Mom gone wild(ish): My Las Vegas vacation

By Valerie Moloney

I have a confession to make: Since becoming a wife, mother, home owner, wound dresser, diorama expert, writing coach, nurse and all the other “jobs” I do, on top of my full-time one, I’ve secretly wanted to run away. Before you judge, it’s not like that—and believe me when I say I know plenty of moms who’ve voiced out loud that they’d rather be at an all-inclusive than the detergent aisle at Target.

Moms everywhere—working or SAHMs—do yourselves a favor: Steal away. Don’t feel guilty. Until Memorial Day weekend, I’d never taken a girlfriends-only getaway. Shame on me.

Hallelujah for Vegas. In those precious 72 hours, I ate the most amazing Cuban food of my life, took pictures with showgirls, and drank $12 Pina Coladas by the Tropicana pool. I even met a mobster before I got wacked. No, really. I’m already plotting a return trip. And here’s why:

1. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to go hard in Sin City. In my situation, I couldn’t. A few weeks before the vacation, my travel buddy from San Francisco told me she was three months pregnant. We’d already booked the flights and hotel room—I couldn’t cancel and, frankly, didn’t want to. We spent our days the way any moms with free time would: with omelets and lattes at the Tropicana’s Beach Café followed by hours at the lagoon-style pool. Next time I’ll bring chips for the swim-up blackjack table (cool, right?) and make sure my guest isn’t with child. No offense to my friend.

2. Shows. Sure, you can splurge on Jersey Boys, Ka, Viva Elvis and others, or you can just walk the Strip. I wound up finding cheaperentertainment at the Trop’s MOB Attraction, an interactive museum with oddball, household items like gangsters’ living room sets and golf clubs, plus a cast of characters who invite you into the family, to make the “right” decisions. I tagged along with strangers—the lovely Joe and Joanne from Cleveland, Ohio—who chuckled right along with me as we put on funny accents and navigated the maze of alleys, warehouses and menacing characters sporting baseball bats. So glad I didn’t have to walk through it alone! Thank you, Joe and Joanne.

3. Locals know.
My friend Ruth, an amazing play director who lives in Vegas, revealed her haunts: Florida Café Cuban Bar and Grill, tucked inside the Howard Johnson Hotel, with its flaky empanadas, plump croquetas and spritzy sangria; and The Beat Coffeehouse and Records, a scribe’s pure crack near Fremont Street that just happened to be hosting a poetry slam on the night we visited. We paired the freestyle lyrics with just the kind of weirdo cravings you don’t have to justify late at night: a peanut butter Poblano pepper sandwich and a glass of Pinot Noir.

4. Randomness.
In a city where everything and everyone competes for attention, some memories stick out like a giant feathered headdress.

Ordering a glass of champagne on an iPad at Beso Steakhouse in City Center.
Seeing The Tank, the giant pool in the Golden Nugget Casino. Had I not been in heels and a dress, I would have shot down the inner tube—which sits in a shark tank—and headed to the poolside blackjack tables afterward.
Carl Ferris, the Fremont Street saxophonist who plays his tool with soft-core fervor. Against a backdrop of neon, Michael Jackson and KISS impersonators, he was the most animated of all.

Related resources

Valerie Moloney, who edits the Orbitz and CheapTickets blogs, ran into an actor friend at Tropicana Las Vegas‘ MOB Attraction. Props to him — he stayed in character.

Tagged: Hotels, Las Vegas