January 30 - Moon Nightclub / Playboy at The Palms

Last night started at 7:30pm after bubble bath and quiet contemplation. After dismissal of what havoc my work week tends to wreak. After deciding to choose irresponsibility... if only for a few moments. I went to party #1- a private affair hosted by a dear friend and business associate out in the boondocks of Henderson. I never really know what to expect at these types of house parties. Friends of friends are still strangers and unknown energies. I approach these scenarios as I do all others; with shoulders back, head high, and the aggressive intent of scaring the "niceness" out of anyone who dares to form a concrete assumption about me. I shake hands with everyone in the room, repeat their names back to them and look them squarely in the eye. It could very well be that I will not remember a single name of anyone I met unless it is attached to a business card. That is not my goal. I am the one who is not be forgotten. That's my special brand of Ego-trippin.'

There was good conversation on the personal experiences of 9/11, the state of marketing in Southern Nevada and getting better acquainted with the local networking scene. Then sadly, I was forced to school an Australian dude on the constant contributions made by blacks throughout American history since Crispus Attucks because according to said Australian we darkly-hued individuals didn't get involved until Barack Obama threw his hat into the ring. Bless his heart. (February is Black History Month. Black History is American History. Find a friend. Exchange ideas. Be enlightened.) I left at 9:10pm.

The main event of my night would be held in the Playboy Club of the Moon Nightclub at The Palms. I arrived at about 9:33pm. I called my boyfriend as I walked alone from the parking structure to the casino. I wanted to hear his voice before once again being submerged in this LV scene.... and just in case someone knocked me in the head, he would be able to properly alert the authorities. As I neared the elevators, some random man decided to sing The Righteous Brothers' Unchained Melody to me. His face bore the expression of acute constipation. I, amazingly unsurprised, just looked at him. This is Las Vegas.

The Palms was bustling with Friday night traffic. Concert here. Movie there. Nightclubs farther on. What the hell was I doing here? Oh yeah. A local businessman by the name of Eamon Springall was celebrating his 30th birthday at Moon. This soiree was being promoted by The Executive Lounge. There would be an open bar from 9pm -11pm. I was there to freeload. I rendez-voused with the rest of my party, allowed myself to be photographed on the red carpet, rode the elevator up to our destination and stopped at the first bar I saw for my complimentary libation. Great. The "open bar" was free drinks compliments of a tequila manufacturer. That meant the only free drinks were tequila sunrises, margaritas or tequila shots. The tequila sunrise tasted like hot ass. So did the margarita. I don't know if the tequila or the bar tending was to blame. Perhaps a mixture of both. You don't make good free drinks when you can charge for good costly drinks. Damned casinos and their blasted tricks!

The Playboy Club portion of Moon seemed to be a place where the sleek and sexy could get their gambling on without interference from "normal" players. There were even slot machines in the corner. I'm not sure why anyone would want to gamble away their money in the dark. It was hella dark in there! Hella! I did, however, manage to spot an Asian dude with a haircut a la ex-Governor Blagojevich. What is the world coming to? I also ran into my general manager from my direct sales days at CBS Radio. He was now at Beasley Broadcasting. I told him that he didn't look a day over 65. I believe he's 52.

After participating in the birthday boy's champagne toast, I delighted in making obnoxious faces in the background of his pictures taken in front of the cake. I played a little pinball , took some pictures from the outside observation deck and then proceeded to Moon's dance floor. I selected my victim fairly quickly. One Anthony from Nevada Partners. He made for a very fun dance partner and managed to keep up with me pretty well. Kudos to you, Anthony! Oh, if I were twenty-one again, Moon would have easily been one of my favorite spots to party. The music mix was tops. The dance floor had panels that lit up in rhythm to the tunes being spun and the ceiling above featured an amazing laser show. I could have danced all night. I left at 12:15am.

I had three unopened love letters and two special "mix tape" CDs to get home to... sealed with a kiss from Georgia. I wish I could share some of the poetry in those cologne-scented missives....but they are MINE. I will just say this to any men who happen to read these blogged revelations. Gentlemen, if you'd like to start collecting that special girl's panties then do yourself a favor and draft her a sincere love letter using actual paper and real pen-generated ink. Mail it to her home no matter how near or far away she lives. Feign surprise when she calls with high-pitched declarations of appreciation. Tell her how much she inspires you to send such writings. Collect aforementioned undergarments. (It works every time.)

January 26th - UNLV Student Union Ballroom

Party. One definition is a group gathered for a special purpose or task. Tonight's party was, once again, about putting an end to the proposed budget cuts to higher education in Southern Nevada. As I walked to my car from the meeting, the cold air sucking both the warmth and moisture from my body, I replayed some of the comments in my head.

Nevada has the money to support education! Our legislators need to be reminded...BY US!

What are the local leaders of our city thinking? They want $260 million to fund a new city hall and a mob museum, an edifice to violence, but they won't fight for money for our education?

UNLV is a research university. Do you know what that means? Research universities quadruple every dollar invested and put that money back into the community.

I was approached by the president of a major gaming group, and he was worried that we would push for a lottery to support education.

They're talking about cutting UNLV's budget by 52%. That's like burning half of a house down. Who can live in half of a house? They cut half of our system; they kill our whole system.

Man. Las Vegas reminds me of a 13 year old child who is slowly coming to the realization that his parents suck. This kid, Las Vegas, wants to explore, to ask questions, to learn a new language, to go out for the sports team. This kid wants to go to art museums, wants a high-powered telescope, wants to take apart the computer to see how it works. This kid wants to learn the guitar, go camping out in the wild and build something with his bare hands. This kids wants to grow and live and thrive. However, Las Vegas' parents are comfortable. They have their values and beliefs. They've been doing things a certain way their whole lives and they are not about to change. What is good for them is good for Las Vegas , so Junior should get over his lofty, foreign aspirations. Here, have some toys, Las Vegas. Go sit down somewhere and shut up. Go play and let Mommy and Daddy get back to the business of stagnation.

There were many people at the UNLV Student Union Ballroom. I'm sure a large portion were the usual suspects who make it their business to be the checks and balances of a system that would otherwise remain unchecked by its transient constituency. I honestly do not believe that anyone in Nevada wants a funky government. We just have so many distractions. You know... celebs, players, ballers, implants, poles, bright lights, $20 glasses of champagne (yes, I'm still bitter) and general prosperity. Alas, there were more than the regular ranters gathered to stop disaster from interfering with our schools....so that we may get back to our celebs, players, ballers....

My legislative representatives are April Mastoluca, Shirley A. Breeden and Joyce Woodhouse. I like to write. God help their mail carrier.

January 25th - The Bank at The Bellagio

I broke a couple of my own revelling rules last night. I couldn't help it. I was a tad restless. I had a pressing need to have a reason to put on a dress. I live in Las Vegas.

Broken Rule #1: I went out late on a Sunday night before a working Monday. See what had happened was... I often consult a website, napkinnights.com, for the skinny on guestlists, events, venues and other sinful activities in Las Vegas. Last night, there were two venues offering complimentary entry. I decided that I would take Bellagio's The Bank up on their offer. The Bank was supposed to be holding some sort of Las Vegas' Top Model event. I'd never partied there and I realized that I've never actually gone down to The Strip on a Sunday night so I made a go of it. I got all dolled up in a little brown number, threw on my "bad bitch" trench coat and headed out the door at 10:00pm.

I should've known better. Sometimes, we hide from ourselves. Typically when venturing out to an affair, I pump myself up with such energetic recordings as N.E.R.D's Everyone Nose, LL Cool J's Jingling, Baby, or even Chevelle's Clincher. Last night, I rolled out blasting Jill Scott's Crazy and Sting's Windmills followed by a healthy helping of Erykah Badu. I was obviously not in the mood for kicking around on some low lit dance floor. Alas, I'm stubborn.

When one enters The Bellagio through the self-parking garage, one encounters the botanical garden. The theme of the garden changes depending on the season and holiday. In honor of Chinese New Year, the garden featured giant red lamps, a huge Chinese statue, and a lot of camera-happy Chinese people. Apparently, it is the Year of the Ox (or Ji Chou). I was reminded of my parents taking me to Chinese New Year festivities in San Francisco and Kung Fu Theatre on Saturday mornings. Wow, that sounds racist. Who doesn't love a good kung fu flick with the ridiculous voiceovers and such? I know it isn't representative of the entire culture but who doesn't think black folks at the mention of greens and cornbread? I rest my case.

Broken Rule #2: I went to a nightclub before 11:45pm. I continued my trek to The Bank, skipped the line and peeped the scene. It always kills me the way the promoters keep a line of people waiting outside of a practically empty club. It was a quarter to 11 for crying out loud. The interior of the club was still ice cold. Guests were lined up around the perimeter of the dance floor staring at it instead of actually dancing on it. I stifled a yawn and headed to a surprisingly empty bar. I expected the early arrivals to at least be in the midst of consuming courage. Not so. When I got to the bar I learned why. Now I know better than to squander my hard earned funds on watered down drinks at a Strip property. It is instead custom to do a pre-drink gathering at a friend's house beforehand or take bottles in the trunk of the car and self-serve upon arrival in the parking lot. I figured one drink at the actual venue shouldn't be too steep. I asked for white wine. All they had was Chardonnay, but they did offer an amazing champagne to the tune of $20 a glass. I ordered a Corona. They wanted $9 for a lousy bottle of beer. I kept my usual dollar tip. The nerve!

I consumed my beer, took note of the somber-faced guests being ushered in, resisted the urge to start dancing to a Nas remix and left at about 11:15pm. I turned down the hand stamp for reentry and was about ready to write off The Bank, when I stopped to get the lowdown from a regular. Derrick, who managed an exotic car share lifestyle club, (http://www.fantasycarshare.com/) advised me that 12:30am was the time the party would actually start. He also recommended that I request the ladies' free drink card on my next visit. I exchanged business cards and thanked him for the information. We'll chalk this up to a reconnaissance mission for the sake of future Sunday nights.

Still restless, I drove over to a friend's house for intellectual conversation and tequila shots. (Yes, I normally steer clear of tequila but this was a much safer environment than a radio station Christmas party....Oh man, that was some party.) On the drive over, I again appreciated 24 hour living. I could never go back to living somewhere that completely shut down at 2:00am. I do however wish that Las Vegas' 24 hour living would offer more than those things that could potentially get one in trouble. I would love to have a 24 hour bookstore or coffee shop or Internet cafe or roller rink or adult arcade. (I'm calling you out, Dave and Busters.) If nothing else, each restaurant chain should offer one 24 hour location especially during the summer. In Las Vegas, there is a market for it, I swear.

Inspired by the Chinese New Year, I ended the night watching The 36th Chamber of Shaolin. (A special shot out to Vallejo Senior High Class of '96's honors English class with Ms. Cochenour.) This movie literally and figuratively kicks ass. Like me and many of my blessed readers, it was born in 1978 and is officially thirty-something. Happy New Year, Oxen!

January 22nd - UNLV Beam Hall / Artemus W. Ham Concert Hall

I loved college. Lord knows I took classes at enough of them...Xavier, University of New Orleans, Long Beach State, Cal State Fullerton, Sac State. I found self-reliance, my voice, a broader perspective, sensuality, romance, perseverance, passion and my inner party girl in college. I discovered beer, creative fundraising, and how to buy a complete outfit with only $25 in college. I made lifelong friends, appreciated beautiful music and read life-changing books in college. So when I heard that our dear Governor Gibbons was seriously pitching a budget cut of 52% at UNLV, I went to a party....kind of.


The students, faculty and administration of UNLV, College of Southern Nevada and Nevada State College organized a rally from 6pm to 7:30pm outside of Beam Hall on UNLV's campus to protest the disastrous cuts being proposed. How could I have resisted? Having grown up in the Bay Area, I have always been a proponent of taking to the streets in the face of injustice. At a quarter to 6pm, the lawn outside of Beam Hall was full of bodies facing a stage, brandishing homemade signs and swaying to music being pumped out of huge speakers. News vans were all about. Cameras snapping pictures. Tapes rolling. Older rally attendees smiling to themselves remembering days of peace signs, long skirts, birkenstocks and guitars. I think the young people were a little confused as to what they should be doing besides pumping signs in the air. I fully expected to hear chants of "Hey! Hey! Hut! Hut! We don't want no budget cuts!" But I imagine that this wouldn't be the last rally and those kinds of impromptu rhymes would all come in due time. (I'll stop.)


A cavalcade of speakers took their turns on stage explaining the severity of the cuts, the importance of investing in the future of Nevada by funding education, the need to contact legislators and raise hell until these cuts died much like Sonny Corleone when he was gunned down by the Barzini family in The Godfather. Did you know that the mayor of Las Vegas is actually looking for help from the government to fund a bleeping mob museum because he feels that such a creation will attract tourists and stimulate the economy? What?!?!? Meanwhile, our students face the destruction of their study programs and the threat of losing the credit hours they have worked for. No, I don't have children. No, I didn't grow up here. But I understand the importance of education in our community, to our economy, and to the overall benefit of our society. This party girl is pissed!

At 7:30pm, I walked about 100 feet to Artemus W. Ham Hall to attend The Barrick Lecture Series. The evening's lecture- The First 100 days: Predictions for the Obama Administration. (Projections and Prognostications by Three Leading Political Analysts.) The panelists included local political pundit Jon Ralston, Senior Political Analyst Gloria Borger, Washington Post Columnist E.J. Dionne and Republican Politician J.C. Watts. (It is the duty of every party girl to be informed. It's the American way and gives us even more reason to drink.)


In the audience sat a generation in stark contrast to the crowd just a few footsteps away. I had no idea male pattern baldness had become so popular. There was a sea of white hair, canes and sweater sets quietly waiting for the "festivities" to begin. They were here to learn what that damned Barack Obama was going to do about our fine American mess. What about changing the tone of Washington? What about the threat of socialism? What about the end of partisan politics? What about their capital gains tax? I could just have easily tuned into Meet the Press in lieu of attending this event. However, I was glad that I had come for I saw something there on the campus of UNLV that I hoped was not indicative of bigger problem..even though I knew it was.

It was likely that none of the audience of that lecture were even aware of the rally that had just taken place. Perhaps they felt that it did not concern them. Their children were probably grown and long gone from school. But here they were enjoying their precious outing on a college campus whose very existence was being threatened. At the end of the lecture, they would tip out of the concert hall to their cars to drive home at a rate of at least ten miles per hour under the speed limit and be none the wiser the next morning.

Conversely, the few students that attended the lecture left in the middle of the talk. Probably bored out of their minds, they were unwilling to see the opportunity to reach the demographic sitting all around them. Unwilling to take the chance to make heard their concerns about their future during the question and answer portion. Unwilling to understand that participation in such activities was paramount to their inheritance of a broader world.

It is in these times that I appreciate being 30-something. We 30-somethings are neither young and ignorant nor geriatric and cynical. We can understand reality, but we have the energy to dream beyond it. We are in the age of acquisition but we comprehend the necessity of sacrifice. We have the power to unite generations and value each side of the corresponding arguments. We have a duty to all around us for they are reminders of past and future walks through this brilliantly confounded life...... Wow. I'm on the verge of tears.

January 20th - Inauguration at The Porchlight Grille

Immediately following the night of November 4th, the tears, the screaming, the donuts purchased by my boss the next morning, I wanted to spend January 20th in D.C. But as this date drew closer, I knew that D.C. wouldn't see any part of me. I worried about what I would tell my children. Would I need to apologize for not having taken the pilgrimage? Would I have an interesting tale to recount in lieu of the trek? ......Of course I would, I'm me! However, I didn't want history to have passed me by while I was looking the other way. I wanted to do this date in a big way but as today unfurled, I found myself drawing ever more inward.


I watched Barack Obama be sworn in at my office this morning. Our office sat in our lounge gathered around the television commenting on the enormous crowd, the bewildered look on W's face, that huge bedazzled bow on Ms. Franklin's head, John Williams' composition, and finally Mr. President's speech. How beautiful and heartfelt the words! How mature. How necessary. How confused I was as to how I would spend tonight.

I confess. I'm a booty-shaker. I'm that first girl on the dance floor, grinning ear to ear, feet on fire, party whistle blowing, grooving as if no one was watching. I don't need a reason to dance and I think today's events definitely warranted some serious two-steppin'. However, as I considered my options...the local Inaugural Ball, Poetry Nightclub, The Yardhouse or various other venues, I was torn. I didn't want to dance. I wanted to think. I wanted to be still and listen for the whisper of the universe. I wanted to be touched by the new consciousness. I wanted to shut my eyes and feel the hopes of our ancestors pass over, around and through me....

I decided to go to The Porchlight Grille.


The Clark County Democrats hosted a respectable little shindig at one of Las Vegas' many neighborhood bar/casinos on the far west side of town. I walked in to a crowd of middle aged, sequined jacket sporting campaign donors. They were seated, clutching their complimentary drinks, pleased with their victory in officially turning Nevada Blue and finally being on the winning team after eight years of a fiery Red hell. I went into networking mode, shaking hands, making a mental note of faces that I'd seen before and would probably see again. CSPAN played moments from the day on a large flat screen. I sipped Riesling and ordered a sandwich. One question on my mind: Do they get it? Before long, I was joined by an older couple, Yesper and Sandra and their friends Esmerelda and Yvonne. We exchanged business cards. Discussed how times have surely changed. Described our involvement in the campaign. Our hopes for the new administration. Fundraising. Oh gosh, here we go. Here's our chance NOT to make it all about donation! Don't you get it? I snapped a couple of pictures, inhaled the air and then asked for my check.


I realized then where I wanted to be. The love of my life lives in Georgia. I live in Nevada. I just wanted to be near him. Not necessarily speaking. Just being and understanding that now is exploding with potential for greatness.... surpassing that of our imaginations... if we just dare to think beyond. He would understand as none of these folks would, God bless 'em. He would get it, and forgive me for wanting to escape early and leave the rest of Las Vegas to drink in the name of Obama. I envied those folks snug at home perhaps listening to their children excitedly recite the events of their young day. I drove home in silence. Checked the mail. Refilled the kitties' food dish. Knock on my door while sitting down to write this blog. Beautiful white lilies delivered just because. Just another reason why I love him and ache for him at this defining moment.

Party girls get lonely too...

January 18th - McFadden's I Have A Dream Pajama Party

There is something comforting about awakening to the sounds of a dump truck on a Monday morning. I am reminded of the smell of oatmeal sprinkled with cinnamon, toast with peach jam and chicken apple sausage. My mother's morning call to action, "Puddin', are you up?" In Las Vegas, however, if I'm hearing the truck in lieu of my heathen alarm clock then I'm experiencing the delicious pleasure of sleeping in on a weekday. Thank you, Dr. King. After last night's festivities at McFadden's, I am glad about it!

Sunday night's romp began with the consumption of a Jr. SuperMex shredded beef burrito and copious amounts of water, followed by a series of stretches, lunges and squats while watching America's Best Dance Crew. You see, McFadden's is a bar that liquors up its female guests with complimentary drinks and then demands that those sauced individuals get atop the bar and shake it. The last time I danced on the bar in three inch heels without stretching, my legs were sore for two days. I did not plan on getting on the bar, but I figured that McFadden's tiny dance floor would entice me at some point in the night. In case any songs directed me to get low, I wanted to be properly prepared.

I arrived at the Rio around 10:05pm and was reminded of the night of November 4th. Walking through those corridors to the Democratic Party's celebration to share in our candidate's victory. Shouting out "OBAMA" as I walked past those unassuming tourists feeding the slot machines. Lovely! McFadden's was only partially crowded with implant-proud, drunk chicks and their male cohorts. We were able to score a table. The deal for that night is pretty much the same deal at every McFadden's function. Ladies drink free while gentlemen pay a $20 fee for unlimited drinks from 10pm to 12am. Wristband securely fastened to wrist, my pal and I grabbed our table and then began collecting drinks to stockpile in anticipation of guests who would not arrive until about 11:30pm.

McFadden's promotes their shindigs via email and you would have thought from the flash of their announcement that one would enter into an atmosphere decked out with pictures of Dr. King wearing pajamas and a green top hat since it was the I Have A Dream Pajama Party. Not so. All of the waitstaff were wearing bedroom attire, some more exposed than others, and there was no sign of Dr. King anywhere. Silly me.

Many of the guests had dared to wear pajamas. I love how some folks are just without shame. A few bodies had not been exposed to sunlight for quite some time. Others were badly in need of a sandwich. Many had obviously squeezed themselves down into their younger siblings lingerie. Some had dressed up as cows for God knows why. Still others were not bad at all. (Yes, my friends this is what America looks like when it goes to bed. Not Victoria's Secret! )I raised my plastic cup to them in solute. Do you! Personally, I hadn't even considered the thought of leaving my home in pajamas. It's nowhere near summer in Southern Nevada and I am no longer 23 and hot in the ass. The last time I did wear pajamas to a party, I was living in Southern California about eight years ago. In exchange for tastefully exposing my goodies, I was rewarded with Omega Psi Phi's in purple diapers and golden boots. Oh, those boys and their oiled, muscular bodies. Woof!

The festivities reached their climax at about 11:20pm. By then the beer pong table had been rolled out. Rob Bass, ACDC, Justin Timberlake, Nirvana and Beyonce's Single Ladies had already been spun by the DJ. Girls were up on the bar drunk, dancing off beat. That one random, obviously European tourist was in the corner dancing as if he was auditioning for Cats on Broadway. It was time for me to visit the restroom. There I found, on first glance, what appeared to be an extremely happy lady standing by the sink. Fancy! I love happy people. I started to chat with her when I discovered that she was beyond blitzed and was in danger of cracking her head on the adobe colored tiling. (Nice tiling, Rio!) Ever the Good Samaritan, I helped her buckle her pants, tried to get her to tell me who and where her friends were and then lead her drunk ass out to the casino to find a seat. She would not speak. She just sat there smiling like a developmentally disabled Cheshire Cat. People please! You should have a ball in Vegas, but you don't have to lose your mind. My thoughts and prayers are with that woman but I had to go back to the party and collect more free Screwdrivers.

I did make my way to the dance floor eventually. Pointed and laughed when some broad decided to "pop that thang" on all fours on the dance floor. Sheesh. I'm sure I managed to make the day of two shy male tourists. They look so nervous while their dancing clutching their beer bottles. I always remind them to smile and then force them to turn around and back it up while I give it a smack. I nearly lost my two front teeth while posing for a picture doing the Kid n Play spin. Good times.

Next party is the Inauguration. .... Happy King Day!

January 16th - Blue Martini

I'm often asked where I get the energy to go to function after function...after function. I actually consider myself to be such a homebody! No one loves throw pillows and pajama pants more than I do. I knit and crochet. I have two cats who actually talk to me. I've watched entire seasons of America's Next Top Model on Saturdays. I ignore phone calls and text messages while Family Guy is on. I make up dance routines in my bathroom mirror. I love being at home! But I can't say "no" to adventure.

So when I got an invitation to Blue Martini from a good friend/business associate at about 3:00pm today, I just couldn't refuse. I'll sleep when I'm dead. Isn't life about living? Even though I'd worked late every day this week, I was determined to summon the energy to weather the storm of a Friday night at Blue Martini. Yes, my feets is swoll even as I compose this electronic missive, but I feel it was a small price to pay for the overall experience. I had a fine time. A fine time indeed.

For all of you local Las Vegans who haven't seriously hung out at Town Square, shame on you! This place was made for us! It's a combination of Downtown Disney, The District at Green Valley Ranch and Ceasars Palace all mixed into one without the endless C note sound emitted by slot machines and it's ours! Centrally and conveniently located just off of the 15 and 215 on Las Vegas Blvd, it features shops for all income levels, a play area for the kids, a kickass movie theatre and some very nice restaurants and bars including Blue Martini.

I've never once been to Blue Martini when there wasn't a crowd. If you are like Ariel and you want to go where the people are sans pain-in-the-ass drunken, breastmilk consuming tourists(see January 15th blog) , then this is your spot. I recommend scoring a table reservation and arriving between the hours of 4pm and 8pm any day. This is the time where drinks and food are half off. If you care to stay after 8pm and beyond, you'll be serenaded by live entertainment. Most attendees are spirited, good-looking, stylish 25-54 year olds of all colors, shapes and sizes. All martinis are served in their own individual shakers and the appetizers are pretty tasty. Another plus is that the waitresses actually wear clothing that covers more than just their nipples.

Sure you have to semi-shout to have a conversation with people standing in close proximity to you, but what the hey. It was a Friday night in Las Vegas. At lunch time, I walked with the sunshine on my face in the company of people that I both respect and love. I'm so in love with the man of my dreams ...and though he's far away I can feel him as if he's grasping my hand and softly kissing my cheek. Monday is a holiday celebrating the life and times of a true American hero; a fine example of how important it is to dream and to fight for that dream. Tuesday, we will swear in our first African-American president; a man who is intelligent, charismatic, inspiring and deeply in love with his wife and children. Oh Lord, life is beautiful! And even despite our issues with the economy, these are amazing times that we're living in, ya'll. So who am I to stay home on a Friday night catching the most recent episode of The Office on Hulu.com?

To all my fellow 30-somethings and up, don't be afraid to go play. Don't make excuses not to play either! Even if it's a BBQ in the backyard, a sip of wine after the kids have gone to bed, or cranking up the heater and streaking down your hallway, make time to be good to yourself and find every opportunity to giggle. It works wonders for the soul and makes your corner of the earth a little brighter.

Until tomorrow or whenever I find some hot mess to get into....

January 15th - The Hawaiian Tropic Zone and Love

Something is apparently wrong with me. I'm up at 5:45 am blogging. I must be excited about doing this...

Last night's activities began with a meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken. Having been well versed in the art of alcohol consumption and hangover avoidance from my days in New Orleans, I strongly advise the intake of greasy substances before and after "getting one's drank on." I arrived at The Aladdin...I mean Planet Hollywood right around 6:15pm for the Spy On Vegas event. Now, if you're not hip to Spy on Vegas, then consider yourself hipped. At SpyonVegas.com, there is a weekly listing of venues around town offering complimentary cocktails. The free lucy is made possible by one liquor sponsor or another. Last night's libations were courtesy of Lotus Vodka and some curious concoction entitled Tyku (the bottle glows!).

After parking in self-parking, I had to make it through the maze of shops to The Hawaiian Tropic Zone. I'm getting old. Instead of checking out the sales in the various shops, I found myself appreciating the tiling throughout. It was quite lovely and shiny and definitely the kind of job that causes one in high heels to slip and break a hip. I'm not sure why I expected the shops to be crowded. I always expect a crowd on The Strip. Maybe it was just too early. I can't figure out how those representatives peddling zip purses and lotion and those skirts that turn into dresses don't get bored to tears, but I digress....

The Hawaiian Tropic Zone is one of the main attractions of Planet Hollywood. Visible from Las Vegas Blvd, this spot offers tropically themed bar food, multiple television screens, and of course waitresses wearing bikini tops and itty, bitty sarongs. I could have sworn that one of those waitresses was tranny fierce and if so, go 'head girl. She looked good! My one complaint was the location of the bathroom. Down the hall, up some stairs, around a corner. What the hell do they do when someone's had one drink too many and requires prayers to the porcelain god? Again, couldn't help but appreciate the bathroom fixtures. Beautiful sinks indeed.

Everytime I go out, I always run into someone I know either from work or networking. Contrary to popular thought, Las Vegas is a very small town. All of the "go-getters" are constantly out and about. Tonight I ran into one of my associates from my days of peddling advertising on radio..let's call her Gia. Oh Gia. My, have we gotten into some trouble together. She's the main reason why I don't drink tequila. Anywho, we'll probably do lunch next week.

I settled at the bar with my free Lotus to scope the scene and wait for my friends to arrive. Never fails, some man from the midwest in the midst of a mid-life crisis popped into the seat next to me. Let's call him Dan, since I got his card and might do business with him if I'm ever in Ohio. Dan hailed from Cincinnati where it is currently 7 degrees outside. At 8:00am cst yesterday, he decided to just up and fly to Las Vegas with a couple of his buddies after leaving his eight year old and four year old in the care of his mother. His wife (which he initially made no mention of and actually tried to hide even after I pointed to his wedding ring) was away somewhere on business. Dan was born prematurely and had never experienced the comfort of breastfeeding. However, he had tasted breast milk when his youngest was born because his wife had produced enough milk to feed fourteen children. He had used said milk to prepare pancakes. His wife's breasts were now the size of his fist. Dan had been drinking Miller since 10:00am pst and was desperately in need of some sort of tobacco product. My friends arrived and Dan treated one of them to a shot of Jager while he scored another beer for himself. I was pretty sure that he was going to fall over before I could get him to buy me a glass of wine, so I left him alone. Besides, he had mistaken me for being 22 years old and Out Past 30 Lady always appreciates when men make that terrible mistake. I was relieved when he stumbled away to find a cigarette.

Spy On Vegas events last from 6pm to 9pm. How convenient! Our performance of Love started at 9:30pm. As more of our party arrived, we moved to a larger table, ordered nachos and kept the drinks coming. (Cheers to you, Jen! I'm looking forward to motherhood but I'll keep the partying going for you in spirit until the rabbit dies.) It's these kind of times that make me appreciate what Las Vegas has to offer. Around the table sat folks from California, Maryland and Michigan... most of which had only been in Vegas for a year. We agreed that it was difficult to know where to fit it until you make friends. We also agreed that making friends can be scary unless you're really outgoing and/or tipsy. (Thank you, Lotus martini with extra olives.) I, of course, distributed cards to every new contact made. We were all college-educated and professional and one just never knows when an opportunity may present itself. In particular, one new friend was a pilot for a commercial airline. Out Past 30 Lady's boyfriend lives in Georgia. Can you hook a sista up with some tickets, Mr. Pilot? We'll see.

We got to Love at 9:46pm. This was my second time seeing the show so I wasn't bummed and we were having such a smashing time anyway. Love is a Cirque Du Soleil show based on the discography of The Beatles. Performances are at Mirage Hotel and Casino. It's really a cool show and even if you're not exactly familiar with The Beatles you will be more than entertained. The dancers and acrobats do all kinds of tricks and stunts to the beat of tunes like I Want to Hold Your Hand, Strawberry Fields, Help and Lucy in The Sky ...With Diamonds. And there is so much to take in both on the central stage and in the air above you.

It was nice to see the show from a totally different perspective. First time around, I had front row seats. This time around we were in the very back. There's a part of the show when half of the audience is covered under a huge white canopy, so on last night I finally found out what was going on while the rest of the folks were underneath. Also, there's another part of the show where flashing lights are suspended in the air like stars. Oohs and Ahhs from me abound.

Be advised. Love is not the kind of show to see if you had an ample amount of liquor. Towards the end of last night, I was fighting the urge to be lulled to sleep. I imagine, however, that any euphoric drug user would find this show both pleasing and stimulating. Any extras from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas would have been absolutely delighted. Additionally, the ushers are like hawks looking for any signs of photography. I snapped off a couple before one of the ushers warned me that she would confiscate my camera. As I was leaving, she wanted me to give her my camera to delete those photos. I informed her as pleasantly as I could that I'd had too many drinks to hand her my camera or to give a damn. She told me that any published photos would bar me from ever setting foot in Love again. I don't think that I will ever go back, but I won't post the photos here either. See the show for yourself. You'll love it.

Since today marks the beginning of Dr. King's holiday weekend, I'm very sure that my adventures for this week will not end here. McFadden's is having an I Have A Dream Pajama Party on Sunday night where ladies drink free from 10pm - 12am. Yes, ridiculous, I know....but this is Vegas, Baby!

Into the Realm of 30-Something...

I first moved to Southern Nevada at the tender age of twenty-four. Come this April 30th, I will boldly step into the realm of 30-somethings as I celebrate my 31st birthday. Vegas is still as it was and how it will always be, a shallow smorgasbord of decadence, temptation, glitter and gossip….but my, how I’ve changed. Sure, I still enjoy the parties and I am still tantalized by the pulsating lure of the Strip. But, I’ve come to see the city with new eyes.

My cravings for jam-packed parties and dancing my day-old heels down to a nub have been replaced by a deep appreciation for fashionable networking events with complimentary booze and butler passes. The most treasured possession in my handbag is my business card holder instead of my lip gloss. Shameless flirtation with the cutest eligible bachelor in the room has taken a backseat to making a worthwhile connection in the world of Las Vegas movers and shakers. And finally, God help me, I have to take a damn nap before pulling an all-nighter.

Perhaps some women, on leaving the conveniently youthful confines of their twenties, may become melancholy. Some of the perkiness is gone. Junior sizes become a thing of the past unless you put yourself on some kind of a coke diet. Suddenly, there’s a random ticking noise alerting your body to procreate if you haven’t already done so.

Hmmm...

Honestly, I can’t complain. I look out over the Las Vegas Valley from the office window of my regular 9 to 5 and I feel like I finally have the right perspective. No, life is not an endless party of celebrity bashes, launch extravaganzas and grand openings…but I have the freedom and the intelligence to partake on occasion. I can appreciate the quiet confines of my Henderson residence just as much as I can delight in a good House of Blues concert or a lively round of Cupid Shuffling at Sam’s Town Live. Whatever I decide, I’ll keep you all posted with all the sordid details.….