Inner monologue: Alright, I need to pack my shit, get some caffeine in me, take an Advil...leave the apartment. Then, stop for alcohol and food, because my stomach is eating itself.
My thoughts are interrupted. I hear Eli say he needs to get a haircut before we leave. Yup, a haircut. It's a good thing I love him and the place is just across the street from the apartment complex. I go with him because things between Zac and I haven't been put to rest yet. He's still pissed about the Jew comment. I'm still pissed he called me a bitch...and for being a Jew. Eli tells me that I better settle it before the car ride for the sake of the other passengers, meaning him and Mr. Magnificent. I agree.
He walks toward the barbershop and I head into Starbucks. I get my Chai and instead of going to meet up with Eli I start walking back to the apartment hoping to squash the drama with Zac. I walk in and awkwardly start picking things up and putting them down near him trying to work up the courage to say "I'm sorry." I open my mouth ready to take the blame, but instead of apologizing, I grimace and say, "So, are you going to be like this the rest of the trip? " Word vomit. He replies "no." So I comeback with a "good, me neither." That's that. Bomb defused.
Eli gets back. We start packing the car. At this point it's already after 11. I grab my last bag, take one final look at the apartment, and say my goodbyes. I really don't want to leave San Diego, but Vegas is shoutin' me a pretty holla.
Everything is in the car, including us. We're packed like sardines. You literally could not put one more thing in here. I'm uncomfortably close to Zac in the back seat. Time to go.
Nope, never mind. Eli can't find the keys. Everyone out. Oh, there they are. Laying on the ground in front of the car. Not surprised.
2nd attempt. Successful. Our first stop is the liquor store. I buy 2 bottles of Pinnacle Whipped Vodka(so. fucking. good.) I also buy some root beer and orange soda to mix! You can imagine what these combos taste like. I am the God of mixology.
We get back in the car. Next stop, food and gas.
We are about 20 miles outside of San Diego now. The boys decide to put on my iPod. Their song of choice...Stan, Eminem. I've never seen a group of boys sing so passionately. No one is saying a word to each other. They are just looking out the car windows nodding their heads to the beat, and spitting out lyrics. I hold back from laughing because I don't want them to stop.
We get to a gas station that has 2 food stops so we can grab something to eat, gas up and go. Eli gets out of the car first and starts patting himself down. I immediately know what he's doing...looking for his phone. He starts panicking. We are all taking turns calling it from our phones. No luck. Eli left his phone in San Diego. There's no way we are turning back now, and he knows this, so we move past it. His roomates are coming to Vegas tomorrow so they will bring it with them.
4 hours have passed. The trip is going well so far besides the cell phone mishap. No car troubles, no arguments, just cruisin'.
We come to an agreement that the last 14 miles after we stop for gas will be spent listening to Kanye West, "Cant tell me Nothin'."
|yikes, last gas stop before vegas.|
WE'RE IN VEGAS! I feel like a baller. I put my stunna shades on, even though the sun has gone down. Just call me Diddy. I call Holland and tell her we're at the hotel. From doing research on Palms Place, I know valet is free. So, we get our stuff out of the car and have someone park it for us. Still feelin' like a baller. I walk into the hotel like my shit don't stink, hearing Kanye bustin' rhymes in my head.
We walk into the room on the 16th floor. The place is wicked! I immediately start jumping on the bed. My adrenaline is pumping and my heart is beating a mile a minute. Let's get it!
Holland and I start playing dress-up.(This will be the start of my pantless parade over the next 2 days.) I try on every ridiculously whoreish outfit I have tucked away in my bag. See through lace tops, dresses that practically show my "britney," skin tight pants, and hooker heels. I find it necessary to dress like this because it will be one of the only times I can, I won't look any different than anyone else, and even if I did, I'm on the other side of the country. I'm not seeing any of these people again, so, fuck it!
The boys are in their glory. They are taking showers in the giant bathroom, drinks in hand. There is a frosted glass wall between the bathtub and living room and if you put your "body parts" directly against it you can see EVERYTHING! Of course, we take advantage of this.(Zac has a really white ass.)
|this is how we do it|
Music blasting, liquor flowing, we're ready to party...Vegas style. Which is much more extreme.
We are all dressed, so we start taking shots. I can tell Zac is already hammered because a full sentence has turned into one word. "aruseredtogo?" I think what you're trying to say, Zac, is," are you ready to go?" Mr. Magnificent is making mixed drinks for himself, and when I say mixed drinks I mean rum, with a tablespoon of soda.
We leave the room to go to the Palms casino, which is connected to our hotel. Eli thinks it would be a good idea to create fake identities. Genius. Eli looks very similar to Tyson Ritter, the lead singer for the All American Rejects. He's been mistaken for him before, by a, um, stripper, so we roll with that. Zac says he will be the drummer, Chris Gaylor, Mr. Magnificent will be their agent/manager, Parker Ginsberg, Holland will be "Tyson's sister", Bridget, and I will be a family friend Drew, like Drew Barrymore. I love her.
Zac can barely walk...already. The boys are taking this identity thing to the extreme, yelling each other's fake names across the casino. They take a spot at a Black Jack table and Holland and I sit down to play video poker...Jacks or Better. We aren't gamblers, but Holland got a players card from Palms that has $10 on it so we figure we'll just use that until it's gone.
We're actually doing pretty well. We keep screaming everytime we win the slightest amount of money.
Zac stumbles over to us smoking a cigarette. Unreal. He looks like a complete asshole. He tries to tell us that the game we have been playing for the last hour isn't touch sreen. He touches the screen in hopes to obtain proof, and ends up looking like more of an asshole. Fail. We shoo him and his rancid cigarette away and continue our game.
We lose all of the money on the card and go over to the boys who, not suprisingly, are all smoking now...and wearing sunglasses. How they got the cigarettes? Still a mystery. Eli is talking to two guys who are playing at the table with them about his "concert" tomorrow at MGM. I notice he has picked up a Boston accent, but only when he says "Parkers" name. "Hey PAKA! Can we leave these guys some tickets at the box office tomorrow?"..."Ah, yea, sure.(looks at the guys) Just tell the guy at the counter you're here with Parker Ginsberg." Both of their new friends thank them graciously. It's almost sad. The one closest to Eli is just shaking his head in astonishment. Smile on his face. "No shit. Tyson Ritter. All American Rejects. This is crazy, man."
They are going to be so dissapointed when they show up at MGM only to find out there is no concert. My friends are douchebags, but so entertaining.
We walk outside, hail a cab, get in the cab, and ask the driver to take us the the best club in Vegas on a Wednesday night. We end up at Lax Nightclub at Luxor. Let the shit show commence...
to be continued...