We arrived in Vegas Thursday night, immediately greeted on the way to our hotel room by two drunk guys shouting "Hello, hot chicks!" We felt sure that we would enjoy our stay here.
Then, Friday morning, the two Hollys met.
The space-time continuum was not disrupted, so we celebrated with sightseeing and overpriced Starbucks. That night there was a wedding rehearsal which was blessedly short as it was outdoors in the 20-something windchill. Afterward we ate and drank. And drank. And possibly sent some text messages. Oops!
Saturday was the wedding. So I got my hair done.
It cost $75 and so let us look at it from another angle.
I think, for that price, we should all keep on admiring it.
Then Holly and Adam got married. And ate cake.
After the reception, we changed clothes and went to the Big Apple Bar at New York, New York.
Where the waitress asked me, despite the fact that I was sitting between two girls, whether I was the one who got married. Then she carded me. Apparently I appeared to be some sort of child bride who was in a pretty good mood after having been already deserted by her brand new husband.
Then, no longer minding about the cold, we walked to the Bellagio to see the fountain.
On the way back to New York, New York, I fell directly on my ass. Holly and I were walking arm in arm at the time, so either I am a kind drunk and let go of her or she is a mean one and let go of me. Not only were the red apple martinis interfering with my already subpar coordination skills, I was wearing irresponsible shoes and there was water on the sidewalk and one of those Slippery When Wet cones. Normally this would have been a little humiliating, but there on the Strip I think it just really made me fit in. So no harm done to my pride but I think I may have cracked my tailbone. It didn't hurt until late the next day, but then it sure did make the two and a half hour plane ride less fun than it otherwise might have been.
Then back at our hotel, we watched The Dynamite Band.
Which was truly hilarious. The Violent Femmes a la Kip. Madonna as performed by Deb. Good times. Sadly, you can't see Deb's fanny pack in that photo or really see Napoleon on drums at all.
When I woke up Sunday morning, I discovered that the $75 hair had not moved. Naturally, I documented this for you.
While I am apparently not quite awake enough to be bothered with opening both eyes all the way, there is obviously no hangover. Amy thinks it has to do with the extra oxygen pumped into the casinos, but I think I finally just learned my damn lesson about drinking enough water. Either way, yay!
After removing 38 bobby pins and using an entire bottle of hotel shampoo, I was back to regular hair in time for sight-seeing. SA roommate Holly and I visited many hotels on the Strip, including the MGM Grand, where we discovered a restaurant bearing the name that is our new favorite exclamation.
That evening, we returned to our hotel for dinner before leaving for the airport. We decided, what the hell, we would have steak since really what was a few more dollars and a little more cholesterol at that point. We had spent the weekend discovering what the Vegas slogan really ought to be: What happens in Vegas stays ON YOUR ASS. Seeing as how we had only each gambled $1 (we lost), the bulk of our Vegas experience revolved around empty calories. Apparently we still looked good enough for the drunk men of the Orleans casino, judging by my favorite pick-up line of the weekend: "Hey! I'm single!" Can't imagine why, drunk guy, with smooth lines like that.
Then we came home.
The end Shibuya!