out in vegas at the chainsmokers and marshmello [special report]

what happens in vegas is I accidentally hooked up with a republican [pre-election results]

This is a free letter! And it’s kind of raunchy so if you are my dad or if we’re currently flirting, please don’t read it.

I’ve been asked to curate a writer’s retreat with Aweventurer! This would be sometime in 2025, we’d go somewhere fab (Egypt? Morocco? Bali?), do a lot of fun activities, and work on a Modern Love style essay. If that sounds fun to you, sign up for more info here!

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🚨 THIS IS A LONG LETTER & IT’S FREE. READ IT IN YOUR BROWSER OR THE APP FOR THE FULL EXPERIENCE! THE END IS WORTH IT! 🚨

THE STATS

• Day of the Week: Saturday

• Neighborhood: Las Vegas [Special Report]

• The Crew: My fun friend from college, Brette.

• The Fit(s): Matching paisley swim set from She*n with 90’s platform bedazzled flip flops from Am*zon (The vibe was stepmom made dad buy a beach house) and a bedazzled bodysuit made out of a mesh/tights material and black mini skirt from She*n with Jeffrey Campbell Circus platform strappy heels (The vibe was stepmom is mad at dad and going to make out with a 20-year-old).

• Home [jk a Hot Republican’s hotel] by 4am

DAYCLUB: The Chainsmokers at Encore

I’ve taken three trips to Vegas this year. I know…I’m sick. And despite being single and dressed like a Bratz Doll on all of my previous visits, nothing horny happened. What happens in Vegas…is mostly PG-13 with the exception of the really amazing coke we bought from a waiter at the Paris Hotel one time. Leave me alone, it was my 30th!

I returned, as always, with the intention of getting inside a DJ booth. But instead, this time, a young, hot Republican with a J name got inside of me. So let the contents of this letter be a warning. A fable even…

I’ve made my previous posts about Vegas free! They’re two of my most iconic essays so I’m excited for you to read them to completion, no paywall…

out in vegas in the booth with diplo at xs [special report]

out in vegas in the booth with lil jon at tao beach club x2 [special report]

After texting my promoter when I landed at 9:30am, I took a nap in my hotel room at Circus Circus…one of the most cursed hotels on the strip. Its mascot is “Happy” the murder clown, and it kind of looks like he’s holding a gun?¹ And yes, of course my room was adjacent to a water slide. Once Brette arrived, we took shots of rum chased with Pepsi (and it’s a Pepsi venue… so cursed) before heading to Encore for the Chainsmokers.

day party

Encore is the King of the Vegas Dayclubs. First, it’s at the Wynn which is one of the nicest, newest hotels. Second, it programs the Kings of DJ’s - Diplo and the Chainsmokers. Name bigger DJ’s… Tiesto? Please. Steve Aoki? Hah. They didn’t write Paris!!! They didn’t write Closer! Third, it’s massive. The pool could be considered a small lake in some states (Arizona), and it has round daybeds that are ergonomically perfect for a canoodle (Aesthetic: 9/10).

Immediately, Brette and I hit it off with our first of three Bachelor parties. Macbeth is visited by three witches. Scrooge is visited by three ghosts as is, importantly, Matthew McConaughey in Ghosts of Girlfriends Past. The Virgin Mary is visited by three wise men. Big, devastating, life-changing news comes in threes. (Sorry to call the birth of Jesus devastating, but like… having a baby as a 12-14 year-old teen mom is pretty devastating. But again, a Republican wouldn’t think so!!!!!!)

We met the first Bachelor party after I photobombed their group photo in the pool. Photobombing is an amazing ice-breaker. Steal that. They were all nice guys from the Bay Area in their mid-30’s and obsessed with their wives. We should have stopped there, with the Bachelor Party of Guys Past. It was so sweet then.

As we left the pool to do a loop, we were stopped by our second Bachelor Party. Ranging from their late 20’s to their early 40’s, prepping for the groom’s 200+ person wedding in Mexico. They poured us mixed drinks from their table. If you’re in a matching bikini set in Vegas, the world is your oyster!!

The conversation and the vodka orange juice was flowing (Yummy-ness: 8/10 mostly because it was bountiful and free). And they invited us both to Playa Del Carmen for the wedding. Literally the groom texted me the link to his wedding website. I wish Farzin & Talia so much joy. And we could have stopped there! The Bachelor Party of Guys Present.

But no, we decided to try to get in the booth. And though we danced hard (Shaking Ass Factor: 10/10 it’s the goddamn Chainsmokers) and made a lot of pleading eye contact with the bouncer, we were not blessed. No no. We were not blessed.

In the throng of sweaty dancers, I locked eyes with a tall, tan, buff guy with a chest tattoo and boy band curls. He smiled, I smiled. I kept dancing like a girl from New Jersey (… absolutely raunchy whore). And I, pissed that I hadn’t gotten close (jk Closer) to either Chainsmoker (the hot one or ugly one, let’s be honest one is hot and one is not hot, I’m sorry!), left to take my second nap of the day. But at that point it was too late... fate had a plan for me.

PREGAME: Barbershop at The Cosmo

We started our pregame at the Chandelier Bar at the Cosmo (Aesthetic: 6/10, the titular chandelier is sooo beautiful, but there is never enough seating in the little lounge), to try the TikTok famous Verbana drink. It’s a secret off-menu cocktail that is garnished with a plant that you chew to make it taste bitter. Without the plant, it tastes like…watery lemonade. With the plant, it tastes like eating dirt. (Yummy-ness: 1/10, don’t believe everything you hear on TikTok, we need media literacy in this country!!!!).

We then gossiped in line for 40 minutes while waiting to get into The Barbershop (Wait Time: 1/10). And at this point, I was silently praying, in the words of two wise men (one hot, one ugly) “don’t let me down. Don’t let me down [racawkaakwakwakaka].” (That’s the sound of the beat dropping). And my prayers were answered.

Upon entry, you walk through a narrow room where they legitimately cut men’s hair to reveal a very masc speakeasy with leather couches, bookcases, and a full stage setup with concert lighting. The cover band, composed of middle aged dudes in leather, played throwback punk and rock covers, and the Australian lead singer had an unreal vibratto (Shaking Ass Factor: 10/10).

I got a pickle back shot that came in an CUP MADE OUT OF PICKLE (Yummy-ness: 10/10). Yeah, you bitches don’t even know what it feels like to bring pickle to the club!!!!

The bar was full of hot dads. This is the place to bring your Bachelor Party for your second marriage (Husband Material: 6/10 if you want be a second wife). We met a couple in their 40’s that was sooo incredibly in love and couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. He was in the military, she was a nurse. He was visiting her, she lives year-round in Vegas. I asked how they met, they said it was “complicated” aka he definitely has a family!!! She’s the other woman. They grinded while belting out “Take on Me” next to me, eating my pickle in the club. Oh, god, it was horny!!!! I want what they have :(

JK, but isn’t it sad that “the other woman” gets to be sexy and fun and see a cover band in Vegas while the “wife/mother” stays home. In the Madonna/Whore dynamic, I think I’d choose Whore every time. And WHY DO WE NEED TO CHOOSE?! I hate it here.

NIGHTCLUB: Marshmello at XS

only a real one brings pickle to the club

The big event for the evening was Marshmello at XS back at the Wynn in their inside/outside nightclub. Even though were on the list, when we first arrived, we were sent to the outdoor area, miles away from the DJ booth where the man in a marshmallow mask was spinning. Was he the real, one & only, and true Marshmello? We can’t know for sure. I feel like there are 4 of them who are the same general height and build, and they take turns, and I applaud their ingenuity to not have to work too hard at their day job.

Brette and I made our way to the back of a line with blind faith that it would take us somewhere better. For 30 minutes, I silently prayed, in the words of my prophets “baby, pull me closer” staring inside at the people dancing with abandon, pleading “I want something just like this (doo doo doo dooo)” as we were eventually led inside (Wait Time: 3/10).

The indoor area is dark as hell, full of tables with bottle service, with partiers dancing on top of each other in a literal pit in the center (Aesthetic: 5/10). After buying a $20 tequila soda for strength (Yummy-ness: 3/10), I searched the room for a Bachelor Party to take us in…when I landed on a familiar face, now in a shirt. But that didn’t fool me.

“Hey, did I see you at the Chainsmokers?”

“Yeah, I remember you.”

J was there with a Bachelor Party, all from Arizona, on the same hockey team. One guy was missing his front tooth. It checks out. I noticed J had a dimple.

He was charming. He told me he works in finance, equity, something where “he made a lot of money.” They had almost finished their Grey Goose. They ordered a second XL bottle, which we didn’t finish. It checks out.

We danced. “I’m half Mexican so I actually have rhythm.” He did. We kissed at the club, in front of his hockey team, the man in the Marshmello mask, and God. He asked me if I wanted to go back to his hotel with him. Anything would be better than going home to Circus Circus.

Brette, who had been dancing up a storm (Shaking Ass Factor: 8/10) warned me that she heard from one of his friends I shouldn’t do it.

“Why? What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

His teammate, slumped over in the booth…he had too much Goose, exclaimed “No, don’t go home with him. You should go home with me!!” Home was, of course, the same hotel.

I ignored his warning. I had already chosen. Actually fate, the Chainsmokers, Marshmello, and God had chosen for me.

J and I got another drink at the lobby bar at his hotel, Treasure Island, and I asked to see his Instagram… where I found multiple carousels of him smiling, dressed in head to toe Carthartt (like a Brooklynite), kneeling over a carcass, holding a gun bigger than the XL Goose. One of these carousels was in Africa and featured the carcasses of the animals that killed Simba’s dad. So at least he got vengeance for Mufasa.

Oh no.

“You’re Republican.”

It came to me in a rush. He’s from Arizona…he “makes a lot of money” in finance…he’s half-Mexican (which I know is relevant from The Daily). He was staying in Treasure Island…of course, Republicans love hoarding wealth!!!! It ALL checks out. How could I have ignored every sign?

The angel Gabriel was a hottie that eventually became Satan. Even God can miss Red Flags. That is in the Bible. I’m no better than God. I’m no better than the one true Marshmello.

“Of course, I’m Republican.”

The bartender got in on our conversation.

“Who are you voting for?” we asked him.

“Trump of course.”

But I was in Vegas. I was in Vegas. That happens in Vegas!!

We talked about abortion. He can afford to have a baby. He’d keep it. What about his younger sisters? They’d keep it. If you can’t afford to have one, if it’d be debilitating for you, well then you shouldn’t have sex. Not the take! What about all of my queer friends and family? He doesn’t mind the LGBTQ+ community but doesn’t think their issues should affect him. Regardless of whether the laws negatively impact them. Oh no, not the take!

I was torn. On one hand, I disagree fundamentally with all of his core beliefs. On the other hand, he had a dimple, and I was already at his hotel!!!! And we were in Vegas. This happens in Vegas!

We brought a bucket of beers back to his teammates who were gathered in one of their rooms. I taught them all how to pronounce Kamala (Kah-MA-la vs. KAH-MAH-la). It felt important.

Even if they went back to Arizona and continued to pronounce her name wrong for clout, even if they all voted for Trump, at least my voice would be in their heads saying “don’t be a jerk. She’s running for our highest office. Give her the respect of pronouncing her name correctly” That helped, right? Right?!

Then I stayed over night with him in his hotel room. Of course, I did.

His roommate was kicked out. So while he was sleeping with me, at least one Republican had to sleep on the floor.

And the sex was hot and fun. Of course it was!

Republicans are hot! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This man is a hunter. He wears Carthartt because he’s going to get dirty. The Brooklyn boys in work gear can’t hang a shelf, don’t eat meat, and have asthma :( There is something really hot about a man who is getting all of his nutrients. Who is self-assured because he isn’t worried about his basic human rights.

In the morning, he gave me his hockey sweatshirt so I wouldn’t have to walk of shame in a dress that was basically pantyhose. He had manners. He was nice. He kissed me goodbye.

It’s hard to compute that theoretically if I had gotten pregnant… if I had conceived a baby at Treasure Island (BIG lol), would he really not take into consideration what I want? How can he be so considerate, so nice, in the here and now, and then so inconsiderate in the theoretical. And the theoretical is becoming real.

And at the time, I felt flirty. I felt hot. What did it matter!? Kah-Ma-la was going to win. And this was Vegas! This is Arizona! This isn’t what most guys think! This was just a hook-up. One stupid, fun hook-up.

Big, debilitating news comes in threes. And that was the third Bachelor Party, the Bachelor Party of Guys Future. And those guys voted for Trump. But of course, that is our future now. What happens in Vegas is maybe actually indicative of the rest of the country… Fuck!

I didn’t even cum, and somehow I do feel worse about that now.

Where should I go next!? Leave a comment, email me, or send me a DM, and I’ll wait in lines, try the cocktails, and try to change young men’s votes for you!

And if you have any suggestions of bars and clubs you’d like me to try, please get in touch!

1. That’s a gun, right?