Why did I bring my son to Vegas? He's only five. He's not gonna notice any of the scum--just the lights and the colors and the smiles on people's faces. Yeah, maybe the casino itself isn't exactly kid-friendly (although he does seem to like the bleeps and bloops and ka-chings--thinks every slot machine is a robot!), but there's a wave pool for crying out loud. What five-year-old boy doesn't love a wave pool? He can only sort of swim, sure. But I'm there with him, and there are lifeguards and everything. They're probably really fucking good lifeguards, too, because there are so many drunk-off-their-asses people to watch out for.
Having Kyle here helps me, too. I can just lock him in the hotel room at night when I want to have some fun--I tuck him in first and make sure he's sleeping and all. But anyway, then I can have some fun while setting some limits that I think are pretty reasonable. I can drink, but not too much, since he's going to wake up so fucking early. I can flirt, but not too much--can't bring a lady back to the room if Kyle's there, can I? Keeps me from getting in trouble with his mother, too, since we're still trying to work things out.
Plus, on top of everything else, Kyle thinks I'm the best dad ever now. So don't act like I'm all crazy. I think the real question is why wouldn't I bring my son to Vegas?
Saw this fellow and his kid when Shaun and I went to Mandalay Bay to buy tickets to see Flight of the Conchords. So. Excited.