The Vegas Story
Well, talk about the ultimate and much-needed detox. I’m freshly single, I just graduated college, and I’m about to move across the country…again. I think all can agree that a weekend in Vegas with two close buddies is exactly what I needed.
I stuffed a backpack full with only the essentials: my wallet, my sparkliest makeup, three different types of bras, and what I thought would be enough underwear to last the weekend. I figured I’d buy anything else I needed once I got there.
We stayed in a villa (you’ve seen The Hangover, right?) for free. Laura made a couple of phone calls and got the three of us on guest lists for 4 different clubs, which meant our $60 cover fee was waved no matter where we went. Basically…we were rock stars. The whole weekend.
Weekend highlights included free drinks everywhere we ended up (it quite literally pays to have a vagina), huge ego boosts due to the amount of male attention we received, and falling in love with the prettiest table dancer I have ever seen. Seriously, the prettiest. To heck with grad school; I want to be her when I grow up.
I also liked when we walked into Coyote Ugly and saw Santa dancing on the bar with a bottle of Jack in hand, not quite aware of where he was. Or perhaps when that guy Mike was hitting on me while that other guy in the long sleeve, white shirt was awkwardly standing behind me, practically leaning on me but not saying anything. Laura and Kyla contemplated saving me…but, as only true friends would, decided it would be better to stand back and watch the situation unfold from afar.
Also, by the end of drunk dancing on Friday night I decided that wearing heels is a stupid and overrated idea. My drunk self decided it would be best to remove my shoes and walk The Strip completely barefoot back to our hotel. Apparently I was very nonchalant when we looked down and saw a trail of bloody footprints leading up to yours truly. Hey, what’s Vegas without a self-caused trail of blood? No, I could not walk the next day. Yes, I went out in flipflops on Saturday night.
Oh, have I mentioned the rooftop barbecue/sunset/jacuzzi-in-my-underwear excursion? Yep. It happened. At sunset we headed to the rooftop of our hotel and greeted the jacuzzi and barbecue with much excitement. No one was around, so we hopped in the spa. Remember when I said I thought I packed enough undies for the weekend? Yeah, I wasn’t considering the idea that I might find myself on a rooftop needing to use a pair of chonies as a pseudo-bathing suit so I could make the experience even more wonderful by getting in a hot tub.
Needless to say, the weekend was wonderful. I remember all of it, I didn’t get arrested, and my ringless finger suggests that my last name is still Kurtz. I actually didn’t even get drunk or even drink at all on Saturday. The fact that I couldn’t drink due to Friday’s hangover is irrelevant.
Vegas, I can’t wait to rendezvous with you again. Hold on, I just need to recover from this adventure first.