Maren Wade’s Confessions of a Showgirl: “The Glamorous Life of a Vegas Showgirl.” (Photo Credit: Jack Fleming)
I bet you’re dying to know what a day is like in the life of a Vegas showgirl. The truth is, it really is as exciting and glamorous as you may think.
Take yesterday, for instance: I’m flying on Donald Trump’s private jet, on our way back from Paris. The flight attendants are peeling my grapes and refilling my Dom Perignon. My personal assistant is walking me through the rest of my day:
• Work out with my personal trainer.
• Lunch with Kim Kardashian at Wolfgang Puck’s. (I love when he whips us up his vegan, gluten-free, low carb dishes.)
• Meeting with Rachel Zoe. (We’re deciding between the Oscar De La Renta, Christian Dior or Versace gown for the party tonight.)
• Photo shoot for Vanity Fair.
• Afternoon Tea at the Mandarin Oriental with Celine Dion.
• Hair and makeup team arrives an hour before the show.
• Attend exclusive afterparty with P. Diddy.
I’m exhausted just looking at my schedule. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. In fact, let me pinch myself now.
Uh-oh. I didn’t feel it. I’m not awake. Which means, I’m dreaming. Which means … Okay, I have confession to make: That’s not exactly how a day goes in the life of a Vegas showgirl. It’s really more like this:
7:00 a.m. Sleeping.
11:00 a.m. Sleeping.
1:00 p.m. Wow, up early for a change! Should I go to the gym? I’ll have breakfast first. After all, it is the most important meal of the day. Hmmm … a cigarette and a Twinkie sound good. Wait, I just remembered I don’t smoke. I’ll just have the Twinkie. You know what? I’m a showgirl. I shouldn’t be eating Twinkies. I’ll just have half. Yum. Actually, I’m just going to eat the other half later … might as well have it now while it’s fresh.
2:00 p.m. Time to head to the gym, but I don’t feel like working out alone. I’ll see if Stephanie wants to work out with me. No answer. She must still be sleeping. Too bad, I really felt like working out.
3:00 p.m. Shopping. I wish I had a stylist to pick out all my clothes. Maybe I can find a good salesperson at Forever 21 to help me.
5:00 p.m. Lunchtime. I’ll go to my usual spot. Plus, it’s always nice catching up with Liz at the Starbucks drive thru. Then, it’s off to work.
7:00 p.m. Wish I had someone to do my makeup for me. As usual, I have to do it myself.
7:15 p.m. Hey, Stephanie’s here. She looks tired. Wonder if she went home with that magician from last night. Yep, she did. This is gonna be a good story.
7:40 p.m. Impressive! Maybe I’ll date a magician one day.
7:50 p.m. Ten-minute call? Better get dressed. … Woah, outfit’s a little tight. How did that happen? Definitely going to the gym tomorrow.
7:55 p.m. Better preset my costumes. I don’t want a repeat of that chicken fiasco.
8:00 p.m. Showtime. Here we go.
Run! Run! Leap! Turn! Turn! Leap! Hustle to stage left. Strike a pose. Hurry to stage right. Strike a pose.
Hold for the curtain closing…and … SPRINT!
Costume Change! 30 seconds and counting. Sh&*! My sequins got stuck in my fishnetsagain!
Next number! Go go go!
What the f@#$%^&* was that? Run for cover! That set piece just hurled at us like a grenade.
It’s dark. I can’t see. BAM! Ouch! I’m OK! Just a flesh wound!
Watch out for the explosion! 5,4,3,2,1! Confetti everywhere!
And there it is, that shot of adrenaline mixed with that roaring applause from the audience. The reason we do what we do and can’t get enough. It’s almost better than sex. (I said “almost.”)
9:30 p.m. That went well. One down, one to go. Think I’ll read that Vanity Fair magazine during my break.
10:00 p.m. Second Show. Let’s do this all over again.
Run! Run! Leap …
12:00 a.m. That was intense. I’ll just have one drink with Stephanie to unwind.
3:00 a.m. Afterparty. Hey, what happened to Stephanie? I guess she went home with that knife thrower. I’ll just have one more drink, then say my goodbyes.
5:00 a.m. Guess I’ll make it an early night.
I did some other stuff like the dishes and the laundry. But those aren’t dirty enough confessions from a showgirl.
On the other hand, dishing out dirty laundry … In Las Vegas Weekly … there’s something to that.
Which reminds me, I need to write my next article, first thing in the morning.
Hmmm. Hungry. Did I eat the other half of that Twinkie? Or was I dreaming?