repaired during the third quarter. There was gratuitous usage of the "f" bomb and uproarious laughter with little or no regard for neighbors nearby. And yes, I did do a victory dance when the Steelers were named champion much to the chagrin of those individuals rooting for Arizona. Whatever. The Steelers wanted it more.
I was reminded that no matter how old I get or what hormones attempt to dictate the direction of my life, I will always be a tomboy. Yes, that's right. A pantyhose-wearing, knitting and crocheting, cat-loving, interior-decorating appreciating, Meet the Press watching, lip gloss wearing tomboy who loves to scream directly at the TV during the big game and rub salt into the wounds of the butt-hurt opposing fans. I also believe that teasing isn't worthwhile unless there is index finger pointing AND laughing involved. My sons are going to be so awesome and woe to any man who thinks he's just going romance the pants off my daughter. That girl is going to be vicious!
So, which party did I prefer? I plead the fizzith!!!
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