You should know by now I am a seeker of signs: purpose, life direction, meaning, location of my car keys, etc. In Las Vegas, I searched for clarity. What else do you search for in a state where excess is celebrated, public intoxication is encouraged, smoking permitted and being a “working-girl” is not the definition my mom was encouraging when she suggested I be one after university?
When I say I was seeking clarity, I meant a break from my own reality just long enough to reconnect with myself amidst the chaos of life around me. For four days I actually had nobody to think of but myself. What a concept.
This was a girls-only trip with two of my gal pals who both needed a break from their reality too. We three were reunited this summer as two of us watched the third in our trio endure the tragic loss of her husband. That grieving friend was going to Vegas on business, but she invited us along, in part to keep her grounded, but also to help her let go. Three women, all mommies in our home life, all career-focused in our work life, unleashed on the City of Sin. Sex in the City meets Desperate House Wives – only in sensible shoes, guaranteed to pee our pants when fits of giggles ensued.
So just how much shopping, gambling, night-clubbing, beverage sampling and eye candy can three women handle? Do you really think I am going to answer that question? Uh-uh. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, baby. Even for mommies.
What I will tell you is that Vegas is a giant strip mall with one benefit: you can gamble in between malls long enough to win enough to buy more stuff that will not fit into your suitcase, no matter how many people sit on it. It’s retail therapy with portable margaritas.
As a loyal friend (read: outnumbered), I even allowed my rock’n roll self to be dragged to a country western bar. Now, I don’t know who this Toby Keith dude is, but surely he should have known pole dancers on top of his bar was just bad hygiene. I thought about hopping up there myself (you know, when in Rome, yeehaw!), but they didn’t have chaps to fit me and my Fruit of the Looms were riding too high.
Alas, for four glorious days we girls stayed out past our bedtime. We enjoyed the excess and were cruel in our social commentary of passers-by. It was exactly what I needed to get clear: girl time, sisterly advice and Kegel-squeezing laughter. And margaritas.
I got my clarity in Vegas, in the company of true friends, especially the one whose year tested us all. When life hands you lemons, throw them in a blender with some ice, lime, Cointreau and tequila (optional, of course) until frothy. Pour this into a salt-rimmed glass. Decorate it with a plastic palm tree stir-stick and a bendy straw. Then, and this is key, suck it up. Nobody said life was going to be easy. Cry hard whenever the moment hits you, even in the grocery store. Feel pain. It’s human to feel. Get happy: choose it. Move forward, one step at a time. Letting go is not forgetting. You get one chance. Buy in. Laugh until you have to squeeze. And here is the best part: remember that you get to pick your friends. Choose well. Cheers to that.