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The Three Day Man

19 May

When we last left our tale of Vegas Debauchery (Click here for Day One and Day Two) your dearest Mama was druuuuuuuuunk and partying it up at the Venetian’s Tao Nightclub. I had just left the VIP booth filled with Chicagoans Chicagoites douche bags from Chicago to use a bathroom with a see-through door.

Upon arriving back in the VIP booth area, I find that half of our group has been banished from the booth and are standing in the corner like they’ve been put in timeout. When I approached them to find out what was going on, I found out that our group has been kicked out of this booth because…wait for it…but it shouldn’t be such a surprise…because I already alluded to it in Day Two…but wait for it anyway…because we were all married.

Yeah, we’ll get back to that soon. It turned out to be quite the theme with us while we were out celebrating in the local clubs…

I popped my head back in the booth and spoke to the bouncer and worked in out, somehow in my inebriated state, so that the girls could come back in the booth. However, that was definitely my cue to take off because I was pretty convinced that at any point in time I would yack all over the place. So the two moms headed back to the hotel together in, what seemed to be, the fastest taxi ever.

At one point, while closing my eyes and wishing away the alcohol in my system, I would’ve sworn that we reached warp speeds and were going to be taking a worm hole back to the hotel.

It was that fast.

In all reality, he was probably going 35 mph.

Once we got back to the room, I collapse in bed, hoping and praying to fall asleep soon (and before my body decided to rid the alcohol in it’s system by vomiting). My mommy friend, god bless her heart, was hungry and decided to make some popcorn.

Guess what is one of the most disgusting and revolting (redundant, I know, but I have to make the point that it was horrendous) smells when you are drunk are trying not to vomit?

You guessed it. Buttery popcorn being popped about ten feet away and wafting directly up your nostrils as you struggle to maintain your vomit seal (trademark!).

Turns out that while I was struggling at the hotel, the other girls were doing some struggling of their own. Those stupid dudes from Chicago (what’s your problem fellas?) kicked them out AGAIN after we were gone!!

Somehow everyone made it back to the hotel and in bed (after eating the most expensive omelets known to man) safely.

The next morning most of us were hurting in some fashion.

Except the Bachelorette!

Maybe she didn’t drink as much as us (not likely) or maybe she’s just had a bit more practice, but that girl was like the freaking Energizer Bunny. While all of us were still writhing around in bed, she was already hitting the pool (and drinking!!).

Only god knows how they did it...

But I’ve gotta say that the best cure for a hangover is watching quality television in bed.

And by “quality television” I mean watching the show Tool Academy.

And by “Tool Academy” I really mean a Tool Academy Marathon on Mtv.

What can I say? This vacation was kind of awesome!

Later I even took took a bath in the gigantic bathtub in our suite…

Seriously huge bath with whirlpool jets = HEAVEN

while…wait for it…watching television!

God, that hotel was awesome!

Needless to say, I was in HEAVEN. And now I will begin bugging Mr. Bee to install a television in our master bath post haste.

After sobering cleaning up, we headed out to the Palazzo for sushi at SushiSamba.

Black and White, baby

Apparently there was an unspoken agreement to wear black and white that night! Once in the restaurant, I swear we only ordered a little bit of sushi…

Yummmmmmmmy

Fer realio, though, there were one or two more plates that aren’t even shown in this photo. AND the appetizers (tempura green beans with a garlic aioli…dear god, it was heaven in a bean.).

Our waiter was very, let’s say, social and wanted to know our every plan for the evening (stalker much?) so that he could help us out by warning us about all the miscreants we would meet along the way. I guess we looked like the type of girls to just leave our purses laying around with money falling out of it because he felt the need to warn us to the possibility of someone stealing all our shit.

Uh, we’re not retarded, buddy. Kthxbai.

But he did score us free shots after dinner (gag).

Cheers!

Unfortunately, my new-found sobriety (which has continued since that fateful/drunken night) left my sad little shot sitting on the table.

After dinner, I asked our stalker waiter where the little girl’s room was located and he, nonchalantly, mentions, “Oh and on the way down the hall you should pop your head in to the back room because David Spade just finished up his birthday party back there.”

What the what?!

Needless to say, my celebrity whoring ass said “Later bitches!” to my friends and practically took off at a sprint to said backroom.

Sadly, I think we had *just* missed him because while I did notice a party still going on, I didn’t spot any little blond midgets running around (and I say that with the utmost respect and adoration for Spade). It wasn’t until I was back home that I realized I should’ve looked out for Puddy (aka: Patrick Warburton) since they work together on Rules of Engagement (which I looooove). Let’s just say that it’s a good thing that I didn’t lay eyes on Puddy because, girlfriend, I would have been humping that dude’s leg in a heartbeat.

In a platonic, not cheating on my husband, kind of way, of course.

After our almost-saw-a-celebrity-but-didn’t adventure, we headed downstairs to Lavo, which is a Restaurant/Nightclub/Bathhouse (their words, not mine). It’s actually pretty cool, though. When you enter, you go across a bridge that hangs above the restaurant area of the club. The bridge, which is lined with Turkish water basins, leads to bathhouse-esque nightclub with tiled mosaic walls…

Only *almost* naked people in this bathhouse...

However, the only thing the website *doesn’t* say is that on a Saturday night, Lavo is a total taco fest.

Seriously, there were probably about 5 dudes there, which was fine for us, but the ladies who were rockin’ Lavo were either too drunk or too oblivious (or maybe both) to have a bit of self-awareness.

It kind of looked like a bunch of epileptic monkeys in a mosh pit. Oh, and every other woman in the room was wearing about half the amount of fabric that we were.

Who knew that the shirt I just saw at The Rack could actually be a dress too? I mean, if you *want* everyone to see your vagina. Which we pretty much did. Thanks for that ladies.

Okay, we were seizure monkeys too...

But my favorite moment at Lavo was when Brain Twin leaned over to me and said, “So I guess the average height of women *is* 5’4″…”

Until then, I hadn’t noticed but as I surveyed the room, I noticed that I (being 5’8″ish plus my 4-inch heels) was standing a good foot or so above almost every woman there.

I. Was. A. Giraffe.

Must we lean CLOSER to the ground for every photo?!

We quickly left Lavo before the zookeepers could be called and headed over to Tryst at the Wynn.

This place was aaaaaaaaaaaaawesome!

Now I know it sounds totally snobby, but there is nothing like being VIP and skipping a loooong line of people desperate to get in to somewhere. It’s like boarding a plane when you are sitting in First Class times about a billion.

And this club was, as the kids would say, off the hook. For example, the dance floor is right in front of a 4-story waterfall that falls in to a private lagoon at your feet.

Love it!
A better photo from the Tryst website...

We almost instantly found a group of guys from the UK on a bachelor party (which, for some reason, is kind of a tradition for us…) and we had a really good time hanging out with them until, you guessed it, they found out that we’re married.

I have never seen anything repel dudes in a public setting quicker than these:

Bling!

Seriously, one of the ladies was having a nice conversation on the dance floor with a dude about who-knows-what when this guy’s friend literally starts pulling him away from the conversation screaming, “She’s married, dude! They’re all married!”

Do all guys who visit Vegas really think that all the ladies on the dance floor will just automatically sleep with them as long as they’re not married?

Oh, what?

They do?!

Well, that’s fucked up.

Anywho, we all had a fabulous time at Tryst (I’ve gotta say that partying sober was WAY more fun then being drunk and worrying about losing my lunch) and we all headed home after we realized that our feet would actually fall off if we didn’t get out of our 4-inch heels soon.

Seriously, I think we were all *this close* to crying if we didn’t get out of our totally cute, yet not at all practical footwear soon.

We crashed that night and by morning all of us had to pack up and head back to sunny overcast Seattle. Luckily, we got to squeeze in just a bit more pool time before leaving!

Sigh. I miss that pool already.

The Final Installment of the 2009 Vegas Trip Saga to include my exciting, yet not so much, experience at Television City where you watch and rate new television shows (aka: My Dream Job).

Song title: The Three Day Man by The Waterboys

Remembering Part Two

16 May

To read about Day One in Vegas, go here.

First of all, how in the hell is it Friday Saturday already? I feel like I was hungover and clutching my stomach just yesterday…

Secondly, I totally forgot to add in the Day One post that we had dinner that night at a Mexican restaurant at the Hard Rock Casino called…wait for it…The Pink Taco.

Yep. Stay classy, Las Vegas.

But despite the vagina-tastic name, the food was actually pretty good. Didn’t taste like vaginas at all!

Since we didn’t stay up ridiculously late drinking on Day One, Day Two began with all of us awake by 8:00am.

Right?! Why in the WORLD did I not sleep in until noon every day? Yeah, ask my stupid body because it definitely wasn’t my choice.

A few of the girls (not me, duh) decided to hit the gym first thing. Mrs. J and I decided that our energy would be much better spent in bed. After eating enough eggs and toast to kill a small elephant, we all headed down to the MGM Pool with the lazy river running through it.

Spring Break 2001

This pool was the hopping, loud-music, frat boy filled “Spring Break 2001″ pool. We had fun just lazying about and getting ego boosts from watching people wearing stuff that, well, they just shouldn’t have been wearing.

It’s petty, I know. But come on. I need the ego boosts wherever I can get them.

I think the best photo that came out of Day Two (at least at the pool) was this shot of Guillermo being put in jail (or freed, I’m not sure which) when the pool staffers said that no “inflatable pool” thingies were allowed.

We love you, our blaxican friend.

Um, dudes, he’s a 24 inch inflatable penis. We weren’t exactly going to use him as water wings, yo.

Instead of using Guillermo’s inflated balls as a flotation device, we rented inner tubes for $16 each (gag) and hit the river, which was a cool slow-moving pool throughout the park area. It was really fun until I realized that sporadically throughout the river were these sprinklers that would spray water over roughly half the width of the river, so you had to paddle your little T-Rex arms as fast as they could go in order to avoid a faceful of water (and in my case, to maintain the hair and makeup I had worked on that morning – yes, I TOTALLY am *that* girl).

The sprinkler-avoidance-dance was working okay until we turned the last bend in the river near our lounge chairs and saw the equivalent of Niagara Falls positioned over the entire river.

There was no way to avoid it.

But I bet I looked damned hilarious trying!

And later I found out, from my dear close friend Perez Hilton, that I quite possible could have been flailing around like a drown rat right next to him:

Not a cute photo...

That’s right. It’s Jason Mraz.

I SWAM IN JASON MRAZ WATER!!! Jealous?!

Anywho, after I was done bathing in Mraz, the only other mom on the trip and I went out to the MGM in search of gifts for our little ones. We also got to see the MGM Lion paraded around in his habitat. I took just a few photos on my shitty phone camera…

Rawr.

My favorite photo I took was of this random couple:

Mmmm...Hipsters.

Later, we fancied up and started the evening at Stack at the Mirage.

Bad Kitty says Rawr.

I’ve gotta say that the food was quite possibly the best food I’ve had ever. Ever. But to be honest, this might have affected my judgment slightly:
Yummy!

That was a pineapple something martini drink. All I know is that it tasted good, cost $14 (gag) and got me druuuuuuuunk. Hence my dwittering (drunk twittering). Even now, rereading the dwittering, I’m laughing my ass off! Good times, good times…

After getting wasted on one drink and singing karaoke to the 80′s songs playing on the restaurant speakers (did I mention that this is a nice restaurant that cost us $600+ for seven people? Totally appropriate to belt out the classics at dinner, right?), we headed across the street to Tao, a nightclub at the Venetian.

Because we had dressed skimpily enough at the pool befriended a club promoter earlier that morning, we scored VIP access to a bunch of clubs. That VIP access entitled us to two awesome things: (1) skipping the line to enter the club, and (2) … wait for it … wait for it … FREE DRINKS.

Oh, no. You heard correctly.

FREE. DRINKS.

Ruh-Roh.

We settled down in the VIP area, which apparently they let you hang out in until someone is rich enough to actually spend hundreds thousands of dollars on bottle service. But we soon realized that the free drinks ended at some particular point in time causing all of us to drink cocktails like they were the free samples at Costco.

At one point, I even remember someone (Brain Twin!) getting shots for us all. I said to myself “This is a baaaaad idea” and even took three sips before the shot was down my gullet.

And boy. It did turn out to be a BAD idea.

Brain Twin, on the other hand, decided that since two of the girls had decided to dance with the naked chicks in the bathtubs disappeared, that she would drink not one, not two, but three of the shots herself. How she didn’t go in an alcohol-induced coma that night, I’ll never know.

Oh, wait. Did I not mention the half-naked chicks that were, like, EVERYWHERE?

So it’s totally bad enough having some hot, scantily-clad waitress walking around and I get the whole sexy go-go dancer deal, but this club had not only two women wearing only rose petals on their boobs (god only knows how they were staying on there) in a bathtub in the middle of the dance floor, but there was also good old-fashioned girl-on-girl action on a BED located in between bars.

Apparently the family-friendly Vegas has picked up and moved to the ‘burbs.

Anyway, back to the story (which has now turned in to the Great American Novel, I apologize). So at this point, I am druuuuuuuuunk. We make our way to the dance floor but it’s way too crowded and we eventually find ourselves invited into a VIP booth with a bunch of dudes from Chicago. I have given up drinking at this point because nothing screams HAWT like an almost 30-year-old mom yacking up her dinner on some dude in a club.

But I’m not gonna lie. There may have been some licking going on.

Tastes like chicken.

And apparently all that lounging around in bed together made Mrs. J want to make-out with me (or the Bachelorette, it’s hard to distinguish from this photo and god knows that I don’t even remember taking that photo!)…

Pucker up, baby.

At some point, I made the decision to “break the seal” (you ladies know what I’m talking about) and made my way to the bathrooms. Now, get this. The bathrooms at this place have SEE-THROUGH DOORS.

Let’s let that sink in for a minute.

The bathroom doors are clear glass until you lock the door and then *POOF* it turns opaque! Pretty bad ass awesome, but let’s just say that when you are three sheets to the wind, you get a little paranoid that your drunk ass won’t turn the lock all the way and you’ll be giving a free show to everyone on the dance floor.

Luckily, there are already enough naked ladies out there to distract anybody, you know, with eyes that work…

Since this post is RIDICULOUSLY long, Installment Three of the Vegas Bachelorette Trip Saga to include: how boys in Vegas are racist or whatever against married women, how I amazingly made it back to the hotel without vomiting in the taxi, my new-found sobriety and just missing David Spade at the sushi restaurant.

Song title: Remembering Part Two (new Day) by Thin Lizzy

Day One

13 May

Since I have far too much to write about in regards to Vegas, I’ve decided to break it up in to Days One through Four. Hopefully each individual day won’t be too “mind-numbling“ly boring for you (haha)…

The trip began with me having choosing to wake up at about 3:30 in the morning to get ready for the airport. I am totally not one of those people who can just wake up a few hours before their flight leaves, NOT get there exactly two hours before the flight and be totally confident that everything will turn out okay.

Nope. Not me.

In order for me not to develop another Bad Kitty Accessory Ulcer, I had to wake up early enough so that I could shower, dress, pack my makeup and hair stuff after using them and go over my luggage with a fine-toothed comb to make sure everything was there. Add in having to drop the car off at a parking lot and getting shuttled (albeit only a five-minute shuttle ride) to the airport and we’re talking having to wake up about five hours before my flight.

I know. I’m a whack job.

Anywho, the flight was pretty uneventful and soon we had landed in Sin City. Upon arriving at our hotel, the uber-fabulous MGM Signature, we immediately hit the pool and waited for our rooms to be available.

Spring Break 2001

This pool was actually next door. We liked it okay, but we preferred the gated private pool at our tower. Needless to say, it was a pretty rough weekend being us.

Shockingly pale

Please disregard how ridiculously pale I am in the photo. And that’s me WITH a month of tanning in anticipation of the vacation. Au natural, I’m actually see-through. It’s pretty creepy…

Another sidenote: This was my first official drink of the trip. Let’s just say that many more followed. Many. More. But that’s a story for another day…

Upon pulling out my laptop – which was an Epic Fail by the way. It was WAY too slow to really get much accomplished, including watching the three movies that I had downloaded from iTunes. Nice way to waste $15 bucks – I realized that maybe we were having a bit of difficulty letting go of technology and enjoying the sun. Or maybe we were just enjoying both.

Too much technology? Probably.

When our room was ready, we were surprised with delicious food and some Vuelve Cliquot champagne from one of our friends who couldn’t make the trip!

Soooo yummy

Conn, seriously, yum! We missed you!

After banishing the Bachelorette to her room, we began to set up a spread of all our fun weekend paraphernalia we had been hoarding in anticipation of this eventful weekend…

Sorry, Mom...

A new-comer to the group was not a 12-inch (way too small for our group), not a 24-inch (hello, Guillermo), but a 48-inch inflatable penis. Sadly our new friend was never officially named but we did deem him Guillermo’s “big” brother! We’re classy like that.

The best part of Day One was definitely the Bachelorette’s reaction to all the fun toys!

Her shirt reads "and the City" in VERY small print

And she REALLY liked that lollipop…

Song title: Day One by D.I.T.C. (Diggin in the Crates)


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