I'm tired, and I want to go to bed.

Most people who know me know that I have a strong dislike for Disney World. I have no use for a place where you're asked to hand over absurd amounts of money to indulge immature fantasies while a lot of colorful characters constantly remind you that you’re having fun, lest you forget that the bizarre world in which you find yourself is supposed to be fun and start worrying about all the money you’ve blown. Being that I feel this way about Disney World, it should come as no surprise that I also have a strong dislike for Las Vegas, since Vegas is basically Disney World on meth.

Every spring the International Council of Shopping Centers holds its national convention in Las Vegas. I’m now on the tail end of my second trip to this sadomasochistic three-day event in which one out of every 6,000 Americans converge on Sin City to network with other real estate professionals and close big deals.

I’m not going to go off on a tangent about how much Vegas sucks; though, it does, and I’m not going to rant about how grueling this convention is; though, it’s quite grueling. I’m simply going to make one basic point to all the big shot brokers and developers out there: When, after a hard day, I concede to spend my evening at a reception for your real estate firm, I’m simply attending that function to network with other real estate professionals. You don’t need to waste your money hiring bikini models to walk around in swimwear, posing for photos and making small talk.

I’m not a prude. In fact, if I were a prude, I might find this sort of thing quite titillating. Instead, I’m a guy with a girlfriend, a few fun friends, and plenty of good strip clubs, should I need a quick T&A fix, waiting for me in Central Texas. I didn’t drive 1,450 miles for your softcore party favors—I have the hard stuff back home. Right now I’m tired and hungry, and I don’t need the Doublemint Twins retarding the networking process and impeding my return to the comfort of my insanely overpriced hotel room.

I understand that showing your friends a picture of yourself standing next to a girl who once played a dead prostitute on CSI may be the highlight of your year--and I'm not saying that the stimulating conversation you had with her about ten-thirty-one exchanges in secondary markets wasn't the highlight of her year--but conversational prostitution doesn't really float my boat, so could we please get back to the business at hand?

Sometimes, looking competent carries more weight than performing competently.