A couple weekends ago I went to Vegas for a bachelorette party in advance of one of my esteemed BFFs impending nuptials. I had only met the other ladies once, but we all agreed beforehand the event would be nothing short of epic. Think “The Hangover” [1] … only pink.
I mean, what started out as one became four of us wolves, running around the desert together, in Las Vegas, looking for strippers and cocaine. Or at least we expected blackouts, makeouts or to be kicked out. To be honest, I even kind of wanted to see someone get tased (as long as it wasn’t me).
While it is safe to say absolutely none of that happened, the trip still had its moments – impromptu photo shoots with curtains, candy necklaces made of phallic shapes, scavenger hunts and late-night conversations that can only take place between drunken friends. The soon-to-be-bride rocked a veil, woke up with writing on her arm and proclaims she was “toasted for three straight days.” Plus she was led around the majority of the time by monkey backpack as to not get lost.
All in all, from a debauchery standpoint, I would say the weekend was still a success.
Although disappointed not to find Baby Carlos, I find myself being grateful that festivities ended there and I am able to remember the trip without having to re-trace steps, battle a tiger or … worry about our best friend being face down in a ditch with a meth head butt-fucking [her] corpse.
This clearly illustrates one of the surest signs of getting older is the redefinition of fun. Once we were settled in Vegas, it became way more appealing to relax by the pool with a cocktail, hang out (i.e. lose money) at the Blackjack table or sit down to a totally amazeballs dinner. We even changed out of heels and into flip-flops to go out dancing and the closest anyone got to hooking up with someone was me eye-fucking the shit out of some guy in the crosswalk.
(Don’t knock it; I still felt like I needed a cigarette afterwards.)
When I look back on the blackout-free weekend, there are several moments that will forever stick out and bring a smile to my face. Among them is a conversation that seems more preposterous every time I play it out in my head involving the namesake of the Bellagio water show – Jasmine – and her possible life story. What started as one off-handed comment turned into a weekend-long monologue of torrid affairs, magic carpet rides and clandestine meetings with Mr. Lexor in a suite at Mandalay Bay.
The theme eventually emerging from the weekend was WWJD – What Would Jasmine Do – and I actually find myself channeling the mantra from time to time because, at least in our minds, Jasmine knows how to live it up.
To put it in my terms – she has her groove.
One of the other resounding moments of the trip came on the last day, after we had all said our goodbyes and hugged it out in the In ‘n’ Out parking lot to go our separate ways. With the other half of the wolf pack headed to the airport, my esteemed BFF and honored bachelorette told me they had deemed me an official member of their “brain trust.” It was probably just the overindulgence of the double-double, but my heart actually felt fuller at that moment.
Going into a weekend with three women who were all college friends, it would have been pretty easy to feel like a loner, or a one-woman wolf pack, but I left Vegas feeling as if I had even more to be thankful for and excited to see everyone again.
So it may not have gone the way we all had expected, but I think it was probably better. Although I do still wonder what tigers dream of when they take their little tiger snooze.
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