I should have recognized the symbol of ill portent for the weekend when I was rear-ended by a giddy Asian boy last Wednesday night coming back from the 4 hour Melting Pot gluttonfest in San Mateo. But, like the carefree lamb who has no idea he is about to become Easter dinner, so too did I enter the Vegas trip unaware of my impending misfortune. Armed with 1.75 Liters of Stoli, I thought I could brave the worst that the most fortunate day of the year could throw at me.
Things started off ok, although I did only have 4 hours of sleep the night before and nothing says grumpy like having to wake up at 4 AM on your day off. Our first snag was being delayed 45 minutes because the Hertz Rent-A-Car employees also shared our displeasure at having to be up at the ass-crack of dawn. But we were off, semi-cheerfully, and ready to begin the 8-hour drive to the land of "so what if I gained 65 pounds since the last time I wore this, I still look terrific!"
We made pretty good time driving, despite Janessa's repeated voicing of contempt for Brian's desire not to get a speeding ticket in counties over 300 miles from his home. When we got to the MGM, Janessa and I decided that we would go together to attempt to woo the unsuspecting clerk into upgrading our suite, using our feminine wiles and subtle promises of monetary/sexual gain. We were first put into a line in front of a man who clearly would have been more swayed by Hector and Brian's attentions, but then switched to the open line next to us and turned on the charm. Unfortunately, the hotel was completely booked to capacity so we were stuck with the room we reserved, and Janessa slowly slipped the 20 she'd been holding as incentive back into her purse.
Five people and two Queen beds in a hotel room mean one bed is going to be pretty cozy. It's a good thing Janelle on her side takes up 6 inches and I demand complete body fusion when Hector is nearby, or else it would have been impossible to sleep at all on this trip. Janessa and Brian rudely flaunted their space by laying like starfish to our sardines.
My first real bit of bad luck came when I was getting dressed for the wedding, and discovered that the leopard ribbon I'd sewn on the empire waist of the jersey dress I bought to wear had effectively made the opening to fit my head and shoulders through about 20 inches. Janessa and Janelle had to shove and pull the dress over my upper body, arms akimbo and squeals of pain all around. Janelle got several handfuls of breast, most of which I firmly believe weren't necessary, but hey, when the opportunity presents itself...
The wedding was very nice, short and sweet and filled with tears despite Janessa and my
worry that our makeups would be ruined. We got our fill of pizza and cake afterwards, which I firmly believe should be the standard at more weddings. Why suffer through dry chicken or fish when you can have your choice of pepperoni, artichoke, combination, and Hawaiian? I think I ate 5 slices.
On our way to the old Strip where the after party at the beauty bar was taking place, we were forced to get a limo since it was cheaper than getting a taxi for 7 people. This was especially annoying because the stupid guys who usher you into the taxis kept giving us pricing for transportation we couldn’t have. “Oh yeah, you’re gonna wanna get an Escalade to take you to the Old Strip. That’ll be $50. How many people do you have? Seven? There are no Escalades available. You want a minivan taxi? That’ll be $60. But it only seats six max. Ooh what about a flying zebra? You want one of those, that’ll be $150 plus air tax. Except the last zebra just took off for the night. Damn, I guess you’ll have to get that limo then.” It was on the way out of the lame-ass limo where we weren’t allowed to touch anything or look the driver in the eyes that I lost my phone. My purse tipped over and when the driver handed me some tickets which had fallen out, it wasn’t until much later that I realized that those tickets were in the same pocket my phone was in. And that definitely didn’t get handed back to me. Hector turned the couch at the Beauty Bar upside down looking for my phone later, since by that time I was drunk and had no idea where I lost it (funnily enough no one searched that hard for Janelle when we misplaced her) but my little Motorola Slivr was lost to the night.
The rest of our time in Vegas passed in a blur of sleeping and eating. We went to Benihana Saturday night, which is much nicer in Vegas than it is in Cupertino (although to be fair I haven’t been to this one since it was remodeled – they may very well have installed a waterfall since January) but the major downside of that location is that it was smack in the middle of the Star Trek Experience. We got to share our table with two groups of fans who bonded over which battleship was their favorite. One of the pasty white freaks I swear had a Bluetooth in his ear the entire meal and kept referencing his “girlfriend” and his ability to speak Spanish since he lived in Texas. Unfortunately, he also repeatedly mentioned the inconveniences he had to endure at the hands of the Mexicans whose ultimate goal in life was to take over his management position at the Taco Bell, which invoked Brian’s rage and almost (until we learned that this bigoted asshole was a black belt possessing bigoted asshole) a fight. Luckily for our timid and adorable Japanese hostess, crisis was averted.
We spent the rest of the night unsuccessfully trying to get drunk. We went to bar after bar in various casinos but couldn’t settle on anything. In the end, as we pathetically drank a single watered down cocktail at a bar in our hotel, we wished we hadn’t been so quick to pass up Toby Keith’s bar at Harrah’s which at least promised beer for his horses.
It was as we were about to leave our pitiful experiences behind that Vegas got me one last time. We were at the Hertz trying to add all our names to the driving list when the woman handed me back my embarrassing convict photo license and asked for one that wasn’t expired. Apparently you have to renew your license every five years…who knew? I never got anything in the mail and so never knew that the ability to operate my vehicle was in jeopardy. I was a bit unnerved that I had been driving for the last month and a half, speeding, cutting people off, and openly drinking alcoholic beverages while passing highway patrol ILLEGALLY. Jesus.
The take-home message of all of this is that you shouldn’t lie, steal, cheat, or eat Cheez-its, because in the end, the all powerful Vegas gods are going to exact their revenge on you. Oh, and if I ever had your phone number, please e-mail it to me because I lost all of my contacts with my SIM card when that bastard limo stole my phone.
Hang tight for a photo blog highlighting the fun times on our trip…cause you know I can’t resist.
