People Are Weird: Vegas, Part 1

So last week Hot Guy and I went to Vegas. Hot Guy because he had to go to a convention and me because I'm still a spoiled only child  lucky enough to have parents willing to watch the kids for five days. I'm not even sure where to start.

Originally I was going to start with my anxiety about leaving the kids. The farthest/longest I had ever been from them previously was for a two day conference in Philadelphia. Which is less than 2 hours away by car. And Hot Guy was with them. This time involved writing out detailed plans for my mom, sort of like writing sub plans back when I was a teacher. Though I think I was better at it then. Anyway, then I had to fly across the country. But when I considered that the only way to completely alleviate the anxiety would be to skip a trip to Vegas with my husband, I decided to ignore it instead.

Which prevented me from writing anything at all.*

Though that's not the sole reason I didn't write in Vegas. I also hate typing on the iPad almost as much as I hate typing on my cell phone. And my hotel charged for the internet. They didn't even have wifi - or 3G - in the fucking lobby. So I didn't have high hopes even if I was willing to pay the ridiculous prices. Which I wasn't. Plus, I was mostly busy.**

Vegas has the best people watching ever. And I say this as a person who grew up outside of New York City and has spent quality time in Amsterdam. I was so tempted to take pictures of my fellow visitors, but I felt like it would be mean. Unlike staring and taking notes and making fun of them on my blog. Normally, I can't just sit somewhere by myself, unless I have something to read. In Vegas, though? I hardly read anything at all. Just watching some guy get arrested, or speculating on whether the scantily clad were actual hookers, was fascinating enough.

You know what was disappointingly un-fascinating, though? The street performers. One would think, being in such an entertainment mecca, that the street performers would at least be okay. But they were awful. Most of the people stationed on the Strip were just guys with costumes, who stood there and waited to be tipped by tourists taking their pictures. Like if you have a good Halloween costume of a famous character, you could go to the Strip and make money. And if you didn't have a costume, you could go to the Strip and make money by playing an instrument and/or singing poorly. Undoubtedly it's not enough money to live on, which just makes it even more depressing.

Of course, competition from hordes of drunk people might make it harder to be an inspired performer. And one thing you can definitely find on the Vegas Strip - even at 7am - is hordes of drunk people. Of all ages. With all kinds of outfits on. Doing all kinds of things. Yeah, no wonder the street performers are so dispirited.













*Until now that the trip is over and the anxiety is completely gone. 
**Or hungover. 

Sitcom or Soap Opera?

Yesterday I had a sitcom moment. Something that happened was just so patently ridiculous that it belonged on a sitcom. A really bad sitcom, possibly starring Tim Allen and/or Jim Belushi.

I was in the swimming class observation area at the Y, which I think at least has the potential to be an SNL sketch, what with all the competimommies and screaming toddlers and older siblings resentfully doing their homework. Or possibly I just have low entertainment standards. Anyway, I was eavesdropping on the people on the bench in front me. 

I noticed her at first because of the tight low-waisted jeans. The average mom around here might have a rockin' body , but she doesn't display it at swim lessons (despite what The Real Housewives of New Jersey may have led you to believe). I assumed at first she was a nanny, which is why I started eavesdropping. Because in addition to the sexy jeans, she was touching the guy's arm a lot and tossing her hair. And if I can't have my own nanny, I might as well enjoy some possible nanny scandal, right? 

Schadenfreude. It's a tribute to my husband's German heritage. Like you've never felt it. 

Anyway, as I listened to their conversation, I realized she was a mom. A mom not married to the guy she was totally flirting with, whose own wife was apparently in the locker room with their kid. Just when I had convinced myself that some women are flirty with all men and it doesn't mean anything, she went straight into caricature mode. 

She stood. Then she leaned forward and wiggled her behind while she seemed to be picking something up. The view for the guy (and me, unfortunately sitting behind him) was sort of like this: 

But with wiggling. 

Then she looked back and grinned at him. That's when I thought of Tim Allen. I could see this happening to him on one of his shows, this woman being such a one-dimensional vixen, and no one believing that she'd hit on him until they realized she'd hit on every guy in the show. Or something like that. 

I may have giggled out loud as she tossed her hair (again) and  turned to look at him. I don't know if it was the giggle or the guy's wife coming back that caused her to stand and start  acting like a real person again. 

A real person who glared at me. I wanted to say, "Hey lady, I'm not the one acting like a bad sitcom vixen!" But instead I stared at my phone screen like someone had just texted me something funny. As I watched her out of the corner of my eye (wouldn't you?), I saw her wink at the guy before he left. While she was talking to his wife. 

Maybe it was more like a soap opera than a sitcom, come to think of it. 

Although if they were already having some sort of affair, they would be more circumspect, wouldn't they? And she wouldn't be trying that hard, right? I mean, I never even tried that hard when I was single and in a club, unless I was really, really, really drunk and the guy was really, really hot. And then I don't think it ever worked. So what do I know? 

That sitcoms are meant to be exaggerated and ridiculous and the people at my Y shouldn't be, that's what. 

These Women Are Freaky, Right?

Every time I bring Ironflower to school, I thank the gods that she's in her particular class. It's not just that she has a veteran teacher or that the kids in her class are all very sweet. It's that none of the moms freak me out. They are all nice and normal and sane. And that's saying a lot around here.

There are a lot of disturbing women around Stuck-Up and a large number of them seem to have children at Ironflower's preschool. So every time I go to drop off or pick up I see these women and cringe. And shudder. And begin to sweat. Much like I am having an anxiety attack. I don't know whether it's that I fear turning into them or that I fear having to make small talk with them, but the reaction is much the same.

Maybe I'm over-reacting. I sort of hope I am. That's where you come in. I'm going to describe the women and you're going to tell me if they would make you nervous too. Well, you don't have to tell me. I just mean that I'd appreciate it.

The Women Who Make Me Nervous (in no particular order):

1. The woman who had a meltdown when her two healthy sons drank out of the same cup.

2. The woman who wears the white fur coat, sweatpants and mules to drop off and pick up.

3. The woman who spent the parent meeting going off about the waste accumulated by using juice boxes. . . .and then went out and got into her Hummer.

4. Missy.

5. The woman who wears her hottie tennis outfit (short skirt and short sleeved-shirt) and nothing else to drop off and pick up. In January. In New Jersey.

6. The woman who routinely backs her Lexus SUV out of a parking space while talking on the phone, drinking Starbucks, rifling through her purse and without looking in her mirrors.

7. The woman who regularly steps in front of the children filing into a classroom so that she can talk to the teacher, regardless of established classroom and politeness procedures. She then blocks the door for the first five minutes of the school day.

8. The woman who wears the full-length mink coat and sweat pants when volunteering.

9. The woman who said, "Well, he sure has a lot of free time" about one of the regular pick up/drop off dads.

10. The women who wear spike heeled/pointy toed boots, spackle-level make-up, creased jeans and designer tops to go to the preschool and the grocery store.

Those women are weird, right? It's not me, is it?