DalyDose of…Vegas Relaxing

CRW_1352_edited-1242 miles of highway is a nice road trip that can take one to a different world. From here in West Hollywood, that stretch of concrete will transport you to Las Vegas.

I’ve never been a huge fan of Las Vegas. I’ve grown rather sensitive to smoke, for one thing, and they allow smoking everywhere. For another, I’ve never been to a strip club. I know, I know…I’ll write a blog about that one day. My basic reasoning is that a single man shouldn’t EVER go to strip club; He should be out around women with whom he has a chance. I’m a firm believer that only married men should be in strip clubs. Those joints are meant for those who are supposed to look, and not touch. I’m getting off-topic, but let’s just say that Las Vegas is not a destination that I frequent.

Every now and then, I find occasion to be in Las Vegas for work purposes and this is a story surrounding one said occasion. I was in town for the National Medical Association supporting the AMHNTV.com hosting gig that I have from time-to-time. All of my co-workers were either out on the town or in bed. I strolled through the casino and parked myself at a lounge bar. Read on to see how it got interesting…

When I first sat down, the people to my left were still in their tux and wedding dress from what I assume was a ceremony held earlier in the evening. I felt a sadness about this scene that I was witnessing. It didn’t take long to have my feelings about their situation plummet. To my left was an empty seat. Left of that was the bride, playing video poker. To her left was her husband having a hilarious conversation with some woman. I know women and men can be friends, so that isn’t my point. My point was that ALL of his attention was on this other person. It would have been sad, regardless of the gender of the distracting individual, but on a wedding night, it had to sting a little bit more for it to be another woman. Eventually, that woman left and the man turned around to talk to his bride. She played hurt and upset for maybe 2 minutes, but he charmed her and off they were, likely to seal the deal. I have no confidence that they will even get to exchange paper themed gifts.

After the doomed marriage couple left, a woman sat by herself to my right. She was moderately attractive and she had the new Palm Pre phone. Because of the named technology some of  you who are aware that there are non-Apple made devices will know how old this story is. If you know ME, then you know that I HAD to ask her about her new gadget. She played along with my questioning and let me play around with the device. She showed me pictures of her daughter and such. We were getting along, so I asked what she did for a living. She said “oh boy, here comes those questions”. Internally, I was defensive about her obvious conclusion that I was trying to lure her upstairs to my hotel room for a “stays in Vegas” event. Externally, I apologized for prying and told her why I was in town.

Eventually, her defenses came down and she told me that she was a “relaxation therapist”. I tried to keep the confusion off of my face, but I could feel myself failing in that attempt. I said “Well, I live in Los Angeles and I’ve heard of a lot of strange jobs, but I have no idea what a relaxation therapist is”. She put down her phone and looked directly into my eyes and spoke very slowly as if explaining to a child that they will not…get…a…cookie…until…after…dinner. The careful pace of her speech was matched with a lowering of the volume of her voice. “What do you do that when you’re done doing it…you are at your most relaxed?” I wish I could tell you that I instantly got it, but I didn’t. She stayed patient and the moment her face morphed into “wait for it…wait for it” expression, I finally got it.  I also imagined that the “wait for it…wait for it” face was used quite often in her line of work.

I have to admit that I was fascinated. I had never met a “lady of the evening”. Please remember, that I’ve never even seen a working stripper…live, nude or otherwise.

So while we’re sitting there with me being fascinated and curious, I eventually ask what something like that costs, only after explaining that if she sees any potential clients, to please feel free to get to work as I was not a source of revenue generation for her. She told me what a mid-range rate was, but that things varied depending on…well, I think you can imagine scenarios that would cause price fluctuation.

She took a call while sitting there from what I can only describe as a co-worker. I don’t if that’s correct terminology or if it should be colleague, competitor, partner, what? UGH! Anyway, she took the call and gave out some advice and even instructions, about where next to go in search of the almighty John. When she hung up, she said that she had to go take care of some things, with her girls in another hotel. Of course, that fueled even MORE questions, but she was off and I would never see her again. Just so you know that my ability to enter the friend-zone with ANYONE is at a super lame level, I got her contact information, in case I ever wanted to do a documentary about a sex worker mom, who shows pictures of her child to strange men at a bar, while also taking phone calls in what I assume is a de-facto “Madame” roll that she plays. Of course, I don’t remember her name and she’s one of many people in my phone that I have no idea how that name made it into my Contacts list.

This was just another peek into the world of the Jeff Daly Experience,242 miles and a world away from home.

About jeffdalydose

...a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and a whole lot of awesome!

Posted on July 18, 2012, in Just Life and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. Okay, so I’m sanding drywall right now, but had to pop over to check this out. First and foremost, I LOVE YOU for not having been to a strip club. Nothing against the strippers, bless their souls, but I have NEVER understood why a man would feel more like a man after paying a woman to dance for him. As if she’d do it if there weren’t cash on the table? I always thought that would be emasculating rather than…ummm…masculating? I’m quite sure that is not a word. 😉

    In the past (as the hubby doesn’t go to them either) I’ve become one cold, frigid bitch when my man has gone to a strip club. I figure he has a choice: Look at open legs he cannot have and suffer with a hostile, frigid girlfriend. Or go home and enjoy open legs he CAN have and enjoy the fruits of actually touching a woman and not paying for it. Seems like a no-brainer to me. 🙂

    I’m not a Vegas girl either. To me, casinos smell like desperation. People who want more and can’t figure out how to get it. That couple you wrote about seem like the perfect example of that.

    Now, not to forget the hooker. That story was actually delightful. 🙂 She didn’t seem like a miserable hooker. Nice kid, funny (relaxation therapist), fairly friendly. And good for you for not partaking. I’m sure it’s quite tempting for many men, so ya did good son for not giving in to primal urges!!!

    My trips to Vegas have never been anywhere near as interesting. Of course, I hibernate in my room sleeping most of the time.

    Great read, my dear friend! Thanks for bringing me to this post. I’m still inching my way back into ComputerLand, so I’m very slow catching up.


    • Ummm…who writes the best comments EVER?? I think we can all agree that it is Jodi Ambrose.

      So my plan to go to a strip club AFTER I’m married probably wouldn’t be acceptable to you. I will say that I think married men “pay” for their “access” at home. The “honey do” lists, for example. The loss of hope for ever having a LazyBoy with a Keggerator next to it, is another. 🙂

      Masculating hasn’t quite made it to Webster’s, but it’s in the Urban Dictionary:

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