But now we're rocking on the dance floor...

Before you look at the following photo from last night in Las Vegas, please promise you'll ignore the fact that I'm wearing the same dress I wore to my birthday party last weekend.

Considering I own no less than 10 additional-yet-similar dresses, I'm not sure why I opted to wear the same one two weekends in a row. Especially since, now that I look at the photos, I've decided it's possibly the least flattering thing in my closet. I don't care how much this style may be in style, I'm officially over the pregnant-babydoll-sad-sack-of-potatoes look.

Other than this one night's wardrobe, everything about this weekend was fantastic.

Friday night was a low key dinner before heading out to Prive at Planet Hollywood, where Kristin had gotten us on the VIP list. Now, I'm not a huge club person. I went through a phase in my early/mid-twenties when I loved dancing on platforms and twirling glo sticks and sidling up to sweaty men who considered t-shirts optional. But even then, while I could appreciate the (glamour?) excitement of the club scene, I've much preferred laid back bars and lounges and going home before 4 in the morning.

So I don't know what got into me this weekend, whether it was the supposed-oxygen being pumped into the air or the energy of being around my friends, but I surprised even myself with how much fun I could be. At Prive, we started out with a price-inflated bottle of vodka in the somewhat sleepy VIP section, but there wasn't a lot going on, and at around midnight we decided to go somewhere else. As we walked out, however, we noticed a separate room with entirely different music, people, and energy. And we danced until 3 in the morning.

Saturday, we headed to the pool at the Hard Rock. We were going to get a cabana, but those were all in the shade and further away from the action than we liked, so we got a day bed instead. In short, it was awesome.

We had a waitress bringing us food and drinks, a DJ spinning great music all day, an endless supply of eye candy, and it was basically the biggest display of hedonism this side of the Playboy mansion. In fact, it was exactly what I imagine the pool at the Playboy mansion must be like - well, without all the naked ladies. (Although we do all look naked in that pic, don't we? I swear, it's just the camera angle and our attempt at avoiding tan lines.)

Saturday night we had dinner plans at 8, and the Thunder from Down Under show at 11. Now, if I'm not really a club person, I'm even less of a cheesy male strip show person. But this turned out to be a hilarious, high-energy, fully entertaining hour-and-a-half of fun. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I highly recommend it.

On a normal night, I'd have been clamoring for bed by now, what with it all of 12:30 AM. But it was not a normal night, and so we headed back to the Hard Rock to dance at Body English until 4:30 AM. Per my suggestion.

Seriously? Who AM I? I, apparently, regressed for the weekend into Fun Lori of the Summer of 2000, when, after breaking off a fourteen-month relationship, decided I had spent too many Saturday nights dining with adults and not enough dancing with degenerates. No, I haven't regressed into that girl at all, actually, but it was fun for a weekend to party it up and pretend I was someone more fun than I have been feeling lately.

The nice thing about going to the clubs and dancing for hours was that it kept me from drinking too much. Really, have you ever tried to dance with a drink in your hand? It doesn't work so well. So, while I drank heartily and consistently throughout the weekend, I never felt too full or fat or drunk or hungover. In fact, I may have even gotten in a workout.

I am tired today. And quite a bit poorer. But, while that would normally worry me, I came home to another freelance check and my economic stimulus check in my mailbox. I can't help but think that's the Universe's way of telling me it's okay to loosen up for a little while.

That Universe can be such a bad influence.