March 27th -Party Hoppin' @ The Palms

Oh love. Sweet love. A veritable kryptonite to the revelling mindset. So much so that since my return from Atlanta I've been in bed at 9:00pm and absolutely selfish with my out and about experiences. Thank goodness for party-minded friends reminding me that the National Society for Black Engineers (NSBE) is having its convention this weekend. How could I stand to miss something like that? A sea of right-brained, y chromosome-possessing, brown individuals with disposable income  all hungry for the sin that Las Vegas has to offer? I can't stay at home on a Friday night with that calling! I took a three hour nap starting at 5:30pm, consulted with my friend Lisa at 8:45 pm, selected my attire at 9:30pm, watched The Soup at 10:00pm and was out the door at 10:30pm.

N.E.R.D's You Know What was the first selection on my shuffle and I nearly turned around and went back to the crib when Jill Scott's Crown Royale played (it's so about you, Sweet Georgia Lover Man). But Dee Lite's Groove is in the Heart saved the evening and had me in a bouncy mood as I parked at The Palms. I adore being that mysterious lone lady dressed in black, hips swinging, CFM's strapped on tight, striking across the casino floor. Looking at nothing and seeing everything. I had no idea what I was going to do but not a soul would've ever known. I left my cell phone at home. I didn't see Lisa anywhere and there was a hell of a crowd at Rain. I had no idea which line to stand in. I had no idea whether or not I would be on the guest list. I had no cash money on my person. I just stood in there as if I owned the place and smiled. I was going to get in somehow. This is my city!

About twenty minutes later, after making the acquaintance of Cynthia, Brittany (Britney? Brittanie?) and Robert who just happened to be standing behind me in line, I discovered they had room for one more person on their guest invitation. The dear people were in town visiting from Valencia, California. They'd driven in for three days of partying. (What recession?) I told them what I knew about the other clubs at The Palms and urged them to return to Las Vegas in the warmer months. Afterwards, I received a hand stamp and an all access pass to all of The Palms' hot spots. Sweet.

The last time I was at Rain was for the MTV VMAs. You know the one where Britney Spears made her rather flatulent return singing about giving her more? I walked through the hot pink sequined corridor and spilled into the club. There was a drove of people in there dancing to rather nervous music. I made my way to the bar all ready to charge a vodka and cranberry when the gentleman to my right asked me what I was drinking. He gave me a disapproving look when I told him and insisted on ordering me the same of what he was having which was some sort of shot with a coke chaser. Fine. Bottoms up! Stuff tasted like hot rot. I shook hands with my drink sponsor. Olisa was his name. I don't know what it is with me and African men but it's like I put out an African-attracting pheromone or something. Olisa was Nigerian born and Igbo just like my Sweet Georgia Love and was one of those engineers with NSBE that had nothing better to spend his money on than drinks for my cute ass. We danced. He was rather clingy and I couldn't believe I was outdancing this guy. His rhythm had been Americanized away. Shame.

Anywho, Rain is something else. At one point this apparatus suspended from the ceiling shot out flames above our heads making it ridiculously hot on the dance floor. I decided I never wanted to be anywhere near Rain if that thing happened to malfunction. Olisa thankfully found some reason to get the hell away from me. There's no point in coming to Las Vegas and handcuffing some stranger just because you bought her a drink. Empower your pimp hand, Dog! Anywho, something told me to dance by myself for a bit when the fool standing next to me decided to make it rain...in Rain. How lovely. He didn't just toss up ones. He tossed fives, tens and twenties. I scored twenty-five and promptly left. I was not about to get elbowed or knock out someone's teeth over free-floating cash.

I went on to Playboy and Moon just for kicks recalling the antics of Eamon Springall and the wonderment of the electric dance floor. NSBE's were all about mouths open, hands in the air presumably because they just didn't care. I snapped a picture of this guy wearing the silliest suit I've seen in a bit (ain't freedom grand?) and then used some of my rained money to buy a medium fry from McDonald's. Ah! What a wonderful first night back in Sin City. Tonight, unless plans change at the last minute, I'm doing Whiskey Sky at Green Valley Ranch....