steel vegas.

It's 5 am on a Friday morning and since sleep has decided not to grace me with its presence most of the night, clearly the only alternative to tossing and turning is see-me-running. In the past couple of months I've gone on a few mini adventures that have been of no disappointment in adding to my repertoire of stories. New York, Nebraska, the mountains and, last but not least, Vegas. The city where clothing is optional, and only then in small amounts, and drunken tomfoolery is highly suggested, if not a law.

Ahhhh Vegas. The more I think about it the more I love it. I think one of my favorite parts was walking out of the hotel at 6 am Sunday morning to head to the airport and watching the mangy droves of partyers stumble back to their rooms. One guy said to his ladyfriend (loud enough for everyone to hear of course), "Where are they going? Who wakes up at 6 to go somewhere? . . ." Hmmm. Yes. I loved it. Calling us out for being the Nancies we apparently are (little did he know we had gotten back to our rooms in time for an hour of sleep) by clearly leaving before the party was actually over. Point to you, sir. Once I got to my seat on the plane, I was graced with a Chatty K who ended up divulging her life story to me (pregs by 18, married for 25ish years, one lesbian daughter, one lesbian granddaughter . . . the list goes on). As my hangover started to wane, I wasn't sure if the vodka I was smelling was her breath or a result of my weekend endulgences. Either way, I wasn't too concerned. Seriously, who doesn't like having conversations like this? I really felt like it was the ideal way to end my trip.

So back to the city of magical chaos. Yes, I'm 23 and this is the first time I've ever been, but the setting was perfect: bachelorette party. We quickly realized that we were among hundreds of other groups of bachelorette parties, evident because the bridesmaids insist on having the bride wear either a sash or some derivation of a veil around allll weekend. Fantastic--love the enthusiasm. My friend was a little more humble about her partay, despite the entourage of 9 other ladeez, which makes the sitch pretty obvious. The first day I arrived, we were chillin in the pool, people watching, my fave. Next thing we know there's a guy in the middle of the pool dancing his face off, all by his lonesome. At that moment I knew the trip was bound to be phenomenal. Within 5 minutes this guy had the entire pool's attention and was busting things that were not unlike the chicken dance or cha-cha slide. He also was rocking a Flock of Seaguls cut and polkadot trunks, making everything just a little bit better. He was starting to get taunted by a group of guys, so bless his heart he did two things to retaliate: splashed water in their faces (precious) and found a bridal posse to back him up. Secretly I wished it could have been our group to come to his aid in the time of need, but alas no luck.

That night we ventured off to the House of Blues to see the one and only: Steel Panther. We saw them in L.A. a couple years ago for spring break and despite a few setbacks thanks to some stiff draanks, it was memorable enough to make a repeat appearance in their audience. This time we were front and center, ready to watch them rock out in their nasty wigs and stretchy pants. Their stage names are amazing: Satchel, Michael Starr, Lexxi Foxxx and Stix. What else would they be. I'm pretty sure Satchel was wearing the exact same shirt he wore two years ago--not even kidding--so maybe it's a superstitious thing. Or maybe by wearing a cut up mesh beater that's how he gets all the ladies. Our only disappointments of the night were one of my friends getting her clutch stolen resulting in a few of us (yes, "us") crawling through a beer-soaked floor in short dresses and heels to try to find her ID, to no avail. And the fact that they didn't play Asian Hooker . . . and our Asian friend couldn't go on stage during it. Good news though, the rest of my friends got up on stage to kick it with the band for a few songs. Believe me, I would have, but just as I was making my way over, Michael Starr announced that the only way to get up on stage was "to show everyone your tittays." Ha, no gracias. I have morals people. Instead the remaining three of us not willing to flash enjoyed a tall boy, as any classy lady would, with the rest of the audience. Not a bad trade-off.

After another day/night of shenanigans possibly involving a round of pin-the-weird-looking-penis-on-the-man-poster, I was ready to call it quits and head back to the mountains. Thank you, Vegas, for opening my eyes to yet another wonder of this world. And of course, best wishes to my dear friend Tates on her upcoming nuptials. I'm truly very happy for them.