When this Seattle girl first moved to Las Vegas four years ago, I remember thinking I couldn’t have survived my twenties in this town and, more than that, I wouldn’t have wanted to. Sure, your twenties are a time of exploration, but the growth required from poor and often embarrassing choices during this stage of a young woman’s life is not one I would necessarily want played against the backdrop of Las Vegas Boulevard.
There was one more thing I was particularly grateful not to have had the misfortune of experiencing in the birthplace of the saying “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” Can you guess what that one this is? You got it. After rolling the dice and moving here for love (because, you know, Las Vegas is the first place that comes to mind where one should move to pursue a healthy relationship), I could not imagine how brutal this city must be for the single.
This is where you insert the ironic smirk.
So, here I am, single in Sin City. And you know what? There is something worse than being a single 20-something in this town: being a single 30-something. (A single 30-something new mother, no less.) It’s true, I am starting over in the very last place I could ever have imagined myself in under these circumstances. And, man, sometimes I miss where I came from. Call me crazy, but I like the comfort of last call, of wanting to get the hell out of the bar before those lights turn on and you see the guy you’ve been flirting with over the last three cocktails in the harsh glare of 2:00am reality. Even in my twenties, I always wanted to be in bed by 3:00 in the morning. In Vegas, the party is sometimes just getting started at 3:00am and if you wait for the lights to come on to signal it’s time to head home, you’ll be throwing back more drinks than Lindsay, or Dina, Lohan.
But, here’s the deal. Like you, I’m sure, I like to think everything happens for a reason. And maybe, just maybe, I’m at this particular crossroads in my life in just the place I’m supposed to be: single, on the other side of 30, with the cutest little curly haired plus one surrounded by glitter, neon and lights. And while my nights staying out until three might be numbered, I think I’m finally up for this new adventure. After all, I’m still the same girl who bravely packed her bags and drove to the desert four years ago in search of what I thought was love, but was really myself. And I think I found her, here of all places.
That’s right, it happened in Vegas and, it turns out, it’s staying Vegas. At least for now. And while I can’t imagine what it will be like to start dating again here, I’m ready to dust off my dancing shoes, order a shot of Patron and find out.