You need to fill in your own blanks

People are always asking me what I do when I go to Vegas, because every single time I go, I always have THE BEST. TIME. EVER. So may I present to you, my Saturday in Vegas. With all the stuff that's fit to print.

Enjoy!

Me and the two ladies I went to Vegas with had massages scheduled at Reliquary Spa at Hard Rock. We got an excellent deal on TravelZoo. It came with additional body scrub. Ladies, (and gentlemen, if you like to get massages), GET THE BODY SCRUB. It was awesome, I felt all buffed and polished before she massaged all my knots and aches and pains. I forgot to bring a bathing suit, BUT. Luckily there was a bathing suit optional/ women only section that had a wet sauna and a jacuzzi, both of which I partook. Several hours later, when we finally left the spa area we went over to Johnny Smalls for tapas. I should mention, this is the PERFECT PLACE FOR ME TO EAT. Because I can never finish a plate of food. I got to try a little bit of everything without having to commit to a whole meal.

After which, we finally threw on our suits and headed down to the pool for some fun in the sun. We spent a few hours hanging out before we decided to change into our fancy night clothes and hit the casino for dinner/gambling/more drinking.

My friend found out a friend of hers was in Vegas the same weekend we were, so we met them at Blush, at the Wynn. We hung out with my friend's friends (who for the remainder of this post will be known as MFF). Who had a table. One of the friend had fallen asleep. And then he woke up and ______________. A lot. And then he _____________again. And then we did some dancing, and had a few drinks. And then ______________________. And then the waitress came over and she ______________________.  And told us_____________.

So we all piled into cabs and went to __________. More table service. More bottles of Vodka. More shots. And then___________________asked if MFF _____________ . So we (the girls & I) went upstairs to ___________. (!) OMG, you guys ______________________________________! And then _______________________________________________________. MFFs _________________. And we  _____________________________________________. 

After that we (the girls & I) went/ stumbled back to our room at The Hard Rock (which, you guys, I upgraded to a fancier room.. And the view was AWESOME.) around 5AM. But I was hungry so I _______________________, while they _______________________. Around 6AM, I saw the sun rising, so  I went to bed.   Because in a few hours, we were going to get up and _____________.


Yeah, there's not a lot that's fit to print, is there? What do you want from me, people? What happens in Vegas is supposed to STAY in Vegas. I can't very well, fill in ALL the blanks.

At least you know I had a good time at the Spa.

So this one time, in Baker...

It just doesn't have the same ring, does it?


To clarify, Baker is around 90 miles from Vegas. Give or take. It is the home of:





World's LARGEST thermometer


But let's face it, I don't drive all this way to find out how hot it is. And it's DAMN HOT in Baker in April.

VEGAS, baby. I went there. I didn't go for the usual reasons though. EVEN THOUGH a decent amount of liquor was imbibed and a fair amount of dollars were dropped at the roulette tables. No...I went because my sister has gone crazy participated in the Baker to Vegas Challenge Cup Relay. Does anybody remember the part where I said that it is 90-ish miles from Baker, CALIFORNIA to Las Vegas, NEVADA? Ok, good.

 I going to write a post, but then it started getting LONG.  REALLY LONG. So how about some highlights?

• My sissie ran almost 5.5 miles. At 9 o'clock. OF THE EVENING. I think it sucks that you have to spend the WHOLE DAY AND MOST OF THE NIGHT in Vegas sober, because you have to run a relay later that night. At least they party after their leg is over.
• In order to be on the relay route, to hum the theme of Rocky at her before she passed the baton, I had to get my car marked with her team's number.
• I think THIS proves that the LAPD has a sense of humor.
• I thought it was very cool that each runner had a car following them. Warning: Not a very good picture, because I TAKE HORRIBLE PICTURES.
• Being around all those cops and such made we wanna yell out the window, "FUCK THE POLICE", N.W.A-style. 
• Sometimes, I open my mouth even when I KNOW I should keep it closed.
• #thatswhatshesaid
• My husband thinks I'm ridiculous.
• I really wish that we could have stayed until Monday, so we wouldn't have to rush back Sunday trying to beat the traffic.
• I'm VERY PROUD of my Sissie for participating.
• On the way back from Vegas, we stopped at Alien Fresh Jerky. In Baker. Which is more than an hour BY CAR. And all I could think was, "These mf'ers RAN from here to Vegas?! That's badass, but STILL. They are ALL outta their damn minds!"
• Next year, we're going back. She's going to run again!

This still ended up being long-ish. What are you gonna do? Until the next Vegas trip!

I did...

talk my girl friend into taking a day off to spend with me at Ditch Friday at the Palms Pool in Las Vegas.

pack too many clothes.

go to Lush and stock up on bath bombs...

let somebody give me tequila that had been smuggled down to the pool in a Bud Light can AFTER he took a shot first (I'm crazy y'all...not stupid).

send drunk texts to @undomesticdiva. Because she likes it.

take a picture of a guy's tattoo that looks suspiciously like a penis.

have a blast at Haze with @justonemiss @rewritingkel and the birthday girl: @redlotusmama

buy a shot for a Marine. Related: I also took a picture of his tattoo, because it was badass (he was Suicide Charley and you have to be a Marine to understand), and then sent that picture to The Man.

hug an Soldier who had just gotten back from Iraq.

NOT play any craps. (Boo!)

lose my money at the roulette table.

do a loud ghetto laugh just as the plane got silent.

NOT wear make-up to the pool.Waterproof mascara does not count.

break both of @sistuhgurl's flip flops at the same time. Damn, I'm clumsy. Related: I *did* get a guy to fix them for me.

find out who took the picture of me and Santa from the original #VegasBB

photobomb some pictures.

laugh a lot this weekend

wish some of you were there... <3

File this under: Things I didn't know I had to tell people.

A couple of weeks ago, a friend talked me into going on a completely unplanned trip to Las Vegas with her because it was her birthday. She said she'd buy my plane ticket and rent the hotel room. What she DIDN'T say is that she had been seeing  a guy who just happens to live in Vegas, and that she was going to meet up with him once we hit town. Which...okay. I don't really have a problem with because you are allowed to do whatever you want with your twat as long as it doesn't affect me.

But let's just say that we all go back to the room to watch TV. And I fall asleep, because it's Vegas, I've been drinking and I'm hot and tired and slightly hungover from the previous night where I stupidly went out and SAID I was going to leave around 9 because I had an early day planned and then didn't leave until after midnight after having one tequila shot too many, and I wake up to SEX SOUNDS but since I'm in the room and you are FORTY-FUCKING-SOMETHING years old I KNOW this can't be happening, BUT IT IS. I AM REALLY LYING HERE PRETENDING TO BE SLEEPING WHILE YOU BANG THIS GUY IN THE BED not even 2 feet from my bed. So then I fall back asleep in self-defense before I spontaneously explode and/or completely go ape shit because I can't even believe this really happened.** I guess I didn't know this was something I need to say but, for the record:

I DON'T WANT TO BE PRESENT WHEN YOU HAVE SEX.

I leave in a huff because REALLY? Who does that? You call me. And after I tell you about yourself, I *still* have to tell you that this dude is not spending the night?

I guess we can agree that at this point, her cooch is interfering with my good time, yes? I am forced to stage an intervention, and remind the her thoughtless twat that SHE invited me to spend the weekend with her, to drink, gamble and lay by the pool. Not to listen to her get laid.

The rest of the weekend was not horrible. She ditched the dude after that, and the next day we went over to the Hard Rock to gamble and flirt with cute boys. I even managed to bring home my spending money. Although, I suspect it was only because they knew I would be returning the next week and knew that it would hurt more when they snatched it away on my next trip out. (Note: it did. OUCH)

Still though, I can never really have a BAD time in Vegas. But if figures that the one time it would have been totally awesome to have been so drunk that I have NO memory of the things that went on my weekend in Vegas, I remember EVERY. SINGLE. DETAIL. Gah!



**Also, I would like to mention that porn with people that I don't know on a DVD that I can turn on/off when I want to see it? OK. Unrequested, spontaneous live-action porn starring friends? Not. OK. EVAR.

***AND, after the profuse apologizing, she bought us tickets to see The Lion King. A show I HIGHLY recommend you go see. For serious.

Tie a blue ribbon

For the last few years, I've been attending the Renaissance Pleasure Faire. It's only here for a few weeks out of they year and I usually go several times: A “family” trip…where I take the Brat and her friends, and again with the girl friends (if you follow me on the twittah, you will see that I twitpic'd the hell out of this year's trips). Not surprisingly, the girl friend trip is a little more bawdy. It contains more drinking, more flirting and a lot more of the risque talk.


Also not so surprisingly, it was during one of the girl friend trips to the Ren Faire that I was introduced to the practice of kilt checking. In Ren Faire speak, it is asking a gentleman if he is regimental. In plain speaking, it is the practice of asking a man wearing a kilt if he's wearing any underwear. Depending on the boldness of the asker, you can lie on the ground and have the fella walk over you so you can get an eyeful or you can run your finger up the side of his thigh and check for boxers/briefs. Guess which I am? Heh.

HOWEVER, please be aware that if you are going to ask a gentleman if he is regimental, you should have a blue ribbon to award him for being so.

My friend, who had to bail at the last minute was going to be bringing the blue ribbon. And since we only had a few blue ribbons (they were tied to my sister’s chalice---her fancy medieval drinking cup, we didn’t do very many kilt checks…and sadly, there were many kilts in attendance. On the way home, we discussed how NEXT TIME, we were going to packing plenty of blue ribbon.

So naturally, I get home to find that a gift I had received but not opened was tied with a ginormous length of blue ribbon. Of course.

PictureMail sent with the message, It is SO ON for next year.



And then I went to Vegas a couple of weekends ago. As me and my friends were heading back to our hotel, who should be stumble into at 4AM but a VERY gorgeous Scotsman wearing...a kilt. And as I was drunk, and used to being the person who asked complete strangers inappropriate questions, I asked him was he regimental.



WHY DO I NEVER HAVE BLUE RIBBON WHEN I NEED IT?!

A gift and a bunch of other stuff

My friend Mo wants to go to Vegas for a girl's weekend to celebrate her birthday. Yeah, I know. Me? Another Vegas trip? Hard to believe. /sarcasm. ANYWHOOTS, she invited a couple of her cousins...and she's hoping that we'll all get along. We've all been sending facebook messages fast & furious-like because we're all kind of excited to run away from home and hang out for the weekend. So I decided to send her an e-mail, mostly to tell her that me & MLB bought her a t-shirt. But I decided to tell her some other stuff while I was at it.

============================================

Hey Mo!

I’m so excited that we’re going to Vegas. AGAIN. I’m bringing my flask. And filling it with Vodka. Also, I will TRY not to pick any fights (I will leave that to MLB or maybe "The Drunk Mo". Kidding...Sorta.). I will try not to get so drunk that I wander off, but if he’s cute, please allow me to wander as far as the nearest bar for another drink, please & thank you.


Also, Mo, because we love you, and you didn’t want to spend your Vegas money on it – we bought you a shirt. Happy Birthday, bitch. (In case you're wondering, mine says "I'm the married one". What are the chances it will stop the cute boys from buying me drinks?My guess? Slim to none.) We’re wearing them on Saturday.

I hope your cousins are aware that your friends are rude, crude and socially unacceptable… and that we like to drink, flirt and say inappropriate (and sometimes politically incorrect) things.

Please feel free to forward this e-mail as a warning ...as an F your I.

Wuv u.

Am I an awesome friend or what?

What I learned at Rehab

Not THAT Rehab. This one

YEAH. So I went to Baker 2 Vegas, because my sister is an officer of the got-damn-law (anyone? anyone?) and because THESE GUYS were having a concert at the Joint and really, is there ever a bad time to go to Vegas? And because she hates me, she wanted to go to Rehab...And I said no, no, no (sorry. but I really, REALLY couldn't resist)... But because I'm a curious sort, it wasn't that difficult to change my mind. And because we had all this stuff going on at the Hard Rock, that's where we stayed

So after a couple of days of drinking, I'm supposed to put on a skimpy bathing suit and frolic in the water with a bunch of half naked boys and girls? Right. But I'm going to tell you something that I learned at Rehab:

Rule #1: You are only getting in the pool in your bathing suit. And that is all.

Because this guy says so

So off comes the cover up and in goes the legs in the pool.

Still though, I was self·-conscious. Because whatever you THINK Rehab at the Hard Rock looks like, it's more. More itty bitty bikinis. More skin. More fake boobs and flat abs. Just...MORE. And well, there's more of me too. But my "MORE" doesn't look as hot in a bikini, nahmean?

But whatever. I'm chilling by at the pool with my sis and cousin drinking a Jack Daniels & Sprite at 11AM in the morning. BEFORE BREAKFAST. I'm talking to the very regular-looking couple sitting next to me, and watching people get in the pool.

Rule #2: See Rule #1.

So I'm watching the skinny broads get told to take off their cover-ups or get out of the pool. And the athletic type fellas taking off their T-shirts. And noticing that even the people who LOOK LIKE MODELS are looking just as self-conscious as I do.

Rule #3: EVERYONE is vulnerable when they're half naked in the bright light of day.

There's no hiding behind clothes that camouflage, no pitch black club, no strobe light.. No make-up. Well... there's waterproof mascara. But mostly, there's just sunblock. There are, of course, people who came to the pool with no intention of getting anywhere near the water. THOSE people were wearing teeny tiny bathing suits/booty shorts, 4-inch heels and full face of MAKE-UP (who wears make-up to the POOL?! I'll tell you: people who are missing the point of a pool party...people who I am NOT convinced weren't ladies of the evening working a day shift, that's who.)

Rule #4: Have FUN.

You know what a good time is? Hanging with my sissie and prima for the weekend at The Hard Rock Hotel ,concerting at The Joint, winning some dollahs at the roulette table... and topping it off with some drinkin' and partying at Rehab.

That came out wrong, didn't it?

I guess I have to take the bad with the good... because the good is SO good

I LOVE to go to concerts. I HATE to go to concerts. That thought occurred to me the other night as I was in Las Vegas watching Them Crooked Vultures at the Joint. And then I had a fleeting thought...should I stop going? So, I wrote a list:

CONS:
1. Standing. The best place to see a concert is in the Standing Room Only (Pit/General Admission) and there ain't a chair in sight. After walking around Vegas all day, my feet hurt. A LOT. Also, if there is an asshole within 100 yards, you can bet your sweet ass he/she/THEY will be standing next to me.

2. Fights. Random mosher almost starting a brawl because he doesn't understand that NOBODY AROUND HIM WANTS TO MOSH? Check. I'll bet you can guess where he was standing.

3. Couples. Yes. Okay. I get it...you guys are in love. Get a room. (yeah, yeah...I'm old. So what? Also? Get off my lawn)

4. Lines. Do I *really* want to get in line almost 2 hours early so that I can stand at the rail? No. I didn't.

5. People. I. HATE. PEOPLE. Especially tall people (aside from my unnatural fear of them) who stand in front of short people like they don't know all I can see is your BACK because you're like PAUL FUCKING  BUNYON and I'm 5'3 and 1/2 thankyouverymuch and my neck is killing me from trying to see over/around you.

PROS:

1. Josh Homme of Them Crooked Vultures/ Queens of the Stone Age drinking Ketel One Vodka STRAIGHT from the bottle and smoking a cigarette on stage. (I would have taken a picture but see Con #5. Fucker)

2. But I did get THIS picture:

yeah...not on the rail. But still close.

3. I went to ANOTHER concert yesterday where even though I was there to see Taylor Hawkins & The Coattail Riders and THIS GUY showed up:

If you don't know who this guy is and how much I heart him... get off my page. Go on, now..shoo.



After my VERY scientific study, I'm sure you will agree that the Pros TOTALLY outweigh the Cons. In fact, I'm not even sure what the hell I was complaining about.

So please stay tuned for the next concert experience.

Vegas Birthday Bash....

Not my birthday....

But who am I to turn down an invitation to hang out with some bloggers...and twitterpaters in Las Vegas.

I'm all packed...FINALLY, got my hair did, took my picture, got my camera and my cell phone (because how else am I going to drunk twitter/text?). I'm already on a plane.

And do you know what I'm going to do when I get to Vegas?

And this time, whatever happens in Vegas will probably be twittered all over the fucking place.

Overheard

(So, I'm back from Vegas. Instead of coming home and falling into bed to sleep off the hangover/recouperate from hanging out all night, I came home with just enough time to get ready to see Depeche Mode. Because I'm awesome, or ridiculous, or have horrible time management skills. Either way, may I present you with the things that I heard or/and said this weekend.)

You got an L.A. face, but an Oakland booty (I'm not sure what that means, but I still let him pinch my ass. Heh.)

Are you going to be able to fit all that in there? #snort (see also #thatswhatshesaid)

I just smoked a margarita.

She’s so cute I just want to pick her up and put her in my pocket. (My SIL is 4’10 – definitely pocket-sized)

Pirate Booty. And not the good kind.

That is totally awesome. With no awesome sauce on top.

Yep, DJ Jazzy Jeff. And no Fresh Prince.

I don't want to keep him, I just wanna play with him for a lil' while.

Yeah, Indians. Dots, not Feathers.

There's some hoes in this house...if you see 'em point them out. (A SONG. Although, you know...if you see one...)

It was ghetto fabulous. WITHOUT the fabulous.

Sir? Please don't hump your girlfriend in here. Take her back to your room.

...so then she threw up.

The next time we come back, we ARE going to go to Rehab, instead of always saying No, no, no.

I'll have ANOTHER Jack Daniels & Sprite.

Can I have a $1 Yo bet?

Damn, do I love Vegas.

Put that thing back where it came from. Or so help me.

I am SOO fucked up.

It's 4AM. I have to get up in 4 hours to drive back home.


(So there you have it. Some of the more interesting comments made over the weekend. I'm SURE I left out a lot, some of which I remember, some of which...I don't. And probably all for the good. I would also like to thank my Sissie, Prima & Lil' Bit -the SIL, for a fan-fucking-tastic road trip AND Undomestic Diva & Starts with an X for an awesome dinner date. I had so much fun hanging with you "ladies". I would also like to mention that UD can really shake a tailfeather on the dancefloor. Heh. )

This one time in Vegas.

My husband went out of town a couple of weeks ago. I was going to go, but being the “responsible” adult I am, I couldn’t. Because I had summer school. And since I was taking 2 six-week courses, it just seemed ridiculous to miss a full week, plus…they weren’t giving any make up tests, blah blah blah…so I couldn’t go.

So instead of taking off a full week, I took Friday and Monday off. I didn’t have any plans except you know…not being at work. My consolation prize for not being able to go with The Man. Imagine my surprise when my co-worker (who is probably the only person who spends more time in Vegas than I do) got a 2-night free room offer at The Luxor (I puffy heart The Luxor. They make me poop rainbows). So I call my prima and tell her guess who’s going on a road trip? WE are! Yay!

Friday and Saturday night? Or Saturday/Sunday night? Easy choice. Prima has to work Sunday night and I want to recouperate/sleep in Monday, so we will take Friday/Saturday. Also making this an easy decision? Ditch Fridays at the Palms. The last time I was in Vegas, I went to the club and some dude hooked me up with VIP passes for the price of my a/s/l and e-mail. EVERY FRIDAY since then I’ve been getting e-mails about ditching work and going to the Palms Pool Party. So, since I’m off Friday AND I’m going to Vegas, Pool party it is.

Got to the Palms in the afternoon. I was ready in my lovely bathing suit. See? I even had my "I'm so sexy" pose. 'Cause I am. So sexy. No, really.

This guy was 6'10. If you were on twitter that weekend, then you already saw this picture. OMG. Me, the woman who is deathly afraid of any man over 6'3 was there for the NBA Summer League Weekend. So practically every man there was of GIANT proportion... in HEIGHT. That there's my Prima who IS not afriad of Goliath and so took this picture, while I stood away....FAR away.

(I won't even make mention of the guy who I totally ran away from because he was 7 feet tall and headed right for me. On purpose because some jerk told him of my freaky fear. I was drunk... usually I do a much better job of hiding my crazy)

Next stop? Tacos & Tequila. I love this place. And now, with photo booth! After that (and a few jello shots at the bar), we ran over to the Outlet for some baby clothes. Prima's going to a baby shower, so off to the Carter's outlet we go. F your I... DON'T, for the love of God, watch anybody else shop for baby clothes. Because then you start remembering your precious baby girl and all the cute clothes she had and OMG they had tights with the ruffled butt and HOW ON EARTH are you supposed to resist that?! And then YOUR uterus starts contracting and you start wishing for babies, with their chubby cheeks and new baby smell. But then you remember you can't drink and party in Vegas when you're pregnant, and you snap out of it, but you STILL end up spending too much money because everything was just so damn cute.

AND? Why did the clerk send us over to the Coach Outlet? Did you guess before she hates us? I did. Because we went over and I fell in love with these:

That green one, bottom right? I want. Dammit. I didn't get it THIS TIME, but I'm going back and next time, it's coming home with me.

Last thing on the schedule LAX in Las Vegas, located conveniently located in our hotel, so that we could stumble back to our room several hours after we'd planned to so we could leave early...which, we didn't. In between the drinking and flirting with cute boys, we saw

The Dan Band. Apparently they were playing that weekend at LAX. Even when I'm not expecting concerts, I get concerts. Go figure. I also got a little wet. Somebody was making it sprinkle in the club*.

Oh, and Vegas? I'll be back next month. I'm bringing my girls and meeting up with the undomestic diva and maybe miss. So be ready. 'Cause y'all have that fountain in front of Paris and if she'll jump into the Married with Children fountain, she's definitely not scared of you teeny little fountain. Or jail, apparently. So get ready.

*Throwing $1 bills from the 2nd floor, is NOT rain, that's more like a light drizzle. Rain is heavy. Say... $5 or $10 heavy. Just sayin'.

A love/hate letter

Dear Hard Rock Las Vegas,

I want you to know how much I love you. I’ve pretty much been in love with you since I went to see the Foo Fighters at the Joint. There were cute boys who bought me drinks, cute boys to dance with, and cute boys who almost –ALMOST – made forget I was happily married. I had one of the best nights ever, which is saying a lot since just earlier in the day I was totally & completely hung over and not quite sure that I was going to be able to make it out alive.

Since THAT trip to Vegas, I’ve been back to visit you several more times. And I’ve had a blast every single time. But you know I can’t just come and visit you whenever I want. I’ve got a job, BILLS, a husband who doesn’t love Vegas as much as I do, rent…You get the idea. I can’t be blowing several hundred dollars a month messing around with you.

And yet, you mock me. You relentlessly and unfeelingly send me hotel deals for weekends in Vegas. You tempt me with concerts of people you KNOW I want to see AND you give me presale passwords, so I can get the jump on concert tickets. WHY are you torturing me? It’s not enough that I’ve been to Vegas 3 times already? That I just saw No Doubt w/ Paramore at the Mandalay Bay and I STILL managed to come over and gamble a substantial amount of money at the Hard Rock?

It can’t be, because this morning you sent me an email telling me that No Doubt is coming to the JOINT with Panic! At the Disco. Blink 182? Also? Green Day playing ON MY ANNIVERSARY WEEKEND? Wait..that's at the Mandalay Bay. But still, you know that I will end up over there drinking too much, flirting too much and gambling too much. Dirty pool, my friend.

Anyways, as much as I love you, I hate you. And as much as it pains me to admit it, it’s obvious that you hate me too. Otherwise why would you torture me with Stone Temple Pilots and Incubus tickets? Super cheap hotel rooms? Yes, I know I could totally see these people in LA, but everyone knows that concerts are more fun in Vegas. Especially you.

So I just wanted you to know, you’re a jerk. And I don’t appreciate you taunting me with fun laughs and good times (and gambling) when you know I can’t afford it.

Go straight to hell, do not pass go, do not collect (my) $200…

Love,
Me.

P.S. I’ll see you in the fall.