In a surge of nostalgia for Spring Breaks, I decided to take a brief hiatus from my mediocre life to spend a week in Las Vegas. Strippers and cocaine were on my agenda but I didn’t get to those things because I was too busy getting lost underground and laying by the pool in front of a giant pyramid. It wasn’t the craziest trip of my life (the Mexico Spring Break incident of ’08 when I passed out on the concrete in front of the wrong hotel room…) Anyways… The saying isn’t true…Not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Seriously guys, I bought my roommate a Topless Girls of Vegas calendar and they totally let me bring it out of Vegas.. it didn’t have to stay.. So now I give you.. Things that won’t stay in Vegas
My midget bar experience.
First night out and where do I end up… at a bar that hires midgets to hand out cotton candy and gummy bears. This is a real thing. Walking down the strip, Hispanic gentlemen in suits grab your wrists, ask you what you’re doing tonight and before you know it, you’re forearms deep in paper wristbands with a glass of champagne in your hand at a nightclub called Chateau. Then you walk up the steps to see a pretty outdoor patio. You sit down, someone tells you to move. You stand somewhere else, they tell you that the standing area you’re in is reserved. Then you go lean against a corner and someone else comes up and tells you that corners are reserved for chairs only. Fucking A. So then you go inside to the sweaty dance floor filled with a quarter local clubheads, a quarter wasted stylistically-challenged 20-somethings from Idaho who are having the time of their life with their eyes closed and Cranberry Vodkas spilled all over their tube tops, a quarter loner creep master creeps that rub their junk on any random girl and stain their Old Navy cargo shorts in an instant, and a quarter midgets dressed as Oompa Loompas. I… I don’t know anymore. The images from that night will be shelved in my nightmares right next to the one where I get chased through a wooded forest by Randy Quaid holding an axe.
My plane ride from hell. Southwest Airlines… you’re like the Little Caesars of pizza chains. You are awful and you give everyone diarrhea, but your prices are so cheap that we keep coming back to you. First of all, not one but TWO of our flight attendants had lazy eyes. Genetics really need to throw airline employees a bone, what happened to the hot stewardesses back in the day (that I didn’t live in)? Since when do overweight divorcees with a FUPA show me how to properly attach my safety belt. I want the hot ones back! The employees weren’t the problem… it was the passengers. I sat next to one of those couples who you can tell it’s their second marriage so they “really wanna do it right” AKA they just fuck all the time, who made me get out of my aisle seat when I was all cuddled up in my jacket with my laptop in front of me, so that they can go to the bathroom AT THE SAME TIME and have three minutes of unadulterated foreplay in a 4×5 bathroom cell that was located about 8 steps away from my seat. But we can’t forget about the little boy a few seats ahead of me whose mother let him play his PSP to the loudest level possible as he played a video game that I could only imagine was where you drive a really loud Humvee, rape and pillage anyone that gets in your way and then shoot everyone else with a Tommy Gun. Because that’s exactly what it sounded like. And then when the one flight attendant that works for Southwest that wasn’t disfigured asked the mother to turn it down, her Arkansassy self proclaimed that he had been playing it for an hour and a half already and no one on the plane seemed to have a problem with it until now. YEAH because now everyone in a 6 foot radius of you wants to kill you, and your son, and store you in one of the overhead compartments. This section of the post is already getting too long so I can’t get into the Yuppie teenage girls behind me that wouldn’t stop talking about their religious retreat….I almost prayed for that plane to go down.
Prostitute options.
Prosties, as I like to call them, are really prevalent in the Vegas area. I forgot that prostitution was totally legal in Vegas, so when Hispanic teenagers are passing out these cards on the street to people, it was much to my surprise that in twenty minutes I could have a hooker at the hotel room door! I then fantasized about what my night would look like if I ordered a prostitute. I’d want to take her to go see The Hunger Games because I’m sure she’d like a nice break from all that felatio and penetration stuff. But then I imagine she’s already seen it, so we’d have to go see Mirror, Mirror instead. Which is fine. Then we’d go back to my hotel room, we’d roll around on my Queen sized bed with Egyptian cotton and then I’d take out my giant penis and rail her. HA JUSS KIDDING. I’d take out my giant ring finger and rail her.
The realization that buffets are never a good idea. As a wee tot, I was forced to go to Old Country Buffet. And I was forced all the way up until I was thirteen, where my dad still told the hostess I was 7 years old so we only had to pay 7 dollars for me to eat. We did the Luxor/Excalibur buffet for $32 for lunch AND dinner. Sounds like a steal….if you hate yourself. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to mix Mexican food, with Chinese food, with Southern fried foods and milk. The only saving grace was the soft serve ice cream machine where I got to put sprinkles all over it and remember a simpler time where I didn’t have to take Pepto Bismol like candy.
My confusion for the game of Craps. I watched YouTube videos. Lots of them. And I still don’t understand. Walking past a lone table, the kind Oriental gentleman with a lisp told me he’d teach me. So we put 20 dollars in the table and I throw the dice…over the table. Fault. I toss the dice and it lands on 4. Then I roll it again and it lands on 7 and he takes all my money. What the fuck was that? Who made these rules and how do they work? The rest of the trip I scowled at all the craps tables, filled with people cheering and clapping, DO YOU PEOPLE EVEN KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON?! The only game of craps I played the whole trip was after I had dinner at Tacos and Tequila and I spent the next three hours with a pillow under my ass.
My general disdain for the employees of Coyote Ugly.
So, as we’re in line for Coyote Ugly on our first stop for the night, the ponytailed door guy tells us it’s 5 dollars…5 dollars for what? To stand in a room that reeks of stale Coors Light and shattered dreams? How about I just masturbate with a hot curling iron and call it even? So we leave and said ponytail guy pulls us back in and says we don’t have to pay, but just to stay. Now the smell of desperation pours through the air. But that wasn’t the worst part. Girls are bitches at Coyote Ugly. I saw the movie, those girls were charming. No, not in this reality. They really fucking take the water gun and spray you if you’re too close to the bar. And their red bottle of alcohol (unbeknownst to the people that get it shoved in their mouth) dribbles all the way down your neck and onto your attire. And THEN the sassy little blonde in jean cutoffs goes off the bar to grab poor girls to make them dance on the bar too. In a reverse McFaddens, none of the mediocre-looking 20 year olds on vacation with their parents want to dance next to Coyote Ugly employees who make a living pop, locking, and dropping it. I bobbed my head and did the Zack Morris (he can’t dance if you don’t remember the episode) in the corner so that nobody would grab me. Not to mention, it took me about 10 minutes to get a drink from the bartender that I was standing DIRECTLY in front of. Just because you have lots of tattoos and pink in your hair doesn’t mean you can withhold that $10 Bud Light from me and THEN make Blue Kamikazes or some shit for the guy next to me in the Aeropostale polo, which was pure terror to imagine that someone actually orders that in a bar, in front of people, in public. This isn’t a Caribbean cruise ship, don’t order a blue drink.
The class I took on how to be a stripper. This is a real thing. The class is taught by Kindra, a heart-of-gold ex-stripper that turned her life around and teaches divorced middle-aged women how to give a lap dance that will seduce the orthodontist of their dreams, and teaches 20-somethings how to be sluttier at bars. It was a pretty uncomfortable 90 minutes. It was like a mix between being at the strip club (watching Kindra dance) but then not at all. My mind was confused. I saw a stripper, and a pole, and I couldn’t stop watching. But then I realized I was surrounded by 28 women wearing Crocs and their stepdaughters Spanx, ready to learn the ways of an exotic dancer. So I had to remind myself I was a student. It was all too confusing for me. I’m still confused on how I feel about that class. Half arousal, half education.
The Cuban cigar aroma left in my purse.
So let me just paint the picture for you. We made new friends at the roulette table. And by friends, I mean guys wanted to buy us drinks and the Asian one kept laughing at all my really raunchy jokes. We get up to the line at the Cathouse (which I will refer to as MeowCasa from here on out), and a guy is trying to sell us into buying a table. I kindly tell him that we’re on the list under LL Cool J. He laughs and for once my charm gets me somewhere in life. The guys we’re with, Asian Tony and Black Craig, are smoking Cubans and they have to be put out. So, because I didn’t want them to waste it, I say OH THOSE FLAMING THINGS? Yeah! Just throw them in my leather purse! I wake up the next morning and it smelled as though someone lit a forest fire in our room and then threw some regurgitated Q’Doba into that fire, and then made me chew on a pack of Marlboro Reds. That’s how pungent that shit was in the morning. And this is coming from the girl who once put out a cigarette in her pocket and left it there until she found it in the dryer a week later.
My invitation into a 5some. Yes readers, I got invited into a 5-some. Flattering yes, but that sounds messy as fuck. It was one guy, Black Craig, from North Carolina, trying to rally me and three other girls into an orgy of sorts. Which, I’m not mathematician, but what exactly is his benefit for having four girls in bed with him? He only has like, one penis, he only needs one hole. The way I see it, is that the rest of the sexual experience would be like one giant re-enactment of Human Centipede which crossed my mind once in a nightmare but hasn’t exactly been on my sexual bucket list. Aside from my general evasiveness towards any sexual activity that doesn’t involve me crying somewhere near the end while blasting “Complicated” by Avril Lavigne and asking my partner why they don’t love me, I hadn’t shaved my upper thighs that day so it was kind of out of the question.
My MeowCasa crush. As Black Craig continued his search for his orgy participants that night in Meowcasa, and given my general decline towards his advances, I did what anyone else would do, I fucking drank. So we order at the bar. MEOW indeed, as my bartender was like a little drop of Heaven in a sea of drunken Spring Breakers and coke whores (she was neither). Black Craig was still in disbelief that I was a lesbian so when he asked me who in the bar I’d actually go for, I motioned towards the bar, he gives me a real rapey look and then he whispers something in her ear… My guesses include: “My friend wants to know if you have any boxed lunches available”, “My friends wants to know if your vagina is open bar” and probably the actual comment “My friend wants to fuck you.” Whatever he said, she smiled at me and said she had a boyfriend. Shock of the week. So I bury my mouth in my beer and then say FUCK IT (in my head, not out loud). I turn on my charm that made me the best hostess TGI Friday’s had ever seen, and I start to flirt with her, despite the whole boyfriend thing. Then she reveals that it’s an open relationship… Now we’re getting somewhere. For safety reasons I won’t reveal her name, so let’s call her Patty. But anyways, Patty was the most adorable thing I’d seen on the entire trip (AND I SAW A HOMELESS CAT IN SUNGLASSES, GUYS) so I couldn’t let it end right there at that bar surrounded by douchebags. So I told her the name of my blog and maybe she’ll read this. And if she does, she must know she has a lesbian admirer in Chicago who totally pretended to like coffee just as an excuse to ask you out at 4AM.
Honorable mentions:
-I only won $35 dollars in roulette and blackjack although every dealer loved me
-I got lost at least 6 times in the underground malls that are Vegas
-I went to an oxygen bar and got massaged by an Asian girl for 15 minutes who kept making conversation about my stripper class
-I saw Zumanity and got super turned on when the two topless brunettes synchronize dove through a giant glass of champagne. They were the sluttiest athletes I’ve ever seen.
-Penny slots will get you fucked up. A dollar can last you up to an hour and you’ll get free drinks in the meantime.
-My solid diet of Michelob Ultra and Snyders Pretzels made for a great diet.
-Also, look, Bumblee from Transformers isn’t dead! He was just hiding on the Strip!
