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

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