January 11, 2013- a handful of friends and I were to depart on a weekend of debauchery in Las Vegas to celebrate multiple 40th birthdays. Not mine, of course, as I am the youngest of the gang. (I will be mentioning this a lot. Get used to it.) I was to leave with everyone Friday and Wiener was to join us Saturday for one night.
A week prior to our departure I slightly hurt my back while doing some minor housework- vacuuming etc. Now you know why my general rule of thumb is to never do housework and to stick to the bon bons and champagne. I had a week to recover and by the time the 11th rolled around I was good to go.
We made it to the airport on time. Wiener took us all in Lola's giant black XL SUV. Because that's how she likes things. Baby D, Lola, Pepe and I met Raquel and her husband Jake at the airport. I promptly tossed back a Valium with a vodka-cranberry chaser, 9:30 am be damned. I hate to fly. Despite statistics, I'm pretty sure it's still a 50/50 chance you'll make it alive to your destination.
Cheating death, we arrived and tried to check into the hotel. We had to wait until 3 pm so we wandered around. Once in our suite that we were sharing frat-house style, we relaxed until it was time to get ready to go to da club. Yes, I said da club. I'm not forty yet so I can say that. Lola had a local friend who got us the hookup with VIP entry, a table and bottle service. Da club did not open until 10:30, so we had plenty of time to get ready. As the hours passed, we began to question why it opened so late and if we could stay awake until then and considered calling it off.
In the club there was some wildly inappropriate and awesome behavior that I cannot share because of some bullshit rule about what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. I can report that lap dances were involved. It was not a strip club. There was a shit ton of vodka. Raquel could not feel her teeth. Some 50 year old lady was solo Elaine dancing near us. (Foreshadowing the future us perhaps?) There were gay Germans dirty dancing with a member of our party. And let's just say that this happened:
|Just some innocent table dancing.|
And did I mention that by 'on the way out' I meant on the way out at 3:30 am? And if you add the two hour time difference coming from Texas it was 5:30 am, so we'd been up 24 hours? Aw yeaaah- take that Vegas and fuck you 40! (I'm still 39)
|Not 40 yet, bitches!|
So the next morning we were happily hung over and lounged in the room most of the day. I casually bent over to pick something up from my suit case and felt a sharp pain in my back. The last time I traveled to Vegas I was pregnant with Fifi and had a horrible case of sciatica right before that trip. And here I was again, never usually having back issues, in Vegas, the youngest of the group, (I'm milking it for all I can) with a thrown out back. Vegas hates me.
We had plans that evening for a nice birthday dinner and a show. Wiener was arriving at 2 pm so I sucked it up and slammed some wine and an erroneous hydrocodone. Dinner was great and the show was even better, especially after a double Malibu and cranberry. Malibu was substituted for Belvedere vodka after being told the vodka was $27 per shot. No thanks. I can buy a few entire bottles for that much. I was in excruciating pain and had to kill it somehow. We saw Absinthe at Caesar's and it was fucking hilarious. Completely raunchy and politically incorrect and right up our alley.
Afterwards we roamed the Caesar's Palace casino where I have a vague recollection of talking to some Canadians about the show who wanted to know if there was nudity or visible side boob and I involuntarily said AY a lot. I'm also told that I kept demanding a hover round and at one point yelled at a legless man on a hover round "Hey! I need that!" Not my finest moment.
|I'm sure this happened.|
By the next morning I was completely unable to move and in the worst pain of my life since childbirth. I tried relaxing and taking Advil and after feeling nauseous all day and still in pain I decided to throw in the towel and book a flight back home that night with Wiener. After a trip to the ER, where plenty of heavenly narcotics were dispensed, the doctor sent me to get an MRI which showed a herniated disc.
So although I may be the youngest in age, I'm certainly the oldest in body. How lame. Throwing my back out getting something out of my suitcase in Vegas. And that may be the true story known to you, dear reader, but in my real life the tale I shall tell is "I got a little out of control with my mad dance moves on the stripper pole during my encore performance."
You're welcome for that image. You cannot un-read that.