A few years ago, I jetsetted off to Las Vegas with a group of my bestest friends ever (you know who you are, right?) It was equally fun as it was extremely emotionally traumatic. My manfriend refuses to return (once was enough for him) so three of my girlfriends and me have planned a 3-day-vacay to Sin City for sun, booze, etc. Below is a post I wrote in March of 2010. Curious to see how much changes after three years…read up and compare against what I write next week. 😉
A Q&A sesh with Las Vegas and myself.
How low can you go?
Turns out, quite low. I apparently have the ability – even after a vodka/Redbull or two – to stabilize myself, heels and all, and still drop it like it’s hot. Important note for you rookies: always wear boyshorts. No one wants to see your Britney on the dance floor, except the creepy European guy that’s been following you around for the past 20 minutes while you dance with every other person to avoid his inevitable attempt to grab your ass.
Can I teach you how to snap two nudey cards together?
If you’re a guy, of the straight nature, I think that you should be issued a complimentary baseball card holder once landing in Vegas. No, wait. Even if you are a girl you should be given this free gift with airline ticket purchase, because regardless of what kind of situation (hehe…ye) you have going on down there in Mexico, it doesn’t matter. You will be non-verbally handed hooker trading cards everywhere you go. It’s kind of like when you were seven and your parents took you to Disneyland and gave you one of those autograph books. The purpose there was to get as many signatures as possible. I am going to go out on a limb and say if the same goal were true here, there would be free clinics on every other street corner. Legally these baseball card pimps can’t talk to you, or so I am told, hence the snapping. However, the hungover girls walking-three-wide to keep each other vertical are going to pass on the girl-on-girl action. Thanks anyways.
Is the phrase ‘What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas’ true to your experience?
Maybe it was in 1998 when you, sweet LV, felt the need to try and stimulate your economy by convincing unsuspecting travelers that you are a vortex of secrecy where they could fulfill any possible fantasy without their wife/hubs/coworkers/kids from knowing what kind of perverse things could come of them. Then, in an interesting turn of events, Facebook happened. Unfortunately, for these fratboy-wannabes-gone-wild, Facebook opened the front door to Vegas. No, actually, Facebook straight up bulldozed through it. And now there are tagged photos, quotes that have no meaning other than to the person saying it (HAHAHAHHAHAHA “CEASAR! WE’RE BACK!” – See? No idea.) and a plethora of wall posts that may or may not be about you. Wait…someone else made the same bad decision I made? No, no, no it must have been that other girl that I ran into..Also, I love signing into my account and getting a notification that says “Blank has tagged you in a photo.” Crap! Rack-brain. Thinkthinkthink. When was this photo taken? What was I doing? Did I have boyshorts on at the time?
Would you like an late check out?
No, I would not. I want you to get me to the airport as quickly as possible. The sooner I forget I was in the at-will Bermuda triangle of vacations and get back to reality, the better. Except, right now I can barely move and either I find $8 for a Gatorade or I might die a slow and painful death in this extremely comfortable bed/bathtub/hallway/doorjam. Lucky for you, I opted to bring my extra dignity with me, so you keep whatever I left by accident.
Do you have your exit buddy?
I do now. Did I this weekend? Debatable.
Would you do it again?
Wait which part? The coming to Vegas part or the…I’m sorry repeat the question please.