So, I was supposed to go to Lavo tonight, but I totally spaced on the fact that I had a tres importante conference call scheduled with Phenomenal Women Las Vegas. My deepest and sincerest apologies. However, that doesn't mean that I don't have a tale of Las Vegas to share. I happened to remember the particulars of my first visit to Sam's Town Live a couple of years back. I shared with a few friends who urged me to post the lowdown. Hence, I present a flashback. (Georgia Boyfriend, whom I love, please do not worry your handsome head as to whether or not the following events happen regularly when I frequent night spots. Rest assured that such things most definitely occur. )
On Friday nights, without fail, there is a party sponsored by Power 88- KCEP 88.1 FM at Sam's Town Casino. Sam's Town is about as far east from The Strip as you can get. It is a local's spot in every way imaginable and is one of the few places one can go to find a large gathering of African-American folk in Southern Nevada. I'd heard that Sam's Town Live was usually frequented by men who were typically 55+ and their significantly younger, well-sponsored love interests. I really didn't care. As long as there wasn't a bunch of 19-year-olds with fake IDs running around I would be cool.
I'd been in a terribly anxious mood to get out of the house no matter what. I'd wanted to go to a place where I didn't have to get too dressy and where the alcohol would be cheap. On this evening, I would be flying solo and there was no guarantee that I was going to meet a tourist to fund any cocktails for the night. Neglecting to do my squats or properly stretch my feet, I just headed out the door. I was excited to go and get there and get on the floor.
I think I arrived at the casino at about 10:45pm, parked and then made my way through the sea of slot machines to my destination. Sam's Town Live is actually a venue inside of Sam's Town Casino. It's pretty much a multi-purpose room for award ceremonies, concerts and dances for a big crowd of black people. I paid the $10 cover without a great deal of complaint only because KCEP is a nonprofit station and does many positive things for the community. I strutted into the place, gazed upon the rather large dance floor and the surrounding tables and I swear I could have been transported to The Riverboat Hallelujah in New Orleans. Back in my college days, The Riverboat Hallelujah had been the site of many frat parties, dances and Chocolate Chip 'N' Dale shows. Oh, those were the days! Anywho, here before me was its western twin. Some older couples were already out on the floor just a two-steppin'. Prompted by nostalgia, I purchased a pineapple amaretto and made myself comfortable at one of the tables.
As is customary at any night club, all of the weakest records are played toward the beginning of the night. But people who want to and can dance will dance to any damn thing. It was fun to see normal people just grooving as if they hadn't danced in years. It reminded me of a family reunion when all the aunts and uncles dance or when my parents suddenly broke into an impromptu shuffle in the kitchen. I sat there smiling, drinking, giggling. The crowd grew. Forty-something gents in three-piece orange, green, and purple suits. Hats with plumes. Ladies with proud bellies wearing strappy, sparkling gowns and matching shoes. Twenty-something girls in jeans, halters and spike-heeled boots. Twenty-something guys in relaxed jeans, huge polos and Doc Martins. Thirty-something men and women in everything in between. Everyone was in a good mood. Happy to be there. Happy to see everyone else had come to the party. Happy to be able to escape Las Vegas and go into a little bit of soul for a few hours.
They put on the Cupid Shuffle and I thought I would die. I and a whole host of people rushed to the dance floor. What a treat! There are very few clubs out west that will make time for line dancing. You should have seen all of the folks in unison. Strangers smiling at each other as if they were long lost friends, shouting "Get it, Girl!" or "Ah, don't hurt 'em now!" After that song went off, the DJ began to play more recent hits and I just went ahead and stayed put. I have no shame. I danced by my lonesome. When I needed a partner, I'd grabbed some unsuspecting male from the sidelines and made him dance. As if he was going to do otherwise!
When one of my partners asked if I was thirsty, I requested a water and he brought back a beer...which didn't help me at all. Since one is not allowed to consume alcoholic beverages on the dance floor, I was forced to sit. That's when I noticed the pain. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOUCH!!! The whole lower half of me was hurting like I'd been the victim of a caning from the thighs down. My feet were beyond screaming. I finished my beer, bid adieu to my partner and pretending wellness, marched out of the auditorium. Refusing the hand stamp for re-entry, I had to stop and lean against the wall. How in the hell was I going to make it all the way through the casino to the datgum parking garage. I should have valeted. Why had I not valeted?!? I summoned all of my willpower, stood proudly on aching feet and started tipping away from a group of party people gathered outside of the entrance. That's when a rather good-looking man approached me and asked why I was leaving. We'll call him Darrell.
I'm done for the night.
Ah! Don't go yet!
Nope. On my way home.
Don't go home. Come back inside. Let me buy you a drink. I just got here. Big whoop, Buddy. It's not my fault that you were late. It was friggin' 2:30am. I'd been dancing non-stop for three hours.
Look, I'm not going back into that place for another second.
Well, let me just talk to you. I stood there. There were plenty of witnesses around. He happened to be attractive and I needed to rest up for my voyage to the car anyway. He asked me what I did for a living. Told me what he did for a living. Talked about this and that and the other. I can B.S. with anyone, so he believed that I was actually interested in what he was saying. I wasn't. However, since he had no idea that I could care less, found me attractive and assumed that was I some kind of idiot, he proceeded to invite me to his home. I, of course, laughing hysterically, refused the invitation.
I'm not going home with you. I have no idea who you are and what you might do to me once I get there.
I'll treat you right, Sweetheart. As if that was going to change my mind.
Sorry. You have my card. (DRAT!!) Perhaps we can socialize at some later date, but I will not be sharing a bed or any more of my time with you tonight.
So you're saying you want to miss all of this? While Darrell had been persuading me to give him some nookie, he'd been fumbling with his phone. As he was making his last statement, he proudly thrust the screen at me to reveal a very clear shot of his....his primary amenity. I looked at him.
That could belong to anyone. He then scrolled to the next photo which was a full portrait of him grasping his...primary amenity. I asked him who had taken the picture of him. He told me that it had been a friend. I asked what kind of friend would just agree to take multiple shots of him naked like that. Why wasn't he requesting sex from this friend instead of me? Wasn't he afraid that the wrong person would come across his phone and discover his pictures? He told me that I was crazy for asking all of the questions. I replied that it was he who was in fact the one that was crazy since he had a member on his phone. He begged me to quiet down. Evidently, he was embarrassed. I referred him to some desperate looking chick leaning against a slot machine and then began the extremely painful trek to my car. Good grief.
True story. Only in Las Vegas.
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