What the fuck? When did this happen?
It’s inevitable that over the years, your hobbies change. Your views on things change. And if you’re lucky, you mature. But there’s nothing like a trip to Sin City to make all of that painfully clear.
I recently had the opportunity to make use of a free room in Vegas, so I got my girls together and we cruised down the 15 for some Labor Day Weekend craziness. We just didn’t realize how much crazy we were getting ourselves into.
Mind you, we’re no noobs. We have plenty of Vegas weekends and even one-night turnaround trips under our belts. But even though we already mentally planned for it to be an interesting few days, we were caught by surprise more than once (twice or three times) during our trip.
So let’s just start from the beginning…
The Freeway Flasher: Yup, that’s exactly what I mean. We weren’t even off the 210 before experiencing our first OMG moment. It was 9 am and my two girlfriends and I are on our way to pick up our fourth musketeer. While on the freeway, I hear my friend behind say, “Ew, this guy just blew me a kiss.” Intrigued by this early morning Casanova, I (sitting in the passenger seat) turn to catch a glimpse. What I was greeted with was instead a man thrusting his pelvis above the driver seat window so that he could flaunt his fully erect penis. Thank goodness I hadn’t eaten because I would have vomited in my friend’s car. He exited after that but his disturbing facial expression and schlong will unfortunately forever be engrained in our minds. Sonuvabitch.
The Stripper in the Pool: You know when there’s a car accident and you’re not supposed to look but you just can’t help yourself? That happened a lot that weekend. The first example was thanks to a young lady who liked showing off her goodies to everyone who was watching. Which was everyone. My girls and I decided to go to the newly opened Drai’s our first night and it was great, because they had the genius idea of having a dance area in the pool. We chucked our heels off so fast and got in the water, excited to actually be able to dance and enjoy the music.
Then this girl gets in and quickly we see that she likey the attention. Now, I don’t know for a fact that she’s a stripper. Educated guess. But the fact that she let her dress rise above her poonan and willingly gave a few nip slips to the crowd supports my assumption. Hey, I’m no one to judge. And she definitely caught my attention. Especially when she started grinding on and making out with some random dude who probably felt like the King of the World–until she ditched him. He then came over to us looking for the same treatment. Sorry pal, I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly.
The Pool of Fools: Saturday was obviously dedicated to the oh-so-popular pool party. So Encore Beach Club it was. I personally hate these things. It’s too fucking crowded and girls take forever to get ready for a pool they don’t actually get into. Whatever, more room for me. Anyway, there were a few memorable instances during this occasion. After being able to skip the ridiculously long line and walk in (thank you, Jesus), we found a spot to claim our own. I got in knee-deep and did my head bob to the music, when Fool No. 1 approaches me…
Him: “How are you?”
Me: “Fine and you?”
Him: “I’m just gonna go for it.” And proceeds to try and kiss me on the lips. He had no chance with my cat-like reflexes and was quickly shoved and shunned. I would like to think guys know when there’s an invitation to go in for the lip-lock. This was definitely not one of them.
A couple hours later, Fool No. 2 approaches. This lady killer tried to pull the whole “oh maybe I can just slyly work my way into dancing behind her without her noticing” move.
For the record, we always notice and you look like a fucking creep. Stop.
I literally looked at my friend and said, “What’s happening right here?”
That’s when he grabbed my hand to dance (or so I thought) and led it directly to his wiener. WTF?!
“No,” is all I said and ignored his existence.
“Don’t be like that,” he said. I’m sorry? Be like what?
That pissed me off to the extreme and it took all of me not to rip this guy a new one. But I got to thinking…what prompts guys to be like this? Do they think it actually works? They must. Which means some girls out there allow this to happen and that’s why they assume it’s OK. Well it’s not. And ladies, stop fucking it up for the rest of us. Do better.
When I Really Took a Turn: I took about 7 dresses to have plenty of options for two nights. But when Saturday night came, I was over it.
“I don’t know about you guy, but I’m wearing shorts and flats tonight. I don’t care.”
Guess they didn’t either. We all rocked casual clothes and flats when we went to Surrender to see Diplo. And it was genius. Our feet didn’t hurt, we found ourselves a nice couch to call our own, we danced like we were in front of the mirror in the bedroom and had a blast (minus the older couples high on X practically having sex next to us). But it wouldn’t be complete without another creeper encounter.
The Party Boy: A guy came to our area and yelled “Hey!” at me and grabbed my arm. Initially, I wanted to hi-yah his ass but I tried to remain calm. Bitch, don’t kill my vibe.
“Hello,” I responded. He comes closer to my ear.
“Do you like to party?”
“I’m in Vegas. I think that answers your question.” (Although, I’m not sure that’s true. I felt more like a soccer mom trying to be cool than a young adult getting her cray on. I mean, I only had two drinks the ENTIRE weekend.)
“You don’t understand me. Do you like to party? [flicks at his nose].”
This bitch wants me to do cocaine with him!
“Are you sure? It’s really good.”
please go away, please go away, please go away.[There was one gentleman who approached me that night. Jose from Texas. He was kind. Just shook my hand, paid me a compliment, entertained me with some small talk and then walked away. We never exchanged any info, and that was OK. But if he ever reads this–don’t change.]
Maybe it was everyone being drunk. Maybe it was everyone being on drugs. Maybe it’s just being in Vegas on Labor Day Weekend.
Or maybe I’m just getting…sigh…old.
Either way, the Bruna who used to make the 4-hour drive through the desert every month to wear super revealing dresses, drink like her body was a bottomless pit and dance on tables for no other reason than the fact that she could is long gone.
And you know what? I’m more than OK with that.