Thursday, May 19, 2011

Cocktails and Dreams

Well it appears that Mancouver has been on a bit of a hiatus, I can only blame Vegas for this and the wintery weather that we’re STILL having. It’s depressing, and therefore doesn’t entice me to want to leave the house. Not one bit. But this past weekend I did. It was time once again. However, I was missing the rest of the crew due to an impromptu trip to Kelowna and a lack of funding, so this would be a solo mission. Though, with a few added guest stars. So let’s get to it bitches! 

Since it was raining yet again on Saturday, my sister and I decided that it would be best to spend the afternoon having a Sex in the City marathon, with wine of course. There isn’t any other way to do this is there? I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve see all of the episodes, but it’s A LOT, and no, I don’t care. I will continue to watch them over and over again because if you don’t know already, that’s kind of me and my sister’s thing. When we like something, we commit to liking it 1000%. Therefore that includes the watching and re-watching of shows, movies, videos, etc.  

There was much debate over whether we should attend a concert at the Commodore featuring one of our favorite Mancouvers of the Week Cory Monteith. Yes the band he’s in is crap and they clearly only have a record deal because one of their band members is on a successful TV show, but we thought the people watching would have been amazing and make for great write up material. Then again, the show would have only been full of freshly minted nineteen year old girls, and that’s never fun is it. As it ended up, we did not attend. Feeling old isn’t usually high on my list of priorities when I go out, but as it was this would happen anyways as the evening progressed.  

The other option that night was to go out for a birthday party that would include a karaoke session in a private room. I can’t say no to karaoke, especially when you can freely pick your own songs and hog the mike all night (which I did), so I warmed up my vocal cords and got ready to start my evening.  
Our guest stars for the evening, A&T, kindly picked me up and we were off to our first destination of the evening, one of the many Kegs in Vancouver; that much like Joey’s, are within a curiously short proximity to each other. The one we would be going to was on Thurlow, and I was quite familiar with this particular Keg and its awesome lounge. I was once privy to an epic drunken drink spilling that happened there, complete with the obligatory blaming of a wobbly table for committing the said drink spill. I actually wish I could go back in time and see it again, it was that good.  

This particular Keg is totally for the business man, travelling or local to Vancouver. It’s close to hotels and office buildings alike and really, who doesn’t like the Keg. They make a fine mixed drink, apparently Caesar’s as everyone was drinking one, and hello? Three words. Billy Miner Pie. Sometimes I’ll take that over a steak for dinner. Ice cream for dinner is a delicacy that everyone should enjoy at some point in their life. Me and A were feeling a bit hookerish, so we ordered white wine spritzers – in movies they always tell us this is what hookers drink. As well as champagne cocktails – but when they were brought to us we had to assemble them ourselves. This was a new experience; I’ve never had to make my own drinks at an establishment before. How hard is it to fill a glass with wine, ice and soda water? It would certainly make for a lot less dishes for them to do rather than bringing me a wine glass, a glass of ice and tumbler of soda. Is this a complex drink order? It really shouldn’t be. Color me confused, but it was a delicious and refreshing treat regardless. T opted to go with a Long Island, which we then deemed she had to keep ordering everywhere we went so she could try all the varieties. Not the best plan, in fact a pretty bad one as earlier that day we were discussing the Long Island, and how much liquor went into them. It’s A LOT. I guess that’s why youths like to order them. Do they come bottled yet? Hmmm. I have so many questions now.  

Having already eaten before I went out, I did not get to enjoy any of the tasty creations that the Keg has to offer, but a few people got sliders, and we already know how much I like those. They did not look as heavenly as the sliders at Joey’s, but I would have to taste them to give them a fair chance. I will however, give the presentation an 8.5 out 10. Another fellow at our table ordered the lobster tail dinner and it was the biggest meal I have ever Canada, come was crazy. They seriously gave him ALL the garlic mashed potatoes. They may have been out for the rest of the night after this, maybe even at the rest of the Kegs in VancouverIt seemed like a lot of dishes came with garlic now that I think about it. Is the Keg telling us they only want couples dining at their restaurants? Interesting....   

As birthday festivities usually go, people were running late and drinks were free flowing, so we were for sure going to be late for our next appointment, which was the very exciting private karaoke room! Because gathering drunk people is always an issue, a few of us made our way over to Fantacity which is also on Thurlow, just on the other side next to the McDonalds. What isn’t usually next a McDonalds? When giving directions to people for things doesn’t it seem like you always throw a “Then turn left at the McDonalds “in there? It does.  
Once across the road you will then travel down some stairs and destination Fantacity will be on the right hand side. It looks TOTALLY sketchy, and is most likely an underground drug running/prostitute business with a karaoke cover, but who cares. You get your own room! And they serve amazing fruity cocktails served in excellent hurricane glasses! And yes we tried the Long Island, don’t worry. And the drinks are strong. Really strong. As they should be, you must be drunk in order to sing your best.  

Since we were the first ones to arrive, we had the luxury of choosing the first song....and most of the songs after that too....oops. What did we go with? Hotel Room Service by Pitbull of course. What else? It was awful and amazing all at the same time. There aren’t a lot of words to that song other than counting, yet we still managed to fuck it up. After that we went with the old standards such as Don’t Stop Believing, Living on a Prayer, and some rousing renditions of Bad Romance and New York, New York. I would like to give a shout out to T for her marvelous tambourine work (yes they supply you with a tambourine. So many shades of awesome). Also to A for her hidden rap talent that was brought to fruition via Drake’s Best I Ever Had. I did not know she was a closet rapper; perhaps we should sign her up for a rap battle one of these days? And last but not least, to our friend MC for throwing down the Lady Gaga gauntlet. She was NOT fucking around. Gaga karaoke was serious business for her.  
I would highly suggest hitting up Fantacity whenever you get the chance. You will not be sorry.  

Sadly the room was soon ripped from our grasps; the good times don’t last forever at Fantacity. The rooms are rented by the hour, a lot like a cheap a hotel room you would have an affair with your married boss, best friends husband, priest...what have you. They might even let you do that at Fantacity, I don’t know for sure. I didn’t ask if that was included in the rates. Moving on, after a few cab rides around the city, a failed Roxy attempt  and more cab rides, T and I made the executive decision to head to another favorite spot of ours – Brandi’s.  Now I know you’re asking yourself “Wait, what? Strippers?” Yes. Lot’s of strippers. See the enticement of Brandi’s is that girls don’t have to pay cover, they play good music, and you get a show. What more could you ask for? Well I guess karaoke, if they had that, it would make it the best place ever maybe. I would be there all the time. Actually I would probably never leave. I’d just move into Brandi’s. It’s almost in the penthouse of that building that it’s in, and that’s super classy. Or maybe it IS the penthouse. Or I’m always hammered when I go there, and I just can’t be sure. 

So If you’re wondering where the majority of men go in Vancouver (we were) well look no further. They are at Brandi’s. All ages too, it was really spread out. Like the dancers legs...WHAATTT. Yes I did. I went there.  
Anyways, there were a lot of dudes there, even a lot of girls, but this doesn't really seem like the venue to pick people up I would think. Girls are mainly there for stagettes, because going to male strippers is scary and gross, and guys are there for lap dances, and not ones that are performed by people that they don’t have to pay. Paying is better. On second thought, maybe the meshing of these two groups of people is the way to pick up someone up. We better go back for a second look. Plus I did see a series of random make outs happening when the lights went up. I knew they were random because we shut that place down. I saw these random hookups blossom. It helped that some guy that was there by himself - not creepy, that's perfectly normal -  kept paying for our drinks while we sat at the bar, only to have him disappear every time we turned around to thank him. Don’t worry, the bartender poured them and handed them to us directly. No roofies were involved for once. So thanks phantom drink buyer, you were strange and mysterious and we appreciated all the drinks!  

Besides that there were a series of other events, such as the almost teenagers that invited us to their “VIP” booth, who at first told us they were 26, but when we carded them found out it was more like 21. And to top it off one of them looked like Spencer Pratt and A’s high school boyfriend all wrapped up into one 21 year old package. They didn’t stay for long, but long enough for Spencer to ask me if I’ve ever had sex with a 21 year old and then gave me a 2 minute countdown or his offer would close. Yes that old chestnut, a timed sex offer from a man child. It was really tough to turn it down...right. So yah, there was that.  

Then came the bartender.  Because we like to sit up at the bar and make friends with bartenders, we decided that this particular bar keep had pretty amazing hair and we needed to keep looking at it. And maybe his butt too. I loath writing that last part, because it makes me sounds like a very old person or, perhaps a bit like someone who is really into cats and Cathy comics. But it was true. When he walked away, his situation looked pretty good and it was worth mentioning. So shut up. We learned that his name was Warren and by the end of the night, after being urged by T and my liquid vodka courage, I asked him if I could touch his hair. Yes friends, my hair addiction finally crossed the fine line of oddly cute, to almost disturbing. I didn’t care though. Nothing was going to stop me. The idea had been planted in my head and I was going to make this dream a reality.  

To be honest I don’t really remember how I presented it to him, but it was probably along the lines of “Hey, do you mind if I touch your hair” and then I most likely didn’t wait for an okay either, I just did it. I got right in there too, ran my fingers through it and everything. I’m assuming he was into it though, because after listening to my cheerleader T again, I came up with this – “So do you date any of these lovely ladies that work here?” He says “Umm. No. It was cool a year ago, but not so much anymore”.  
I then end the conversation and he is like “Well??? Why?” And I pull out some sweet moves with “Maybe you might like to get a drink sometime that’s not here”. He agrees, a number exchange happens, and since the lights have been on for a pretty long time at this point, it was time to escort ourselves home.  

Now there are a lot of things that I need, and a bartender’s phone number that works at a strip club probably isn’t one of them, but what the hell. Who knows if I’ll ever hear from him, it is highly unlikely, but I will totally see him again because let’s not kid ourselves, that won’t be my last trip to Brandi’s. A lesson learned on this night? Sometimes people DO want their hair touched. Fact. 

Many thanks to Mancouver’s special guest stars, hopefully we’ll see you again soon! And most especially to T for promoting all the bad ideas, that were actually turned out to be really good ones. And thank god I found your phone in that cab. 

Peace out! 

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Vegas Baby. Vegas

So Mancouver went to Vegas this past weekend, and though the saying usually goes “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”, this time around it’s not going to. I’m just gonna let it all hang out. It was harder on some of us than others, but we all somehow made it out in one piece. Now since a journey to Vegas is just way too hard to document day by day, I will try to condense it, and report on events that took place to the best of my knowledge and abilities.

The journey started on Friday afternoon for part of Mancouver, LM was already ahead of us, apparently very eager to get a head start on the downward spiral that is Vegas. She was going down there to join in on a bachelorette party, which right off the bat you know will be a bit of a disaster. If there was an award show category for best dramatic performance by a group or ensemble, then every bachelorette party that travels down to Vegas together yearly should be nominated. It cannot be helped. Large gaggles of girls that travel together will not always get along. This is just the way the cookie crumbles.

LM did report back that the morning flight (out of Bellingham, via Allegiant Air) was full of couples and old people. I understand the old people, they love getting up at pre dawn to start their day and they love to be gambling and buffeting, but WHY all the couples? Is Vegas the right place for you to have a romantic vacation? Is it? Surrounded by drunk fools, people cheating on their soon to be husbands and wives, the future sluts of the world, douchebags and their douchebag entourages...sigh, I can’t WAIT to go back....but for reals. Is this what you want? No one else does that’s for sure. Go hold your hands in Mexico or some shit. That’s were couples go. I know this because I was there not too long ago. And I’ve been to Vegas as a couple as well. Under the category of things that are not fun, this is in there. It’s not.

So after that, LM went back to drinking her weight in vodka red bulls while patiently waiting for the rest of the girls she was meeting, and obviously the rest of the Mancouver crew as well. We went back to drinking on the plane, and then on to drinking in our room while getting ready to meet up with LM and the girls.
Why is drinking in your room while getting ready so much fun? There’s always a dance party that’s why. I had made a playlist (obvs) with Taio Cruz’s “Dynamite” on it more than once, because this song follows us around, and it’s highly addictive apparently. It’s not even that good, but we can’t stop. Just throw your hands up in the air sometime okay? However the one place this song does not follow us to is Vegas. We did not hear it once. I don’t even know how that is possible, but it was. Instead we were stalked by Enrique’s “Baby I like it”. Not as awesome.

Anyways, so we got all gussied up and made our way over to the Mirage where the girls were staying and would quickly be introduced to the horror that was happening over there. Or should I say WHORE-ER. While we were waiting in the lobby for LM, the outfit shenanigans that were happening around us were something to behold. I’m fairly certain that every outfit in the universe that didn’t fit was on some girl who walked past us. Why? Why exactly? I can’t fathom stuffing myself into a sausage casing of a dress that’s actually a shirt, and then strutting around anywhere and thinking I look hot. If you have muffin top happening all over your body, guess what? It’s not sexy. Why can’t these girls just buy clothes that fit? If you want to rock a shirt as a dress go for it, all the power to you, BUT please, pretty please, buy it in a size that was made for your body. Not the size you think your body should be or the size that it used to be. It’s fine. Move on. Everyone that has to look at you and your shapes spilling out of your dress will thank you for it. That’s all.

It was hard to make ourselves leave this hot mess, but we managed to say goodbye to the stumbling disasters and made our way over to the Luxor to attend LAX. There were probably more shapes happening there too, but as I would soon learn it would be impossible to top the Mirage. Everyone was rolling on a lot of vodka by this point, but LM by far put on the best show. There was a lot of dancing around in a small circle and talking using only finger signals. At one point we found her in the booth in front of ours, just kind of curled up in the corner of it doing a little leg work, and though she was talking to the guys whose booth it was, I couldn’t begin to fathom what they were discussing. Maybe they were versed in finger signal speak as well? She may not remember, but I’m pretty sure she was having fun.

The music there was excellent, full of the R&B jams of my youth when I thought I was a bit of a gangsta. Well a lot of a gangsta, but don’t we all at some point in our lives? While I was busting a move, a guy from the booth next to us sidled up and introduced himself, wanting to make us aware that they too were a stag party and then suggested that we join forces. However, the girls were too busy taking their millionth group photo, the bachelor party seemed like the most sullen group of guys I’ve ever seen on a stag, plus there was also some deranged looking woman that was following around the guy that introduced himself, so this marrying of parties was not going to happen.

Not willing to give up on this union easily, buddy comes back over with a shot in his hand and says to me “Hey do you want some Patron?” My answer to this question is always yes, but perhaps this time it shouldn’t have been because here’s where we should have initiated “Roofie Watch: Vegas Edition”. Now by this time in the night I’ve had like 1000 drinks and I will be the first one to say that my judgment wasn’t at full strength. I take the shot from him and say to him “I hope there’s no roofies in here” and he just kind of laughs and walks back over to his booth, where he then proceeds to creepily watch me take it from a distance. Who does that? And when I say that, I mean who:
A) takes the shot and happily does it knowing there’s a 50/50 chance of there being a roofie in it.
B) walks away and watches in the shadows like a potential serial rapist.

Well apparently me and this guy do. Luckily for me it wasn’t roofied, or it may be that I have an incredibly high tolerance for them, but at any rate this was now our cue to leave. If you’re wondering where LM has been, well she was still over at the other booth, but she was a little more mobile now. Upon closer inspection it appeared that this booth was filled with a bunch of Eastern European guys, and they were waving us over to stay and hang out with them. We decided that eating was a probably a better idea instead because I didn’t really know the outcome of the potential roofie yet, and the idea of waking up and probably have been sold into a prostitution ring didn’t sound like it would be a lot of fun. And unlike the movies I don’t know any savvy people that would be able figure out how to rescue my ass. Not everyone has a Liam Neeson that they can rely on.

So if you are drunk in Vegas and haven’t eaten since breakfast...hmm I guess this is pretty much directed at everyone there then... you need to go and have the $7.77 special at Mr.Lucky’s in the Hard Rock. Its steak, prawns, garlic mashed potatoes and a salad and yes, you want it in your mouth. It’s not on the menu, you just have to know about it, so we have just given you the knowledge, and our blessing to go and have it. It’s not really what your stomach needs at 2 or 3 in the morning, but savor it because it’s probably going to be the last real meal you’re going to have for the rest of the trip. That’s also why it’s ideal to have it on your first night there. We did it, and it was just as fabulous as it has been every other time. This time around I didn’t almost die while eating a piece of steak, which has happened before and trust me, it’s scary. No one is on life saving duty when they’re hammered, so I’m lucky to have lived through it. Note to people who are going to have this meal – don’t cut your steak only in half and then stuff it like that in your throat. It won’t go in.
Also, though unrelated, when leaving the Luxor do try and find the exit that leads you out to the street and NOT to the Excalibur. It takes half a day to get out if you go through that stupid castle. But if you’re very lucky, someone may give you a Crispy Cream donut if you take that route.

The next day everything started out really promising - we felt good, there were no hangovers for some reason; the sun was shining, what could go wrong? The Bare pool party at the Mirage. That’s what. I wasn’t totally feeling a pool party, but I was willing to go and have a look since they were offering free drinks until 1pm. We made our way over to the Mirage once again (stupid idea staying at Treasure Island next door when we spent ALL our time at the Mirage) and went in search of the pool. We find it, and it’s down the same walkway as the entrance to the Secret Garden where people take their kids to look at white tigers and the like. Should a place where debauchery and naked boobs come together to party be on this same path? It shouldn’t. Good thing there’s a couple of really cool door guys guarding the entrance to Bare to stop any kids from wandering in and being severely traumatized. And by really cool, I actually mean really fucking douchey. These clowns thought that they were pretty awesome. And I guess they are, since they control the mysterious clipboard with the names of the people who are on the list get in to these “exclusive” parties after all....yes. So they have their moment of glory where they pretend they can’t find the proper name for us on the list, and I have my own where I think to myself that I don’t have to work a door on a Saturday at a pool party in Vegas. So we’re all winners here.

After another maze of walkways, we finally get in and spot the girls on one of the “exclusive” daybeds. It was free apparently, but everything comes with some sort of hidden fee in Vegas doesn’t it. The fee at Bare is that there were A LOT of rules. However, none of those rules touched on anything like if you have fugly boobs; please put them away because you’re scaring my eyes. There were no rules for that. There should be. And for the free drinks, they should also have more options than highballs. That’s a mean choice when it’s 11 in the morning. Vodka and water does not feel good at that time of the day, in the hot sun, on a stomach filled with no food. The story of how the girl’s night will end will be a testament to this topic. We’ll get back to that though.

We opted for some over priced fruity blended drinks because we hadn’t eaten yet either, and because I already knew the consequences of drinking vodka waters in the morning. See sometimes I do know better! LM on the other hand was fully immersed in her vodka drinks, as were the rest of the girls in the party, and they were ready to dedicate themselves to this pool party for the rest of the day. There were whispering of plans to have a nice dinner later that evening and both my sister and I looked at each other and said “None of these girls are making it to dinner”. Guess what? They didn’t. I wasn’t really feeling in a bathing suit kind of way, nor did I feel like sitting in the sun all day and marinating in vodka, so we left the girls after about an hour. Don’t get me wrong, we enjoyed the people watching aside from a few awful boobs, and I imagine it’s a thousand times busier and more epic somewhere like Wet Republic, but all in all it wasn’t bad. I would probably go again, but I don’t know about LM...

So what happened to LM you ask? Wait. Just you wait. We’re almost there.  My sister and I continued on our own journey of drinking and gambling all day, and planned to go and watch the hockey game at Blondie’s in the Planet Hollywood mall. The logic behind this was where else would dudes be in Vegas during the lull before the nightclub frenzy happens? Well, probably in a lounge or bar watching a sport of some sort. Or sleeping. Or still at one of the many pool parties. Some other guys would most likely still be at the strippers or just getting there for a full evening, but I already know those guys. They’re all dentists. So we arrived at Blondie’s only to be told the sad news that they were featuring the UFC fight that night....ummm no thanks. Much like the dentists, I see enough of guys who exclusively watch UFC at home as well, so we’ll find somewhere else to go. Luckily there was another bar when you first walk into the mall from the casino that was showing the game, and was featuring buckets of beer and shots of Patron. Roofie optional this time.

While sitting this bar we got to see a lot of sights, and it became clear to us that all of the hot guys in Vegas? Yah they were staying at Planet Ho. With this new knowledge acquired I messaged LM to advise her to get over to meet us ASAP. There was a guy wearing his navy whites! We just overheard someone say it was fleet week, so there could be more of them! But nothing from LM. No response. Perplexing I thought to myself. If I know anything, it’s that LM always responds to her messages, it’s her pet peeve when people don’t respond to her immediately, she WILL Ping you, so I know how this works. My second message was “Are you alive?” Remembering how sideways the pool party was going, I was afraid that she wasn’t. And still, no response.
Hockey game complete, we decided that we needed some sort of nourishment, so we cruised over to New York, New York for some delicious pizza. It wasn’t a cruise at all though. In high heels it’s almost like walking from Vegas to actual New York.  And now that I think back, why did we leave Planet Ho, when ALL the hot guys were there? That was dumb. Maybe I was given a roofie after all. In the stupid decisions variety. 

Oh well, since I don’t have a time machine this isn’t really an issue anymore I guess. And the pizza was really good. And while enjoying our tasty pizza we noticed a large group of guys that were all dressed in suits. Believe me when I say that this got my attention. Again cursing LM for not being around, we FINALLY hear back from her. The messages are not in any sort of English language, but there were a lot of capitals and lower case letters jumbled together. After we deciphered them it was discovered that she had fallen asleep because she was so fucked up from the pool party. That’s a shocker right? Then came some barfing, a failed attempt to get ready, and then back to sleep again. And that’s what became of LM and a lot of the other girls night. I got the more elaborate story the next day at the pool, and it looks like we needed “Roofie Watch” out on patrol again, because that is what she swears happened. An older couple cruising you in a hot tub and buying you champagne all afternoon? That sounds like a roofie waiting to happen. It’s roofielicious.

No men in suits for LM, or for me either. We guessed that they were perhaps a soccer team or Russian for some reason. They weren’t either, but they were British. If they were a British soccer team that would have indeed been a Vegas jackpot. I did end up telling one of the guys that he should tell people that they ARE a soccer team. Why not right? If you should lie about anything anywhere, it’s Vegas. They were also there on a stag and were on their way over to LAX. I was like “Oh we went there last night”....WTF is wrong with me? I was really off my game this weekend because the answer should have been “Oh we’re heading there right now as well”. Stupid. Don’t worry; I’m slapping myself as I type this. Apparently I only want to go there to hang out with rapists who give you shots of Patron potentially laced with roofies. Not a bunch of British guys in suits. Gross.

Sigh. So instead I bothered some poor man that was trying to enjoy his Lord of the Rings slot machine by asking him a million questions about his love for the movie and shouting out things at his machine. Most likely stuff along the lines of “You shall not pass!!” He loved it I’m sure. We then headed back over to the Mirage (Seriously, WHY didn’t we get a room there) and upon entering we were dazzled once again, by even more ridiculous outfits than the night before. All of them so small. So very, very small. Let’s talk about this again for a moment, because I really want to get the point across. Girls, you know that saying friends don’t let friends drink and drive? Well friends shouldn’t let friends wear outfits that do not fit. Next time one of your girlfriends is getting dressed for the night and it turns out she looks like a double stuffed burrito from Taco Bell, tell her. If she doesn’t believe you, show her a picture of said burrito and say that’s you. You look exactly like that. Now go put on something that fits. The world will thank you for it.
Mean? Maybe. But someone has to stop this madness.
Snapping out of our small outfit trance, we made a stop in at the Beatles Revolution lounge for a drink and dance and finally finished off our night.

The next day I received messages from LM in this order. The first one was “OMG I’m dying, I feel terrible”. A little while later I received “OMG we just met the hottest guy at breakfast”. I was like how did this turn around so quickly?! And who meets hot men at buffets? I didn’t think they went there. Hot guy was going to be hanging out at the normal pool with them, so I ventured over there to check out this additional breakfast item that the buffet was offering. Turns out he was really hot, AND a Marine (thank god someone picked one up!) and way too many things went down on this day after this, so I’m just going speed this up with some one the highlights...

Buffet Boy and his friend that he was with provided hours of entertainment for us, we talked about many inappropriate things by the pool, which isn’t the first time I’ve been involved in something like this, the high point being when we decided that someone should go up to a guy in the pool and either pee near him or on him….Why? Why would we suggest this? What is wrong with us? Wait, don’t answer that... We thought it was pretty hysterical. Just imagining what a guy would do if some random chick really did pee on him in the pool was so amazing, and to take it the extra step B.B. convinced his buddy that someone actually did it, and made it so believable that his friend was like wow these girls really are fucking disgusting. Haha. Classic.
And don’t worry; someone did put the Marine to good use, complete with an almost near death shower sex experience. What if that’s how you died in Vegas? Or what if you killed someone that way in Vegas? How did Robert die? Oh he cracked his skull open on the bathroom floor. Don’t worry, he was having sex.
The moral of this story is bathroom sex is dangerous. Safety first kids.

The girls had to go to Thunder from Down Under in the evening, so we went our separate ways and that was the last I would see of LM, until yesterday when she filled me in on what I missed. There was a lot, and it was all very dramatic. But as previously mentioned, that’s what happens with too many chicks and it is always amplified of course due to the fact that no one has slept or eaten in three days. I was then thankful that we went about our own business that evening, which was spent cruising through the Wynn and the Palazzo and I can guarantee that all the rich people were staying there. If that’s what you’re looking for get down there immediately, guys will probably ask you to go to XS with them as you’re walking through the mall. We said no, as one failed roofie attempt was all that we needed this weekend.

And so winds down the story. As with all trips to Vegas, some of us survived, some of us barely, but we all eventually made it home. LM left before us and had a bit of a delay at the airport due to apparently having explosive residue on her hands...?....and we had the unfortunate luck of being on the plane with some of the girls from the stagette that were STILL partying. No. On the plane ride home you do not party. You be quiet. No one…NO ONE wants to hear your voice. Not even you. The only saving grace is that we got to hear the story of one of the girls being left at Bare without any of her shit, including a room key. Her friends thought she had left, so they took everything, including her bikini top that she WASN’T wearing. Amazing. The only thing that would have made the story better is if she had peed on someone in the pool...

Thanks Vegas. We’ll see you next time. I will be bringing my A game, I think I left some it at home this time around!

Good times had by all, thanks ladies XOXO