It's 7pm and I have an appointment at the newly opened Sunset Tan, hidden in the maze of floors and hallways that is the Palms Hotel just off the Las Vegas Strip.
It's the same hotel where the Hilton family threw Paris a get-out-of-jail party last year and where Britney
has seen more trouble than a girl her age ought to have seen.
Being bronzed, blonde and busty in this town is imperative if you want to achieve anything. And by anything I mean a job as a singer, dancer, card dealer or especially as a waitress clad in a skimpy outfit lubricating gamers so they only need leave the table to relieve themselves of the hospitality. (Drinks are free as long as you have chips in front of you.)
But tonight is the official opening of Palms Place, the new resort and spa next to the famous hotel and I am the last appointment of the day. The bronzed Barbie dolls who went before me will assemble on the red carpet that is being rolled out while I am changing colour.
Alexa is my sprayer, and after along wait - the platinum blonde ahead of me urgently needs her left leg touched up and there's those few last-minute panics that other beautiful people seem to have - she comes to get me. Alexa is a petite brunette with sparkly eyes. She may have featured on E! channel's Sunset Tan but I daren't ask as I never watch the show and would hate to betray myself.
Spray tanning is the healthy option these days in the quest to be beautiful and that is why I'm here.
My pale veneer is in need of some assistance. But the opening night palaver has added a whole new dimension to my appointment.
What should I wear? How tall should I be? How skinny? Alexa leads me into the spray room and apologises for the lack of disposable underwear. She leaves me to strip down to 'whatever I feel comfortable in'. Another perplexing decision.
Suffice to say this bronzed Oscar statuette now has abs (something I have never seen before and likely never will again) courtesy of a few clever airbrushed swipes.
I teeter out on the highest heels I brought, looking like a movie star.
Well at least I think I do until I see the gaggle of beauties in the lobby surrounded by photographers and bodyguards and catch the whisper that Jessica Simpson is coming later.
But I have no time for such silliness. This week is about experiencing Las Vegas and, as my mentor Kenny Rogers taught me, you gotta know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em. As I have no idea when to walk away and certainly no idea when to run, I have arranged a poker lesson at Bellagio.
I meet two bigwigs the next morning who usher me into Bobby's Room, named after company president Bobby Baldwin. The locked doors are slid back and a phone call is made to the earpiece people who watch the monitors to tell them to pay attention, they're about to give the bronzed Kiwi a stash of $25 chips.
I am a poker novice. My 11-year-old niece can fleece me with her innocent eyes and quick moves, but I manage to learn about the flop, the turn and the river without humiliating myself too badly.
My main problem is not folding soon enough. That and being dealt dodgy hands.
I have a theory I put to Scott, my wily teacher: optimists lose more money than pessimists because they hang on after the flop with a bad hand in the everlasting hope a good card might come.
He muses upon my theory and describes himself as 'realistically pessimistic' as he wins the rest of my chips and pops them back in the safe.
I don't think I'm quite ready for the floor yet.
There's a saying that what goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas, and while that might be true of the shenanigans this town is known for, my bronze veneer is beginning to crack and I am in grave danger of becoming me again.
Getting around: The Deuce bus travels the Strip every 10 minutes, stopping about every 500m, to Fremont St in old Vegas. Cost: $2 a ride or $5 for a 24-hour pass.
The monorail runs only on one side of the Strip behind the hotels. Unless you happen to be staying near one of the stops, it's a pricey way to get around ($15 a day) and you'll still be doing a lot of walking.
Getting there: Air New Zealand flies twice daily to Los Angeles with connections to Las Vegas.
For more of Megan's travel musings see bloggeratlarge.com
- Detours, HoS
Las Vegas is a riot of colour and lights. Photos / Supplied
It's 7pm and I have an appointment at the newly opened Sunset Tan, hidden in the maze of floors and hallways that is the Palms Hotel just off the Las Vegas Strip.
It's the same hotel where the Hilton family threw Paris a get-out-of-jail party last year and where Britney
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