What happens in Vegas...
Hi beauties! Happy Monday! Exclamation points! I never know how to start a blog post! This is getting so awkward!
I just got back from a little weekend jaunt to Vegas for my friend Keli's bachelorette party. We danced, we sang a lot of Rihanna, we swam in a literal (man made) waterfall, and we played flip cup with some random guys dad. Dad's in Vegas are the best. My dad, quite thoughtfully, texted me the sage advice of "get a buzz, maintain the buzz, but do not fall over the edge." Thank you, father.
As long as I've known Keli her eyes have been set on a Vegas bachelorette party. I'm not kidding. I don't remember anything else ever even being an option. Let me tell you about Keli- she is a goddess. We met in kindergarten and have been friends ever since. We lived together after college in a shitty apartment in West Seattle, ate potatoes for dinner every night because we were poor AF, suntanned on our 2 inches of patio, and went on a lot of walks where we cried about how hard it was being a grown up. Transitioning to life after college was a bitch for me, and I don't think I could've survived it without Keli.
In Vegas there are some places that feel a bit like The Upside Down. Essentially it looks and feels like you're outside but you're really not and it's so confusing. Also, there are no clocks in Vegas. Nowhere. You could literally just never know what time it is. We spent a lot of time wandering around and exploring the sites only to find that basically 5 million years had passed and we were a little buzzed. I prayed to all things holy that my body would not completely shut down. I get the worst hangovers in the world and become pretty much a human puddle, so I was justified in my anxiety. As it turns out what happens in Vegas is the same as what happens in Seattle, in that I went to bed both nights before midnight and spent a lot of time in my sweatpants praying that somebody would hand deliver me food. I had forgotten that being "older" means that I can't stay up late enough to get sufficiently tanked. Lucky me, I suppose.
I learned two key things in Vegas that I would like to share with you. To begin with, the bathrobes and slippers at The Mirage are next level. If everybody owned this combo I am confident that our current political situation would be much more peaceful. Also, I learned that I pretty much always want to get a tattoo when I have had a few drinks, a temptation that is even more difficult to ignore when there is a tattoo shop in the hotel lobby. I didn't get a tattoo, but I did seriously consider it. Then again, I'm always seriously considering getting another tattoo.
As a yoga teacher going to Vegas always seems slightly hilarious. Like, I spend most of my days teaching people how to take care of their bodies, pumping my veins with green shit, and then I go and treat my body like a dumpster for 48 hours. But! It needed to happen. I was going crazy trying to be a responsible #bosslady but I needed to let loose, to drink too much beer, and to sleep in until 11 AM. Plus, after a whole year of wearing yoga clothes it felt really good to dress up like a damn woman. I wore lipstick, goddammit.
Only in Vegas will I gladly pay $9 for a PBR, the love of my life second only to donuts. And Dan, I guess. Vegas, at least the strip, is decidedly not the most vegan-friendly place that I've ever been, which I suppose makes sense. Also, it's my fault that I'm vegan. It's not like I was forced to eat like this. It gave me an excuse to subsist exclusively on bar pretzels, chips, and french fries which you will not hear me complaining about. I get the whole ladies drink free idea in Vegas, but how cool would it be if there was a club where ladies eat free? Has nobody thought about this yet? Is this my million dollar idea? Only in Vegas do I wonder how many sparkles is too many sparkles, and worry about the stylish-ness of my Converse sneakers. Should I wear them in public? Should I wear heels? What is happening to me?
On our last night we danced and shared $20 drinks next to a light up wall that was perfect for 'gramming. Call me corny, but there is something so special about dancing with a bunch of women, joining forces to get rid of creepy dudes, and not giving one single fuck how dorky your dance moves are. (Actually, they all can dance. I can't).
Of course, leaving Vegas is always both the best and the fucking worse. I did a really good job planning and had to fly out Sunday morning at 6:45 AM. Let me tell you, kind people of the internet, there is no better people watching than the Vegas airport at 5 AM on a Sunday. It will never be topped. I literally saw a grown man cry his hangover out. At one point he looked at me in the security line and whispered "what is happening??". I ran through security to procure a green smoothie and chugged it at a speed previously only seen in my college shot-gunning days. Following my completely imagined philosophy that green juice and probiotics can cure any hangover, I miscalculated my bodies capacity and in return almost sharted in the Portland airport upon arrival.
I may never know the feeling of being truly hydrated again and I have basically surrendered my phone to Pete the Club Promoter at this point, but it was a weekend of glitter and giggles that I will never forget.
Namaste blah blah blah,