The helicopter ride wasn't until 5pm, although we were getting picked up from the hotel at 2pm, so we got up at 9ish and the three minimal-party, old geriatrics headed out to the Las Vegas Premium Outlets (http://www.premiumoutlets.com/outlets/outlet.asp?id=58) so that Clint could attempt to return to a human state, and so I could buy some appropriate foot apparel to get into the clubs at Bellagio or other! We only had 90minutes to shop and with stomachs rumbling we knew a feed stop would be inevitable. We split our separate ways and got our shop on! I found shoes and matching bag at Guess, much to Robert's pleasure (I think that up until this moment he wasn't absolutely certain on my gender), before hoeing into some Subway, which was the best of the poor options at the outlet.
We got back to the car/monster truck at the designated time (Although Robert did dawdle), and charged back to the hotel to perform a quick fashion parade for Clint, grabbed the chopper voucher and headed down to the pick-up point.
On our drive to the Grand Canyon Robert suddenly became extremely excited as he saw a poster advertising Pauly D was going to be DJing that very night at Haze Nightclub in Aria.
I was soon informed that Pauly D was one of the intellects whom inhabits Jersey Shore with Snooki and J-wow. If Robert were to attend this event he would tick 3 things off his America Trip To-Do List. Namely :
1. See a celebrity (Everyone has their own standards),
2. See someone from Jersey Shore, and
3. Party in a proper club.
Now I'm no fan of Jersey Shore, but hitting an American Club with one of the countries best DJs (So Robert informed me) was something that interested me too, so I decided to wingman this event for Mr Morgan... Plus I had to break in my new super cute Guess peep-toe pumps at some point (*squeal*).
Arriving at the Boulder City Municipal airport, we went to check into the next available flight (www.papillon.com). Once that was done, we ambled through the gift shop, and Clint got something which may have once been a hot dog... but was now just a shriveled sausage of depression in pappy white bread, nevertheless he managed to soldier on and cram in into his still-suffering person. And I think I also deserve an award for tightening my oesophageal sphincters to restrain from sicking all over the table. Still hungry, and determined, Clint returned back to the "food" area and picked up a mystery-content wrap and cola. He had just returned to the table at which we were waiting and unwrapped his fear treat when our helicopter was called and he had to bin his "burrito"... which is probably why he is still present to this day to share his tale of the day he dodged the Ebola-riddled snack wrap.
We were introduced to our pilot Colin, who seemed happy until I called him Daddy. Conversely, I was happy until I asked him how long he'd been flying for and he told me this was his second day! Touché Colin, touché.
What an amazing experience. We were informed of safety procedure, and how imperative it was not to touch the doors or any of the big red buttons which rather invitingly said "Do Not Push", then it was all-aboard the Chopper. We placed our Bose headphones on and then ol Collywobbles started up the blades.
I'll never forget the moment my body pumped pure endorphins through itself as Creedence's 'Fortunate Son' started playing through the headphones as the chopper lifted off the ground. I'm relieved at how loud the helicopter was because I think I would have frightened most people with my screech of hysterical laughter and knee-slapping display of ecstatic excitement.
Seeing the world from the a different angle is always interesting, and from the sky is always amazing, but with close to surround vision, there isn't much you miss. We flew over the Hoover Dam, which I knew nothing about other than Bevis and Butthead went over it once when they were "Do(ing) America"... *snigger* Goddamn.
But it was impressive in its isolation and the vast amount of water it held... Which was a lot. Also one of the few pieces of American engineering to come in under budget after completion of construction (Free fact).
After about 20minutes of chopping about, the edge of the Grand Canyon was in sight, and it wasn't long before we'd flown over it and were flying through the Grand Canyon!
After about 10 miles Colin landed us safely in the Canyon.
How spectacularly huge it was! The layers of erosion in the rock were so picturesque and gorgeous. It's no wonder people return to this spectacle year after year.
We were given champagne and snacky-poos, although I only ate the Cheetos and donated the rest to a starving, very grateful Clint.
We then had 10 minutes or so to take pictures, so we sensibly spent much of the time attempting the impossible quest of throwing rocks over the body of water in the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
Then it was all aboard again and back to the airport. We were about 20miles from the outskirts of Area 51, which Colin said he'd love to show us, but knew he would be escorted out of the by fighter jets and most likely lose his job. We thought it best not to pressure him.
We landed safely, thanked good ol Colin with our unwipeable smiles, and proceeded back to the "departure lounge". We caught a bus back to our hotel, and were back by 5pm... So I'm not entirely sure what time Robert, in his fatigue-riddled state, had booked our flight in for but the main thing was we had done it and we'd lived to tell the tale!
We got back to the room, booked two tickets for Pauly D (Clint and Flood pretended they weren't interested, but I believe later secretly wept in regret), showered, slapped up and headed down to the Sports Bar downstairs for a quick feed and a pitcher of Bud Light before we all trundled off to Aria. We had a drink or two together at Aria, before heading towards Haze at about 10pm. The line was fairly large, but we managed to skip through it fairly quickly thanks to our mad online booking skillz innit, then we proceeded down the escalator to a massive line, which seemed to be structured initially, but after an hour it was a mad chicken coop of disarray. Amongst the flutter of feathers and chook poop we seemed the most unlikely people to get into the club. I was wearing a nice dress, but I think it was the fact I had leggings on that worked against me. As for Robert, well, they weren't interested in getting males in, despite the fact they'd already had to pay more than the women for their ticket! I found it confusing as they seemed to only be letting in tottering, dimple-thighed, elephant sea lions that were stretching their sequined mini-dresses to bursting. Robert explained to me that these are Jersey girls and that's what is considered acceptable and *swallow vomit* "sexy" over there. I'm all for female confidence... But I'm also all for dressing for your body shape!
After two hours of this nonsense I was struggling to keep my attitude positive and my mind off the crippling agony my feet were in. Not the best evening to break my malicious, yet still beautiful, shoes in. But Robert used his height to assure me there was a chance yet, which helped kept my hopes just above sinking, although I did remove my shoes for the heavenly Haviana clouds which I had sensibly packed in my bag. It was at this moment that I was grateful for not being born in China during the foot binding frenzy years.
And then, there was commotion outside the glass by the line. A few men came inside via the side glass door and Robert excitedly, and expertly told me that this was DJ Pauly D's crew, so he was probably coming in soon. After another good half hour, he eventually appeared. The ear-piercing shriek of the sealions was horrendous and this smug looking goose with hair-slicked up into a mushroom ponced on by, casually waving to his fans before walking towards the entrance and giving one of his crew the most ridiculous, long-winded, hand-shake in the entire universe EVER. Hand licking and slapping, dancing about to shake each others hands under their legs and generally carrying on like utter wankers, all the while lapping up the giddy screams and underpant offerings of the blubber-jiggling sea creatures. It was at that exact moment that I was certain I was in the wrong place and that Robert was too far engrossed in his reality TV shows to see how truly vile and simple these people were. I had just given up on the world, but then Robert turned to me and said "That was the lowest moment of my life. Thank you for sharing this with me!" and the world continued to gently rotate on its axis. After that, it wasn't long until we were in, and rightly so; it was 1.30AM! And the place was absolutely going off (Despite the fact everyone looks like they're having a horrible time in this video!!).
Music, lights, action, it was all happening, and it was all here, and it was all for us, with Pauly D!! Rum and cokes in hand, we ventured upstairs to get a better view and a bit of space. What a spectacular show. Considering the revolting arrogance that exuded from this man, I was surprised by how well he DJ'd, mixing beats and sliding impeccably from one track to the next.
There were some ridiculously good looking babes dancing on the stage either side of him, and then a massive white-gas spraying Transformer-like man came on stage to spray the members of the crowd. We were in a perfect location behind the private booths, with the bar a couple meters behind us and a mostly uninterrupted view of the stage, although there was a colony of sea lions in a booth in front of us, including one who insisted on dirty-dancing with the glass railing, giving poor ol' Pauly D quite the eyeful of undie unplesantries. I was grateful for the dark lights.
We danced, sang and drank long into the night. There was one moment where I ticked off one of the to-do's on my America list, and with the rums, picked up a couple of buttery nipples for old times sakes (Goes back to the LMFAO song when I thought the lyrics were 'butterupkimbles', but Robert set me on the right track, thus birthing the tale of The Buttery Nipples - not visible in the left-hand picture).
Pauly D must have only played until 3.30am, which gave us an opportunity to move down to the dance floor to cut it up a little more. By 4am we were sweaty messes and Robert was hungry once again. We left and found a photo booth which we proceeded to snap ourselves in before heading to the only restaurant that was open in Aria and ordering a pizza and (of course) a couple more buttery nipples!!
After only fitting a slice of pizza in us each, we wandered back home along The Strip which was absolutely desolate. More proof that Vegas is actually full of geri's who enjoy a good nap. We got home at 5AM, where Flood was already unconscious, and Clint's bed was empty once again until 8am!!
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