Friday, September 27, 2013

that time we went to Vegas

Everyone has that special memory that you look back on and think, "This will one day be a story that I will share with my children."

This is not it.

I can already feel my future offspring cringe.  Sorry, kids.  And no, I'm never letting you go to Vegas.

If we're being honest, I still can't believe that we went to Las Vegas to see the iHeartRadio Music Festival last weekend.

I'm unashamed to admit that I'm normally a "Sleepytime Tea, in bed by 10" kinda girl.  So when Derrick told me two weeks ago that he had won two airplane tickets, two nights at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino, and two tickets to the Festival... well, I wasn't exactly ready.  And I didn't have a lot of time to prepare myself.

But a little preparation would have been nice because from the moment we stepped off the plane into a bright, loud, shiny explosion of glitter, cigarette smoke, and slot machines, we realized that we were way out of our league.

I’m talking Scotty Smalls up against Derek Jeter, in over our heads.  I mean, we were impressed just with the bus waiting to take us to the hotel.

Oh, how innocent and naive we were.

My Friday had started with a 5:30 AM run, so my day was long.  It was a rushed blur of bright lights, long lines, and Elvis impersonators.  We barely had time to unwrap the MGM wrapper on our complimentary face soap before we had to get downstairs, eat, and get in line for the concert.

I've seen The Hangover, so I knew you don’t go to Vegas in your Polo cardigan.  But while I thought I was getting wild with a crop top…

… Vegas didn’t even blink.  I actually looked like Michelle Duggar compared with Katy Perry...

... the talented singers of Ylvis (what does the fox say?)...

… and the middle aged lady in front of us who inexplicably returned from the bathroom with a thong on her head.  (I think she’s doing it wrong.)

By the time 1 AM rolled around (3 AM Chicago time), I realized that I needed to step it up if I wanted to stay in the game.  While the rest of the crowd was on its feet, fist pumping as Queen brought down the house, I was nodding in and out of consciousness, waking only occasionally with a strobe light to the face and Derrick screaming in my ear that he would, he would rock me.

And things only got weirder from there.  After spending the afternoon walking the Strip with the locals…

… I was wishing I had known better than to pack my standard Target tanks.  So when Derrick suggested that we visit the Ross on the corner, I took the idea and ran.  I don't know what Derrick had in mind, but after an early dinner in New York, New York... I mean Vegas... as respectable members of society...

... we got ready for the second night of the Festival, Vegas style.  

We were having the time of our lives channeling our inner Lady Gaga and Clark Griswold, convinced that we had nailed the whole modern-day music festival thing.  But dang it, Vegas, just couldn't let us win, could ya?

Compared to Ke$ha dry humping the floor in her black leather leotard, Derrick and I looked like the Kennedys.

And when Miley strutted out essentially naked (unless you count the pasties over her nipples) and began dancing up on the "little" people dressed as flowers...

...I just quietly took off my sunglasses and admitted defeat.

Sleep haunting and somewhat politically incorrect oddness aside, the festival was fantastic.  Bruno Mars had me busting out moves I normally reserve for Friday nights alone in my underwear and, in over three years of dating, I think the only time I've heard Derrick sing was when Adam Levine brought it back to 2004 with This Love.

As I was getting ready for work Monday morning, less than 72 hours after I had finished my first overpriced airport green tea, I was feeling a bit Dorothy Gale, wondering if those small people were just part of some big, technicolor dream.

I might have even succeeded in convincing myself that we never went on that once in a lifetime trip but luckily for me, we've got the pictures.

And this...

... just doesn't lie.

It's Friday!  Here's hoping you remembered your pasties!

No comments:

Post a Comment