The wanderlust strikes again. It has been barely two weeks since my sidekick and I fled from the scalding deserts of North Texas to the humid, aqueous beauty of the Panama City beaches. Apparently ten days of roadtripping and living like blessed bums weren’t enough to satisfy the wanderlust. Here we are again, planning our next trip to Las Vegas in August.
I just booked tickets for the Playboy/Moon/Ghostbar Club at the Palms Casino Resort. The whole point is to avoid falling in line for an hour (how unglamorous?) just like we did at the LAX last Spring Break. It can discourage even the most patient partygoer to see how long the lines are in popular Vegas clubs. But in Vegas, all the wait is worth it. When we went to Panama City, we were appalled at how easily we could get into the clubs — especially at La Vela.
God forbid if you ever came into this “hotspot” on any ordinary night. It may be the biggest Spring Break venue for all the bikini-clad guys and girls this side of Florida, but if you’re just looking for a place to hang out and drink a long island iced tea, then scurry somewhere else. Not only do they charge $15 cover charge if you happen to forget your bikini, they also let in barely-eighteen kids with fake IDs.
If dry humping is your idea of dancing, however, Club La Vela is probably not a bad place to be.
The best part of the evening we spent in that zombie zone was when my hubby found $60 on the floor by the bar when he was ordering some drinks. The cover charge wasn’t really worth paying for the ambiance, but we were happy we got paid for sipping LIIT to the point of intoxication while watching minors debase themselves on the dance floor.
Vegas, of course, has more classy partygoers. The more we think about it, the more we can’t wait for this next summer roadtrip.
