Travel: OMFG. Only in Vegas
I have to blog completely about Vegas later, but for now, let me set the scene. Imagine you are my friend Andrea. You’ve just got off a flight. You didn’t eat properly. You go to the sushi restaurant where the portions aren’t *nearly* as big as they are in Texas and you pay three times the cost of Texas, so you don’t eat *nearly* enough. You take five shots, drink four mixed drinks, and three beers in less than an hour. You get wasted, you’re weaving, you can’t see straight, and you have to be led back to the hotel by your hot, but drunk friend. Since you’re drunk out of your mind and wearing platforms, you keep pitching over and cracking your head on the pavement. You hit your head four times on the back side and twice on the forehead because your friend can only hold half of you up.
Your friend, who is also drunk, wearing a short ass dress and platform shoes is having a hard time with you and is getting pissed and embarrassed because everyone is pointing and laughing at you and making messed up comments because you’re drunk on the ground with your legs open, your eyes rolling back in your head, and you still have the nerve to be trying to fight people for talking shit. So, in desperation, your friend pays a guy $50.00 to help hold up the other end of you so that we can make it from Harrah’s to the Bellagio where you’re staying. The guy dumps you on the crossway before you make it to the Bellagio because he’s afraid he’ll get blamed for your head bleeding and you looking like you got Ike Turner’d (the Good Samaritan was Black, so you already know he had a right to be concerned), so you call your friend’s cousin to come help where, once you make it into the lobby, the security takes one look at you and calls up the hotel doctor who you promptly try to fight.
Your friend, who is drunk and has all her breasts popping out of her dress, seems to be the only person your drunk ass will respond to or listen to, so she has to keep telling you random happy things to keep you awake and not beating people up. The EMTs show up and it takes three of them to hold you down and they end up having to strap you to a gurney because you’re fighting them, and take you to the emergency room because you’re bleeding and they think you’re on drugs. Your beleagured friend has to calm you down and keep telling you things to keep you awake, but then you stop breathing twice and they have to intubate you and then she sits in the E.R. with you until five in the morning. You end up with a BAAAAAD concussion, bruises over your body, two broken toes, you break your friend’s camera because you knocked her purse out of her hand and then promptly landed on it smushing the camera and everything else inside it, you mess up your phone, you pull out your IV after your long suffering friend tells you not to and then you get upset that blood starts spurting everywhere. Your friend says, “I told you not to pull it out,” and then you have the nerve to get mad and say she should have told you what would happen if you did because you wouldn’t have if you’d have known, and then your friend tells you that she doesn’t tell people to do things or not to do things unless there’s a good reason and she didn’t really think you’d be dumb enough to pull it out for real.
You get released after arguing with the staff about where your cell phone and i.d. are. The cell phone is recovered, the i.d. is not. Your friend has to call the hotel security to come and pick the two of you up and you try, unsuccessfully, to bribe him to stop and get you a burger and fries. You wonder what all your other friends are doing and you get back to the suite at the Bellagio and you and your friend are forced to order room service and get charged $17.00 a piece for burgers and fries. You pass out in your clothes and the next day, all you care about is A) what you told your loser boyfriend on the phone when you were blitzed out of your mind, B) trying to make sure that your arch nemesis doesn’t find out what happened because he will never let you live it down and C) the fact that you don’t have an i.d. and now you can’t get into any clubs on Saturday night.
This is only the first night. Oh, and the worst part, your best friend got part of it on her video phone and posted that shit on You Tube. I was extremely drunk, for the record.
State of the Union: Exasperated
Listening to: Please Don’t Leave Me by Pink
Posted: March 8th, 2010 under Uncategorized - 2 Comments.
