The Cosmopolitan in Las Vegas, WOMMA, and People You Feel Like You Have Known Your Whole Life

view from the room

I go to Las Vegas for WOMMA. The cab driver from the airport is the nicest I've ever had, a fellow named Zy. He tells me all about how he overcame homelessness and that he stopped drinking when he was 21 years old in 1991. He fondly mentions his kids and when I ask how old they are, he says, "They're the furry kind. You should move here and get dogs. No fleas in Nevada. Too dry." Even though the valet guys at the hotel are openly and unnecessarily rude to him, he hands me my bags with a, "Bless your heart, child." My favorite kind of person.

My irreverent, observational sense of humor only makes one person in the elevator visibly uncomfortable but it's still enough to make me stop.

We eat at Ellis Island Brewery, a locals spot. A table for one is seated twice in front of me. Both times are single men, no wedding rings, wearing ball caps. Neither order booze. Both have the soup special, eating and paying efficiently, quietly. Secondhand smoke hangs in my hair and I don't mind because it's part of the charm. The restaurant is 115 feet away from where Tupac Shakur died. I discover this on the walk home because I am fully dismayed that you can Foursquare the spot.

Rev Run breezes past us in the lobby at the Cosmo with his family and entourage. I resist the overwhelming urge to tweet at him.

I work from my hotel room and completely lose track of what time of day it is, only stopping to go out for coffee or absorb conference activities about top notch word of mouth marketing. Katy Perry will perform below where I am staying 24 hours after I leave and it makes me feel fourteen again even though I'm ambivalent about her.

At the networking party by the pool, girls dressed like birds float in plastic bubbles, kneeling in heels. Considering this and the four foot deep Japanese soaking tub in my room upstairs, I am equal parts delighted and appalled by the excess. It only takes one glass of wine to launch me into a glassy-eyed daydream that juxtaposes Las Vegas to the Capitol in the Hunger Games and I snap back to reality when someone introduces themselves, remind myself that I need to stop reading young adult literature.

Ten hours before the flight home, we make a friend named Nate from California and it feels as though I have known him my entire life. We talk in hashtags around Las Vegas Boulevard for four hours while I scout locations for a work-related conference that will happen here in the very near future. He's Christian and my religion is that kindness is just love with its work boots on (a line from House Bunny, to be honest) and so we have common ground.

Social media people = my people.

I also met Lauren, with whom I share the all of the same internet friends. This means we are now friends too.

At the Thursday night network gathering with Lauren. (I got an ombre, p.s.)