Regardless of the fact that I didn't drink on night one in Vegas, waking up was a struggle and a half. Apparently that's what happens when you stay out until 3 in the morning, dancing until you can't feel your legs anymore. But after several naps, it was time to get our butts up and do it all over again. I put on my "hot pants," what everyone referred to my shorts as, and a velvet, long-sleeve crop top with some booties. My favorite part was the wine shade lipstick. I made me look like I could murder someone which is the aesthetic that I most enjoy.
As I entered the bathroom where my friends were getting ready, I asked if I looked fat. I don't think that fat is something that my body can physically produce so why I could ask such a stupid question is beyond me. Jordan, pretty disgusted with me, responded by yelling that I looked like an infant. She corrected herself, "but a sexy infant!" I mean, I guess that's what I'm going for at this point in my life. the sexy infant look. I felt pretty good about it though so, after an obvious bad-bitch, hallway mirror pic, we loaded the taxi and headed to Chippendales.
What's a ladies trip to Vegas without some male strippers? To be honest, I wouldn't know because I've only been once and that one time, we went to Chippendales. Let me tell you, it was quite the show. I made sure to sit next to Steph who was just as uncomfortable about the whole situation as I was and we basically grabbed each other for dear life every time someone began to take their clothes off. We also grabbed each other for dear life when the preppy stripper came out because obviously that is the dream and we needed to keep ourselves grounded.
After the show, I spent the best $10 of my life - sitting on the lap of a Chippendale's stripper for a photo. My mother didn't quite approve and my boyfriend approved so much less, but I'm an strong independent woman of a very pale color and I thought it was a fucking blast and a half. After sharing with my boyfriend how much fun I had at the show he, upset, told me "what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas." Well, shit.
Chippendales was just the pregame. After the show we made our way to the Bellagio for more VIP service at Hyde. We rolled up in style with half naked women with glow sticks and big DZ letters cheering for us. I could definitely get used to this. Also the free juice - I, again, was definitely interested in the free juice.
Our bottle wench (that's probably a rude thing to call her...) kept asking me if I wanted a drink and, after rejecting her several times, I finally asked "is it weird if I just ask for cranberry juice?" She happily poured me a vodka free glass and I told her my sob story about how I'm allergic to alcohol and she told me that she is too! A Christmas miracle! As we were now bonded as best friends, she continued to refill my cranberry juice every time I was low. It was honestly the dream.
Jordan and I tried to take a photo of us looking flawless in the club when some girl decided to walk right in front of our photo. This is my real life reaction - try to deny the fact that I have the strongest side eye game. I mean, maybe I'm a bitch, but don't fucking walk in front of my photo when I'm looking this good? Rude.
Amidst the dancing and drinking (unlimited juice), I looked out the window and saw that the Bellagio Fountains were on. I was in awe - low key, I used to YouTube them and watch how beautiful they were. To be able to see them from the inside of an amazing club while being fawned over with VIP service was the actual dream. I was freaking out.
Then, the best part of the evening happened. The fucking ceiling started to rain money. I flipped. Apparently it isn't classy to take the money but, when the ceiling starts raining hundreds of dollars, who gives a fuck about being classy? Not this chick. I was so proud of myself when I caught two dollars. However, when it started to rain money again, I wasn't as cool, calm, or collected. I began to pick the money off the floor. I saw two more dollars by the foot of a large, very intimidating man, but two dollars is two dollars so I looked him dead in the eye and said "are you gunna take that...?" We both looked at the dollars lying on his shoe then looked back in each others eyes. Then, shamelessly, I bent down and took the two dollars and ran. I can't decide if it's one of my proudest moments or most embarrassing but I came out strong with a solid eight dollars. But here's where I get bad... The ceiling began to rain one last time and, as I was sober, small, and agile, I fucking dove for that shit. I was diving on the floor, scooping up dollar bills. They're all mine! The drunk girls tried to pick them up but they weren't as coordinated as me. I got all of the money. Jordan came up behind me and said "Maura, I just did something really Jewish... I just dove on the floor for a dollar bill." As I began to turn around, she saw that I easily had $40 in singles in my hands. I think I did a Jewish thing as well, my friend. But people were going nuts. These three girls at the table next to ours got a frickin kick out of me and asked to take my money hungry picture for their snapchat. High on cash fumes, I agreed, flaunting my money for the whole damn world to see. This is what pride feels like.
The ceiling later rained glitter as we danced the night away. Steph got a flawlessly timed photo of her being fabulous in the club that I was very jealous of. Clearly, mine is not as flawless but a girl can dream. After another long night, it was time to head back and snack our faces off. Jordan and I were two of the last in the club so we headed home by ourselves, obviously stopping (as per always) at the slots (because she wouldn't let me play the table games).
Remember that $40 that I got from the money-raining ceiling? Bye. Immediately. All of it. I figured, since it wasn't really my money, I might as well fucking loose it all. God, I love gambling. My mom always says - "I have one alcoholic and one with a gambling problem." Yep, that would be my sister and I, respectively. Every mother's dream. That picture of me on the right, being the happiest human that every existed, is a photo of me holding my voucher for $1.07. That 7 cents was the only profit I made throughout the whole trip which apparently "doesn't count" because I lost about $400. Jerks.
We made our way home and, when I woke up, all of my roommates had already went home. Which like wtf because I was AGAIN the only one who didn't drink and I was the only one who could not physically be bothered to wake up in the morning. As I went to check out, disheveled and pretty ready to die, at 10 am, the hotel was playing fucking Party Rock Anthem. Do you want to know what no one in Vegas wants to hear at 10 am? Probably Party Rock Anthem. It was a rough one and a long drive home to my precious bed. But damn, it was fucking worth it.
You win, Vegas. You win.
