MaryB and the City

Sin and the City.

Judging a book by its cover is not typically something I like to do. But when it came to Nevada’s most notorious city, bad reviews ran rampant as far as I was concerned.

For years, my push-pull relationship with Mr. Big was tainted by not feeling like I was a priority. Countless nights were spent either at home solo, or going out stag with my girlfriends, while he participated in exclusive guys’ nights. As we collectively grew older, though, and those boys turned into men, who also acquired long-term relationships/fiancés/wives…they would regularly include their better halves in the festivities. Except me.

It drove me crazy.

Mr. Big visited Vegas more time than I even remember during the Wonder Years of our relationship ~ for bachelor parties and just for fun. When you are already not feeling like numero uno in a relatively harmless city which we mutually reside, fear and egos escalate when suddenly your manfriend is across the country - doing and seeing - God knows what. Not to mention I generally tend to sway more on the conservative side…so envisioning just how exotic it was in real life, left me in a tizzy.

I just spent my first ever seventy-two hours in Vegas for a business trip, and although I didn’t get to fully experience its entertainment offering to the max, I now know it’s exactly what I thought it was.

Sex, Drugs, Money, Rock ‘n Roll.

At times I can tend to be a little naïve. Or maybe it’s just that I’m underexposed. For example, during the short visit, I got a decent taste of nightlife including fancy dinners, shaking it on a dance floor, fearlessly knocking back shots of premium tequila, and gambling at a Roulette table with the best of ‘em.  But it didn’t dawn on me that many of my male colleagues were approached on several occasions [when I wasn’t present] by prostitutes. Why that news shocked me, I’m not sure. But just as I was beginning to think the elevated Sin and the City wasn’t all that bad, suddenly I was reminded it is in fact the original Sex and the City.

Now that I’m in the midst of reconciling with a refurbished Mr. Big, I realize that whether your sidekick is tucked away in the casino dungeons covered in female flesh, or working late hours at the office, trust doesn’t have geographic boundaries. You either know implicitly that integrity, respect and honesty will be pillars of your union – or they won’t. It’s that simple.

Half-naked girls romping around in lingerie as effortlessly as walking around in PJs in the privacy of their own homes, bottle service at bars, pheromones stinging the nostrils, one hundred dollar bills being used as effortlessly as a Kleenex – can certainly bring out the worst in people. Yet at the same time, there are those who have self-control despite being put in precarious situations, and know when to draw the line.

I’ve made a self-imposed deal that until I trust him again, whole-heartedly without a doubt, I will not sport a diamond. Well, on my ring finger anyway. That verbal and publicly announced commitment has to [metaphorically] be rock solid first and foremost.

Temporarily stepping into this faux fantasy world, that until now, was always so elusive and untouchable, has broken the barrier of what my mind sketched it out to be: As with any scenario in any area code, you have the choice to be a slut, sinner, or saint.

Mr. Big and I have plans to visit the famous strip ourselves someday; which I foresee being both ironic as well as a tribute to how far we’ve come [albeit we make it that far].

Truth be told, I was definitely enamored by the grandiose, over-the-top, shiny sequence and sounds. And I will no longer think it is necessarily a gateway directly to hell. Sure Vegas undoubtedly has made a deal with the devil, but it’s those who have made a deal to be true that will make it out alive.