It was quite fitting that while running through the Luxor on work errand, I heard The Rolling Stone’s “Sympathy for the Devil.”  I was in Sin City, after all.

            Camped out at The Bellagio with the rest of the people I was working with for the weekend, I braced myself for what I was sure would be a hectic 5 days.  The VMA’s were upon us, the celebrities were flocking to the strip, and we were setting up StyleVilla (a celebrity gifting suite). 

Before I get to the nightlife part, I just have to say that celebrities are really a piece of work.  There were lots of D List-ers like old American Idol people, MTV reality show people (Sorry I think The Hills is stupid although Brody is hot), Britney Spears assistants, and people who haven’t worked in years that I won’t mention.  It’s amazing that the people with the biggest attitudes were those who were the least famous.

50 Cent was so friendly, went to every suite, arm wrestled someone for a watch and got a facial on camera.  Oh and his publicist dropped off a huge box for us of 50’s new condom line (I kid you not) called “Magic Stick.”  They are made by Lifestyles and supposedly flavored.  Another favorite was Kevin Connelly.  Okay maybe I was just really excited about seeing E.

Now onto the important stuff.  The main club we went to when we were there, and not passed out by like 9 from working all day, was LAX.  DJ AM had launched it about a week prior and it truly is a great club.  Dark burgundy décor and dim lighting made for a sexy atmosphere.  Once you walk inside you forget that you were in a Casino just a few moments ago.

Several bars, downstairs tables, and sky lofts make most of what you can see.  The first night we were there we had one of the sky lofts, which is just basically upstairs private seating areas with balconies that overlook the dance floor.  Service is very good and very quick.

The real treat of LAX, however, is what you don’t see.  Our last night there we went to the P. Diddy after party.  One of the girls we were with spoke to a bouncer and soon we were being led through a dark hallway.  One of my co-workers whispered that she thought we were going to some kind of “stripper and champagne room”, not quite.  Through a private entrance on the first floor was the ultra-exclusive lounge Noir Bar, which also includes a celebrity-friendly private exit.

Service there, steps it up a notch with the bartenders asking you what you like and then concocting drinks, with fresh fruit and all.  (I looked it up after and they are actually trained to do that.)  So I get to the bar, pick up a bellini and lo and behold who is in the corner but Miss Britney Spears herself.  After her sadly disappointing opening performance at the VMA’s she had her sunglasses on, plain black dress, and was dancing by the DJ booth with her friends.  Nobody bothered her as she obviously didn’t want to be bothered.  Also spotted later in the evening, Criss Angel, Tommy Lee, the cast of The Hills, and some guy from the soap Passions that my friend nearly fainted over.

Downside, only one bathroom at Noir Bar and once you leave it’s annoying to get back in so you end up just waiting it out for a half hour on the line.  Of course, if you’re Britney with a huge bodyguard, you cut the line and go in for 20 minutes with 2 friends, breaking the one-person only strict policy.  This pissed off everyone as nobody really reveres her anymore.  My friend mouthed off to her bodyguard telling him it was unfair, but then he got within an inch of her face and told her to “stop being disrespectful.”  Who knew it was disrespectful to complain about someone cutting you in line to the bathroom when your bladder is about to burst?

Anyway, I was actually happy when I boarded the plane to come home.  Vegas is fun but for me it has a time limit, and this past trip definitely exceeded that.  Although I do miss In n’ Out burger, I’m glad to be back in my city around real people.  Celebrities think they are just so entitled and everyone out in LA and Las Vegas caters to that idea.  Although many celebrities live and breathe in New York, I think for the most part if any one of them tried to cut a New Yorker in line to pee at a club, we would just tell them to “F*ck off.”

After my last post about lower-key weekends, I guess I should’ve expected the opposite to follow.  Not just a packed, scene-y place but the whole enchilada.  Yes, drama as well.  What would a weekend in New York be without it?

So I hauled my East Side self over to the West Side, Hell’s Kitchen to be exact, not my favorite area.  My friends and I decided to try the other Azuki for a change, instead of the usual packed with 18 year olds one on Park Avenue South.  Verdict?  You could actually move at this one, food was the same, and the service was way friendlier.  Convenience factor as far as location?  Eh, not great, but I guess it depends on who you talk to and where you’re coming from.

Then it was off to Retreat because my tennis-obsessed friend was dying to see James Blake’s brother, Thomas, and possibly James Blake himself.  What this all meant to me, a seriously sports challenged girl, was about zip.  Honestly, if they aren’t in the tabloids or aren’t a member of the New York Yankees (no I don’t lust after Jeter like the rest of the female population, my family’s been genuine fans for years), then I probably don’t know who they are.  So we went, we got free bottles of Smirnoff Source (enjoyed) and then we departed for another destination.  My friend was happy as we hailed a cab.

However, it was after we squeezed into a cab that some girl, maybe a few years older than me, started screaming something at me through the cab window.  At first I was like “who is this girl talking to and what is she saying?”  But then she pointed DIRECTLY and me and screamed, “YEAH YOU BITCH!”  I’m not really sure what she was saying, but being the potty-mouthed soul that I am, I instructed the cab to stop as I leaned over, much to the chagrin of my friends and rolled the window down.

As I screamed after her “what did you say?” and failed to get her attention, some guy, who I can only assume to be her friend, said “It was nothing, we saw you at the sushi place before.”  Um yeah sure, whatever, that’s why your psycho drunk friend was screaming at me through the cab window.  Whatever gets you off.

We moved onto Park, an old classic, where I pretty much lost everyone that I showed up with, but Park being Park found a bunch of other people I knew.  Bunch being an understatement actually, seems like everyone there just knew each other.  Which of course means, a lot of fake hellos and even a couple of “I see you, we are friends on Facebook, yet we barely know each other so it’d be totally awkward to say hello.”

I got out of there at a decent hour, successfully avoiding that evil entrapping hot dog stand that resides on the sidewalk and often sucks me in after a druken evening.  Happily, I made it home and hot dog free.

Saturday night was less traveling around.  We just went to Tonic in Murray Hill.  Can anyone tell me why they always close the rooftop off at 11:30?  Is it to avoid drunk people falling off?  230 Fifth has a rooftop and I think it works just fine.  Anyway, it was a pretty uneventful night.  Well, with the exception of one of my guy friends projectile vomiting in the middle of the bar.  He managed to only get a little bit on one of my friends, thankfully not me.  I guess that’s what comes of trying to take two “mind erasers” at once.  Smart move.  Can’t say the night was ruined though.  He just went home and changed shirts.  True story.