Sex and Suburbia, Vegas, Baby!

Sex and Suburbia, Vegas, Baby!
By Julie Stankowski

Forget the brisket. I’m off to Vegas, Baby! Mommy needs a new pair of shoes! And time with her husband. And time to unwind. And time to heal her ears from the tiny voices screaming “Mommmmmm,” 1700 times a day. And time to wear real clothes instead of the glorified pajamas she wears on a daily basis. And time to actually read more than one page of a book in a 24 hour period. And time to take a shower and shave her legs without the dog and two kids standing right outside the shower door and pressing upon it, almost willing it to open like the lady on the Mervyn’s commercials (“open, open, open”). And for a million other reasons, I’m going to Vegas, Baby!

Can you tell I’m excited? My husband and I haven’t gotten away for the weekend in quite some time and I can’t wait. Okay, so how to prepare for such a trip? In my single in the city days, there would be no preparation. I would just hop on the plane and go. I was young, skinny and hot. Any clothes I threw into my bag would be fine. I would look good. Now, I am “middle-aged,” not 98 pounds skinny (but admittedly not fat), and definitely not “hot like a carefree girl in her twenties.” Now, it will take much more planning to go to Vegas and feel hot and sexy as I did in my younger days.

First, I have to make sure I have childcare. Luckily, I have amazing parents who love my children so much and have generously agreed to watch them for THREE whole nights while I have a ridiculously frivolous and fun time in Sin City. I just hope that when I get home, my parents aren’t sitting on their doorstep with the kids’ bags packed and so exhausted and exasperated from taking care of a 4 year old and an 8 year old that they need a vacation (specifically, a vacation from babysitting)! Oh, well. I’ll take my chances. Next, I have to find someone to take care of my puppy, Sonoma. This is going to be the first time she is without her family. Poor baby. Okay, I’m over it. I also have to stop my mail and my newspaper so that the big, bad suburban thieves don’t know we are out of town and don’t try to rob our house (despite the fact that I am advertising on the world wide web that I am going to be out of town)!

Here’s the harder part. My personal preparation. Gotta look good, feel good, be in the right state of mind, etc. No easy task for an aging suburban mom (okay, I’m only 40, but sometimes I feel like I am 100). First and most importantly, I have to make sure I get my waxing appointment scheduled with Atilla the Wax Hun. Nothing kills the mood like hair in the wrong places. Hair on the head: good. Hair anywhere else on the body: not good. No pain, no gain. It’s fine, I can handle the excruciating pain of one rip after the other. I just sweat like a 350 pound comedian in the middle of a stand-up routine and I scream a lot. Not unlike a typical night at my house. Then I think I’ll look on the internet to find some sort of three-day cleansing diet so I can fit into my skinny jeans! I can handle that too! A blended drink made of carrots, greens and cranberry juice that looks like vomit? No problem. Anything to flatten my stomach. Then, there’s the matter of the nails and toes. I’ll have to decide between sexy red or classy French? Not a bad decision to have to make. And, since I want to look hot not only for my husband, but also for myself (must prove to myself I still have what it takes), I think I need to go to my favorite little boutique and buy a couple of cute outfits. I know, I don’t need to do that. My closet is already overflowing. But I want to, so I will.

And, of course, there needs to be icing on the cake (or under the cake, so to speak). So, I think I’ll have to go get some new lingerie. Hey, I’m a mom and my undergarments lately leave a lot to be desired. You will usually find me in no bra, a sports bra or a tank top. Not sufficient for my romantic weekend. I want to buy some sexy, lacey, racy stuff and feel my Carrie Bradshaw-ness coming back to me. Victoria Secret, here I come! Hopefully, my boobs will be so high they get altitude sickness.

So, I have booked my airline tickets, booked my room at the Bellagio and made a reservation to see Love, the Cirque de Soleil show at the Mirage. My parents will watch the kids and my Vet will watch the puppy. I have a hair appointment, a nail appointment, a pedicure and a wax all scheduled. Tomorrow when my kids are in school, I will shop ‘till I drop (or until I have to do carpool pick-up). My preparation for my little weekend away will end up costing a small fortune, but at least I’m going to get my Mojo back for a few days. I miss my Mojo!

And next week, I will sleep however late I want to sleep. I will have sex as often as my husband can handle. It will be “hotel sex” so we can be as loud as we want to be! I will start my day with a Bloody Mary and end my day with some sort of Kahlua drink. I will order room service and champagne in the middle of the day and the middle of the night. I will play poker with all of the old men and steal their social security money. I will flirt with my husband like it’s our first getaway together. I will bring candles and lotions and potions and maybe even make a bubble bath for two. I will be in Las Vegas, Baby, and I will feel like I am in paradise. I will be wild and crazy and I will have no responsibilities. I will embrace the kid in me without having to pretend I am really a responsible adult. I will, of course, miss my little ones so much and I will call to check on my babies several times a day. The times will depend on when I have the least alcohol in my system. But then I will remember I am on vacation in Sin City and we all need to be sinful from time to time. And I will be. And it’s okay. Nobody will know what I do in Vegas. Except anybody who reads my blog when I get home!