"Tonight, we're going to party like Rock Stars".
That's what I texted my friend, Matt, shortly before meeting him and his entourage in Las Vegas' Bellagio hotel last night on the occasion of his 40th birthday.
He texted me back: "Yeah, like old rock stars who like to be in bed by 11pm!".
Hey, we weren't that bad.
I'll admit that we didn't quite stay awake until day break, but we did party somewhat like A-list celebrities!
We went to the same club frequented by Shaq in the past seven days. We skipped the line, bought a table in the VIP area and paid $38 for a large Fiji spring water and a Red Bull. (That would cost $5 at Safeway, but 'Pure' ain't no Safeway!)
We didn't only drink Red Bull and water, of course, but I can't bring myself to admit yet what the cost was for the two bottles of spirits our group was required to purchase to gain entry to that 'red room' VIP section.
So, I'm not telling you anything you don't know: Las Vegas is bizarre. And expensive. But somehow (I suspect because I've only been there for work for the last couple of years) I'd forgotten how absolutely bizarre sin city is.
Maybe it's the heat in the desert? It was 86 degrees at 3am last night.
That might account for the surreal scene we witnessed in the 'Fontana' lounge at Bellagio earlier in the evening.
As we happily sipped our 'warm-up' cocktails in the glow of the fountain show and the music of the lounge band, a procession of odd-balls like I've never seen before took to the dance floor before us.
First, up stepped three septuagenarian swing-dance expert couples, twirling each other around totally unselfconsciousness despite the rest of the room being filled with bachelor and bachelorette parties and the soundtrack being of the Lady Gaga era versus that of Glenn Miller!
Then, an enormously tall man dressed like the Grim Reaper, wearing a long dark robe adorned with mystical symbols of gold took the floor. He break-danced alongside a petite gray-haired woman in dowdy apparel who resembled a school mistress.
Then came a man vaguely resembling a decrepit Johnny Cash whose equally decrepit dance partner could have been skeletor's twin sister were it not for the enormous balloon-like boobs that protruded from her red cocktail dress. (To be fair, they could really dance! Not the boobs, that is. I mean her and Johnny.)
And then came the middle-aged transsexual (seemingly on a date with an attractive young Asian girl) followed by the dwarfs and the Elephant man.
Okay, so I might have embellished the last couple but honestly, my face was aching from all the incredulous smiling at the sights on the dancefloor.
In the end, I think we felt compelled to leave the Fontana lounge when we did to protect ourselves from the slim possibility of becoming so inebriated later in the evening that we might find ourselves waltzing with Death or Skeletor in the wee small hours!
As it turned out, there were several other characters who might have appeared in He-Man or an episode of Bat-Man at our next club. One that stands out in my mind was the guy whose chat-up approach was to bark like a dog at women as they walked past him.
I would have liked to see him succeed, but he was still barking alone when I left at 2.30.
Anyway, I feel that my rule to never stay in Las Vegas more than 48 hours has stood me in good stead once again, and tonight I'm safely back in San Mateo.
That said, by leaving this morning, I missed the final highlight of Matt's birthday weekend: a visit to see Barry Manilow in concert at the Paris hotel. Oh, Mandy!
Recent Comments