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Oh, God. Where to begin? I guess the best tales are told from the beginning. It's probably good I start with my recollections from the get go so I don't forget them later as the time zone fog fades.

First off - girls weekend? Bridal shower? Relax and de-stress? Writers retreat? Vegas is all of the above and more! Never have I had such a guilt free weekend away from my kids, and until you have one, you don't know how bad you need it!

My main partner in crime, Boone Brux, arrived before I did and waited in the lobby watching me struggle with the door while trying to enter the Mirage. We immediately hit it off like old friends. No awkward "Wow, it's you in person and what do I say?" type of thing.

We wandered the hotel, getting a feel for it. Ventured out to the gorgeous pool and became frustrated when we couldn't get alcohol as easily as we'd hoped. We toasted our first drink of the weekend before noon on Friday in the hotel bar, and were entertained by the sights around us and the sad story of thievery shared by the bartender. I don't know if this happens to a lot of you, but total strangers often tell me the most interesting things.

After an early checkin around one, we set off to gamble. We discovered a really fun monopoly game that you play in a grouping of machines. You each have your individual game, but if you play long enough and hit a qualifying round, you can all play on a big screen and get more cash.

The people watching on the main floor was enough to keep our tongues wagging for hours. Short skirts, spike heels, swimsuit clad people who should have had cover ups strolling through the casino and hotel to get the the elevators, oh - and Boone's personal favorite - short shorts with heels. Gives a whole new level to the "I'm on vacation and I'm a tramp" look.

For me, I was really amazed at the amount of women who chose to dress like whores. I'm sure the real whores you couldn't pick out in a line up. But, hey, I bet Jim in the polo and khaki shorts is really proud his girlfriend, wife, fiance, took the effort to look so freakin cheap. I'm not sure if it's a generational thing, but I don't recall even in my worse clubbing days of ever being mistaken for a 'ho.

Which, of course, led Boone and I to devise a game called 'ho tipping. We didn't actually do it, but it sounded like fun. Picture the basic cow tipping game, now combine it with a micro dress that barely covers the bottom of women's ass and 4 inch spiked heels. Add liquor and the game is all about timing. Should we help the game along and drop an ice cube? Should we bump them with one of our solid hips?

Ahh... good times...

We called our writer buddy up who lives in Vegas, Nae, and she met us in the lobby. She admitted she was nervous when she met us, but it must have faded fast because we had a blast chatting with her. Walking down the strip on a Friday night to a nearby restaurant turned into an event all by itself. We quickly started collecting what Boone called "boobie cards."

Baseball sized cards picturing nearly nude women with price tags. Cheap price tags too.  Like $37, $49 with coupon. "With coupon?!?!"

We couldn't figure out why such hot chicks would sell their wares so cheap. Turns out they don't. Nae asked an ex-prostitute friend who said that's the price for getting in the door. And the girls on the cards are not usually there. Figures. The 'ole bait in switch is still big everywhere!

Collecting these cards soon became a game in itself. "Let's play fake or real." And we proceeded to call out fake or real when examining the woman's breasts. One or two even had mis-aligned stars covering their nipples indicating a shoddy boob job (one nipple is way higher than the other), which was a moment of pity for us over 40-year-old ladies... "Aww, poor thing. Look how she got robbed on a bad boob job."

Good times I tell ya.

We had a great dinner, chatting the evening away for hours, and then wandered back to the hotel. After a day of flying and time changes we were pretty wiped.

Saturday started bright and early - and I do mean early. We met my friend Wendy for breakfast at 8:15. Wendy was the original planner of this weekend, but we found out the three other couples joining her and her husband were at another hotel -- and here is the kicker, most of them arrived late on Friday and were leaving Sunday right after breakfast. Boone and I felt like we had hit the lottery with having the whole day Friday and Sunday and flying home mid-day on Monday.

The long brunch-like breakfast ended and all three of us went shopping. The crush of people on the strip was staggering. I've never been overly fond of crowds and I felt like I had to dodge people constantly. I can't see the economic plight of our nation has hurt Vegas much, but who knows what it was like before, these crowds may be less than normal.

We saw the moveable statues at the shops in the forum at Caesar's and did some souvenir buying. Oh - and new shoes! Boone and I got our feet measured electronically and bought some sandals with arch support. First time my back hasn't hurt in ages and I was able to keep walking the whole day without limping. Needless to say, I wore those damn shoes every hour after that -- not one of the five freakin pairs I brought with me.

More gambling after the shopping and we're late to get ready for the big event because we actually win a little at our new favorite game. Nae comes by the room since we're not done yet, and she bring her tarot deck. She does a reading for Boone and I -- it was awesome!!

The reading reinforced what I was thinking regarding slowing down on the business side and starting to produce more work. Boone liked hers too - we both felt it was like a nice jolt from the universe. Very cool.

Nae drove us down to the Excalibur for dinner before the show. The bar, Dick's Last Resort, was loud and fun and the food was okay, but the drinks were fabulous. We stand in line to get into the much anticipated Thunder Down Under like a pack of giggling school girls.


We meet the 84-year-old Evelyn, who was at her second show this week, with her grandson's wife while waiting in line. When I saw her pulled up on stage later by one of the dancers, who proceeded to run her hands down his body to cup himself outside of his jeans, she surprised the young stud by zipping her hand down the inside of his jeans and grabbing his junk direct!

We also met a woman on a business trip who lives the swinger lifestyle. I'll call her "M". M gave me her email and I invited her to meet us after the show so we could pump her for information on the swinger scene. At some point, the night seemed to morph into something out of a movie. Evelyn and M? Who meets people like that everyday? It was extraordinary to say the least.

Seated at our tables in the semi-darkness, it finally hits me. I'm sitting with four or five hundred women waiting to ogle really in-shape men. I'm not sure what Chippendales is like, but this show does not allow tipping. We didn't need to stuff dollars and feel like sad women. We just got to cheer at the beauty of the men on stage.

And beautiful they were! It was awe inspiring to see these guys preform. I think every woman should go to a show like this once in their lifetimes. To think - guys get the eye candy of strippers everywhere -- whereas we're relegated to whatever we can see of an actor on the silver screen or a model in an ad.

The three of us chatted about what it might be like ahead of time - would we see the guy's junk? Did we want to for that matter? Surprisingly, we all said we'd rather not see it. Kind of loses the mystery. Thankfully, the people running the show must have done their homework. The tiniest the guys stripped down to was a g-string and that was enough for me.

The guys were unquestionably hetero. Gay men move better on stage. The moves were choreographed and kind of stiff at times. But they looked like they were having fun with it. My only complaint was the lack of ethnic diversity. They were all white -- but tanned a golden bronze. Beauty comes in all shades and sizes. I would have loved to see some other nationalities.

I get that Australia is an island founded by Europeans, but so was the U.S. and look at the diversity we have here. Okay, moving on - back to the men. They were breathtaking. I've been with a lot of good looking men in my years, but none of them looked even close to the oiled, hard flesh dancing up on stage.

Oh - and they jumped onto the tables and danced in front of you down in the VIP section - which is where we were (of course, right? You're gonna do it spend the extra 12 bucks you cheap skate). The men wisely focused on the brides, which was funny to watch. Most of the giggling blushing girls were too uncomfortable to do much. A few hugged the men. The older ladies, like us, were torn -- did we want to be pulled up on stage and possibly be embarrassed?

By the end of the night, I might have gone up there. Just to show the younger set it is okay to touch as long as you don't grab and you don't go into "private" zones. Hell, they would grab your hands and run them down their chests -- why ball your hands up and close your eyes like you're in shock? Freakin' live the moment, honey!! Stroke, touch, explore -- but don't cross the line Evelyn did and actually grab the guy's package.

I was amused she groped the guy, but I also felt a little sorry for him. I hope they get paid well. If the situation were reversed, by some twist of fate and a miracle I was in really amazing shape, I would not want to be a dancer who just had an 84 year old man slip his hand under my waistband and grope my crotch on stage.

I did have an OBE (out of body experience) early on in the show. Eight guys came down in the audience high-fiving ladies, dancing on tables, hugging brides, whatever... and one trots down the aisle toward our table. I do what every good sales person does -- I make eye contact. He locks eyes with me, passes me a moment, does a double take and comes back. He cups my cheeks in both hands and places a tender kiss on my right cheek.

Shock has set in and I barely register the dual twinkle of his earrings, his short brown hair, five o-clock shadow and tattoo down his right forearm. Holy crap, he just kissed me. Then he jumps up onto our table and does a private little dance for us, which was over way too soon. Once he leaves I squeal like a little girl. "Which one was it?" I couldn't recall exactly who he was in the dim light.

All night I looked for the guy to come out and do a dance routine. The writers at the table were quickly staking claim to whom they were going to immortalize in an erotica story. I thought I was losing my mind, where was the one who kissed me? Which was when it hit me they all look very similar. Out of eight guys, one is shaved, two have lighter hair, but for the most part they were all brunettes.

We finally spotted him at the end of the night when the long line of women were going up on stage to have their pictures with the studs, he must not have been slotted to preform in the first show.

One of the most memorable routines had a guy come out into the audience on a table and pour water all over his chiseled body and shake his head and spray water on everyone. Could also be that I recall his act because I reached out and gave him a light smack on the ass as he ran by.

Good times. So good in fact, that I bought a DVD of one of their shows to "study" later for research. Hey, if I plan on writing a story with a male exotic dancer in it then I want to *cough* get things right.

There was a fireman act with a bunch of them, a western one in plaid shirts done to "Save a horse, Ride a Cowboy." Evelyn molesting the emcee was done to "Bad to the Bone." Interestingly enough (besides the cowboy song), almost the whole show was done to classic rock -- another detail that screamed hetero male to me.

By the end of the night, I felt it went by in a blur. I wanted pictures. I wanted a conversation. Hey, I was half in love with the shaved head one and another one with a super cropped hair and piercing blue eyes... yum. I now understand why men go to these kinds of things, but I wish there were more of them for ladies. It's not fair!

The show was safe, fun and a rousing good time. I screamed and cheered so much I lost my voice. Today is Tuesday and I still sound like I have a frog in my throat. Sexy, yes. Chain-smoker, yes.  Or like I have a really bad hangover -- which I don't.

Overall I really didn't drink a lot during the weekend. You don't need to be smashed to have a good time in Vegas. The energy alone should be able to transport you.

After the show we met M and chatted for over an hour about the swinger lifestyle -- and yes, I took notes.

Sunday was an early brunch with Wendy, her husband Andy, and two of their friends from college. It was at Max Brennan's, a place with awesome hot chocolate. The group left for the airport while Boone and I still had the whole day ahead of us. We shopped some more and wandered back to the hotel.

Our spa treatments started at 1:00 and we showed up at 12:15. We soaked in hot, then cold, whirlpools while sipping citrus drinks. We each had a facial and then lounged around in the relaxation lobby before getting a pedicure. It really was the best way to end the weekend -- relaxing, and just enjoying being in the moment.

The soothing environment, relaxing music.... the whole atmosphere made us wish we were loaded and could stay and get treatments for hours. We left and gambled a bit before dinner. Neither one of us won big or lost big, but we still had fun. Dinner at the Brazilian Steakhouse, Samba, conjured lots of interesting meat-on-a-stick jokes. And the South American servers certainly inspired more erotica musings on our part.

It was impossible not for it to "go there" with handsome men asking if you'd like to try their meat, I mean come on -- we're only human!

Our relaxing vibe continued after dinner and we went and picked up snacks to watch a movie in the room. We re-hashed a lot of the weekend and just had a great time not rushing for a few more hours.

Monday morning dawned all too soon and I, for one, would have liked to stay longer. Boone and I felt like long lost sisters, never a dull moment and never an awkward one between us.

I can't recall the last time I had so much fun without my husband. Hanging out with another writer -- one whose mind works a lot like your own -- was exhilarating. We spent some time discussing an actual piece on Monday morning, but most of the time we talked about people, the things around us, made jokes, talked about the industry as a whole, or just shared our experiences as writers.

When you write, you're solitary in your creation. Getting to socialize with other writers really helps you to stay grounded and focused. Even when you are yelling at men to take their clothes off and you slap an ass or two as it runs by.

We made a vow we're doing it again next year. I've been to RWA Nationals. I had more fun and learned more in Vegas. And it cost me way less. I'll be back for the research value alone!!