Are we there yet? Are we there yet? When can we go home?

In the 12-plus hours of sleep I got last night, I had a slew of really weird dreams. Among them, that Planters was looking for a new brand icon to replace Mr. Peanut (hmm, fly much?), and that Britney Spears donned a Marie Antoinette wig to divert attention away from her bald head.

What's weirder is that I even needed 12 hours of sleep, as I got a full 8 in Vegas. Yes, I believe I may be the first person on earth to actually get a restful night sleep there. Let's just say that we didn't make it to any parties worth staying out past our bedtimes for.

As I mentioned, my friend Mia was going to meet up with some of her friends in town for the NBA All Star game and weekend attractions. As of Friday, we were planning to go to one event for Dwyane Wade Saturday evening, and then for dinner with other friends later that night. But Saturday morning she found out that we would be getting tickets for the super exclusive party hosted by Jay-Z and LeBron James at Tao at the Venetian! Now, I barely know more than the basics about either of these two, but I had read in Page Six that it was supposed to be the hottest, most exclusive party of the weekend. Sign me up!

We arrived in Las Vegas around 4PM and hopped in a shuttle to the Bellagio, where we were to pick up the tickets from her friend, who happens to be in Jay-Z's inner circle. The tickets invited us to both the dinner and the after-party, but the friend warned us that dinner was already full and that we should only attend the party which was to start around 10. We had heard that the dinner was only for about 300 people, mostly celebrities, so even though it was a bummer, I know we probably would have stuck out had we shown up. I think I'm pretty good in a crowd and can make conversation with almost anyone, but I do have my limits. Sports and rap music are two subjects I know absolutely nothing about, and have even less interest in.

With our tickets safely tucked away, it was time to check in at the Luxor. Problem was, the city was gridlocked: the influx of people in for the holiday weekend and NBA game brought traffic to a total standstill and taxi lines up to two hours long. We ended up walking the 3/4 of a mile to our hotel, roller bags and all, navigating the narrow sidewalks among swarms of drunken afternoon partygoers. And that's when we began to rethink our decision to come that weekend. But maybe we were just too sober.

Given the traffic situation, we decided to head over to the Venetian early - that it would be better to kill time in the casino rather than wait in a taxi line and traffic for two hours. The hotel had warned us that it could take an hour and a half just to get there, and that we'd be better off directing the taxi off the strip. And that we might be able to catch a cab in the back of the hotel, where they dropped off, rather than wait up front in the neverending line. We did just that, and found ourselves at the Venetian with plenty of time to spare.

Perhaps too much time. For an hour and a half, we sat at the casino bar, mostly in silence, gapemouthed at the visions of plenty in front of us. Now, I know that "the bruthas" like a little booty on their "sistas", but there was nothing little about anyone we saw. Except for the clothes, which left "little" to the imagination. I'm no prude, and it's not like I was dressed for church, but I saw more cellulite bursting through spandex dresses and muffin tops rising over waistbands than even Las Vegas considers to be in good taste. (Sorry, was that an oxymoron?)

By 11, we grew weary of the bar scene and eagerly headed up to Tao. A quick but thorough walk-through revealed no one famous or even famous-looking. No worries, we thought, they must all still be at dinner. But as the place quickly filled up with every common hoochie in Vegas, it became increasingly clear that there was nothing remotely exclusive about the party we were at. Had I taken a scissor to my dress and stuffed a pillow in the back of my bloomers, I could have gotten in with little more than a gold-plated smile - never mind the custom-printed, personally autographed invitation which I came to notice had spelled "Venetian" wrong. (They spelled it "Venitian".)

I will say that the music, performed by Funk Master Flex, was fantastic, but even if there had been room to dance, we weren't so much expecting the high energy "club-kid" scene as an intimate evening of "who's who". Then again, it was a humbling way of reminding us that we are still just two "nobodies". After only a sighting or two (no one from this list) and getting pushed and shoved and staring at way too many exposed body parts, we gave up around 1 AM and headed back to the hotel.

It was a fun enough trip, but a little exhausting, 8 hours of sleep and all. The traffic, the people, elusive celebrities, the expensive drinks and cheap women - it was just like LA only not nearly as cool.

PS: Check out Mia's account of things here.

PPS: Here are some other accounts from people who write much better than me. (I?)

- "Thugs are people too"

- "On the bright side, now that every female in Vegas dresses like a hooker, it's impossible to tell the real hookers from the fake ones, which means we'll probably have a Vegas-themed game show called "Hooker or Looker" some day"