February 27th - Olympic Gardens / Tao @ The Venetian

Let me just remind everyone that I live in a place nicknamed Sin City and I am an adult. As an avid observer of the human experience and an electronic scribe to boot, I feel it is my duty to provide a mature, civilized and informative report on what goes on in a Las Vegas strip club. It is also my right to see an almost completely naked man pop that thang. Besides, this may turn out to be my most read blog besides the one about the dude showing me a picture of his goods on his cell phone. (See Flashback - Sam's Town Live.)

Anywho, it's not like I planned to go to Olympic Gardens. I decided to hang with my girl, Tanisha, and she told me that we were going to Tryst at Wynn. When I arrived at her house for the usual pregame cocktail the plans had been changed. Olympic Gardens is a partially nude strip club where ladies perform downstairs and gents perform upstairs. We were going to see the men. Afterwards, we would dance it up at Tao at The Venetian. What the hey.

I fully expected to see people walking into Olympic Gardens smiling in anticipation of fleshy wishes and lascivious dreams, but as I regarded the faces of other attendees there seemed to be varying expressions of determination, confusion, guilt, relief and shock. Downstairs, girls strolled around in bikinis and lingerie with little purses for their tips. They didn't look like they were at a party. They looked like they were at work... I guess because they were. Two girls lazily slinked around poles on stage as if they were extremely drowsy. One removed her top. Implants. The curious thing is only a few men seemed to really be paying any attention to them. What the heck were they there for? Perhaps I didn't give myself enough time to observe. After all, I wasn't there to seem some chick dance around naked. I could do that at home in the mirror.

Upstairs we went. It wasn't nearly as crowded as downstairs. Female spectators sat all around in party attire while a couple of extremely fit and tone men jerked around on the stage. Why can't built men dance? It seems like good muscle tone would promote dancing abilities. Not so. It was more humorous than erotic. I was tempted to point and laugh but I didn't want to bruise homeboy's ego. Besides, he had an extremely impressive rear end. It was kind of pretty. We hadn't even sat down for three minutes before a stripper came over trying to charm us into buying a lap dance. He was cute. We took a couple of pictures with him and then ordered drinks. We moved to the seats around the main stage to watch some guy dressed up as a marine. Again nice body but the most ridiculous pelvic thrusting I've ever seen. He pulled girl after girl on stage and pretty much slapped them all in the forehead with his jewels. If he tried that with me I was going to have to alert the authorities.

A Latino gentlemen teamed up with our first eager earner to entice both Tanisha and me. As he was giving me a rather enjoyable lap dance, I learned that his name was Xavier and that he had missed a day shaving the back of his thighs although his chest was extremely smooth. I should have asked how uncomfortable he was wearing those thong underwear. That dude charged me twenty bucks for the equivalent of heavy petting and assistance in helping me stretch my right leg behind my head. Thanks, Xavier. What a rip. I went to the bathroom and had a conversation with another lady who was really happy about the opportunity to objectify men. I was glad for her but personally thought this was kind of ridiculous. I've never met any man who wasn't ready, willing and able to be objectified for free. Watching a bride-to-be girlfriend get ravished by a male exotic dancer at a bachelorette party is fun. However, to just up and go to a strip club to pay to have some dude grind on you is rather silly. I guess that's why the room wasn't that packed. Don't get me wrong. If you're curious about going to a strip club just do it and get it over with. It's pretty interesting and it's so grown up. I suggest taking a date.

On we went to Tao. When standing in line at Tao, there are these pools of water with rose petals floating atop. From time to time, girls come to sit in them. We tried to ask them if the water was cold but we were instructed by some high bouncer to not say anything to them. Dang. We gained entry, took another potty break and then made our way to one of the dance floors. It was dreamlike. There were droves of people there. The ceiling was so high and the room had this eerie red glow. I didn't understand why people were packed onto the dance floor and just standing there. While travelling across the floor to the other side, I stopped in the middle to contemplate. What the hell was going on and what wet gelatinous matter was falling from the ceiling? Some of it got into my left eye and blinded me for a sec. WTF! Tanisha kept on pulling me across the floor. I turned back to try to figure out what it was and why it was only falling in that area of the dance floor. It looked like fake snow. What did it all mean?!?!?

Went to the next dance floor and made my home there dancing with this really excited guy named... I don't know what the hell his name was. He told me when he bought that beer that I should not have consumed in combination with the vodka I'd had but I forgot. It took me the longest to get rid of him. I hate when guys do that. I typically want to dance with more than just one person when I go out unless I encounter a really good partner. This dude needed serious help in the rhythm department and was extra grabby. I should have kept that twenty I gave to Xavier and paid this dude to go away.

I have no idea what time Tanisha and I stumbled out of Tao giggling and heckling passersby. The last thing I recall before falling asleep in the car was informing this guy named Andy that I was not going to his room at Palazzo. These tourist dudes are crazy. I should have thrown that shot he bought me right in his face.

February 26th - Top 40 Under 40 @ Blue Martini

Sweet Jesus, I'm so glad I'm not sick anymore. Due to some alien virus, I missed two parties last week along with several other opportunities to traipse around town. Nevertheless, those sick days made the events of today all the more sweeter. Life is beautiful and this day tasted a bit like perfection. This morning, I woke up, feeling brand new, I jumped up...worked out, did my sprint, went to a job that I love, worked with people I thoroughly enjoy spending my day with, got my hair "did" on lunch, spoke to my sweet Georgia lover on the phone, took part in the planning of a wonderful community-building event called the Nevada Women's Day of Service and then I went out! Hallelujah!

Sure, I've been to Blue Martini scores of times (see January 16th ). It's always so crowded, I swear the Fire Marshall is on the take. However, Blue Martini is a must do for all local business people and is definitely a suggested destination for any regular visitors to our fine valley. Tonight, in particular, was a young business person must. Anyone under the age of forty who didn't make it truly missed out on a networking bonanza.

In Business Las Vegas (IBLV) is a local business publication distributed weekly by Greenspun Media Group. Each year, IBLV hosts a series of events recognizing the go-getters of the Las Vegas. The parties are typically thrown in the finest of nightlife locations with complimentary cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. One of the most popular events is the Top 40 Under 40 which honors forty young professionals under the age of forty specializing in kicking ass and taking names in business. As if I wasn't going to be there. OutPast30 Lady rolled in there five deep. Shots out to my peeps at Imagine Marketing. Congrats to Top 40 Under 40 honoree and OutPast30 reader, Rebecca Fay. Big ups to Tom Fay, Director of Henderson Libraries. (Folks, Tom reads my blog too.)

To anyone who thinks that professionals are too elite to hang with, think again. While waiting at the bar, I overheard a group of four discussing how proud they were to repeatedly mispronounce words like "quesadilla" and "fajita." I overheard the distinctly high-pitched giggle of acute intoxication. I witnessed professionals piling their plates sky high with shish kabobs and shrimp as if they were at a casino buffet. And finally, after the ceremonies were over and a quartet called Fat Strat hit the stage to cover Beatles tunes with their electronic string instruments, I saw the mass exodus of professionals who were no longer interested in drinking Patron ...especially if it wasn't free.

Business networking is good times with a room full of people from all backgrounds just trying to get their piece of the pie and have a cool time doing it. It's not stuffy, condescending banter. It's real people just exhaling and trying to make sense of this crazy capitalist machine we live in in the company of fellow cogs. I had a wonderful night. My only complaint was when Titties McGee behind the bar refused to acknowledge the fact that I needed another drink. I had to resort to wacky waving infatalable arm flailing in order to get some service.

Singles ladies, I just want to tell you something. Don't listen to Beyonce. No disrespect to my fellow bootyshaker but she's always talking about enticing men in some nightclub. Whatever. Get yourself to these networking events. Just look at the picture to the left. This a fine example of the smorgasbord of gainfully employed men who are very available, are steady on the grind and do enjoy the company of business-minded women. Yes, OutPast30 Lady's pimp hand is strong, however no pimp bones are necessary to make the acquaintance of one of these gents. If you've got business on the brain, then be about it. Bring plenty of business cards and keep your eyes open. Smile, shake hands and tell him your name. Take his business card. You don't have to think of anything intelligent to say because he can't hear you anyway. Before you know it, you've made a hot and sexy new friend. Furthermore, you have his number AND an excuse to call him.

Single men, ditto. Hell, ALL single people, ditto. There's someone for everyone. Go ahead. Handle your business.

Disclaimer: Sweet Georgia Lover Man, OutPast30 Lady did not hit on, attempt to hit on or even contemplate hitting on any individuals of the opposite sex, same sex and/or questionable sex. OutPast30 Lady is not responsible for the undeniable attraction that any individual may have for her, nor is she responsible for any visions, fantasies, or wishful thinking with regard to her overall deliciousness.

February 24th - Spiked Lemonade @ Satay Malaysian Grill

OutPast30 Lady did venture out to a Spyonvegas event last night...but other than the free beer and the spicy sushi there wasn't much to chat about. However, my fellow 30-something gal pal went to a really cool event and I'm wondering the why the hell I wasn't there!

Spiked Lemonade .....What a refreshing change from the typical humdrum networking events in Las Vegas.

Last night was the first Spiked Lemonade event – a venue that allows Las Vegans an opportunity to rant, rave or talk about whatever is on their minds. Why “spiked lemonade?” Some people are tired of taking the lemons in their life and making plain lemonade. Sometimes a little extra spike is needed to truly make things in life seem a tad better.

The rules: Libations are a must. You get to rant about five issues (no political correctness necessary) and you must deposit a dollar to benefit the event’s charity of choice if you choose to speak. (Hint, hint, non profits.) I, along with twenty other Las Vegas professionals, took on the challenge and had a surprisingly great time for what could have turned into an awkward situation.

The brainchild of local networking and business extraordinaire Bessy Lee-Oh, Spiked Lemonade has a special purpose… to give people a chance to lay it all out on the table and then network afterwards. When you think about it, knowing a person’s personal frustrations and story brings you closer to them. And, in business, relationships are key. I left at 10 p.m. last night with five business cards in my pocket and a long list of “to email/follow-ups” in my purse for the next morning. Not too shabby when you can consider my time at Spiked Lemonade a part of a group therapy session for my life as well. A win-win situation does not even begin to give it justice.

The venue, SATAY Malaysian Grill on Paradise just off Flamingo, was perfect. (Try the deep fried garlic tofu.) Even the owner took part and said a few words. People off the street joined the group including a Virginia tech analyst in town for a convention. He ended up giving a rant of his own!

So what did I rant about , you ask? I can’t tell. You’ll need to attend the next event to hear – which is currently being planned as we speak. (Keep checking back on this blog for the next date.) Let’s just say that last night daddy issues, bad drivers, stimulus packages, in-laws, today’s youth, irresponsible friends and just about anything else you can imagine was put out into the public by all who were there. What a night.

Thanks, Ms. Amber! OutPast30 Lady's gonna have to get up on some of that ranting action. That's all I need... a drink and a mic. Hope there's not a time limit. LOLOLOLOL!

February 13th - Jet

If you're ever in Las Vegas, whether an apathetic native or a wide-eyed visitor, do yourself a favor and approach The Strip the way it was originally intended to be approached. Drive north on Las Vegas Boulevard from the 215 beltway at night when The Strip is in full swing. Behold the "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign in all of its classic glory and then let yourself be dazzled by the pulsating, undulating glow of the properties. It's like an adult-sized arcade. Dazzling, scintillating, wondrous, glowing with the promise of energy, motion and people. All of God's children just trying to escape the drain of the real world by escaping into their wildest grown-up fantasy. It's beautiful. It really is. In an electrically tempting sort of way. It's so different from my Bay Area hometown and I try never to forget that. I want to stay as curious about this great desert wonder as I can. Keeps me coming out every night...

Listening to James Browns' Funky Good Time, I was on my way to Mirage Hotel and Casino to party at Jet. I arrived wayyyyy too early. There was no line for me to cut and since that's part of the fun of going to these various places, I decided to walk about the casino. I'd just been there the night before but I hadn't given myself the opportunity to take in the vibe. It's cool. Mirage is a bit smaller than other properties like Ceasar's Palace and The Venetian, but it has its own distinctive amenities such as the gorgeously huge aquarium in the main lobby and free wine tasting on Fridays from 5pm- 7pm.

I circled back around to Jet, informing security that I was indeed there to attend the private open bar business event before the actual club opened. When he asked if I had a business card (and then informed me it was okay if I didn't), I regarded him momentarily before giving him a forgiving smile. Foolish mortal. I was pleased when he back-pedalled after seeing my card holder. I'll assume that he believed I was too devastatingly young and beautiful to have a business card. Easy mistake.

I checked my coat and made small talk with the checker. She was expecting and confirmed that her baby would probably be some kind of dancer because the little one was always dancing around in utero on account of his mom's surroundings. I scooped up my free screwdriver cocktail from the bar and regarded the crowd. Pretty thin. I drank alone for a moment, jotting down notes on a napkin as if I'm some kind of writer when I met Gilbert.

Gilbert was a very stylish 40-year old local who had recently become his own boss after working for a cosmetic retailer. He loved experiencing the nightlife but was having difficulty convincing his agemates to brave Friday's events after a long week of working. We discussed how we make time for the things we want to do and we don't allow age to be an excuse. I shared the finer points of marketing via social networking with him and gave him my word that I would invite him out with me on my next date with the city.

I'm inclined to believe that Jet suffers a bit during the winter months. The last time I was here had been on a very crowded summer night. There was no open bar and no free anything. On this night however, one of the lovely hostesses came around regularly with free lemon drop shots. My new friend, Gilbert and I partook in a couple and then hit the dance floor where I skated about in typical OutPast30 fashion for two hours. I'm proud to say that even without stretching, I experienced no soreness this morning. :)

I like that Jet offers their female guests a chance to swing around on poles in the middle of dance floor. Took me back to my high school days of cage dancing at City Nights. Don't even dare try to blackmail me, Li'l Bobby. I just ratted myself out. I fought the urge to swing around those poles for about half hour before giving in. Another lady took my hand and climbed up on the platform with me where I immediately slipped and fell on an abandoned drink. I played it off, twirled around the pole a couple of times and then left both the platform and the dance floor as if I had just given a show-stopping performance. Inside my head, I couldn't stop laughing. I think I'd been about the fifteenth falling casualty of the night. Time to go home.

I grabbed my coat, snapped a shot with some random lady waiting at the exit and made my way to the escalators. Crossing the catwalk to the parking garage, I again regarded The Strip. Gorgeous. Seemingly painted across the night sky. I can't believe I live here.

February 12th - Twestival!

I've never thought I would find myself so plugged into the world of the Internet. I'm on Facebook, Myspace, Eons, Blackplanet and LinkedIn. I blog. (Duh!) I have a Gmail, YouTube and Hulu account. I receive email alerts from VegasEvibe, Las Vegas Weekly, The Executive Lounge, SpyonVegas, Vegas4Locals and NapkinNights. I go to The Daily Beast to keep on the pulse of current events. And yes, folks, I TWEET!! To facilitate Twitter useage, I've got Twhirl jamming on my desktop this minute although I'm considering switching to Tweetdeck.

I once thought the Internet would be a great divider. I believed that independently independent individuals would plug into their monitor instead of each other for all forms of education and information..... because they believed that fellow humans would prove to become more and more ominously untrustworthy. But we can't deny our intrinsic desire to form communities, to share and absorb information, to reach out to anyone willing to listen and perhaps make "friends." It's lovely to have daily conversations with my fellow Class of 96ers all over the nation. (GO APACHES! GO, GO APACHES!) It means so much to watch my college friends' children grow up even though I can't be on the other side of the country with them. It's amazing to come together and laugh with perfect strangers. To know that our neighbors aren't as scary as ADT commercials make them out to be... To understand that people in far off lands don't hate us and still believe in the American dream... To see the world from a much broader perspective.. That's a beautiful thing.

I was reminded of this at the LV Twestival which took place at The Beatles Revolution Lounge at Mirage Hotel and Casino. All around the world, 175 cities hosted their own event where tweeters could socialize offline, meet their followers and followees face-to-face, party and benefit a charitable cause. The LV Twestival managed to raise $1000 to benefit charity: water. charity:water is a non profit organization bringing clean, safe drinking water to people in developing nations by funding sustainable clean water solutions in areas of greatest need. We partied our way to a well, ya'll!

This event touched me. It reiterated the idea that we can use our "special powers" for good. Some people have a knack for throwing a sweet party. Some people can mix up a pretty nice libation. Some people can network their butts off. Some people are technological whizzes. Some people really know how to match a pair of boots with a dress. When combined, this makes for good-looking, swingin' time that addresses a real need in our world.

I didn't see much of the inside of Revolution because I spent most of the evening welcoming attendees. However while enjoying a "Tweetini", I noticed the ultra lounge does feature many comfortable seats and cool tables with internet access and digital chalkboard capabilities. I especially loved the unisex bathroom. There was something about the large male and female symbols leading to the same destination that made me giggle. Oh, but what a terrible enticement for all sorts of public fornication. Sin City, you dirty little thing, you.

FLASHBACK - Sam's Town Live

So, I was supposed to go to Lavo tonight, but I totally spaced on the fact that I had a tres importante conference call scheduled with Phenomenal Women Las Vegas. My deepest and sincerest apologies. However, that doesn't mean that I don't have a tale of Las Vegas to share. I happened to remember the particulars of my first visit to Sam's Town Live a couple of years back. I shared with a few friends who urged me to post the lowdown. Hence, I present a flashback. (Georgia Boyfriend, whom I love, please do not worry your handsome head as to whether or not the following events happen regularly when I frequent night spots. Rest assured that such things most definitely occur. )

On Friday nights, without fail, there is a party sponsored by Power 88- KCEP 88.1 FM at Sam's Town Casino. Sam's Town is about as far east from The Strip as you can get. It is a local's spot in every way imaginable and is one of the few places one can go to find a large gathering of African-American folk in Southern Nevada. I'd heard that Sam's Town Live was usually frequented by men who were typically 55+ and their significantly younger, well-sponsored love interests. I really didn't care. As long as there wasn't a bunch of 19-year-olds with fake IDs running around I would be cool.

I'd been in a terribly anxious mood to get out of the house no matter what. I'd wanted to go to a place where I didn't have to get too dressy and where the alcohol would be cheap. On this evening, I would be flying solo and there was no guarantee that I was going to meet a tourist to fund any cocktails for the night. Neglecting to do my squats or properly stretch my feet, I just headed out the door. I was excited to go and get there and get on the floor.

I think I arrived at the casino at about 10:45pm, parked and then made my way through the sea of slot machines to my destination. Sam's Town Live is actually a venue inside of Sam's Town Casino. It's pretty much a multi-purpose room for award ceremonies, concerts and dances for a big crowd of black people. I paid the $10 cover without a great deal of complaint only because KCEP is a nonprofit station and does many positive things for the community. I strutted into the place, gazed upon the rather large dance floor and the surrounding tables and I swear I could have been transported to The Riverboat Hallelujah in New Orleans. Back in my college days, The Riverboat Hallelujah had been the site of many frat parties, dances and Chocolate Chip 'N' Dale shows. Oh, those were the days! Anywho, here before me was its western twin. Some older couples were already out on the floor just a two-steppin'. Prompted by nostalgia, I purchased a pineapple amaretto and made myself comfortable at one of the tables.

As is customary at any night club, all of the weakest records are played toward the beginning of the night. But people who want to and can dance will dance to any damn thing. It was fun to see normal people just grooving as if they hadn't danced in years. It reminded me of a family reunion when all the aunts and uncles dance or when my parents suddenly broke into an impromptu shuffle in the kitchen. I sat there smiling, drinking, giggling. The crowd grew. Forty-something gents in three-piece orange, green, and purple suits. Hats with plumes. Ladies with proud bellies wearing strappy, sparkling gowns and matching shoes. Twenty-something girls in jeans, halters and spike-heeled boots. Twenty-something guys in relaxed jeans, huge polos and Doc Martins. Thirty-something men and women in everything in between. Everyone was in a good mood. Happy to be there. Happy to see everyone else had come to the party. Happy to be able to escape Las Vegas and go into a little bit of soul for a few hours.

They put on the Cupid Shuffle and I thought I would die. I and a whole host of people rushed to the dance floor. What a treat! There are very few clubs out west that will make time for line dancing. You should have seen all of the folks in unison. Strangers smiling at each other as if they were long lost friends, shouting "Get it, Girl!" or "Ah, don't hurt 'em now!" After that song went off, the DJ began to play more recent hits and I just went ahead and stayed put. I have no shame. I danced by my lonesome. When I needed a partner, I'd grabbed some unsuspecting male from the sidelines and made him dance. As if he was going to do otherwise!

When one of my partners asked if I was thirsty, I requested a water and he brought back a beer...which didn't help me at all. Since one is not allowed to consume alcoholic beverages on the dance floor, I was forced to sit. That's when I noticed the pain. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOUCH!!! The whole lower half of me was hurting like I'd been the victim of a caning from the thighs down. My feet were beyond screaming. I finished my beer, bid adieu to my partner and pretending wellness, marched out of the auditorium. Refusing the hand stamp for re-entry, I had to stop and lean against the wall. How in the hell was I going to make it all the way through the casino to the datgum parking garage. I should have valeted. Why had I not valeted?!? I summoned all of my willpower, stood proudly on aching feet and started tipping away from a group of party people gathered outside of the entrance. That's when a rather good-looking man approached me and asked why I was leaving. We'll call him Darrell.

I'm done for the night.

Ah! Don't go yet!

Nope. On my way home.

Don't go home. Come back inside. Let me buy you a drink. I just got here. Big whoop, Buddy. It's not my fault that you were late. It was friggin' 2:30am. I'd been dancing non-stop for three hours.

Look, I'm not going back into that place for another second.

Well, let me just talk to you. I stood there. There were plenty of witnesses around. He happened to be attractive and I needed to rest up for my voyage to the car anyway. He asked me what I did for a living. Told me what he did for a living. Talked about this and that and the other. I can B.S. with anyone, so he believed that I was actually interested in what he was saying. I wasn't. However, since he had no idea that I could care less, found me attractive and assumed that was I some kind of idiot, he proceeded to invite me to his home. I, of course, laughing hysterically, refused the invitation.

I'm not going home with you. I have no idea who you are and what you might do to me once I get there.

I'll treat you right, Sweetheart. As if that was going to change my mind.

Sorry. You have my card. (DRAT!!) Perhaps we can socialize at some later date, but I will not be sharing a bed or any more of my time with you tonight.

So you're saying you want to miss all of this? While Darrell had been persuading me to give him some nookie, he'd been fumbling with his phone. As he was making his last statement, he proudly thrust the screen at me to reveal a very clear shot of his....his primary amenity. I looked at him.

That could belong to anyone. He then scrolled to the next photo which was a full portrait of him grasping his...primary amenity. I asked him who had taken the picture of him. He told me that it had been a friend. I asked what kind of friend would just agree to take multiple shots of him naked like that. Why wasn't he requesting sex from this friend instead of me? Wasn't he afraid that the wrong person would come across his phone and discover his pictures? He told me that I was crazy for asking all of the questions. I replied that it was he who was in fact the one that was crazy since he had a member on his phone. He begged me to quiet down. Evidently, he was embarrassed. I referred him to some desperate looking chick leaning against a slot machine and then began the extremely painful trek to my car. Good grief.

True story. Only in Las Vegas.

February 6th - PURE!!!

Okay, I just want to start off this post with a celebratory WOOOOOOOO!!!!

I got on quite splendidly during last night's outing. I'm particularly glad that last night was such a hit because I was having serious doubts about venturing out. It's rather tough being a childless, 30-something party addict. Originally, I had a crew of four other 30-something party addicts lined up to roll with me. One by one, they cancelled. No babysitter to be found. Tired from work. Too much drinking earlier on in the week. Outfit wasn't fitting right due to water retention. Good grief. The dilemma for me is that I had a mighty need to prance on a dance floor. I've tried partying with 20-somethings and I have nothing against the age group, but they just have a completely different frame of mind and choice of attire when going out. I'm not trying to hear that, see. So, OutPast30 Lady went out by herself! (Insert shocking music here.)

Much to the dismay of my parental units, both biological and adopted, I take to the streets flying solo quite often. It can't and won't be helped. After living in three major metropolitan areas by myself and getting into more than my fair share of trouble, I can safely and intelligently navigate the after-hours scenes without making headline news the next morning. I keep my rape / party whistle handy. I make sure my celly is charged. I always walk with a purpose...as if I know exactly where I'm going. Additionally, I have a developed a pretty impressive "I will kill you without hesitation" facial expression. No one messes with me unless I want to be messed with and I don't put myself in ridiculous situations potentially leading to a knock upside the head. In other words, I'm an adult.

After performing my usual squats and lunges, eating some homemade jambalaya and rocking out to Soca music, I started the night at Lavo's open bar at The Palazzo. I will not elaborate on this particular venue because I plan on visiting it again on Tuesday night. (Be sure to check back on Wednesday for the full report.) After two glasses of wine and a bit of networking, I got myself over to Pure at Ceasar's Palace. I was told to get there at 10:30pm and initially I thought such an early arrival was pure and utter ridiculum. However, lo and behold at 10:30pm, there was a line. I uttered the secret password, gave the ritual handshake and was immediately skipped to the front. (It's so good to be a Las Vegas insider.) I walked through the Pure corridors into the main room. The spot was already starting to get packed. Wow.

If you've ever tortured yourself by watching MTV's The Hills then you've seen the inside of Pure and it is everything a Las Vegas nightclub should be with the scantily clad waitstaff, VIP areas and ultra modern decor. However, I think it's a little larger than most spots and for that I was appreciative. I made a trek to the bathroom. The tiling was nice. I found a vacant highboy to lean against and surveyed the crowd. Absolutely lovely. People of all ages, colors, and persuasions tastefully dressed. Not too skanky. Far from drab. Sure there was a host of chicks wearing those new little dresses with the tapered hem and there were a few who insisted on wearing bras with dresses that bras clearly shouldn't be worn with but I forgave them. There was good energy in the air. People already dancing on the dance floor. Guys smiling. A bride-to-be with her bridal party jerking maniacally to house music. The music changed to a mix of hip-hop and that was it. I snapped a picture with Mike, a young man visiting from California and his friend Charles, a three year resident of LV by way of Boston. I joined them in taking a shot of courage and then hit the dance floor hard.

I made my home there for about an hour and a half. Thank you, stretches, stability ball and morning sprint. My stamina was on FIRE!

While I was on the dance floor, a peculiar thing happened. Yes, I was looking terribly pretty in pink rocking the updated haircut but I didn't expect to get hit on the way I did. She would not tell me her name but she did share that she was married with two kids and was not interested in dancing with men. She smelled like lilac. She looked like she could have been Brazilian or at least some kind of product of South America. Yeah, she was hot and for about half of the time I was on the floor she did everything possible to come between me and my male dance partner including groping, fondling and spanking. Hell. I danced with her until an audience gathered around us on the floor to watch. Men are horrible.

Dear Hot South American Chick who kind of scared me, I had a great time with you. I hope that you made it home safely to your family. Please do not act upon your lesbian impulses unless you first clear it with the spouse or your children are grown.

I left the floor towards the end of the night to go out to the famed Pure balcony. I felt like I was a in a dream-like state and that this couldn't possibly be happening. I was just having a really, really good time. Out on the balcony, I was in awe of the night sky and lights around me. I've got to get back here and party again.

Pure was pure bliss.

February 1st - Super Bowl XLIII

Living in Las Vegas means that there is no shortage of home parties or private shindigs riveling the razzle dazzle on Las Vegas Blvd. While some parties are themed on exchanging sexual partners, selling items that go buzz in the night or snorting powdery substances from glass surfaces, most are not unlike the typical house party one would find littering the suburbs of our great nation. So yes, Las Vegas does have Super Bowl parties well outside of the casinos and bars sans half-naked showgirls. In fact, I was invited to two such parties.

I don't have to recount the details of the most watched annual sporting match in America. Nor do I have to give a recap of the commercials we have grown to appreciate...although I did feel that Careerbuilder.com had the best spot by far. What I found most interesting about yesterday's home galas were the extraordinary differences between the two affairs.

I spent the first half of the game at "Home A" and then hightailed it across town to "Home B" unfortunately missing what I reasoned was a rather flatulent performance given by the aging Bruce Springsteen. I swear that I could have been in two completely different worlds with those parties. Although both parties were full of young, college-educated, hard-working, home owning, fun-loving, beer-guzzling, significant-other possessing, positive-minded professionals, boy they were different! Both had unnecessary amounts of cheese and grease-based foods, and featured flat screens and DVR for our game-viewing pleasure...but there was a marked difference in the mood and energy. It took me the longest time to figure out why. Duh! Home A's party consisted primarily of women. Home B's party consisted primarily of men. Are we really that different? Really?!? Maybe I'm crazy.

At Home A, there was a quiz regarding facts about the game. Whoever earned the most correct answers would receive bragging rights...which is a pretty big deal. I found myself paying more attention to scoring points on that quiz than paying attention to the Cardinals trying desperately to insert their heads as far up their own asses as humanly possible. All guests maintained a respectable distance from each other. All commentary about the game was said in tones reminiscent of Mystery Science Theater 3000. (Why won't they bring that show back? Why?) No one dare scream, nor make sudden movements, nor jostle about. It just would not have been prudent. I did enjoy myself in that "I'm a responsible lady enjoying a micro brew" kind of way and even managed to come in third place for the quiz even though I had to turn in my answer sheet early.

At Home B, I could hear the yelling as I was parking the car. Everyone was practically sitting on top of each other.... by choice. In fact, there was collateral damage to the home's Lazy Boy which was rather quickly and efficiently repaired during the third quarter. There was gratuitous usage of the "f" bomb and uproarious laughter with little or no regard for neighbors nearby. And yes, I did do a victory dance when the Steelers were named champion much to the chagrin of those individuals rooting for Arizona. Whatever. The Steelers wanted it more.

I was reminded that no matter how old I get or what hormones attempt to dictate the direction of my life, I will always be a tomboy. Yes, that's right. A pantyhose-wearing, knitting and crocheting, cat-loving, interior-decorating appreciating, Meet the Press watching, lip gloss wearing tomboy who loves to scream directly at the TV during the big game and rub salt into the wounds of the butt-hurt opposing fans. I also believe that teasing isn't worthwhile unless there is index finger pointing AND laughing involved. My sons are going to be so awesome and woe to any man who thinks he's just going romance the pants off my daughter. That girl is going to be vicious!

So, which party did I prefer? I plead the fizzith!!!