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What Happens In Vegas Stays In Therapy

Last month I flew to Vegas for just one night. Kind of like a high roller, or Elvis. Or one of the “freelance entertainers” we used to see on board when we lived in LA and happened to be flying to Vegas on a big prize fight weekend.

One time we couldn’t take off from Burbank because one of the passengers and one of the “freelance entertainers” decided to conduct a little business in the airplane bathroom first. I guess they were becoming members of the ground high club rather than the mile high club. But it wasn’t long before they were both disgracefully escorted off the plane while the rest of us passengers applauded. One of the other passengers was Kelsey Grammer who was traveling on Southwest Airlines with us that night because it was pre-Frasier and he didn’t have a PJ yet.

Yes, I’ve reached the age where I’m able to throw random factoids into almost any conversation, darling. *exhales plume of cigarette smoke*

The reason I went to Vegas for one night was to meet my friend Sandra and see the Eagles at The Sphere. In case you don’t know about The Sphere, it’s a giant concert venue on Sands Avenue that debuted in 2023. I unfortunately hadn’t heard of it when I was flying through Vegas right after it opened, and looked out the plane window to see this:

I immediately and calmly asked my seat mate, “DO YOU SEE A GIANT YELLOW HEAD DOWN THERE? PLEASE SAY YES. OR DID THEY SPIKE MY AIRPLANE WINE?” It was like that Twilight Zone episode “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” where a man sees a gremlin on the wing, only much more whimsical and cute.

I’ve been to Vegas many, many times over the years, and I like it less each time. This probably coincides with me getting older, and therefore, grosser in the opinion of every man there. I even wrote about this phenomenon in my book I’M WEARING TUNICS NOW and how the freedom that came with being ignored filled me with bravado. But this time what I realized is that not only am I gross, and not only am I invisible, but as a post-menopausal woman, I truly don’t exist in Vegas.

Now, of course, I don’t care about getting male attention in Vegas. It’s not like I’m one of the women there for a bachelorette party, wearing a blinking penis necklace and trying to get some guy in a Raiders tank top to buy me a $15 rum and coke. Which the tank top did, after she played with her hair extension and gave him a weed gummy. Such an incredibly romantic moment to watch at 10am in a casino lounge.

(Side note: What the hell is with the prices in Vegas now? A cheeseburger costs as much as two nights at the MGM used to cost.)

(*exhales plume of cigarette smoke*)

Anyway, I discovered that I am now not visible to the human eye while I was on the elevator at our hotel. First, a man pushed past me to get out the doors first, and almost knocked me down. Maybe he was running off to puke up his 2’ long glass of margarita. Next, one guy with a Monster Energy calf tattoo carried on a loud conversation with a guy with a Bart Simpson peeing calf tattoo with no regard for me standing in between them with no calf tattoo. Maybe I’m used to better manners, but it was almost like they weren’t even being rude to me because they didn’t actually see me there. Who knows. I’m not sure what goes on in the minds of calf tattooees.

But after a day and night of this, I was done. I was on the lobby elevator headed up to get my suitcase when the doors opened on the second floor, and a middle-manager type of white dork got on without looking up from his phone. He then went to the back of the elevator car, stood behind me, and still not looking up, said, “FLOOR 10.” No “please”, no “thanks”, no “oh you’re an actual human being I’m sharing this 6 x 6 space with so I should at least acknowledge your existence to prove I’m not a complete piece of shit.”

But honestly, I guess I understood. After all, he was younger and therefore more important than me. He had places to go and things to do. Why should he waste his time talking to a woman born in the late 60’s? I had nothing to offer him. I wasn’t even wearing a visible thong. So I decided to take the high road. I nicely smiled and cheerfully said, “You got it!”

And then I pushed the 8, 9, and 11 buttons right before I got off on floor 3.

Jackpot.

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Other things:

I do highly recommend seeing the Eagles at The Sphere. It’s kind of amazing.

We interviewed

Kathy Valentine

about her wonderful rock & roll memoir ALL I EVER WANTED on It’s Pronounced Memwah. Listen here.

Thanks for reading!

—Wendi