Submitted to Waxing Judgmental by Jeffrey Cook

The transition from the Northeast to the barren Vegas desert can be a quite a challenge for those planning on moving to the pacific time zone's version of the City of Lights.  True both cities never sleep and the majority of the populous are money hungry mongrels; yet there are many differences both subtle and blatant that cannot be overlooked.  The following guide can be applied to either those New Yorkers planning to “escape” and move to Vegas, or those simply who want to visit and play.

Heed the Lesson of Ace Rothstein

Sam ‘Ace’ Rothstein, brilliantly played by Robert DeNiro in the movie Casino, learned a valuable lesson in that Vegas is run by cowboys, not city folk.  Being from the vibrant, cultural-laden Northeast (note: I am not gay), I often find myself silently gloating that I am the most intelligent, aggressive person in the room.  This subdued pride often leads to frustration because regardless of my own upbringing, ignorant hicks still rule Vegas and there is not much that I can do about it.   Fact of the matter is, you can be one of the top traders on the Goldman Sach’s foreign exchange desk, but still not be able to talk your way into Drai’s if you pull a smart-ass attitude with the bouncer.  I have been pulled over on several occasions due to the fact that I have still not changed my license plate and these cops out here love nothing more than harassing us city boys.  The best thing to do is to shut your mouth, let Bush country have its fun, and go about your merry way.  Nevertheless, if you are actually reading this site for its content, you will most likely avoid the parts of Vegas where these hicks run rampant and stick to those where we can discuss Seinfeld, Derek Jeter, and slutty Jewish girls in peace. 

It’s a Big Country

Please understand that many people live west of the Hudson River, and New Yorkers only make up a small percent of the people who you will find out in Vegas on any given night.  Chances are that when you are hitting on a random girl in a club here, she will be a "normie" (normal, non-elite person) and will care less that you live on the upper-east side, but more that you caught the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy.  Your Thomas Pink shirt may get a double-glance when mingling in Light or Tryst; however, at the other 95% of the clubs here it is just another striped button-down.  My randomly bought Walmart shirt gets me laid more than any other.  If you are perplexed at the notion that being a metrosexual (does that term still exist?) and buying expensive shit and knowing about Sex and the City won’t guarantee you into girls pants, here are a couple of topics to bring up when talking with Molly Mainstream:

• Borat:  Yes even though the craze already passed in New York, it is now just hitting the mid-west.  Do your impression of him. 
  
• College Football:  “I heard that all of you Florida girls turned into sluts when you won the championship.  Yes, I was so drunk during that game too.”
• Buffets:  “Yes, I swear the Bellagio buffet serves Wild Boar!  Oh, you haven't been there?  Where are you staying?  Oh, I'm sure the Tropicana has a nice buffet as well." 
  
• American Idol:  “Fuck you Sanjaya should have never made it on the show to begin with.”
• Farts:  “I definitely should not have eaten that wild boar.”
• Cell Phones:  “I was going to get the Razor, but instead I got the Pearl.  Ah you have the same kind as my little brother”

These topics amazingly account for 90% of the content of most normies' conversations.

Tattoos

Maybe it’s the girls that I hang out with, but it seems as if every girl out here has at least one tattoo.  And I don’t mean the cute shiny sun that your ex-girlfriend got inked on her lower back during spring break.  The tattoos out here are loud, blatant, colorful, and awesome.  I originally thought that colorful tattoos on the arm or neck were trashy, now I find them so hot.  I don’t know why really, maybe its my notion that if a girl is willing to put a bright blue dolphin on her arm permanently, she’ll at least be willing to lick my sack for the night.  Jenna Jameson is from Las Vegas.

Fast and the Furious

I never raced my car in high school.  I was more concerned with saving my money to buy a bag of weed, concert tickets, or Diesel jeans than to purchase Nitrus boosters.  Not to sound like a pussy, but I lose every time off the stoplight out here.  I lose to gearhead teenagers, soccer moms, and strippers. I don’t think that any 96 Civic in Vegas can actually go over a speed bump with all of the groundwork, nor see out their rear window because of the tinting and decals.  The other day I saw a Honda Odyssey mini-van with spinners.  It was awesome.  I think that that my car started off more expensive, but the only upgrade that I get is the occasional wash and wax.  Whatever, I save my money to buy the Thomas Pink shirt to wear into Light.  


Fashion

Black puffy North Face jackets don’t cut it out here and sorry to say Tino (Staten Island), but you may not get into Tao with your Timbalands.   Hooded sweatshirts, Uggs, and Polos with the collar turned up will probably garner more sidewise glances than compliments.  Although you look like a douchebag with those Jersey symbols... you actually need to look like MORE of a douchebag.  Instead stick with the Vegas uniform: shiny striped button down untucked over a pair of dark jeans, patent leather shoes and a sports coat to create the appearance of wealth.  Anything from Sak's Off 5th is also acceptable for looking like a dipshit.  Spike that hair up, wear sunglasses indoors, and assure that the everpresent cigarette (Parliament of course) lodged behind your ear.   When going out during the day, keep your Gap vintage tees, cargo shorts, and Birkenstocks at home.  Trade them in for a Choppers t-shirt, Volcom Hat, and jean shorts.  Basically, the day-time Vegas dress code is similar to how I dressed in sixth grade (minus the Jordache and Starter Jacket).