this is BAT COUNTRY!! ...how I survived my first trip to Vegas...

It all started with a phone call from Colin.

"Hey guys, want to go to Vegas for Fourth of July weekend?"

Now, I like to think that my life has been so bizarrely wonderful and fun thus far because I choose to live my life in a constant state of actor improv.  When someone comes up with an insane scheme or idea, I'm often the first insane asshole to say "Absolutely, let's do it."  So when Colin called to invite my roommates and I to share a hotel room in Vegas for the weekend with him and his girlfriend, there was only one logical rockstar response: "Why the hell not?"

Now fun backstory:  Colin is my ex from way back in the day...(like I was 18 way back in the day)... but Colin is one of those wonderful people that is always up for an insane adventure or trip so he quickly meshed in with the gaggle of wonderful weirdos I call pals.  In fact, I think he has hung out more with my friends than I have sometimes...

"So let me get this straight, you are driving to Vegas for 4th of July, with your roommates.  And you're staying in a hotel room with them, your ex-boyfriend, and his current girlfriend?"

This is the voice of my mother.  She is not really admonishing me or even dumbfounded by my 4th of July festivities, she's just fact checking.  Bless whatever higher power you call holy, but my parents are rip-roaringly fantastic and not only trust me (even when I engage in what other parents may call questionable life choices) but when I regale them with my latest tale of gypsy shenanigans, they laugh right along with me, often with a hint of longing coloring their voices.  They tell me I keep them young.  I hope I can continue to do the same for myself.

So in the spirit of not growing up, my roommates and I packed all of our necessary Vegas partying paraphernalia into Gilda the Corolla and headed towards the desert with 6 discs of sweet tunes rotating in Gilda's belly and a mini video cam documenting the whole road trip.  One of the discs was a mix I had made shortly before we left (like 10 minutes before we left) which pumped the music of Elvis, Dean, Frank, Wayne and any other classic cliche Vegas warbler I could think of into our ears as we bounced through the dust towards Sin City.

The first glitter of the city hit our eyes as the sun was on it's way out, so we got the lovely view of the last of the rays bouncing of the many reflective surfaces of the countless casinos.  It was pretty and shit, but mostly I was just excited because there was a pyramid...A pyramid for Pete's sake.  This place was clearly a giant playground of Win.  We moved at a glacial pace down the strip, rubber-necking to look at the oddities: recreations of famous structures from all over the world miniaturized, swallowed by some giant booze-hound with a gambling addiction, and regurgitated in the middle of the desert.  Sure it's essentially a vomited town of vice, but you can't look away... you turn into a little raccoon and you just can't tear yourself away from the shiny.

After negotiating Gilda into a sweet elevator-adjacent parking spot, we headed towards the room.  Now let me explain something:  if you park in a hotel garage, it WILL take you 30 minutes to hike to your room.  Pack the canteen and the granola bars because your ass is walking into the hotel, past the front desk, past some random naked mermaid sculpture which some guy is fondling while posing for a photo op, past Bar #1, through an indoor rainforest, past bar #2, through the giant casino, past nightclub #1, more casino, nightclub #2, the hotel giftshop, and FINALLY... you'll see them, glittering like an oasis after your mighty trek:  the hotel elevators.  Once we finally made it and booze was procured, we got to the business of drinking.  In my zeal to get partying, I made the unfortunate mistake of trying to look all sexy and smooth drinking out of the champagne bottle...which resulted in me shooting a foamy jet of champagne up my nose.  Talk about a classy dame.

After we had a sufficient buzz going, we headed to the casino.  Now drinks in the casino are free...if you're gambling.  So if you're a scrappy gypsy like me, you can work out the system by watching where the cocktail waitresses are and plopping down at a cheap slot machine near them.  Put pennies in the machine slowly until you get your drink and then stalk your next cocktail waitress of choice.  It maximizes your drinking potential.  And since I'm not much of a gambler, I chose to indulge in a few of my favorite things: drinkin' and dancin'.  Unfortunately, my friends began dropping like flies...claiming "jet lag" and other bullshit excuses that are not acceptable Vegas behavior.  I was dead set on making it to the sunrise.  Thankfully, my roommate is a fantastic wing-woman and the next thing I knew we were at one of the many hotel bars and I was talking to a very attractive Portuguese guy who was living in Sweden finishing his PhD in biochemistry...only in Vegas.  Needless to say, I was able to keep partying until sunrise.  I slept for about 3 hours and then decided I was going to leave Treasure Island and head back to the Mirage...lucky for me there was a tram that ferried guests back and forth between the two hotels...it was the most posh walk of shame ever.

After a crazy night of Vegas partying, one must always visit a Vegas buffet the next morning.  They are the Gardens of Hungover Eden.  Seriously.  I had eggs benedict, bacon, sushi, and crab legs.  And free mimosas.  Sure Vegas can be tacky as hell, but GOD DANG do they know how to get you partying again first thing.  After breakfast, we hit the pool, I went to see a sweet sexy show called Absinthe, and then we all regrouped for another night of partying.  The boys played Blackjack, I stalked slot machines near cocktail waitress for free booze, and we ended up at the Revolution Lounge for gay night and some sweet dancing to thumping techo beats.  However, sunrise was still several hours away.  And despite the mere 3 hours I had slept the night before, I was dead set on making it to sunrise again.  So after changing out of my 4-inch high heels, my roommates and I decided to walk the strip.  We walked through every hotel and casino we could find.  Excalibur, Bellagio, Luxor, New York New York, Caesar's Palace...each one with it's own insane design and style.  Excalibur was my favorite.  It was the Medieval Times of casinos.  And the Thunder from Down Under perform there (think hot shirtless Aussies gyrating onstage for your cheap pleasure).

On our stroll about the strip, we danced to street musicians, made friends with random strangers also walking the strip, and shared champagne with a group of 20-somethings opening bottles of the stuff on a random sidewalk...oh, and we made it to the sunrise.  By the time we got back to the Mirage, we were so giggly and slap happy we couldn't sleep, so we went on a field trip to my car (which consisted of us walking about the Mirage in our pajamas, like rockstars).  By the time we fell asleep, it was after 7am...and then we had to get up around 10am to pack our shit up and head home.

So we packed our stuff and shuffled, bleary-eyed back through the megalopolis that is the Mirage and towards Gilda.  After sufficiently caffeinating ourselves, we headed for home: under-slept, well-partied, and one weekend richer in a weekend full of fantastic stories...some of which cannot be printed here...hey, what happens in Vegas...