Viva Las Vegas

We're on Day 6 of the kitchen remodel project, and while my kitchen is getting better by the day, I can't say the same for the living room:

I knew that the new appliances were being delivered on Friday, however I had not expected to come home to find one of them in the middle of my apartment. I'm not ever going to complain about getting a washer/dryer, but I hadn't anticipated that it would spend time anywhere but my soon-to-be laundry room.

Fortunately, I had the foresight to make out-of-town plans this weekend, and first thing Saturday morning got up to go to Las Vegas. My friend Lauren had invited me to go with her and her roommate, Matt, and since they were driving and planning the whole trip, I thought it would be a nice, easy excuse to get out of town for the weekend. Matt invited his two friends, and by 10 AM, the five of us were on the road driving towards the Nevada desert.

I was a bit hesitant at the idea of five people in one car, especially since three of those people were 25 year old boys. My oh-so-mature self didn't like 25 year old boys when I was 25, and mentally prepared for the worst. Naturally, they turned out to be the highlight of the trip.

When did I (and my friends) get so old? That's what I kept thinking as the boys kept us in stitches with their back-and-forth banter, their stupid jokes, the way they teased each other and, as the day wore on, us. Everyone I knew (myself included) would be talking about mortgages, work, relationships, remodeling. Maybe how The Fashion Show compares to Project Runway (it doesn't), or, for guys, how Pointless Sport Number 1 compares to Pointless Sport Number 2. These guys were just hilarious in their effortless interactions, and it made me miss the days when everyone I knew used to be so carefree.

In case you were wondering, hotel prices are incredibly inexpensive right now, and we ended up in a suite at the Venetian. That's the nicest I've traveled to Vegas, yet! We arrived around 2:00, got settled in, and headed back out to chill by the pool at Tao. For the next 30 hours, I swam, drank, danced, and reveled in the energy of everyone around me. And while my body is physically exhausted, mentally, I feel remarkably refreshed. Photos are here.

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.

No money, but Vegas, baby

I have been so apathetic with writing lately. I just can't find anything new to say.

The news now is that I am heading to Las Vegas tomorrow, for my one of my dearest friends Kristin's bachelorette party. Normally I'd tell you about the first time I went to Vegas, but I've already done that. So, naturally, I'd want to bring up the last time I went to Vegas, but I've already done that, too.

I'm hoping this trip will fall somewhere in the middle of both visits, a happy medium between staying out til 5 AM and getting eight hours of sleep. Ideally, I'd have no problem staying out til 5 AM this time around, but my 32 year old body might beg to differ. It took until Wednesday of this week until I finally felt rejuvenated from my birthday party - on Saturday - and I didn't even drink that much! I've decided that four-day hangovers are nature's way of telling me I'm too old to be consuming alcohol as one of the four major food groups.

But I also know I am going to have a lot of fun this weekend, because I'll be with two of my best friends, and also a group of other girls that I know are really cool and fun and low on drama. I am a bit worried because Maria has had a stomach virus all week - so bad that she was at the hospital on Saturday and on a diet of Popsicles since (damn her looking better than me in a bikini!) - and even if she doesn't cancel tomorrow, she's going to be at half-mast all weekend. I was really looking forward to the QT with my girls, and now, it's just going to be a little bit different. But I am excited to go out, dress up, do it up with flashing penis veils and Thunder From Down Under, partying the way only these friends and I can.

I feel like I have gotten into a bit of a rut here in LA - there's always the driving thing, and then there was the dating thing, and then there's the fact that somehow, most of my girlfriends here seemed to have gotten boyfriends - and I look back and I can't remember the last time I actually got dressed up and felt cute and flirted and had fun. I mean, aside from last weekend. I need this weekend to feel a bit more like myself, or at least the person I used to be.

I'll post pictures on Sunday of what that person looks like, assuming they let her pass through security.

Am I the only one who thinks it's not so Fabulous?

There's a scene from one of my favorite movies EVER, Clueless, in which Alicia Silverstone's Cher is explaining why their acquaintance is a full-on Monet: "From far away [she looks] okay; but up close, [she's] a big old mess." That pretty much sums up how I felt about Vegas this weekend.

What is it about Las Vegas that gives everyone the illusion of grandeur? The flashing lights and pulsing energy? The possibility of money won or inhibitions lost? The promise of a night that never ends in a city that doesn't sleep? Whatever it is, I fell under the city's spell on my first trip six years ago, but, for better or for worse, just saw a bunch of messy spackled dots this weekend.

How can you see the enchanted forest through the trees when each tree is it's own crazy sideshow? I'm curious to know the history of the city, like, at what point did someone decide to construct a circus in the middle of the desert? Who thought that building a mini-replica of New York City, or the Eiffel Tower, or any of the Seven Wonders, for that matter, would make good architecture juxtaposed against the vast, dry brown landscape? I suppose I could look this information up, but I'd much prefer not knowing for now, keeping in my head some illusion of fantasy.

A few months ago, John and I stayed overnight at a casino resort, basically because it was the only hotel that didn't require a two-night stay. We went to check it out after our wine-tasting, and instead of feeling excited or adventurous in this anything-can-happen atmosphere, I suddenly got very sad and panicky and overwhelmed at the bad energy that surrounded me. Instead of noticing wild and crazy kids out for a night on the town, all I could see were unfortunate townies down on their luck, playing the penny slots in the hopes that something, anything, would make that night special for them. I attributed it to the location in central California, that the clientele was different than the citified high rollers and risk takers in Vegas. But really, I saw those same people again this weekend. Wearing less clothing, perhaps, but there were few differences between the two groups.

Maybe I went to the wrong places. Maybe it was an unusual weekend, as the general consensus seems to suggest. Maybe I am just not a gambler at heart, and therefore don't relate to the city's central offering. Or maybe Las Vegas just looks better from a distance. After all, most people there are viewing it from behind the foggy haze of beer goggles. To the sober eye, one that sees clearly through the dim casino lights, that catches the stains on the walls in the hotel and the day-old, smudgy eye makeup on too many women - the optical illusion is revealed to be, quite literally, a Mirage.

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"

And I'm off

I am leaving for Vegas in just a few hours, but it's so gorgeous here today I almost don't want to go. Today seems like the quintessential southern California day which, in reality, you might only see in the movies or on 90210. At 10:00 AM, it was already 80 degrees, and I could see the San Bernadino mountains, 100 miles away, clearly from my block. Unfortunately, I think Vegas is a little bit cooler, so I'm not sure my plans for laying out by the pool will be realized.

I'll be back in 24 hours and will write more then. Have a good weekend!

Cocktails first, questions later

I'm sorry - was I just saying that I needed an airport detox? Well, I guess my detox requirements are akin to Lindsay Lohan's in Wonderland, because I am headed to Las Vegas this weekend!

My friend Mia is a huge sports fan and so had planned to go for the hoopla surrounding the All Star game. She asked me if I wanted to join her, and I thought of a million reasons why I shouldn't go: trying to save money, tired of traveling, I hate sports, etc. But then I thought about it and how I was just saying to myself that I need to get out more, do more stuff that I wouldn't normally do, live a little. In fact, I had just paid off all of my bills and credit cards Saturday morning, so, much as I would like to have some money in the bank, what's the point if I can't spend it every once in a while? I don't know if it's the Jewish guilt or my Protestant puritanism that keeps me from splurging, but I decided to suck it up and get over myself for once.

I've only been to Vegas once in my life, and it will be a hard trip to beat. I was 25 on a summer Saturday in August, alone in my apartment because my roommates were both away for the weekend. Everyone was away that weekend, it seemed, and I was having quite the pity party for myself, feeling alone and lonely in the Big Apple. I returned from rollerblading to a voice mail asking me to cover for an event happening Monday night in Las Vegas. The woman whose account it was threw out her back that day, and they needed someone with TV experience (me) to manage the camera crews that were set to cover the party.

Less than 24 hours later I was on a flight. It happened so quickly I wasn't even able to reach my parents to tell them. The party was being held at the Hard Rock, so I took a shuttle directly there and met up with Jason, the Fabulous Gay Guy in my office that was managing the talent and the event-planning aspects of the party. This being the summer of "Hit em up style", Blu Cantrell was our opening act, and I watched in awe as Jason troubleshooted for hours between our client and the record label.

When everything was mostly settled, we went downstairs to dinner at Nobu, as Jason was friends with the manager. I don't even eat sushi but I tried everything and actually didn't mind it, as it all tasted so good with the many client-bought drinks that were accompanying it. When the bill came, the waiter leaned over and said to me, "Didn't you go to Syracuse?" I looked up and sure enough, it was this guy that I had seen in the bars for years but had never known. I gave him my number and an invitation for the party the next night, and laughed at my luck at having a run-in so far from home.

I woke up Monday, party day, at 7AM. Hit the breakfast buffet at 8, the pool at 9. Since it was Vegas in August, I think I left the pool at 9:30 - way too hot. Nevermind the leisure, though; our job was to distribute invitations to the press staying at all the different hotels around the city. In four hours we hit every major hotel, and I got my crash course in Vegas. It felt like anything but work.

My job for the night was to get the camera crews upstairs to the VIP room and coordinate any interviews with the client and the headlining performer, Wyclef Jean. Now, I had coordinated TV segments before, but I had never managed celebrity interviews. Fortunately, Wyclef was the most chill man imaginable, and he didn't even notice how nervous or tongue-tied I was. The only celebrity to show was Gary Coleman, and it tickled me to be in a room with such vastly different characters.

My post ended around 11PM, and I went to find my new friend, who had brought some of his friends to the party. We stayed at the Hard Rock for a bit, although ultimately ended up at some club at the Venetian, which was the only club open on a Monday night. More people met us out, and the next thing I knew, they were dropping me off at 5 AM. Exhausted, I (of course) slept through my 7 AM wake-up call, and missed my 9 AM flight back to the New York. I ended up catching the next one, and only partly worried about what I was going to tell my boss. It was Vegas, after all, I couldn't stress too much.

Turned out, I didn't need to stress at all. The next day I was given a $250 bonus and an extra day off as a "thank you" for jumping in and being such a team player. Of course, I had the time of my life and felt like I should have been paying them. Or at least paying someone to ensure that what really happened there, stayed there.