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THE CHASE IS ON ‌ Viva Las Vegas

Gonna set my crotch on fire?

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As I write this, I am about 20,000 feet below cruising altitude and heading for a new time zone in the Mojave Desert. That's right, I'm beginning a double entendre slow descent into the land of debauchery, neon lights, and fake boobies — Las Vegas, baby. The couple next to me seems to have already begun their own Sodom-and-Gomorrah-inspired weekend, according to the questionable fidgeting that appears to be going on underneath their shared blanket. Hey, call me a perv, but I can't help but notice.

At A.C.'s brunch last weekend with the girls, we were on the subject of one-night stands and their consequences. I myself am no stranger to these little excursions, having a couple under my belt, but at the same time, am well aware of how a female can be labeled right away if caught, especially when it comes to the "one degree of separation" theory here in Charleston. The girls agreed — one-night stands seem like a great idea as long as you're safe, but in such a small town, people talk more than you want to acknowledge. God forbid some poor girl gets stuck with a gender-biased double standard in which she is automatically considered a "slut" just because she didn't want to spend the night alone. Then my gal pals reminded me that since I am going to Sin City, I should actively seek out a little temporary lovin' myself. Like they say, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." Ah, yes, the city's way of saying, "Hey fellas, feel free to cheat on your wife with that stripper who just let you snort blow off her dinner-plate-sized areola! It'll be our little secret. Wink, wink!"

While I could've shot down the idea right away, I can't say that it's not a half-bad one. After all, I'm not interested in any sort of commitment to anyone right now but, like any cell-based organism with a pulse, still crave a little nookie from time to time. Furthermore, I don't have to be "Jessica Chase of 98X, the City Paper, and Theatre 99 from Charleston" here. I can use an alter ego, like say, "Connie Lingus, Applebee's cocktail waitress from small-town Missouri, just in town for a little innocent fun like a country mouse in the big city" instead. So why not go for it? Yes, Vegas, it can be our little secret, too.

So am I going to let my inhibitions run wild? Who's to say? I'm staying with an old friend who is like my big brother. He knows me probably better than my own mother and while he would never judge me, would I want to leave that kind of impression? Of course not. And as much I promise to give you the full story, I can honestly say that I'm going to be too overwhelmed to be comfortable enough to let anything happen. Deep down, I'm just a shy little lamb, believe it or not.

However, tomorrow we're going to see "Penn and Teller" at the Rio, and I've always had an unusual crush on Penn Jillette. Wink, wink, bitches.

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