What happens in Vegas ends up on my blog.

I have been to Vegas once in my life. Only once. When I say I lived like a rock star when I was there, I’m not exaggerating in any way, shape or form. I honestly only spent a total of $200 the entire weekend and that included parking my car in the South Bend airport, a cab to the house I was staying at, gambling, and a ticket to see Bette Midler*.

Rock. Star. Bitches.

Let me explain…

My junior year of college, my good friend Glamour** was dating a fella who played poker. A lot. And he was good at it. He owned a Beemer to prove so. He happened to be playing in the World Series of Poker that summer and we both decided to use him as an excuse to get stupid drunk on the strip for a weekend be the good friends that we were and go cheer him on.

When I arrived at the Las Vegas Airport I was greeted with 100+ degree weather, slot machines, and billboards with half naked women on them. I was in absolute heaven. I cabbed it to the house I was staying at, which turned out to be Rock Star Moment #1.

This house was easily worth $2mil. Easy. It had eleven bedrooms, thirteen baths, a theater of Lazy Boy recliners in the basement, “guesthouse” with retractable walls, and one of those crazy waterfall pools with a tiki-bar hot tub attached. Their broom closet was bigger than my bedroom, for Pete's sake! There were twelve guys renting the house for the summer – all of which were playing in the WSP.

After a quick tour, I slipped on a sexy little number and all twenty of us jumped into a Hummer Limo (which the guys paid for) and went to dinner at N9NE in the Palms. Cue Rock Star Moment #2.

We all ate a fantastic dinner off a menu in which nothing was within my vacation budget (I got the filet mignon). When the bill came, all the guys threw their credit cards into the middle of the table. One girl would pick up the cards, chose a number, and count out then out. That guy's card she counted to? He got his card back. Said girl would then pass the cards onto the next one at the table. The last card standing paid for dinner.

The most nauseating thing about this? That several grand bill was pocket change to these guys.

After getting good and sloshed buzzed at dinner, we went to a club called Tryst. Holy sweet baby Jesus in a hand basket.

There is a waterfall in the middle of this club people. Did you read that? A WATERFALL. And beautiful people EVERYWHERE. We had table service with about seven bottles of Grey Goose, every mixer imaginable, and a big breasted, half dressed woman pouring our drinks into actual glasses (not cheap plastic cups) all night long. Did I mention the guys paid for our cover, table, and liquor as well? (Ahem… Rock Star Moment #3.)

That was all on the first night. So much more happened that weekend, but this post is already entirely too long. Just take comfort in knowing that I spent the Fourth of July nursing a hangover via hair of the dog from the tiki-bar hot tub and eventually made out with one of the guys under a waterfall in the pool.

I win.

*STFU. That show rocked my pants off.

**Changing her name for anonymity purposes. Duh.