Mama told me not to date tourists. It’s a truism for Vegas locals, yet so damn hard to follow. I blame it on tourists’ enthusiasm for our fair city, a fervor for “Vegas, baby, Vegas!” that carries into whatever or whomever they encounter. Though the phrase “What happens in Vegas …,” when used either as pickup line or persuasion is a turnoff, there are times when we all fall prey to the charms of an attractive out-of-towner. For example, a few weeks ago, an encounter at Tao with a gorgeous Los Angelino made me forget the rules. What followed was an overly optimistic cross-state texting and Facebook friendship. Eventually, he ditched me. I’d have been sad, but the same day LA flaked, I met beautiful Bostonian at Caramel. Forget about solar; hot tourists are Nevada’s greatest renewable resource.