Have you ever been in a relationship that was a little destructive?

One where you knew that there weren't genuine feelings? Where it was an arrangement of convenience? Where if your "friend" had nothing better come along, you'd get the call and end up in the sack, doing things that would shock even Ruth Westheimer?

To go all Dr. Phil and judge you, it is unhealthy to pine for a relationship that just can't happen. They aren't going to drop their current dream date for you. Now I'm not knocking a rendezvous or two (okay , more like 9), but when you feel like a consolation prize, it's time to make a change.

I'm going to make that change.

As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I too have been led on, my head full of delusions as to the level of my importance to an uncaring mistress. For years, I've been telling myself that the good times justify that inevitable feeling of being a second class citizen, repeatedly telling myself that I AM special.

So let me spell it out for you. I'm leaving Las Vegas. No, not like Nicolas Cage & Elizabeth Shue; nothing quite as dramatic as that. But I'm not going to answer Sin City's booty call anymore, either.

My first trip to this neon oasis was filled with awe, and I fell in love the glamour, the celebrity chefs, the cocktail waitresses with MBAs and BFBs. Years later, I still love the multitude of faux landmarks and tourist attractions; fountains, volcanoes, light shows, and gondolas dotting the ever changing landscape, as Vegas continues strip mining the tourist gold.

Sure we've had our share of fun, spending numerous late nights binge drinking, gambling, gorging on gourmet foods; Cavorting in strip clubs, riding in limos, on roller coasters, and voyeuring in swanky theatres. We've had sweet times in suites, and watched the shining, flashing, city from 50 storeys. Thanks to Vegas, I've enrobed myself in Prada, Canali, and Armani. I've rubbed elbows with rockstars, Playboy Bunnies, and adult film stars. Yes, I've lounged behind the velvet ropes; and I confess it hurts a little when I am no longer willing to reach into my pocket to pick up the tab, the fun comes crashing to an end.

Before you start trying to explain to me the business model that casinos, in general, and Las Vegas, as a whole, run on, I'm gonna stop you. I get it, I understand that it's user pay, I know that it is capitalism at its most filthy, glorious, pinnacle of debauched perfection; and for that, Las Vegas, I salute you. But… (and there's always a but) we can't see each other any more.

Why?

You won't allow me to enter your contests.

Contests?

Yep, that's it.

Petty? Yes, it probably is.

Let me explain, I AM special. I AM Canadian. I take pride in being Canadian - our hockey skills, beer & whiskey, banking & healthcare systems are all superior to that of our American friends. Jealous? Maybe that's why I am not eligible for the multitude of contests you run, invariably limiting eligibility for entrance to your sweepstakes, getaways, and grand prizes to "legal residents of the 50 states and District of Columbia".

Hypocracy!

Did you know that Canada is home to the largest contingent of international visitors to Las Vegas, of any country? I know it, and Las Vegas knows it too. I get e-mail offers, inviting me back, for free stays; I receive fancy invitations in the mail to come for complimentary stays, with resort, slot and table game credits. I've even been phoned by casino hosts inviting me to parties.

If I get all that great treatment, what's the big deal about being eligible to enter a giveaway?

Simple. I like to win. I like to have an OPPORTUNITY to win, and though my chances to win any sweepstakes or contest that my favourite Vegas establishment may hold, are probably longer than hitting back to back 13's on the roulette table, at least give me the chance. Doesn't it seem wrong that a city that'll accept wagers on coin flips, has 24 hour poker, and casinos that can be measured in acres, can't find a way to make the giveaways accessible to the kindly neighbouring Canadians? I bet you can.

I've asked the question, and been told in vague terms, that it was "a legal thing", to which I say: get one low ranking soldier, in your army of lawyers, to figure it out. When you get your shit together, and treat Canada with some respect, we'll party.

Until then, Vegas, I'm busy that night. The next night, too.

P.S. I miss you…