A NOTE TO OUR READERS:
This article is from the 2005 issue of Weekend Living, a special interest publication of Southern Living.

I don’t know what time or what day it is. As far as I know, I’m in Bellagio’s casino. I swear there isn’t a clock or a window anywhere in this entire town. My eyes burn, my feet ache, my right contact keeps popping out, and I’d pay $100 for a couple of measly aspirin. I haven’t slept in 20-something hours, yet I don’t want to go to bed. There’s just too much to see and do in this crazy place called Vegas.

Neon lights on the Strip. Clanking coins. Bells ringing. The smell of cigarette smoke mixed with Chanel N˚5. Beautiful people. Not-so-beautiful people. Laws being broken. Fortunes being won. Bigger fortunes being lost.

Las Vegas reels you in, winks at you, and flirts just enough to get you hooked. You do things you would never have considered.

With the slogan “What happens here, stays here,” you’re protected. You’re walking up to The Little White Wedding Chapel and getting hitched. Like a true high roller, you’re betting next month’s mortgage payment. The saying “Sleeping is for the dead” must have been uttered first in this made-up town smack in the middle of the Nevada desert.

Ah, Las Vegas. One hundred years ago, this place in the Mojave Desert was just a dusty stretch of sand. From out of nowhere, a switch flipped, and Vegas sprang to life as the ultimate icon of excess. That’s why we love it. It’s classy, tacky, even a bit offensive—and mesmerizing.

Some people travel to Vegas 12 times a year, while others stop in every three months. Every person should go at least once.