Las Vegas, 3:00am, Sunday: shitfaced.
Time to go to the plane.
Convincing myself and TSA that I was flight ready and not completely wasted was a challenge: still in party clothes, whorish makeup, and smelling like a gin martini as the booze sweat out of my pores. Somehow, I succeeded in passing security.
Longest plane ride ever. I chose a seat in the aisle, two seats away from a man who was such a fucking heavy breather that I almost knocked the fuck out of him. Apparently I have some rage issues whilst still drunk at 6am. I wasn’t the only one though, the poor guy who sat in the middle seat between me and the heavy breather looked annoyed as well. I’m pretty sure he was on the verge of a meltdown from the loudness of his neighbor’s breathing.
As if his “normal” breathing wasn’t enough, when the dude fell asleep he snored like a fucking horse. His seat mate was so uncomfortable, he kept scooting closer to me, which must not have been pleasant either. I was sweating alcohol. I smelled like I dabbed gin on my neck before going on a date. By the time the flight was over, I was pretty damn sure we reached second base since he was practically sitting in my lap. It was a rough morning, but nothing compared to the night before.
Saturday morning started out beautifully. I headed down to the pool early to try and get some quality sun time in before the drinking began. Nothing like drinking while dehydrated from tanning. What a beautiful sight: hundreds of tanned drunk men and women before noon. Just my style.
I sat with my legs in the lazy river, directly across from the most beautiful man.
“Yep,” I thought, “I’ll hit that later.”
I made many friends during the two hours at the pool. My favorite new buddy was a young buck named Brad from SoCal. He was shitfaced, floating alone around the lazy river, when his inner tube hit my knee. His lost sandal floated down the river ahead of him. Sad. So I resolved to rescue him and help him put his sandal back on. Brad was very flirty and kept running his hand up my leg, a bold move before noon.
After a while, Brad continued on down the lazy river. By the time he floated my way again, he was passed out. Half of his body in the tube and his legs dangling in the water, he still managed to cling to a beer. Damn, my kind of man. I’ll be damned if he spilled that beer once. He had a kung-fu grip on that sucker.
After the pool, the girls and I hit the Venetian for lunch. Commence drinking. Following lunch, we hit the booze booth that had yard-long glasses of blended booze. Literally, three feet of alcohol, which I know is normally cin volume. But hey, that’s what it said on the cup. I ordered the moonshine with an extra shot of alcohol. Three shots of everclear later, I knew that drink was to be the death of me. So, I had two. As if I wasn’t drunk enough by five, we hit a two-for-one happy hour.
That night would have to be an early once since we were all shitfaced by the time Brandy had to go to work at 8:30pm at the club. Brandy was decked out in her corset and bra with her supple, yet fake, double d’s just calling to me. Her tanned, luscious, golden orbs were just asking my face to rest in them. So, I did. Katie offered the suggestion that I give Brandy a farewell motorboat. So, I did. I was surprised at how soft they were. It was like pressing my face into two small, round waterbeds. Very nice.
Let the motorboatin’ begin.
I wore a push up bra, to let the ladies have a bit of fun on the last night in Sin City. My bra, apparently, was just asking for a motorboat competition and my friends were ready to put me up to the challenge. They wanted to see how many strangers would be willing to stick their faces in my boobs for a wedding-crashers-esque motorboatin.
I fear there are photos…
It is surprising just how many strangers didn’t question one bit what was going on. Katie would find a man, ask him if he’d like to motorboat me, he’d look me up and down and agree. I believe we tried this on the bartender as well, and got free shots out of the deal.
My drunken ADD kicked in around man number five, so I started to browse for other things to occupy my time in the club. Stripper pole? Check. In the process of contemplating just how much fun it might be to take a whirl on the glorious silver pole, I’d have to pause for the occasional motorboat. But a new distraction came long before I could mount the pole.
One of my motorboating customers fell in love with the ladies, and therefore decided to monopolize them and proceeded to get very jealous when it was time for another man to give me a friendly motorboat. We ditched him pronto and kept up with the competition.
Fifteen.
Fifteen glorious motorboats. Fifteen strangers’ faces nestled between my breasts. What a night.
I’m still recovering from Vegas.
-Alexis Patron
The vast neon lights that stretch across the dry desert of Nevada are almost breathtaking. I have seen many beautiful cities in my life, but none have ever flabbergasted me quite like that of Las Vegas. Flying into the city, I looked out the window; all I could see was brown. No green, no blue, just brown. Suddenly, situated between the low-rise mountains, buildings appeared. Unlike New York’s skyscrapers or LA’s endless sea of lights expanding beyond the city limits, Vegas’ random strip of city sits amidst the barren desert. I love Vegas. Whoever built this city was a genius.
My first visit to this eccentric city of casinos, depravity, booze and money was a whirlwind shit show. I spent nine of the 67 hours sleeping, the rest engulfed in a debacherous booze binge. My poor liver has been in overdrive since I’ve returned, which just means I succeeded in having the prime Vegas Vacation.
Marriage and arrests escaped me, but that doesn’t mean I behaved myself either. Combine a reunion with my best friends with a first Vegas visit and a bachelorette party and you get an epic vacation. It was actually a double bachelor/bachelorette party except the boys stayed in a different hotel and we really didn’t see them much except to swap stories.
Two of the girls were came in from Montana, one from LA and one already lived in Vegas. I arrived first, so Brandy picked me up and we began the preparations. First stop: porn store. Second stop: booze. By the time Jill (the bride to be) and Kaci arrived, we were already two drinks in. Once the four of us settled in the hotel the hard core drinking began. I was a quarter of the way into the bottle of gin before Katie arrived six hours later. The only part of her arrival that I remember was when Kaci announced to all of us in the elevator plus about six other people that I was not allowed to have sex in our hotel room. I was only authorized to sex someone in the halls or elevator, a promise I kept.
Half of a bottle of gin later, we decided to hit the clubs. Our friend Brandy worked at a nice club bartending so we headed out there. The club was amazing, loud music, girls on poles, men everywhere. It literally was my version of heaven. I did a quick scan to see who I’d be making out with that night, guy or girl, and settled on a man named J. Just “J” because I don’t remember his real name. It also happened that one of my former flings from Montana was in Vegas that same weekend, so I met up with him outside the club for a few minutes, contemplated having a threesome and then went back into the club when Jill was beckoning me via text saying I was needed for surgery. I have no idea why she texted this, but apparently I was urgently needed back in the club.
We left around 4am, hit up breakfast and Katie and I decided we’d attempt to piggyback each other back to the hotel. Fail. Jill and Kaci passed us in a taxi, laughed and kept going
That night ended with three of us girls passed out in one bed at 6am.
We only slept for three hours and decided it was pool time. The headache was setting in until my friends informed me it was necessary to keep drinking, so that I didn’t get hung-over. We started the day with this giant funnel of beer. After my friends tried to sell me and my stellar ability to give out sexual favors to the next table of guys for a free funnel-o-beer, we hit the wave pool and lazy river.
We drank all day long and then decided to stay in that night and invite the boys over for penis ring toss games. I almost passed out around 4am until one of the boys threatened to slap his penis on my forehead if I fell asleep. I would not mind that necessarily… except Kaci threatened the same thing with her vag. That, I could pass on.
The first two nights were fairly mild; except for one of the boys shit himself (no joke, literally shit himself), decided to take a bath, flooded their room and the room below theirs. None of us girls did that except Kaci warned the entire elevator that she had diarrhea and four guys decided not to jump in after she said she was literally shitting herself. Don’t try to hit on her when she’s drunk. Night three for me was the night that I won’t be writing home about… I’ll tell you more later.
-Alexis Patron
