The sun has been setting earlier and earlier with the changing of the seasons, which means it’s about 6:45PM and it’s already getting dark. The Las Vegas party girl is asleep, taking a disco nap between the pool party at Daylight Beach Club at Mandalay Bay where Krewella
headlined today. Her hair is crusted over from the champagne that was sprayed in it and her false lashes are smashed into the pillow because she passed out face-first, half-off of the bed and still in her bikini.
Alarm goes off at 8:00PM and she freaks out because she knows she’s a mess and she needs to get ready and be at the complimentary dinner she and her girlfriends have set up at one of the many fine dining restaurants that offer these sorts of promotions. The reservations are made for 9:30PM, but she knows that this really means that everyone will arrive at 10:15.
The hors d’oeuvres have been picked at and the cocktails have been consumed by 11:30PM. Nobody really eats at these dinners, for fear of a bulging belly protruding between the crop-top and skirt combos they’re wearing tonight. Afrojack was sitting at the next table and the girls keep giggling and looking back at him. They make sure to get a group photo with him before they head out to XS at Encore.
Usually, the girls just get complimentary tables to complement the complimentary dinners. Tonight is extra busy, so the girls go with a friend-of-a-friend who’s dropping $12,000 on a dance-floor spot—with a prime view of all of the action. The Las Vegas party girl isn’t interested in the copious amounts of liquor at the table, she just wants to be there for Porter Robinson’s set. Some of her friends go for the music and some go for the free alcohol.
It’s 1:00AM and the headliner is up, now. The girls are tipsy and dancing on the ledges between the tables and having the time of their lives. The Las Vegas party girl looks around at the other nightclub patrons and knows that this is a vacation or a special occasion for some of these people. To her, it’s everyday life and she can’t get enough of it.
By 3:30AM, Porter is done and the party isn’t winding down yet. The Las Vegas party girl has lost nearly all of her friends and has also managed to attract a stage-5 clinger from a neighboring table. She pulls one of her remaining friends from the booth and demands a food run. Luckily, Peppermill is only a couple blocks up the street and the girls can’t tell yet that their feet are aching in the Jeffrey Campbell Litas they’re both wearing. They make the trek down Las Vegas Boulevard and make up for their lack of dinner earlier with mounds of greasy French fries and a stack of pancakes to share. The diner is filled with other recovering party kids and they swear they see Skrillex
and 12th Planet
tucked away in the corner of the room. It would make sense, they both played in town this weekend and the girls have seen them there before.
Almost comatose in the neon garden that is Peppermill, the Las Vegas party girl receives a text from a friend at the temporary Drai’s. It is now almost 5 o’clock in the morning and the cab the girls called has just arrived. Instead of taking the cab home to their strip side condos like they had planned, the girls are dropped off at Bally’s out of curiosity to see who all made it to the iconic afterhours spot. The girls enter the club and do the rounds, saying hi to all of their industry friends who have arrived after their shifts. Diplo is there with some of the club guys they know, and the producer is swarmed with girls trying to talk to the twerk king in the loud venue that is soaked in red light.
Losing steam, the Las Vegas party girl knows that she needs to call it quits. She leaves the after hours club and walks outside to the sun rising at 6:30AM. She walks through the taxi line to a decorated cab and gives the driver her address. She scans her Twitter feed on the ride home. She has the day off of work again today and Calvin Harris
is back at Wet Republic so she calculates that she has about 5 hours to sleep before she needs to get up, get ready, and do it all again.