Waking Up in Vegas

The average temperature for Las Vegas in May is in the high 90s. It is the desert after all. And yet, after my plane bounced and skidded onto the runway, sand whipping all around the tarmac, I emerged to find that, strong winds aside, the thermometer was barely tipping 50 degrees – a far cry from the warm, dry air I planned to sunbathe in throughout my girl’s weekend. As a thin-blooded Floridian who is unaccustomed to such chilly climate I couldn’t wait to unzip my suitcase and cover up my optimistically bare arms with the one and only (short sleeved) sweater I packed for the trip. Brrr! Shivering I stood by the luggage carrousel and waited for my bag but I was stood up. After waiting some more to file a missing persons … I mean, missing personal items … claim I received some devastating news – my suitcase, fearing that the excitement of Sin City would drive it to a life of sex, drugs and other vices, had headed for the more soothing plains and safely innocent large arches of St. Louis.

And so I got up and shaked the glitter out of my clothes and headed for Treasure Island to check us gals in for a weekend of debauchery, gambling and pedicures (all while wearing the same clothes I had been donning since 6:30 a.m. Eastern that morning). Okay, so we didn’t do much of any of those things, but a full recap would be tedious and unsupported by photographic evidence since much of our activities took place inside venues where such picture taking devices are not allowed (and now I realize it sounds like I’m talking about debauchery again when, in fact, I’m talking about the “no camera” policies at such places as Cirque du Soleil performances – we saw 2: Zumanity and Ka, both of which were excellent, though we all enjoyed the R-rated antics at Zumanity better – and the clothing optional, women-only spa in our hotel which, fair enough, could be considered even more risqué than the raunchiest of Vegas clubs).

But, that said, I will provide a few of my favorite snapshots taken during our ladies weekend, many of which do detail our one saucy night out at the clubs (where we got in on the VIP list thanks to a fake name I used – thanks, and just call me Silver Moua! If I look glassy eyed in these photos it might … might … be because being VIP also earned you free drinks). Enjoy!

Here's a group photo of us VIPs. From left, Sapphire, Kitty Glitter, Jeep and Silver Moua.

See, we were totally innocent - all we did was eat gelato. When in Rome (or, errr ... Venice).

Yeah, Venice ... Sort of. 

We did have just a few drinks as well. 

It's no Bellagio fountains, but Kahunaville did provide some watery entertainment. 

Finally my suitcase decided to join me! I took my new wardrobe to Caesar's Palace to check out even more cheesy fountains. 

At last we took our dancing shoes out to see The Strip at night. 

And Silver Moua gained us VIP access to a swank rooftop bar ... you could even go swimming (an option we did not exercise for a few reasons, not the least of which was the chilly weather).

But gaining VIP access was no easy task ... and we took some battle scars to get there. 

At this point I may have had a few free drinks. 

But not as many as this guy! 

And we might have done just a little bit of gambling as well ... after all it was Kitty Glitter's namesake machine. 

And this officially ends the portion of the night I remember. And, well, that's what you get for waking up in Vegas.