Sex & the CityCenter

I’ve never had a boyfriend. I was “Facebook official” with a male once, but he was actually dating one of our friends in real life. I’ve dated lots of guys, sure, but I’ve never stuck to one for more than a couple polite outings and a few “movie nights.”

Honestly, I’ve never felt the need to be exclusively attached to a single person when I have a ton of friends at my disposal at any given time. There are so many people in my life that I love so much. How could I ever choose one single man as my favorite?

Sometimes I think that I’m just not capable of putting someone else’s needs before my own. I’m 23 years old and it is absolutely absurd to me that human beings my age are getting married and having children (on purpose) already. I see a male companionship as an unnecessary weight. I’ve seen girls fall head over heels for men who move them away from where they want to be, or make them lose track of their personal goals. Letting one person ruin all your hard work and plans for the future doesn’t seem very romantic to me at all.

Maybe my problem is that I’ve gone for some serious losers in my day. In high school and early college, I went for the boys who only wanted to smoke weed in their parents’ basements all day. Five years later, those boys have experienced a small victory in that marijuana is now legal in Colorado. Those boys are also still smoking weed with high schoolers in their parents’ basements to this day. I’ve dated multiple guys who are currently living off of their wealthy parents and have no ambition to do anything with their lives. I even went for one boy who is now serving a very long sentence in prison.

Even the non-losers I found myself interested in were just key players in phases that I needed to get out of my system. There was the ski bum, the player, the frat dude, and the “musician.” When I moved to Vegas, I stopped referring to them by their real names. At first, these men were labeled by number. Boyfriend #1 was pleasant, but he was much too emotional. Boyfriend #2 was fun; until I found out he was sleeping with one of my friends. Boyfriend #3 was a “Magic Mike” type (if you know what I mean) so he definitely wasn’t going home to meet the parents.

I started watching Sex & the City religiously after realizing that Carrie Bradshaw, the lifestyle columnist who loves her clothing, her girl friends, and her city more than any man (until the movie), is who I want to be when I “grow up.” I then began to nickname my flings after characters from the TV show. There was Aidan Shaw, who would have been perfect if I—I mean, Carrie Bradshaw didn’t have commitment issues. Then there was Jack Berger: the short-lived fling with the writer who rivaled Carrie’s talent.



When I looked through the photos I recently got back for my blog and took a moment to think about my own relationship history, from stoner boys to men who reminded me of characters from my favorite TV show, I couldn’t help but wonder: where is my Mr. Big?

In quite an entertaining effort to mimic the opening credits of Sex & the City, I went down to MGM’s CityCenter with photographer Jon L’Hommedieu to shoot some new photos for my blog. I did my best to find an outfit just like Carrie’s: a pale pink leotard with a white tutu and clutch. I got the tutu for sorority bid day of my senior year of college at a costume shop in Fort Collins where I went to school. Passers-by told me that I just looked adorable, and I felt absolutely ridiculous the whole time. I hoped that none of my friends spotted me as I hopped around the complex that I know almost all of you locals have had a rendezvous or two in.

For booking inquiries for Jon L'Hommedieu, email jonnylhomme@gmail.com or call (702) 321-5451

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Self Love

Las Vegas is breathtaking. Life is wonderful. I’m pretty incredible. Maybe it’s tacky to say that outright, but I gotta give myself some credit. Too often am I guilty of being much too harsh on myself and on my surroundings. I sit around on my laptop all day thinking, “I’m a bum, everyone sucks, nothing is fair.”

Recently, I’ve been getting some attention for a few articles I’ve written for a nightlife website; the most notable of which, garnered one hundred thousand unique visits in less than 4 days. For those of you who aren’t familiar with web lingo or don’t understand why this is relevant, this means that one hundred thousand different people saw my work (as opposed to one person clicking refresh one hundred thousand times). Did I mention the ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND viewers?

You can find the post here.

With great prevalence comes great scrutiny. Naturally, writing about crazy nights out on the town will disturb those who are not familiar with the wild and carefree lifestyle that most 23 year old girls in Las Vegas are exposed to (or so I've heard). I got a text from my mom that absolutely broke my heart. She said something about asking me to tone down the raunchy posts and to not be so offensive… I would never want to embarrass my parents or make them feel uncomfortable in any way. I now have a Facebook setting blocking any and all "adults" who “just won’t understand” from links to the particularly vulgar articles. Viva la Internet.

And I know, I know, I know, I will be persecuted by the very few conservative “friends” I might have, and my distant family will say *gasp* sweet little Katherine turned into a shocking Vegas potty-mouth. But you know what? Everyone has a little bit of a crazy side and everyone is guilty of sometimes using not-so-proper language. I just choose to put it out on the World Wide Web because I know it’ll command attention. AND YOU KNOW WHAT? I’m now capitalizing on it.

I literally sit around on my laptop all day watching Kardashian kraziness and drafting posts about fashion, drama, DJs, and nightlife. Every topic that I write about has to do with something that I’m interested in, and the words usually come easily. It feels good, and I know that I’m good at it. Maybe I’ll have to live the starving artist lifestyle for now, but at least I enjoy what I do. (Mom, if you’re reading this: I’m not actually starving, everything is fine, it is a figure of speech). I can only hope to move forward and become more like my idol, Carrie Bradshaw. Writers at Vogue are paid around $2 per word for their articles. This post—like many—is about 500 words. You do the math.

In a fit of a delusion when I thought that people might care, I added an extra social media outlet, the facebook “like” page. I am now aware that less than 100 people actually like me, so I'll crawl back under my rock right after I give you this last message. You are your worst critic. But right now, I really have to give myself some credit. I’ll never have time to feel great about my achievements if I’m always criticizing my faults. Sometimes, you just have to give yourself a little bit of love. Speaking of which, have you guys read my recent article on KingOfNightclubs? ...LOL I’m sorry, sorry, sorry—okay no more publicizing inappropriate posts, I promise.

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DISCO GIRL

I haven’t updated in a while because, once again, I have nothing going on in my life. I’ve drafted multiple posts that all turned out to be sub-par and pretty fucking boring. I’ve been in a “what am I doing with my life” slump for the majority of my stay in Las Vegas so far. My one year anniversary in this crazy city just passed exactly one week ago, and I tried to think back at what I’ve accomplished since I’ve been here.

I came up with: pretty much nothing. I have nothing to show for an entire year of trying to make something of myself and trying to figure out, like, the meaning of life or something. In the three weeks since I’ve been back from my short visit at my parents’ house, I’ve done nothing but party all day and night, and eat a lot of sushi.

I did begin therapy because I was concerned that I might be crazy, but my shrink assured me that I don’t have a mental condition, I just “think differently.” He invited me to come back because he says the way that I look at stuff is “fascinating.” I cancelled my second session that was scheduled for this afternoon, an hour before I was supposed to be there.

Oh yeah, I also cut ties with all of my loser former boyfriends, I stumbled into this weird fling with a man who is more than a decade my senior (also over now), I’ve been working a series of odd-jobs including nightclub promoting and web article writing, and I am in the midst of a legal struggle that I’m not sure if I’m allowed to talk about publicly yet. Maybe I’m not totally boring.

Fortunately, I live in the party center of the USA, so I’ve been to some impressive parties with some exceptional DJs (in some really cute outfits) while doing all of this life-wasting. I have lots of low-quality smart phone photos to prove it.

May 11: Encore Beach Club with Avicii. I was entertaining some visitors. The venue was full of frat boys and everyone was really excited when he played “Levels.” Per usual. This is a postcard depicting the aftermath, when we ended up at Peppermill tipsy at 6PM.


May 12 (between 2AM-7AM): MGM Grand party(ish) in Riff Raff’s hotel room. Here’s a really boring Vine from his friend’s account to prove it.

I pretended I was Vanessa Hudgens in my head the whole time and I’m really pissed off that I never got him to say “spring break forever.” This is Riff Raff's Twitter account, get excited if you don't know who he is yet.

May 15: Commonwealth in downtown Las Vegas, then Norman Doray at Surrender Nightclub. Afrojack showed up for a surprise set, which means I saw both DJs I’m desperately trying to avoid (Afrojack and Avicii) in the same week.
cool, guys.


May 16: Hakkasan with Nervo and a surprise set from Quintino. I was so wasted that I couldn’t tell you when the surprise set happened, I just heard about it. I made out with some kid who told me he was a Calvin Klein model. He was not. Happens to the best of us. Below is the only known photo of me with my eyes open from that night.

I was loving on Nervo and the HK lasers that night.


May 17: Dillon Francis at Surrender. For those of you who stalk me in-depth, you’ll know that Dillon and I have a very special relationship. I was on the side of the stage during his set, when some girl got my attention to ask me “Who are you? Dillon keeps looking at you, are you important?” I flushed and assured her that he was probably just making sure that I was keeping my distance because I think I creep him out at this point.

This is a screenshot from his Surrender residency video where you can see my perfectly bouncy hair in the bottom right corner. I'm famous.

And here are more shots of my friends and I screwing around on stage during the show. I got those super cute shorts for like $12, no joke man.

May 20: Viva Vegas TV takeover at Gallery nightclub for the Perfect 12 contest. The VVTV guys treated us to a dinner at Holsteins at the Cosmo & bottles at Gallery after. They even made this cute recap video. Afterward, we ended up swinging by XS to catch the end of Diplo's set. Casual Monday night.




May 22: The opening of Eclipse at Mandalay Bay. Axwell on the decks and it took a million years to get in. Sick venue and I’m obsessed with their lineup. No, but really obsessed (see May 26 below).


May 24: Body English at Hard Rock with Flosstradamus. The trap kings of our generation definitely threw a good party. Check out this blurry pic of my friend expressing herself. Classy bitches all day.


I tried to look as ratchet as possible for the occasion


This is us being really healthy at McDonald's post-show.


May 26: MY FUTURE BOYFRIEND Baauer, Just Blaze, Alvin Risk and Skrillex at Eclipse. I’m seriously so in love with Baauer. I feel like I’m a starter girlfriend, and I was with him before all of the hype and stuck with him through all of the bad times (i.e. The Harlem Shake fad: read my review here). I met Drew from Rukes.com, he took my picture and it didn’t end up on the site. I’m assuming it's because I looked like a zombie at that point.


May 27 (last night): I was dying at this point. Hardwell played Hakkasan and my friends had a comp table so I tagged along. Last time I saw Hardwell, I got fake engaged on Facebook to a long-time friend. It was really funny until our family started calling for answers. This time, I was grumpy and tired and so over the club scene. I left the venue during Hardwell’s opening presentation and I’ve hardly left my bed since.
Zombie Kat & Friends

The Engagement: the first pic is like "alright does this look right? wait, take another one"

Haha. People freaked out.



I’m so burnt out, all I want to do is eat really healthy, exercise, and read educational material or something to feel better about myself. I’ve listed all of these crazy things I could potentially do with my life and I can’t decide which to commit to. We just signed a lease for another year in a new, gorgeous strip-side condo, so I’m basically stuck for another year…Hopefully I can get my shit together by next year’s Las Vegas anniversary.

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How Barbie Ruined My Life

Last week, as I lounged in the cozy living room of the house I grew up in in Colorado Springs, Colorado, I stumbled upon Barbie’s Instagram account while Internet stalking. I spent upwards of 3 hours analyzing each photo, each cute little tagline, each extra-adorable outfit, hairstyle, accessory. Barbie is just so perfect. Her glamorous lifestyle, her multi-faceted skill set, her classic features and thin physique…

This is when I realized that Mattel should be blamed for part of the reason why I can be so critical of my self-image. Before the fashion magazines, before the awkward need to fit into a pop culture mold as a teenager, before the competition with the other striking girls at the clubs every night: there was Barbie. She was a gorgeous socialite who chose her career of the day according to her outfit options.

Every time I’m back at my parents’ house, I rediscover lost artifacts from the Midwestern middle class past life I used to live. During this trip, I managed to dig out some of the dolls I grew up with, most of which were in boxes buried beneath Christmas decorations and seasonal ornaments in the extensive storage area in the basement of this old house. Almost all of my childhood toys are long gone, either simply thrown out or donated to charity. The only pieces that were worthy of archiving were from my large collection of Barbie dolls. My mother thinks they’ll be worth something some day, and I would agree, even if it were just for sentimental value.

I’ve always been a little spoiled, which meant my dolls were spoiled, too. The majority of my Barbie community is made up of blonde, 20-something year old looking females. There are few brunettes, few non-Caucasians, few children, and four men (get it, Ken).

Barbie and Ken taught me about chivalry, before I found out what it really meant when boys called to ask if I wanted to "come over and watch a movie."

This exclusive population had the luxury of living in their choice of three lavishly decorated dream homes and got around my basement in an assortment of vehicles including a pink convertible, a yellow Volkswagen bug, and—my favorite—a red Ferrari. There was an RV for when they wanted to “rough it” behind the couch upstairs, an airplane for long-distance trips, a yacht and two speedboats complete with jet skis, and a horse drawn carriage for a romantic night out with Ken.

Look, it's the Spice Girls reunion tour. On a boat.

The play city featured many amenities including a very private school that only accepted two students at a time due to seating restrictions, a bakery, an art studio, a veterinary clinic, a top-notch organic plastic grocery store, and even a McDonald’s with a drive-thru. And then there was the wardrobe…

Just learning about healthy eating habits from my childhood idol.


No wonder I am so confused as an adult. I was taught at 3 years old that normal women are skinny with perfect hair and an expansive wardrobe, with no set career path because Barbie changed hers on a regular basis. Barbie went on a cruise once a week which makes me think that it’s normal to complain about how I only get a vacation once every six months. I’m over here bitching about my Barbie-sized issues when there are real people, not plastic, who have much bigger problems than I could imagine.

I could go into the psychological impact that Barbie has had on my life for…well, for at least another 500 words, which I know nobody would read through. Dr. Agnes Nairn did a study that concluded that girls go through a phase where they hate their Barbie dolls. These girls will cut off their dolls’ hair, decapitate them, and put them in the microwave. I remember the only time I cut one of my dolls’ hair. I cried for hours afterward when my mother told me it wouldn’t grow back like a real person’s does. I just wanted to get rid of those nasty split ends. I did, however, find this unfortunate character among the sea of dolls…I don’t remember what happened and I’m going to deny that it was my fault.


I had nothing but love for my dolls. I adore them to this day. They are beautiful symbols of the perfect lifestyle that so many of us strive for, as well as little reminders of the happy childhood I spent in Hella Suburbia, USA.

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(The Fashion Student)

I am currently in the third row (fancy? …it’s Southwest and I checked in early) of a flight back to my home state of Colorado. I’ve been meaning to take a trip back home for quite some time, now. I’ve only been back one time in almost a year and I conveniently got strep throat, the flu AND a UTI (scandal) during the 5 days that I visited in November. Best Thanksgiving ever.

I am now headed back because this is my last chance to see most of my sorority sisters before they graduate. While I’m still waiting on a reunion with the girls that I graduated with, I had to make it back for one of the last weekends I will ever get to spend with the now senior class of Colorado State University’s Zeta Tau Alpha chapter. Most of these girls will be graduating and moving on (just like the class of 2012 did, *tear*) and this weekend is the last before finals week, which means it is most likely the last that they will all be together at the same time for who knows how long.


Look, I'm graduating on the jumbotron


My grad outfit. I was obsessed with those wedges. Taking the standard commemorative photos with the parents who paid for my four years of "self discovery" or whatever. Thanks, guys <3


The bedazzled grad cap I wore that day. Shit was heavy as hell, but it was awesome.

Last year, when I graduated, I was ready to get the hell out of Fort Collins. I had established early on that suburbia isn’t a place that I belong and I was ready to actually do something with my life. I was a fashion major with a business minor and I was pretty good at school, especially toward the end (which is when you finally get the hang of it, such a scam). I was tired of sitting in classrooms doing trial runs of what we might encounter in “the real world” and I was impatient to go try stuff out on my own. I moved to Las Vegas one week after graduation with a loose plan, a car full of clothes, and like $200.

In college, I was among the average when it came to grade scores in my core fashion classes. I barely passed the mandatory sciences (chemistry is just too dirty, it’s why I don’t cook) and got by my math credits with a “good enough” B[-ish] in almost every course. I failed philosophy. What I really excelled in were the art history and English classes. I enjoyed seeing the trends throughout the years, from the different styles of Roman and Greek columns (reminiscent of the ever so slightly altered fits of Gap button-ups throughout the years) to the transition from American political ads to a pop art Warhol phase. I got the highest score I ever received in all four years in a 300-level journalism course with a 100+ percentage. My extensive vocabulary, my ability to transcend writing styles, and my impeccable editing skills earned me bragging rights to one of the most impressive scholastic achievements I had ever reached.

A year later, I feel as though I haven’t really done anything with myself. I’ve worked five different jobs in 11 months. Three of which were failed projects and two were stepping-stones for the in-between time. Sure, I learned from all of my experiences, but I haven’t built anything for myself yet, and where I am now is not where I envisioned myself to be when I graduated last year. What I’ve learned since my days in fashion school is that I’m not passionate about fashion. I’m passionate about trends. Of course I can appreciate a good quality seam (especially because my knockoff pieces usually rip within two wears, which I honestly don’t mind too much because I don’t like wearing the same outfit more than once and DEFINITELY never at the same nightclub) and a nice real cashmere sweater never hurt nobody. I’m just more interested in the cultural trends, which include fashion, music, and behaviors (the essence of this blog: what I wore, who I listened to, where I partied).

I’ve learned that I’m moderately able to dress myself correctly at this point, but I’m really good at identifying who has dressed him or herself better. I’m pretty decent with drawing, sewing and creating, but I’m way better at choosing who has created something great. And lastly, I’ve learned that I can gallivant around town to stay up late partying, but I’m way better at writing about it the next day.

So, I have some words of advice for the class of 2013:
Don’t feel pressured to go get a “real” job yet, but also don’t just sit in your parents’ basement doing nothing forever like a loser…which I heavily considered as an option at one point. One of the biggest mistakes that I made while in Vegas was just taking a job because it was a job. I was impatient, and jumping on the wrong job more than once made me unhappy and I now know that it is worth it to really hold out for what you want. Take a shitty side job if you need to while you wait to find the career of your dreams. Chill out. Smoke some of that legal Colorado weed (unless you’re going for a career path that generally drug tests or if you get paranoid easily). But definitely make sure that you don’t wake up at age 28 and realize you’ve been tripping acid for three days—I’ve witnessed it and it’s sad, so don’t laugh. Take some time to find what you like to do, what you want to do, and what you’re good at doing. Then take some time to figure out how to mix all three into the perfect job, and figure out how to get it.

I learned everything the hard way this year. I did so many stupid things that I think I ran out of stupid things to do. The good part was that I learned from every mistake, which sounds cheesy, but it’s true. I wish the very best for all of my beautiful zisters and I hope you can take some of these tips to heart, while also learning your own life lessons along the way.

See you soon, ladies.

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Deadmau5 Walking and the Opening of Hakkasan Las Vegas

[DISCLAIMER] This post is mostly just a lot of rambling and incoherent nonsense, reminiscent of Deadmau5’ set at Hakkasan last night:

Last night was the first preview party that was open to the public for the newest and largest nightclub in the United States: Hakkasan at MGM Grand. The much-anticipated opening night featured Deadmau5 headlining, and everyone who’s anyone in Las Vegas was in attendance.

The majority of the crowd, I’m sure, only showed up to be able to say, “I was there on opening night.” General admission (I was observing from our table overlooking the commoners) was filled mostly with men, and almost every single dance floor occupant raised their iPhones, Androids, Blackberries (few and far-between) and iPads (this is our generation) to record the opening of Deadmau5’ set.

Deadmau5 Walking
It was terrible. FIRST OF ALL: he was 40 minutes late going on. They had a playlist going when I walked in around 1:30. His opening was frankly underwhelming and he played some afterhours-y beats on repeat type shit for the first 30 minutes. People were leaving. He dropped hints of “Sometimes Things Get Complicated,” but never actually went into the song. The first familiar sound he dropped at all was “Ghosts ‘n’ Stuff,” nearly an hour into his set.

It seemed like he was beginning to try to redeem himself and I thought that maybe his repetitive techno vibe at the beginning was really just a plot to get some of the bandwagon bitches the fuck out of the club, where everyone was packed in like sardines.

What disturbed me the most was how many people had left before his set was up. Was everyone there just to see what the hype was about? Did no one have faith in the Mau5, who is known for his theatrical and entertaining elements? What’s even worse is that the sound went out in certain spots in the club about 10 minutes before his 2 hours was over.

The only unoriginal song Deadmau5 played was the closing/transition song; a dub remix of Zedd’s “The Legend of Zelda” that I couldn’t identify and I honestly can’t even remember because I stopped paying attention by that point. Never have I ever seen the closing DJ move the crowd more than the headliner did.

WHY, DEADMAU5?! When he first really hit it big, about a year before the cube previewed on the MTV VMA’s, I was obsessed. I didn’t miss a single Mau5 show in Denver between 2009-2011. I knew every beat by heart, I followed his personal life via the Internet, I made my own Mau5 ears for shows. Every set was the best set I’d ever witnessed. When I moved to Vegas, I started missing his shows due to the annoying jobs with the annoying schedules I had to abide by. Then, Deadmau5 ripped on me via Twitter after my "140-character or less" coverage of his recent appearance on The Dirty and I was over it. I boycotted him just like I’m boycotting Afrojack and Avicii right now.


This Hakkasan debut was supposed to be a symbolic return to my favorite DJ in a new setting. I figured that I hadn’t seen the man in a couple years and I remembered how happy he used to make me. Plus, we had a table with a prime view, so I couldn’t pass up the chance to see the new venue in town that the media has been hyping up for more than a year now.


Ta-Da! Outside of Hakkasan circa 4AM with one of the first Hakkasan glowsticks EVER. Opening night outfit: royal purple romper (I thought it would look nice next to the Hakkasan blue) + iridescent and white necklaces, bracelets, ring. Please excuse the post-show flat hair.


Birds-eye view. Photo cred: my retro Blackberry
On the bright side, Hakkasan has an impressive lineup coming up and the space itself is perfect. There are phone chargers in the booths (genius), old-school rave-status green lasers and a separate hip-hop room for when you want to get ratchet during the closing DJ sets. There’s not a bad seat in the whole place and the VIP hosts and juice boys are extra-dreamy. Plus, it’s new and shiny and I haven’t been there a million times [yet] so I’m excited to have a new place to play in this town. It's also right across the street from mi casa so I can stumble home (which is a viable option because the valet / parking garage is a crazy long walk from the club; so wear your comfiest heels, ladies).

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zomg

I feel fat, I’m bored with this city, I’m void of inspiration.

I’m generally uninterested in everything happening around me. I’ve fallen into a routine. I'm in a rut. In my desperation to find something crazy and different in life, I’ve replaced what I deemed as normal before with what I deem as normal now. The crazy parties aren’t crazy anymore. Oh, I blacked out and made an ass of myself and made out with someone embarrassing and schmoozed with a celebrity who was kind of big on MTV like a year ago? Sounds like Wednesday night. Again.

I’ve seen pretty much every DJ I want to see—between 5 and 10 times by now. In fact, I’ve seen Afrojack so many times, I’m thinking of filing a restraining order against him. I feel assaulted by the overwhelming marketing campaigns being broadcast for Avicii. I’ve been on vacation in Las Vegas for almost a year now. What began as an adventure is now monotonous and repetitive. Same club, same people, same party, different night.

For my upcoming blog shoot, I tried to find an outfit that said something about the current state of affairs in my life. Problem was, I got nothin’ going on right now. Nothing said “THIS LOOKS COOL AND WORTHY OF THE INTERNET!”
Despite these gorgeous photos I got back from Johnson Imagery about a week ago, I couldn’t figure out what to say about the clothes.




This outfit says: I’m trying to look good, but I’d much rather be kickin’ it in my cozies watching the final season of Sex & the City on DVD. Neon top: Forever 21; high-waist Levi shorts: Urban Outfitters; promo neon sunglasses: B Swim; fiesta chains: random import vendor.

So, here’s a selfie of me sitting in my bathroom sink in my Victoria’s Secret sweats that my parents got me for Christmas and a random tee shirt that a boy left over at my house a few weeks ago (scandalous!).


In an effort to add some freshness to my life, I’ve bought my very own domain and added some color to my blog layout. You can now find me at the very convenient www.ohmygoditskat.com !

I’m about to go get wasted now (per usual) and see Fedde le Grand at XS (still love him) and hope something out-of-the-ordinary happens. Stay tuned, kids.

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