Vegas, baby, VEGAS!!

Vegas is a place where people turn off their social barometer. I think everyone has bought into “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” and therefore they go for whatever they can possibly get. Beth talked about the guys on the dance floor who didn’t understand our closed circle or wedding rings, and then they got offended when we told them to bug off. Kendra almost got in a fight with a girl who was purposely crowding her space, but she dirty looked her down and the girl and her friends scurried away, leaving the guy they were practically dry humping looking dazed and confused. I was watching, in case Kendra needed The Boot as backup. She did not. In the taxi line on the way home, some very old black man asked me if I wanted to buy a Rolex and when I said no, asked me if I wanted to take him home with me. Um, let me mull that ov -- NO. It’s not a pickup line I’ve ever heard before, and hope to never hear again. Becki had the best lines of the night that night though – one of my favorites being as we decided to leave Ghost Bar, she said “this place is dead anyway.” HA!! Get it? Ghost? Dead? Sigh. It’s no fun when you have to explain it.

No trip with us would be complete without some sort of major miscommunication. Therefore, there was some confusion around Beth’s arrival time in Vegas. Becki said she though Beth was arriving at 11 p.m. on Friday, and Kendra confirmed that when talking to Beth Thursday night. We were laying by the pool Friday morning when Beth called my phone. We had one of those conversations where each person thinks the other one knows what they’re taking about, when in actuality, neither knows. Finally, Beth says “so I should be there in about 30 minutes.” “What?” I said. “30 minutes from NOW??” “Yes,” Beth said “I’m in the taxi line at the airport right now.” And suddenly the entire confusing conversation began to make sense. And the sad thing was, none of this was alcohol-related confusion. We’ve just stopped listening to each other. But that was remedied as soon as Beth got to the pool and we all ordered ginormous tropical drinks. We still didn’t listen to each other, but at least we had an excuse. Kudos to me for using sunscreen both days, as I usually do not. But as a result, I wasn’t miserably sunburned and now I have a lovely tan.

I would like to say at this juncture how happy I am that I live in a place where I don’t have to rely on cabs for transportation. EVERY SINGLE cab driver we had creeped me out. Kendra mentioned our first cabbie, who said – and I quote – “do you girls want to see my new sex game?” Hmmm. Not sure what to do, especially since I was in the front seat. I just prayed he wouldn’t undo his pants or something or want to demonstrate on me. Gah GAAAAAHHHHHH!!! Kendra also mentioned our other cabbie, who complained about not meeting any “wild women”, and then commented that the size of my breasts coupled with the fact that I had a broken foot meant I must be a wild woman. Me and The Boot hightailed it into the hotel as fast as possible. The best part about that ride was when he ran over a cup and it popped out from under the tire and hit some girl walking down the strip. None of us actually saw it hit her, but we heard the “pop” and then a squeal. He was concerned, we couldn’t stop laughing.

If someone were to ask me what my favorite thing about Vegas was, I would say…earplugs. Yes, earplugs. You see, Becki is a petite flower in all respects except for when she sleeps. She’s got a snore louder than anyone you’ve ever heard. Thanks, sleep apnea. Anyway, the first night, Becki, Karen, Kendra and I were sharing a room, and right before we’re going to bed, Becki whips out earplugs. We’ve been friends for over 15 years and this has never occurred to me before. So that night, I slept so soundly that I didn’t hear Becki snoring and I apparently didn’t feel Karen touching my ass repeatedly. It’s ok though, because Karen’s hot. Friday night, after dancing for hours (with The Boot), the girls were going to check out the club in the Mirage, but I was done. So I put in my earplugs and heard nothing until morning. If you’ve ever spent time with us as a group, you know that we’re not quiet, so the earplugs must have been effective as I didn’t have to take anyone’s head off for waking me up. The same could not be said for Kendra, who grumbled loudly the next morning when we were going to leave for the pool. Karen said “Is the sun out?” And I said “Yes – except for apparently it is NOT out in Kendra’s room yet”. The earplugs also saved me from Kendra's ladylike yawns every morning. If by "ladylike" you mean "are there coyotes in here?" Oh, and check out our big pimpin' room.

Anyway, those are some of the highlights. Most of the others would involve us trying to tell the stories, dissolving into laughter and then a chorus of crickets chirping, since none of you guys would know what the hell we were talking about. Viva Las Vegas, baby!

(Home) Office Space

So I may have mentioned that since the breakage of my foot, I am now “working” from home. Technically, today was the first day that I did that, since I only got my computer last Wednesday and then I left for Vegas on Thursday. And yes, there will be stories and pictures from the funnest trip EVER.

Anyway. I thought I’d give you a little insight into my first day of working from home.
8:30 – Wake up, turn on “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, check blogs
9:00 – Eat breakfast, read a book
9:30 – Check work email, call work to see if Marlene is there so I can tell her about Vegas. She’s not there, so make up a work-related excuse for calling since the boss answered.
9:40 – Lay back down on the couch and put ice on injured foot, watch “A Different World.”
10:00 – IM with P.I.C., play online Sudoku
10:30 – Talk on the phone with The Bad Cop, while laying on the couch icing the foot
11:00 – Get back into bed, read for a few minutes and then go to sleep
1:30 – Check work email, answer personal email, IM some more
2:00 – Watch “Law & Order”
3:00 – Talk to my mom on the phone
3:30 – I can’t remember what I did – probably nothing
5:00 – Take a shower

This working from home stuff is THE BEST. Today was an anomaly, since last week I spent a lot of time actually doing stuff. Not work stuff, mind you, just errands and things I usually have to cram into the weekends or evenings. But I was pretty tired today. What with the weekend shenanigans and all. However, last week I actually went to a Laundromat for the first time in about a zillion years and also I went shopping because apparently, you can never have too many clothes for three days in Sin City. As evidenced by the amount of luggage we had.

So. Working from home. At least until Friday, which is when the company officially closes. I have a bottle of champagne in the fridge that might have to be opened for this occasion. If I get my way and am able to take some time off this summer? It will be awesome. Say it with me -- AWESOME. The summer where I do whatever I want to whenever I want to. And I cannot tell you how nice it is to go to bed every night with the knowledge that I don’t have to go to the hell that is work the next morning. Although furthering my Vegas tan was difficult today as it was SNOWING. Gotta love spring in Colorado…

Birthday part the second: The Pictures

You know, after a few drinks, it's fun to take pictures of ourselves in the bathroom. That's why girls go to the bathroom in pairs! Kendra is questioning the wisdom of what P.I.C. is about to do...
...And for good reason. He's so HOTT!!
Soon after this picture of The Bad Cop and I was taken, he went and got the car to haul my crippled ass back to P.I.C.'s. Thank god.

*Not shown: the shoes of death and me kissing the iPod (WOOHOO!!) that Sally & Joe got me. So excited. About the iPod. Less thrilled about the shoes of death.*

So that was my birthday -- and since I'm leaving for Vegas tomorrow with Kendra, Becki, Beth and Karen, I'm sure I'll have stories on Monday. Especially since I got fitted today with my ultra-fashionable to-the-knee cast. Hottest. Girl. In. Vegas.

Birthday part the first: The Narrative

Ok. So as you may or may not have guessed by now, my birthday was on Saturday. I turned thirty, and I’d been kind of dreading it. I mean, 30. That’s OLD. Ha. Not really, but the truth of the matter is that I just didn’t feel like I was in a 30ish sort of place. I have this card that pretty much sums it up: “Everyone my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.” It’s true. It’s a good disguise though.

Saturday night, I was going out with Kendra, Karen, John, Jeff, Robin, P.I.C and The Bad Cop. We had dinner reservations at 8 and were meeting at P.I.C.’s before walking to the restaurant. We were then heading out to the Celtic Tavern later for further drinking. And thanks to my personal shopper (Kendra) I looked cute and very non-Ann Taylor. So I have on my kicky wedgy sandals and I’m walking across the parking lot to P.I.C.’s building and I step off the side of my shoe. Ever so gracefully, I stumble and hear something crack, but I’ve done that before and been fine, so I ignored it and went inside. It hurt, so I put some ice on it before we left. No biggie.

We had the best dinner. It was delicious and replete with inappropriate conversation. In fact, I’m certain that we didn’t have one remotely appropriate conversation the whole evening. Topics included how to properly eat a crawfish (squeeze the tail and suck the head – dirrrty) and how they resemble lobster and how our waiter mentioned he knew some girls who could suck the meat out of a lobster just as easy as a crawfish. Heh. Also included was a really lengthy debate on the reaction of asparagus to the human body, and, um, various fluids. Seriously. VERY LENGTHY. Thank god we were in a private room away from people who might not have wanted to hear about either of those topics or about who is hooking up with who and how. I’m telling you – not for the faint of heart.

Our dinner was a good three hours – leisurely and hilarious and alcohol-tastic. Which of course meant a trip to the bathroom. Which is downstairs in the restaurant. I got up and wanted to scream from the pain in my foot, but kept on going. Oh. The. Pain. But I wasn’t about to wuss out and call it a night. We headed to the Celtic, and by this time it hurt too much to wear shoes and so I’m walking barefoot downtown. Nice. We hung out there until closing, at which time, The Bad Cop went and got the car to drive us the 4 or 5 blocks back to P.I.C.’s house because I was NOT walking. Not because I didn’t want to, I just couldn’t. OH. THE. PAIN. However, since Kendra was carrying my shoes, I was able to smuggle my vodka & soda out of the restaurant in my purse. I have my priorities you know.

I crashed at P.I.C.’s until I woke up feeling really nauseous from the pain. I got up and hobbled to my car – it was 5:30 a.m., still dark, I didn’t have shoes on and couldn’t run if I wanted to, and my cell was dead. I was thinking “this is a Lifetime movie waiting to happen.” Luckily, I got to the car with no problems except the pain in my foot with every step. You know, the kind of pain that makes you want to pass out so that you can stop the inner screaming. I crawled from my door to the couch and went to sleep.

After breaking down and crying, I had my mom come and take me to the urgent care place, where I got x-rays. Yep. Broken foot. My fifth metatarsal (or outside bone on my right foot) is broken all the way through. And now, Alice? I also have a fashionable boot. Ridiculous. I’m going to look like an idiot in Vegas. I told the intern at the clinic that I was on the lam from the cops and they were shooting at me, so I dove to avoid the bullets and broke my foot. He laughed. At least I can still be HI-larious while also in pain, right?

The good news is, since my job is ending in two weeks, I no longer have to go. They’re bringing me my computer so I can “work” from home. Nice. I have some good painkillers, but they knock me out. P.I.C. is bringing me “The Sopranos” on DVD and The Bad Cop is bringing over movies so that we can drool and zone all day long. The bad news is, I had Peeps for breakfast because they were the only thing I didn’t have to get up to get. Kendra helped me make my bed last night and Dan brought me dinner. I’m not totally helpless, but given the choice between putting any weight on my foot at all or not eating, I choose not eating.

So yes. I can’t believe I broke my foot. I’ve never broken a major bone before. However, the OCD in me is pleased that it was EXACTLY 30 years before I first broke something. So sad.

Happy birthday to me!!! And we did take pictures, so those are forthcoming...

J-E-L-L-O

I’m not an athlete. I’ve never BEEN an athlete. I am pretty uncoordinated – in fact, judging from the number of huge, dark bruises on my legs right now, I might go so far as to say VERY uncoordinated.

I’m an ace at shooting baskets, but don’t ask me to run and dribble at the same time. Just don’t. I can ice skate, roller skate and rollerblade; I can ski, mountain bike and hike. I choose not to rock climb because I’d rather not fall to my death into a large crevasse. I can kayak, and I like to, but am too big of a wuss to try navigating rough water. Which is strange, because I love the water. I’m a fast swimmer and I’m good at it. Probably because there’s no danger of falling down.

I have a love/hate relationship with running. I love it, but when faced with putting on my shoes and actually moving, I hate it. Walking is too slow, and the elliptical works, but running is my thing. It doesn’t require a lot of coordination – just don’t fall off the treadmill or if you’re outside, run into other people. Simple. I can handle that.

So with that in mind, Mandy and I decided to go see a personal trainer. It’s someone Mandy’s seen a lot before, and she really likes her, so today I went for my first session. It was awesome – she’s totally nice and put me through an hour of weights, working me hard and focusing on my legs. I didn’t feel like we overdid it, she pushed me, but it was fine.

Until I had to walk. “HA!” my legs said. “You really think we’re going to carry you anywhere? THINK AGAIN!!” The gym is in the basement of this house, and so in order to get to it, you have to walk around the side of the house and down into the backyard. Which means walking up the hill to leave. I asked Mandy if she’d pull the car down to the door. She said no. I was only half-kidding, whereas she was totally laughing.

Have you ever seen “Men in Black”? You know when the alien takes over Vincent D’Onofrio’s body and he lurches around all the time because he’s not used to it? That’s how I felt. I had to walk carefully so that my legs, which somehow turned to jello between the gym and Mandy’s house, wouldn’t just stop working and pitch me face first into the grass where I would lay until someone took pity on me and carried me the final three feet to my car.

I know I’m prone to exaggeration, but I’m totally not kidding. I was contemplating getting to my front door – which is up a flight of stairs – and I actually thought “well, if all else fails, I can crawl on my hands and knees.” That’s just sad. I’m now sitting on my bed, wondering if I can just stay here indefinitely. I got up to answer the phone, which was in the other room, and my legs were like “Hey! What did we tell you about moving quickly? NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.” Damn.

Yes, yes. No pain, no gain. And I’m not complaining about the workout – it was awesome and I love to feel muscle soreness from lifting weights. It’s the staggering around like a drunk thing I have issues with. Especially since I have a job interview this afternoon and I don’t want them to be like “She’s either got a horrible problem with her balance and equilibrium, or she’s tanked. Can’t hire her.” Boooo.

Now. I wonder if I can roll from my bedroom to the kitchen. I’m kind of thirsty.

The fashion police go shopping

I’m not known for my stunning sense of fashion. Unless fashion is somehow defined by the number of black pants, jeans and pajama bottoms a person owns. If that’s the case, then I’m a freakin’ fashion GENIUS. Otherwise, not so much. However, I AM an expert on what OTHER people are wearing -- and why they shouldn't be wearing it. Because I'm perfect like that, therefore I have room to talk. What? Stop laughing.

I wear a lot of black. I just like it. I also go to the other extreme and wear a lot of pink. I think I’m making up for my years of refusing to wear pink, despite my mother’s pleas for me to “wear something feminine”. She also likes me to wear makeup and do my hair, but we can’t always get what we want, right mom? Anyway. I think you could call me a conservative dresser – my favorite store is Ann Taylor. So I’ve branched out a little from Old Navy t-shirts and whatnot, but for the most part? I’m super boring.

This has to change for the trip to Vegas. I can’t walk into Ghost Bar in a cute little cardigan and matching shell. Because I'm not a soccer mom and it isn't casual Friday in corporate America. I’m not sure that Pure would appreciate my jeans and black t-shirt. Plus, it’ll probably be too hot to wear a cardigan and definitely too hot for jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt. Sometimes I amaze myself with my deductive reasoning skills...

SO. In order not to step TOO far out of my comfort zone all at once (baby steps and all that), today I went to White House/Black Market. Never been there before. It’s one door down from Ann Taylor, which is probably why. Once I leave AT, I don’t have any money, so what’s the use of going to the next store? However, today I was with Karen, and she wouldn’t let me go into Ann Taylor, as she said she didn’t think our cute Vegas tops were going to be in there. I wanted to look, you know, just to be safe, but she said no. Fine.

White House/Black Market had a very helpful salesgirl who kept bringing me stuff to try on. Most of it was way too hip for me to pull off. I just can’t get on board with gaucho pants. I don’t wear belts. I don’t like to wear skirts that go below my knees. Things like that. I’ll step out of the box, but I’m skittish – don’t scare me away with your fancy hoopy chain belt thingy. No sudden moves, ok?

Anyway, $200 later, I had some cute things to go with the plethora of cropped black pants that I own. Four black tops and one white one – I told you, we’d work up to other colors eventually. Plus they only had black and white stuff in the store. It's not just a clever name. AND, we’re only in Vegas for three nights. But a girl’s gotta be prepared, right? That’s why I also bought three new pairs of shoes. There’s no such thing as being TOO prepared in the footwear department.

Next stop? Accessories. Here’s where we try to step out of the silver-only box into something a bit more colorful and fashiony. Or something. God help me. And whoever goes shopping with me.

Satellite*

I was tagged by Jill to answer the questions below using the titles of songs from my favorite band. I chose Dave Matthews. So here you go -- things about me as told in the words of Dave. He's so smart -- and he knows me SO WELL!

Are you male or female? Dreamgirl
Describe yourself: The Best of What’s Around
How do some people feel about you: I’ll Back You Up
How do you feel about yourself: So Damn Lucky
Describe your ex: Trouble
Describe your current significant other: Stay
Describe where you want to be: If I Had it All
Describe how you live: Under the Table and Dreaming
Describe how you love: Too Much
What would you ask for if you had just one wish: Rhyme & Reason
Share a few words of wisdom: Seek Up
Now say goodbye: Where Are You Going?

I'm supposed to tag someone, but I'll leave it open for whoever wants to do it. Except for since Jill wanted Kendra to do it, KC? You're tagged.

*I LOVE this song and couldn't figure out how to include it in the game. Voila! Title!

Roller Derby, bitches!!

Which could mean "I went to roller derby, bitches!" Or, it could mean "the girls in roller derby are bad-ass bitches!" Either or. Both would be true statements.

Yep. Saturday night, I went to roller derby. Yes, you heard me, roller derby. No, we did not suddenly get transported back into the 70s, in case you were worried there for a minute. I went with P.I.C. (which is “partner in crime” for those of you wondering) and The Bad Cop. He’s not a cop, but he is good to have around when oh, I don’t know, SOMEBODY gets drunk and tries to start a bar fight. Not me, just so you know. Plus, when I told him he needed a blog nickname, that's what he wanted. Who am I to deny a man his nickname?

We started out at the house of one of P.I.C.’s co-workers at about 4:30 – for appetizers and drinks. Mostly drinks. There was beer and tequila, but also, there were drinks in the spirit of the event. We had Boone’s Farm and Mad Dog 20/20 in a paper bag. For real. It was like college all over again! Although I CAN say that this was the first time I've ever drank something out of a paper bag. I managed to finish off the Boone’s in the car on the way to the bout (I think one other person got a glass, and then I just drank it out of the bottle – yes, I realize I epitomize class). Someone got the idea that we should accessorize, and so we all got items from the Halloween closet. P.I.C had on a black Joan Jett wig, complete with rat tail, The Bad Cop had on a lei with a “thuper” matching bracelet, and I had on a tiara. There were also feather boas, Elvira wigs, and a guy wearing a vest and boa with no shirt. We were stylin’.

Here’s where I don’t explain the rules of roller derby. Because I don’t understand them. And frankly, it just took too much energy to try and figure out. It was explained in the program, but my reading skills had rapidly deteriorated, along with my attention span. Basically some big tattooed girls in short skirts and fishnets and roller skates skate around and around the track and try to keep the other team from scoring by knocking each other around. I just cheered when everyone else did. Our team won though –the score was 90-62. Not that I probably actually saw any of the points being scored. I'm the best fan EVER!

The best word to describe it is “spectacle” – it was a total spectacle. Like nothing I’d ever seen. First of all, they let you bring in your own alcohol, even though they sell beer there. Pabst – heh. And others. Second, there are no “seats”. You sit or stand right next to the track and try not to get your beverage spilled when a chick comes crashing into you I’ve never seen so much fishnet in one place. Even the refs had it on. There was this guy with a crown who stood by “The Wheel of Death” and danced around in a black kind of unitard wearing a crown. Hey, I'd explain if I understood. But that was part of the gloriousness of it. By the way, “The Wheel of Death” is something the girls spin when they get a penalty and it determines what their penalty is. Like one time, there was a tug-of-war – stuff like that.

I know, I know, the details are sketchy. Part of that is due to the drinking, and part of that is due to what P.I.C. referred to as “The Corona Incident.” See, I was on my way to the bathroom, when I noticed that this guy had a bucket of Coronas. YUM. I asked him where he got them and he said they sold them at the bar upstairs. I decided that that was too far to walk, and instead told him he should share with me. It took some chatting and eyelash batting, but I got my Corona. He asked me if we were going to the after party (which we were) and he’s like “you should give me your number so I can find you there.” Um, no. So I told him I didn’t have my phone with me. His obnoxious best friend (who was engaged and yet trying to hook up with about three different girls) was like “give me your number so we can call it and see if you’re lying.” Whatever – I wasn’t drunk enough to be like “ok” and also I’ve learned from the LAST time some stranger asked for my number, so I gave him a fake. He called it and was like “this isn’t even her number – it’s some dude’s voice mail” and I played dumb and managed to distract them enough so they forgot about it. By then, I’d been gone a long time, and P.I.C. and The Bad Cop were wondering where I was, until they spotted me about 10 feet away, drinking a Corona. They were watching and laughing while I sent signals to them behind the guy’s back like “save me” – but oh no. Thanks guys. Chivalry is totally dead. Finally, I was like “uh, I REALLY have to go to the bathroom” and so the Corona Stranger followed me because he had to go too. Allegedly. There was a line at the first bathroom, so I went to the one up front, then doubled back the opposite way and ended up back with my group. Whew.

When the bout was over, P.I.C., The Bad Cop and I were wandering around outside “The Bladium”, deciding what to do. At some point we decided to get a cab back to downtown and go to some bars there. I feel bad for the cab dispatcher, because not only were we all drunk, but we also had no clue where we were. There was a lot of laughing and yelling in the general direction of the phone as we all tried to "help" ascertain our location. We finally got back downtown and our “going to the bars” idea was eclipsed by “I’m really hungry” and so we had pizza. And we did go to another bar, but only to use the bathroom. We wet back to P.I.C.’s and had some more to drink (because CLEARLY we needed to) and hung out. Or passed out. Or both.

I eventually went home at about 3:30 (allowing for daylight savings time, of course) and since I had to get up at seven, seriously debated going to sleep at all. I did, and made it through the day with only a short nap. Today though, not so good. I’m SO TIRED. It was totally worth it, though. Plus, I figure I better make the most of my last two weeks of being in my 20s...