Birthdays

Today is my birthday. What do people in Vegas do on their birthdays? Other people fly to Vegas. On my birthday, I like to stay away from people.

When I was a little kid, I used to like to have parties. Mostly, I think I just liked presents. Then, at a certain point in my life, I liked to have parties to see how many people I could pack into a room as a barometer for my popularity.

A few birthdays ago, I officially decided to forgo parties altogether. That year, the guy I was dating at the time was supposed to arrange a party, and he waited until the day before Thanksgiving weekend to plan anything and everyone was out of town. Of course, at my party, when he was buying me a drink at the bar, I just grabbed some other guy and kissed him without my boyfriend knowing. Well, now he knows. That was the worst/best birthday I've ever had. Good to stop while you're behind/ahead.

Now, I avoid birthdays because it means I'm getting older. And I don't want to get older. I'm not afraid of death, so it's not a mortality thing, but I really like life, despite how much it sucks sometimes. And I have a lot I want to experience still. This might change when I hit thirty. I have a feeling, when I hit thirty, I might want presents again.

Gentlemen's Club and Other Euphemisms

The other night, I came back to my car to find a little 5 by 7 card stuck under my windshield wiper. Ah yes, a popular form of Vegas advertising I like to call "the dribble," which I named after what our more productive city-dwellers, pigeons, leave on my windshield. While you're inside a business, peons dribble bulletins advertising psychics, health food stores, hookers, and, as was the case the other night, strip clubs. I unlocked my car doors, settled into my seat, started the engine, and looked up to see the high-gloss (classy), double-sided, card-stock ad, which I plucked through my rolled down window.

Beautiful. This particular dribble advertised Crazy Horse, a Vegas strip club of moderate reputation. I'm sorry, a "gentlemen's club." Where did this euphemism start, anyway? Do they think they're fooling anyone? If Crazy Horse called themselves a strip club, would men shy away from going there. "I'm sorry, Lou, I can't go to your bachelor party and look at naked women. I only fluff my nosegay at GENTLEMEN'S clubs."

I don't think this ever happened. In fact, when I studied the ad closer (for research purposes), I notice two other euphemisms on the same card. In honor of football season, Crazy Horse is now featuring a special unit of dancers known as the "tight ends." (Hee hee hee.) Also, they claim to showcase a variety of "ladies."

Ha. Ladies.