G-Smash got invited to the Saturday night Olympia After Party at Rain, a club in the Palms Casino, and I was lucky enough to tag along. Before meeting up with the usual crowd at the Alligator bar at the Orleans, we walked down the strip, eating pizza and drinking beer like the classy ladies we are, making occasional pit stops in some of the fancier casinos. G and I enjoyed comparing the custom scents that each casino-hotel complex has pumped through its ventilation system. Treasure Island smells like spicy rum; the Aria is suffused with vanilla mixed with cinnamon. And what does our cheap-cheap hotel smell like? An unforgettable combination of feet and mould.

Drinking in public is thrilling and we had a great time getting ready, stashing cans of beer in our purses. Just before leaving we sent the following text to my partner, who was playing in a poker tournament at the Venetian:

“About to hit the strip. Packing purse. Bud Light, check. Panties, check. Toothbrush, check. Vagina wipes, oops all out.”

Oh yes, it was the height of hilarity, my friends. But the fun had only just begun….

Can I first say how great it is to be a girl in Las Vegas? Men we didn’t even know—nice, lovely men–drove us to and from the Palms, no charge, and we drank for free all night. Glen Livet makes me very, very happy. I downed lots of it—straight up of course–and then began to dance with a close friend named Mr. Glowstick. We could have danced all night, and that’s just what we did, until the lights went on at 4 am and they kicked our asses out. Sadly, I then became separated from Glowy and we did not spend any more time together. Actually, I seem to recall tossing him down G’s bra, lighting up her cleavage in an impressive fashion. But that’s enough discussion of the party hijinks.

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