What happens in Vegas...gets put in this blog


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I went to Vegas this past weekend and managed to not come back married or broke. They don’t call it Sin City for nothing — there is something about that over-the-top town that sheds inhibitions, breaks everyone’s own rules and brings out the wild child in even the most boring of people.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact alcohol is free while you gamble and even prostitution is legal. They say New York City is the city that never sleeps, but I’d like to dispute that - Vegas is actually the city that never sleeps. I didn’t do much sleeping either. Granted, I rarely ever sleep… I figure I can sleep when I’m dead.


The first night we went to TAO (at the Venetian hotel) for “religious” nightlife (if there is such a thing).


TAO had naked girls swimming in rose petal filled bath tubs, nine Umpa Lumpas and the entire cast of costumed Sesame Street characters (only in Vegas). When Elmo and the gang got on stage to the tune of the Sesame Street theme song, the entire club stopped dancing to watch and sing “sunny days, sweeping the clouds away…..”

At 4 a.m. I found myself saying “It’s 7 a.m. in my real life.”

At that point, I insisted we go back to the Bellagio where we were staying. As soon as we walked in the lobby, we saw Marlon Wayans, whom I actually thought was Damon Wayans at the time. He was headed to the Poker Room where Nelly was playing with famed poker player The Iceman, who was wearing diamond encrusted headphones.

The following conversation transpired between me and Mr. Wayans...

Him: “You wearing that blue dress”

Me: “Yes, my dress is blue, keen observation,” I said being a smart ass. But I was so drunk I thought it was a good idea to continue talking by faking a compliment. “You’re the reason I’m funny. I’m a humor writer in Charlotte. I think you’re a comic genius.”

Him: “For real! Give me your card I’ll hit you up, check out your stuff, but you gotta move out to LA though... Charlotte ain’t shit.”

OH NO HE DIDN’T! … talk shit on our city that is.

Me: “Actually, all your movies suck – especially White Chicks, that might be the worst movie, ever.”


We then joined a makeshift dance party in the middle of the slut machines... I mean, slot machines before riding the escalator up to Bellagio’s nightclub, The Bank.

You see, in Vegas each casino hotel is its own little city with multiple restaurants, stores, shows and more importantly (to most people in Vegas at least) bars and nightclubs. There’s PURE in Caesar’s Palace, Rain in The Palm, LAX in the Luxor... I'm going to stop there because it’s a rather long list.


Night two, we went to LAVO (at the Palazzo hotel) for Nelly’s birthday dinner and party. Having the opportunity to go make me feel like Cinderella for a Day, which coincidentally is going to be Nelly’s next song that I got to hear and can not wait to hear again.

We got off his party bus at LAVO, which is across from Treasure Island where their nightly elaborate pirrrrate show was going on that includes fireworks and explosions. So, when Nelly got off the bus he jokingly gushed, “All this for me – you guys shouldn’t have.” He was obviously kidding, but it might as well have been for him – Ford made him a truck cake about the size of an actual truck waiting for him in the club.


And in the club they had the same kind of bottle service cocktail waitresses that you’d see at Suite or Sunset Club. And honestly, I think some of the girls in Charlotte could rival those in Vegas.


Vegas is so over-the-top and fancy even the Motel 6 I passed on the way to the airport is blinking neon.


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