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| - The following is a fabulous but true tale of a Saturday night at Pure.
It begins on Friday. I'm in Vegas with a bunch of dudes - gay pornos start out this way, but I assure you, it's not like that. A girl I know from Revere has been out here for the past ten years - she aint a stripper, a casino worker or a meth head, but lives out here and runs a lucrative business (a LEGITIMATE business). She is very good friends with the lesser known daughter of a rock and roll legend, and since Vegas is so celebrity-obsessed, all she has to do is call Pure on her behalf and say, "So and So is making a special appearance tonight and needs a table." Easy enough - this is why people from Revere are among the best scammers in the world.
Saturday night, two o'clock-ish, we arrive. No waiting. It's all about being "IN" and having "IT" and tonight I have both - we are ushered in, I avert my eyes, careful not to make eye contact, but act like I belong here, engaged in nonstop conversation with my friend from the moment the bouncer from Saugus, Mass lets us in till I get my ass down on the pricey leather couch, only then do I allow myself to scope out the place and laugh to myself that I'm here, at this moment, with these people, and plan on when it's appropriate to make a run for the bathroom, break out the BlackBerry, and start sending out messages such as, "you will never believe this..." (yeah, I suck). But I do not want to miss a minute of anything. We have our own table, our own bottles, etc. True VIP's.
The club itself is pretty much meh. I'm not much of a club guy, anyway, now that I'm old and fat, but I'm always down for some good comedy, and this place has great bucketfuls of it. Hot girls everywhere, mostly hot chicks with douchebags (check the website of the same name) and a better tit and bum show here than at Spearmint Rhino. I have never seen so many Chinese girls with an addiction for nose candy in my life. Little Asian girls, hopping around on their hobbled feet like their Mandarin ancestors, walking arm in arm, wearing the Jimmy Choo's and flimsy D & G slips, giggling into their little white hands and coming up with a nostril of snow. Take away the white curtains, the leather couches, and you have a bar on Revere Beach.
At another table are two A-list celebs, friends of the one we are with, in town for the Pacman/Cotto fight, and soon we are all sitting together, talking about neighborhoods in Boston, throwing out names of some of the older Irish families from JP and Dot, and everyone seems to know someone, whether it's through the Post Office or Boston Latin.
Now, keeping in mind that I'm a government employee, who basically crashed this party, I'm not naive enough to think that any broad in this place would be interested in me - however, they are VERY interested in penetrating the golden circle. BEWARE of these vampyres, who linger around the VIP section - because they do NOT have a table - and remember that Vegas rules allow a girl from No Neck Virginia who has fake boobies and clingy tissue-paper for an outfit carte blanche in a city of lonely men looking to spend money and act like a big shot. Considering the guys we were with are real heavy hitters, one of which, in my opinion, a major Hollywood player, these broads didn't have the balls to try their skill on them. I was singled out by a pair of bloodsuckers who took one look at me and thought they saw the word SUCKER flashing over my head. Fortunately, I can spot a fellow piece of trade from here to Stuttgart. I'm talking to my lady friend and I feel the shadow over me. Looking up I see two irresistible bitches, the type that Prince writes songs about, and they ask me if they can leave their purse on the seat next to me. This, gentlemen, is to establish a spot on the elusive sofa, a place they can come back to, a place they can tell the bouncer, "see, my purse is there, that's where I'm sitting." DO NOT ALLOW THEM IN! Unless you got BOTH the deed to the coke mine AND the AmEx Black, these girls will have NOTHING to do with you once they put their pussies all over the coveted leather seat and set their hooks into who they really want to bang. Get some sac, look them straight in the eye, realize that you are not the hot hunk of man meat they want, and when they ask to leave their purse, you reply, "sure, can I go through it?" They will get the hint and you won't get blue balls.
Overall, a great night - definitely a five star experience, but a two star type of place. I drank way too many jack and cokes, partied with the beautiful and damned, and in true rock star fashion, didn't pay a dime for any of it.
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