A Re-Release Party in Vegas

What happens in Vegas, doesn’t always stay in Vegas… marriages and pregnancies to name a few. And a trip to Las Vegas just might “win” you a trip to the Emergency Room. It did for me at least. But not to ruin the story, let’s start at the beginning.

Four years ago, my closest friends and I all met up in Vegas to celebrate our best friend Erin’s upcoming wedding… Unfortunately, the weekend in Vegas was one of the few good things about the engagement…Her marriage, all nine months of it, was a rocky one. And the 2 and half years it took to finalize the divorce, excuse me, annulment, was even worse. So to properly celebrate the end of her own after school special (and I like to think celebrate the friendships that got her through it) this past weekend Erin hosted a girls only weekend in Vegas. It was officially her re-release party. 7 girls: Ange, Anj, Dana, Erin, Joanna, Neff and me, all coming from different places (both emotionally and physically) reconvened in the city of sin for a little over 48 hours.

Stuffed parrot? Check. Eye-patches? Check. Drinking shoes? Check. Dignity and self control? Negative….did I mention that it was a pirate themed weekend?

My journey began at the San Francisco Airport with a $2 bill (I didn’t believe these actually existed, but accepted it as change anyways since it would make for a great story…Dana later informed me that it was in fact legal tender), a few Coors Lights and a greasy cheeseburger that stayed with me (more or less) for the rest of the weekend…f-ing cheeseburger. The flight into Vegas was as shaky as the now dissolved marriage and I was grateful to land in one piece. Thankfully, the massive suite Erin had rented (we had two bathrooms) and whirlpool full of ice, beer and champagne eased my nerves and set the tone for the rest of our “classy” weekend (or at least classier than past trips). As standard for this group of girls, we sat around the hotel room table, drinking beer and chatting it up, while waiting for everyone to arrive…all 4 hours. Yup, we were in Vegas, and the only place we wanted to be was with each other, around a table. As a note: this is normal for all of our vacations…each other’s houses, Europe, Mexico, anywhere. Give us a table, some beer or cheap champagne and we will have a great time (I dare you to call us high maintenance)

After Anj arrived, we finally pried ourselves away from the hotel and made our way to Tao’s Nightclub where we were on the guest list… which is actually pretty standard if you are a decent looking group of girls with little self control. And like all large groups of girls in Vegas, we volunteered our two single ladies to find us a group of guys with table service. Joanna, throughout the course of the night, found two such tables, both willing to give us free drinks, shots and use of their shoes…at least Joanna had use of their shoes (After repeatedly getting asked by the bouncer to put her shoes back on, one of the guys finally offered up his pair) We held strong for a while, but like the old farts we are…we were all in bed by 2am, a true disgrace to Vegas and all things it stands for.

The next day we were woken up with a phone call confirming our cabana reservation. Forgetting about the rudeness of calling anyone before 12pm in Vegas and unwilling to let a good cabana go to waste, we managed to drag ourselves out of bed and get to the pool. We spent the rest of the day at the pool, lounging in our cabana, drinking our buckets of beer and living the fabulous life we lead. To make the weekend absolutely perfect, the DJ made the following announcement …”This just in, Erin from New York’s divorce is now final”…and of course, it being Vegas, the entire pool cheered!

After the full day at the pool we had less than 2 hours to pull ourselves together for a nice dinner at Olives in the Bellagio. Apparently, we did a decent enough job…the manager of The Bank, one of Bellagio’s nightclubs, came over to our table halfway through dinner to personally invite us to his club for the night. We agreed, but only after Joanna requested a personal invite from the manager’s boss. Our perfect dinner (great friends, conversations, food and wine) wrapped up shortly after and we made our way to the club only to find we were a little too early…the club didn’t open up until 10:30. Not to lose us to another club or casino, the manager took us to the closest bar for free shots and then brought us back to the club once it was open. We were let right in, given a glass of champagne…and escorted right back out. We may or may not have been kicked out before 12am.

Just slightly before our bedtime, we headed over to another bar for one last drink and to try and salvage the rest of the evening (aka sober up enough to get into another club). One drink in and we all knew the night was over…Neff passed out at the table…And I am not referring to “passing out”…the act of falling asleep while still trying to maintain composure… I am talking about “passed the f out”…she was perfect model for our photos. We cut our losses and headed home in time for curfew…in bed again by 2am.

Sunday morning was spent like all Sunday mornings in Vegas: hung-over, broke and confused. It took us our entire brunch to piece the night back together and laugh at all of the stories. And while I thought I felt considerably better than most mornings in Vegas, by the time we got to the airport, the shakes and sweats had arrived and even the two vodka sodas I drank couldn’t get me functioning again… I arrived in Vegas looking cute and excited for weekend. I spent my last few hours in Vegas stinky, sweaty, hunched over my cheese pizza trying to not throw up. Man, I love that city!

Needless to say, whether it was the cheeseburger on the way in, pizza on the way out or one of the many drinks in between, when the severe chest pains on Monday morning didn’t go away, but rather, got worse, I thought I was having a heart attack…okay, maybe not a heart attack, but at least something worth getting checked out…hence the trip to the emergency room. Thankfully nothing was wrong, and the doctor chalked up the pains to a chest spasm or pulled muscle. My parents chalked it up to the excessive drinking, pole dancing and/or puking.