*****
She stands just over 5-feet-2-inches tall. I say stands, but really she's swaying in place. That's because she's drunk. Drunk on three Michelob Ultras and a sticky Washington Apple shot the bartender poured for her on the house when her legion of similarly stumbling friends—one in every size and shape—announced she was ...
The Bachelorette
Jack Colton: I know this girl all too well. She's typically very reserved, at least until her second drink, and then all of a sudden she magically transforms from the Midwestern poster child for all things holy into the stumbling drunk on the dance floor who looks like she is working hard to choreograph the most sexual part of a hardcore rap video. And just as she finds a group of eager men to grind with, her hopes are dashed as she squints over to her right and suddenly sees a familiar pack of cackling girls illuminated in at least $5 worth of flashing, neon genitalia coming her way. As her friends wobble in for the rescue, a tearful fight is only moments away as the leader of the pack realizes the bachelorette is about to cheat on her husband-to-be with the man that she herself had her eyes on all night. Obscenities are yelled, drinks are thrown and at least one Payless shoe is lost as security drags the girls out kicking and screaming. Let the drunk texting begin! *****
He has been planning his trip to Vegas for some time now, and this town will surely never be the same once he and his five friends get ahold of it. A group of college or work buddies so like-minded that they have actually managed to each pick out the exact same white, untucked, collared shirt with blue stripes, and rock the same style of jeans and virtually the same metrosexual hairstyle. Ladies beware; they are one for all and all for one. They are ...
Team Dude
XW: Inside the club, they cluster together, making it difficult for us ladies to flirt with any one of them—let alone tell them apart—without one of his compatriots chiming in to cock-block his eager friend. This infuriating game will continue until they have safely alienated all of the women in the room. Fortunately, many of the larger clubs boast three or more rooms with different musical styles, so they have but to wander around, Bud Light in hand, to find another room stocked with fresh opportunities to embarrass themselves and each other before deciding there aren't any hot chicks in there anyway and relocate to the blackjack tables. Apply, rinse, repeat. *****
She hasn't paid for anything since she moved to Vegas six years ago (except, perhaps, for her new DDs). She knows every doorman, VIP host, promoter and DJ, but only the men. She keeps her feminine wiles at the ready and employs them often. He favorite words are "Local Ladies Free," and this she uses to the umpteenth degree to network, entertain clients from her part-time real-estate business and to meet, hopefully, the man of her dreams. She is ...
The Jaded Local Lady
JC: If you know her personally, she is one of the coolest people in the world to be around. If not, she might as well have a tattoo on her forehead demanding that someone please punch her in the throat. Rules don't apply to her, and she wouldn't consider paying even a thin dime for anything she does throughout the night. She will steal drinks from your table, inch her way toward anyone remotely resembling a celebrity, and she is the center of the universe. As she forces her way through the crowd, knocking everyone and their $12 drinks over, she meets any opposition with her nose up in the air and some catty variation of the words that every local in Las Vegas absolutely loves to hear—"Don't you know who I am?!" *****
You can't get his attention at the door because he won't look up from his BlackBerry. His hair is shellacked in place with enough product to burst into flames like an errant moth into one of the space heaters on his club's patio. He is impeccably dressed in a suit that almost costs more than his car, which almost costs more than his house. He has an image to uphold, dammit! He's the ...
Newbie VIP Host
JC: He will put you on a major guilt trip for the next 20 Thursdays of your life if you and five of your hottest stripper friends don't come to the club under his guest list like clockwork each and every week. After all, he's got a quota to meet in order to be bumped up from junior host. And besides—how long have you two been friends? Your efforts are not being ignored, but a few weeks into the job it is no longer good enough that you've now dedicated four full hours of your day to convincing your female friends to squeeze themselves into mini-skirts and get their midweek drink on. Alas, if he can just get "a few more bottle sales" each week, he will have earned his right to the ultimate Las Vegas host status symbol—being able to proudly tie the knot on his $400 tie into a perfect triangle that is wider than his actual neck. *****
He has great plans for his company in 2007, but that is really only the justification for why he was able to convince management to fund a trip to Vegas for him and his three co-workers that he has known since high school. There is no place like Vegas, baby, and he is ready to party his ass off!
The Conventioneer
XW: Yep, that pretty much says it all! Have fun out there, and beware of flying shoes!