Vegas roundup

June 29, 2010, 6:24 pm
Filed under: frenz, girly

Vegas chewed me up and spit me out. Because I got up at three a.m. to get there. There are laws against that hour, no?

The bride to be seemed generally pleased with life.

Despite the look of epic highz. I am stone sober in this picture.

Five of us pressed together in a surprisingly not roomy H3 with enough luggage to clothe the city and hit the freeway at 4:35 in the morning. The sun rose and the temperature climbed. By the time we hit our hotel, Caesars Palace, the thermometor hovered in the one hundred range. We hit Fat Tuesdays for half yard breakfasts and then the ridiculously beautiful pools, one of which was adults only, where we took our free passes and parked our tired asses. (“The Venus Pool Club is the most well-appointed and exclusive pool experience in Las Vegas, a sophisticated and secluded European-style retreat…”) Many beers and one epic rum concoction later, we actually checked in to our room. Dinner followed at Dick’s Last Resort (“From Rug-rats to Old Farts, from High-Class to No-Class, from the Top of the Food Chain, to the Bottom of the Barrel…”), within Excalibur, a place I’ve always wanted to check out. When the waiter asked, ‘the fuck you wanna drink?’ I felt like I was home. (The gimmick being that the waiters and waitresses are total dicks to you. Obviously this is my dream job.)

A friend of mine became a Vegas resident a few years ago. We don’t see each other much but she came out to play and catch up, which was fantastic, though brief. The early morning hours were catching up to us as we crept towards twenty-fours hours of awake when the bride’s ulcer took over. Many vomits later, we were all tucked in and snoring, passes to Pure keeping our suitcases warm. I didn’t mind in the slightest that we skipped the club portion of the evening. I’m infinitely more comfortable in more intimate surroundings (or less, I suppose, if you consider the dancing proximity) for the most part. There’s plenty of bars and venues I would have rather hit over a sweaty, meaty, schmany club. Don’t get me wrong – they’re great when you’re in the mood. I had the time of my life at Studio 54 in NYNY one year. But sometimes I just don’t want friction burns and the deafening sound of hormones buzzing to the beat of the DJs bass.

The drive home was long and hot. When I finally peeled myself from the leather seat, I was more than ready for home. The maid of honor and one of the other girls had put tremendous effort into the event with gift bags, decorations, custom shirts & champagne flutes, and a decorated car. It was quite the welcome distraction from every day life.

Sometimes though when every day life is a pretty, loud-mouthed seven year old and a shirtless boy making your favorite dinner, you sit back and smile and remember how much you love home.