Some things don’t stay in Vegas | PostIndependent.com
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Some things don’t stay in Vegas

“Mum’s the word” doesn’t quite have the same effect.Yesterday I rolled back into town from a quick weekend getaway to Las Vegas. If I hear “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” one more time, I think I’m going to vomit.Talk about too much of a good thing …I’ll admit, there is something to that little saying that can magically justify about anything a person wants to do.So-in-so just said she was getting married next weekend to a cardiologist from Aspen named Thad. She was warned not to marry for money but, she explained, she was the one with the trust fund.”What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”What’s-her-name just bet her entire life savings on roulette and lost. She picked 11 based on the number of guys who’ve hit on her who aren’t wearing wedding rings, but are definitely married.”What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”Who’s-her-face just bought a goat and is starting a one-girl, one-goat circus act complete with bow ties and sequined hats on Fremont Street for tips.”What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”The possibilities are endless, really.Hence, the problem. Aside from Tijuana, South Beach, or the Hurricane Grille on a loud, rowdy night in Carbondale, Vegas is the only place such a line should be used.Or should I say overused?Taking a little kid’s ice cream cone and announcing, “What happens in Baskin Robbins, stays in Baskin Robbins” is not appropriate behavior. Stealing another girl’s boyfriend in Vegas somehow becomes justifiable with seven simple words.Knocking down a large display of Clamato jars on a newly waxed linoleum floor doesn’t clean itself up by exclaiming, “What happens in Piggly Wiggly, stays in Piggly Wiggly.” Spilling a dirty martini down the front of some girl’s low-cut dress while she’s talking to a hot guy is explainable and best of all forgivable with one easily uttered phrase.”What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” isn’t the only theme prevalent in Sin City these days. Poolside at the MGM Grand, I’m not sure how many guys told us they played in a band – one even said his group was on Letterman. That’s one hook-up tactic that is so last week.The only way I’m believing a guy’s in a band from now on is if he’s literally on stage. Or wearing a CBGB T-shirt.I’d also like to warn all those gullible women out there, who are so unlike me by the way, that Vegas is swarming with some swarthy men. While dancing in the VIP section of this very trendy club, we talked to this one guy who we now believe was in the Mafia.Or he was really, really rich. He had a bodyguard, and he was wearing cufflinks. The men I’ve associated myself with lately don’t have any reason to be guarded, and only dress up if they’re forced.What’s wrong with this picture?Not only was this guy rocking an entourage, but these totally hot girls with long legs and short skirts were entertaining the creepy guys in the group. They had to be pros.(That’s prostitutes for those requiring translation).I asked Bodyguard Guy if he was Really Really Rich Guy’s bodyguard. He didn’t say “Yes” or “No,” he just replied, “He’s my boss.” When asked if they were famous, although I’ve never seen Really Really Rich Guy and I’m so a celebrity watcher, Bodyguard Guy said, “We’re just normal guys trying to fit in.”Sure, just like everyone else in Las Vegas, buddy.April E. Clark failed at her mission to meet, and ultimately marry, George Clooney over the weekend. And she knew the perfect little chapel, too. She can be reached at 945-8515, ext. 518, or aclark@postindependent.com.


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