DJ Pauly D was stalking me. Or perhaps he thought I was stalking him. Either way, at many of the places I went, there he was—drinkin’, dancin’ and making out with an overly tanned brunette in a spandex skirt (not the same brunette each time, mind you). In my mind, Pauly D of MTV’s Jersey Shore became the poster boy for Memorial Day Weekend 2010: an out-of-town partier with, let’s say, a “quirky” style sense, having the time of his life.
I was jealous. Not necessarily of him (or his hair-product tab), but of that carefree party spirit.
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- Dirty South (5/28/10)
- The Crystal Method (5/29/10)
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- Fist-pumping Friday: An interview with “Jersey Shore’s” Pauly D (3/13/10)
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- Wet Republic
I can count the number of alcoholic beverages I sipped from Friday to Monday on one hand (excluding the free booze that flowed as I helped judge the 2010 U.S. Air Guitar Championships Friday night). But I was on a different MDW mission: To listen to as many of my favorite DJ/producers, visiting from around the world, as possible (and I’m not talking about DJ Pauly D). Booze would only slow me down.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Three Michael Jackson impersonators from three different eras were dancing around me. I was walking alone. On the Strip. During a holiday weekend. Clearly, I am insane.
I made my way from the Hard Rock Cafe (site of the air-guitar contest) to MGM Grand’s Tabu Ultra Lounge for Roger Sanchez’s set. Just after midnight, the place was more packed than I expected, and on a tabletop, front and center, was Pauly D.
Thanks to Vegas party pro Jroc, I ended up dancing on the table as well. Pat on my own back for wearing flats all weekend. No matter how unstylish, I refuse to be the girl walking through Vegas barefoot.
Saturday, May 29
After three years of covering nightlife, I’m still not sure what day I’m referring to when it comes to an afterhours event. Sometime around 4 a.m. on what’s technically Saturday, my friend, her boy toy, Weekly contributor Stephanie Weedin and I headed to Déjà Vu Erotic Ultra Lounge for Fusion Afterhours and a set by Morgan Page.
With a little sugar rush from cupcakes brought to celebrate Page’s (almost) birthday, he played one of the best sets I heard all weekend. Pulling sunglasses out of our purses as we left around 6:30 a.m, I headed home for a disco nap.
I came to a conclusion Saturday night at the special all-white-attire edition of Perfecto at Rain: White makes my ass look big(ger). White also makes Stephanie’s boobs look big(ger), as Paul Oakenfold certainly noticed. I though he was smiling because I knew the lyrics to the track he was playing—until he sent over a member of his entourage to compliment her girls and to inquire as to their authenticity.
Someone who was smiling because I knew the lyrics was singer Jes as she performed in a stellar all-white outfit that would make Lady Gaga jealous. Another smile was from a guy wearing white Mickey Mouse gloves who poked Stephanie in the face.
Speaking of touching things, there was Pauly D again. I dared Stephanie to ask if she could touch his infamous blowout hairstyle. “It felt like if it were hit hard enough, it would break,” she reported back.
Sunday, May 30: ultimate party day
Sunscreen? Check. Earplugs? Check. Food? Whoops! Thanks goodness Wet Republic has some bomb-ass chicken fingers with jalapeño-ranch dressing. But as I enjoyed a set by Dirty South and then Fedde le Grand, there were balls flying at my face—thankfully not belonging to the Mohawk guy wearing an “I’m an asshole” shirt, but S.K.A.M. Artist beach balls, as DJ Nathan Scott tried to inflate them with only moderate success.
There was no rest for this pseudosocialite on Sunday. Thankfully, a dude at Wet Republic decided to “make it rain” $1 bills, and I wasn’t too proud to scoop them up for the valet’s tip.
If there were a prize for best people-watching on Sunday, the Love Festival pool party would win. Perhaps there was some confusion as to which holiday weekend was being celebrated, because a dude seriously rocked a Santa hat to the pool. I’m guessing his buddy was the guy in the furry green coat.
Stephanie and I couldn’t help but snap photos of the chicks wearing tank tops declaring “I came here to drink and fuck (and I’m almost done drinking).” Yeah, we Twittered that. Also deserving a tweet? Pauly D following me again, this time during a quick stop to High Society at Nove—though technically he was already dancing on the bar when we got there. Looking at the time, I’d probably already missed Boys Noize’s set at Liquid and went home for a quick shower to wash the tourist cooties off. Stephanie ended up wearing someone else’s spray tan, so there’s no telling how long that’ll last.
Back to the Palms for the nighttime Love Festival event. As it was last year, Rain was decked out in Alice in Wonderland-on-acid décor. Not sure how the Smurfs came in to play, but four bartenders went blue in a cute/creepy kinda way.
The club filled up quickly and I agree with the Twittisphere in attendance that the opening set by DJ Jordan Stevens set the night up proper, and the crowd was already worked into a frenzy. And though I wanted to stick around for Armin van Buuren after DJ Reza’s set, the lure of a more intimate venue and one of my all-time faves The Crystal Method was too much to resist.
I arrived at Blush just as Vegas natives Scott Kirkland and Ken Jordan took control of the decks; fans of the electronic music duo were already out in full force. They blurred genres so much that I thought for a second maybe they’d been hanging out with Z-Trip. Kirkland’s bouncing around was as entertaining as the tunes. To sum up the night, Kirkland put it best: “Next time you go see a DJ, ask yourself: ‘Are they having as much fun as The Crystal Method?’”
Whoops. I forgot to go fist-pump for Pauly D’s nighttime set at the Palms Pool …
Monday, May 31
Deadmau5 in the house. I wonder if he and Afrojack had slept since their special late-night set at Vanity the night (morning?) before. Wet Republic had a sick stage and video rig set up for all of MDW, and I liked it so much I hope they keep it all the time (pretty please?). The go-gos, cocktail servers and some fans were all wearing mau5 ears. I should have worn k1tty ears just to be different. Or maybe everyone could have worn afros plus mau5 ears to support both headliners. What I didn’t understand, however, was the guy wearing bunny ears and pink electrical tape over his nipples, but he was having a blast. Other animal themes in attendance were dudes wearing bear sweaters (furry backs) and ladies with raptor toes (tootsies slipping off the front edge of six-inch stripper heels).
Wet Republic was slammed with people whose asses had yet to be kicked by the nonstop party weekend. Even the “Don’t you know who I am?” crowd had trouble getting in to the venue. (That’s why ya gotta get there early, folks.)
According to my carmometer, the temperature on Sunday reached at least 100 degrees, so Deadmau5 barely wore his signature mau5head. At least that’s my theory. But as the sun set over Memorial Day Weekend, he played until almost 9 p.m., which makes me think Wet Republic could get away with pulling an all day and nighter if they wanted to.
I didn’t stay until the end of the MDW madness, but many did. As I considered giving my keychain breathalyzer to the valet so he could test people before returning their keys, I overheard conversations about changing flight times to stay longer in Vegas. For a moment I thought I spotted Pauly D again, lurking behind a tree, but it was only some other dude with a gentleman’s blowout and a tan, looking for the next party.