While the media and sports blogosphere continues to sift through the wreckage of this weekend's NBA All-Star Game, I thought I'd take a break from giving you Pacman Jones updates and deliver, instead, the dispatch filed by With Leather's first-ever Sexy Volunteer Correspondent, Sarah Spain.
Sarah's end-of-weekend report, which I could have posted two days ago had I not been sweating, shivering, and coughing in a near-death illness (turns out: NOT syphilis. Sa-weet!), is after the jump. It was written hurriedly and hangoveredly, so she asked that I touch it up, because otherwise you Internet jackals would destroy her for her syntax or improper capitalization. God bless your little hearts.
Anyway, here's Sarah's story in my words. (I may or may not have added some sexy details.)
Sarah, rolling with blonde Super Bowl buddy Kelly, arrives in Vegas via automobile around 7 p.m. Saturday night. After stopping by the Bellagio for a bite to eat the girls head to Light, where Michael Jordan's birthday party is supposed to be. On the way there they bump into the Raptors' Andrea Bargnani and Darrick Martin in the casino. Sarah and Kelly, being frisky, cute, and becleavaged, make fast friends with the Raps, who invite them to go to Steve Nash's party at the Venetian. Sarah, a Chicago girl through and through, is dead-set on MJ, but she gives them her cell number and a wink. Then she and Kelly make out for a couple minutes. Just right there in the middle of the casino floor.
At Light, the girls are quickly escorted to a table in the VIP section with a stable of thoroughbreds. Apparently, this table is filled with hot girls at the beginning of the night so when the celebrities/VIPs arrive there is already a table of hot girls in their section. There was even a guy there whose whole job for the night was to get them all drunk and hang out with them so they'd be entertained until the VIPs arrived. A social fluffer, if you will. Sounds like a pretty good job, actually.
So they pass the time as hot young women might: by drinking and dancing and taking suggestive photographs with their saucy waitress, Natasha. But still no MJ. His VIP section of four tables sits there, empty but for the unopened bottles of Grey Goose and the unfulfilled desires of women not saddened by Jordan's divorce from Juanita. Turns out MJ is next door at Fontana Bar — he was supposed to come to Light, but for whatever reason opted against it.
2:00 a.m. Steve Nash's party has ended, and the aforementioned Raptors want to party with our girls. So Andrea and Darrick come to Light, and they promptly get booted out of the VIP section — only hot girls get to stay for free. NBA players need to pony up $400 for bottle service. At about the 3:30 a.m. the foursome heads to the Palms to gamble and eat, only the boys' moods get kind of sour: everyone wants their picture taken with Bargnani, while Martin — who's shorter than our Amazonian correspondent even when she's not wearing heels — is getting recognized by precisely no one (though that might have something to do with his level of play, and not his height). The night ends with the girls going back to Sarah's friend's apartment at 7:00 a.m., NOT, I'm afraid, with them taking over the stage at Cheetah's.
Sunday. The corporate suite Sarah was hooked up with for the All-Star Game falls through, which is just fine with Sarah and Kelly, as it gives them more time to lay in a hot bath brushing each other's hair. They decide to go to Tryst at the Wynn, where they jump the line and get in for free because an L.A. friend knows the bouncer. It is, as they say, fabulous: everything red and black, waterfalls, hot waitresses.
After enjoying some Cristal and vodka drinks courtesy a limo driver named Sal from New York (his business card reads: I make all most [sic] any dream come true), the club starts getting, as the kids say, off the heezy. Cocaine and marijuana use is open and uninhibited. There's a stripper pole in the middle of the club that ladies don't hesitate to use and Carmelo Anthony and J.R. Smith show up and liven up the party with — allegedly — $10,000 in singles (Pacman Jones is not impressed). Melo gets on the mike and hypes up the crowd, and Smith (Sarah: "funniest dancer ever, such an entertainer") rocks a wifebeater to the displeasure of David Stern.
So, the dance floor is littered with singles, and we really need a woman's voice for the appropriate cattiness here. In Sarah's words:
I look around–I'm the only girl in a 5-foot radius on the dance floor who hasn't dropped to her knees trying to pick up 1 dollar bills. I'm like, "Seriously, ladies, you just picked up $4 and dropped your pride."
Rowr! Watch out, that sex kitten's got claws! The cattiness continues when, as Kelly and Sarah are walking hand-in-hand (I'm actually not making that part up), some short girl judo-chops their hands apart and pushes past them. Sarah responds with a friendly shove, and then that bitch is all up in her face, acting like she wants to get steamrolled by the Spain Train. Then a bouncer shows up and throws all of them out. But Sarah sweet-talks her way out of it, Sarah and Kelly stay at the party, then around 4:30 they call it a night, just in time to avoid all the brawls and shootings.
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I left out a few details and made up some lesbian overtones, but that's pretty much it. Hope you enjoyed it. Please direct your complaints to the assistant editor.
