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The second-to-last city of the insane travel-palooza known as Skyy Vodka’s Jet-Set Junket was none other than Sin City. That’s right, my first trip to Las Vegas was going to be completely taken care of by Skyy Vodka, and quite frankly, the biggest gamble that was taking place on this trip was Skyy guessing that it would be worth it all to cart my ass along with these jet-setters (who had actually paid for their own trips) to tastefully blog about our shenanigans and whatnot. And I’m assuming from the lack of “cease and desist” letters I’ve received, that I’ve done an OK job–so far.

So, as you all know, what happens in Vegas…goes in the blog. Please, you think I’d keep all of this to myself? I have shit to brag about, people. So, pay close attention.

First off, we checked in to the Hard Rock and after a minor panic attack during which I momentarily lost track of my luggage (I couldn’t have been more concerned than if my first-born child were missing–well, maybe if my laptop were gone, I’d have been more upset. Actually, let’s be honest, at that point, I would have started indiscriminately punching people.), I headed up to my room for a nice, hot shower and a nap. I really should be telling you that I got all crazy and went gambling and won so much damn money that I’ll soon be retiring from this blogging thing, but then you probably would have noticed when new editor, Tisa Limmons, stepped in to replace me and was eerily capable of mimicking my style of writing, down the overly fond use of the phrases “bonkers” and “bitches.”

More from Lisa and the Playboy bunnies, plus many more photos, after the jump.

So, after I got some beauty rest, we all met up for some munchies on the floor of the casino, while we caught some tunes by a Johnny Cash cover band, “Cash’d Out.” It took about ten minutes for them to play my favorite, “A Boy Named Sue,” and I have to say, the lead singer bore an unnerving resemblance to my late Grandpa George, who himself bore an unnerving resemblance to a grumpier (if you can imagine it) Johnny Cash. We finished up with a toast and enjoyed yet another cocktail courtesy of Skyy, the Skyy Citrus Drop.

After we had eaten and drunk to our heart’s content, we all headed over to the Palms for our Playboy party. Initially, I had made a pact with our photographer, Gary, that since I was feeling tired (as was he) we would both probably split a cab after meeting and greeting with the bunnies for about an hour, get some pictures and then call it a night. So, we met our gracious hosts, four lovely Playmates and it was when one of them turned out to be an avid reader of A Socialite’s Life, that I realized I might want to stay longer than an hour. For those of you who don’t know, I happen to be a HUGE slut for an appreciative audience, much less a fan. As promised, here’s my shout-out to Alison Waite, of Playboy’s May 2006 issue. Girl, I hope you’re reading this!

I danced with the bunnies–and Gary ended up having to take that cab by himself–but not before he got some great pictures of me with the ladies. I think I can safely speak for all of the jet-setters when I say Vegas was a blast.

Once I finally got back to my hotel room to tuck my tired ass into bed, I was treated to a uniquely Vegas experience of getting to hear my next-door neighbors loudly (albeit briefly) engage in intercourse before resuming a heated argument. Sigh. It’s the little things like that that have really made this trip memorable. My scrapbook is full of these little nuggets.

Major shout-out’s go to Skyy Vodka, of course, as well as Source Marketing, The Rose Group and Kino Fist Pictures.

Check out tomorrow’s post, when Lisa wraps up her journey with the Jet-setters and returns home to Los Angeles.