Wet Republic is a silly place. And if you’re a full grown adult who wants to act like a college kid on spring break, it is the place to be. My friend Andria suggested it—Wet Republic, the VIP pool at the MGM Grand. I was like, “Okay, cool, I like pools.” So I went with her. A group of us left Planet Hollywood and tromped down the Las Vegas strip. On the way, I got hit on by Freddy Krueger, and Captain Jack Sparrow bowed as we passed. Vegas, much like Wet Republic, is also a silly place.
All I wanted was some pool-side drinking. So when I saw a damn line to get into a freakin’ pool, I was a touch ruffled. No worries. I had a Bud Lite Lime tall boy in my bag. So I stood in line with everyone, sipping my beer, waiting to get to the pool. First we had to make it through a guest list (we were okay, because we had guest passes). Once through the guest list, we had to wait in a security line. They searched everyone’s everything. Well, not, like, a cavity search, but it was close. They even went through my pal Nicole’s Tylenol bottle, probably searching for Ecstasy or some hits of acid. No, seriously, once inside, I’m sure a couple people were tripping.
Once inside, I gotta admit, it was pretty. The pools were clean and sparkly. The MGM Grand was big and blue in the background, and yes, all the occupants of the pools and Queen-sized beds (yes, beds) were very easy on the eyes. One of the girls turned to a pool guy and asked, “Do we have to pay to sit on the chairs?” to which he replied, “Yes, but it’s only $150 per person, and you only need to work up a thousand-dollar bar tab by the end of the day.”
!!?Cough cough cough cough …!!!!!
That was me, choking on the Bud Lite Lime I was chugging as the security guard watched. No outside drinks at Wet Republic, people.
So anyway, we pulled up a square of concrete, as opposed to paying for the damn chairs. We ordered buckets of beer—not too expensive, compared to the price of beer in the clubs—and we watched. We watched all day. I don’t know if I was “shampooed” from the night before. I don’t know if I was feeling particularly immature that day. All I know is, I had a blast. I drank my beer. I cackled at the skinny girls freak-dancing in the VIP area. I even waved when Reggie Bush showed up in a wife-beater and basketball shorts. I had so much fun, that I will do it again, next time I’m in Vegas.
And I guess it was Wet Republic that made me realize I do like Vegas, as long as I see it for what it is. Vegas is a silly place. It’s a non-reality. It’s like a carnival for adults, and I like to visit. Because it makes me feel like I’m back in college again—free from all responsibility, beyond getting mildly obliterated and dancing on bars. I guess Vegas made me feel like a kid again. By the end of the weekend, I had a hangover that woulda leveled a football player. But my shoulders didn’t feel as tense. I wasn’t clenching my jaw. There was no stupid computer in sight, and I was … relaxed.
The conclusion: Go to Vegas. Act like a college kid. Leave the computer at home. And smile, because you’ll probably end up on a website somewhere.