Last weekend I went to Vegas with a bunch of PEOPLE FROM THE INTERNET. I'm making it an annual thing, I guess.
After I decided that I was going, I talked Briya and Julia into coming with me. Because, OBVIOUSLY.
We stayed at the event hotel, which was LITERALLY a Best Western with IKEA spilled on it (no really - the cab driver told us it used to be a Best Western, and I know what literally means).
There were vaginas on the walls, and bad 80s porn streaming 24/7 on channel 69.
Skittles Vodka, which we drank, despite the hotel's lack of any ice machines anywhere. The more you drink, the more it tastes like skittles!
On Friday there was a pretend bachelorette party. We didn't make it there until late, because we were watching the remake of Hairspray.
I love that movie.
I *think* I actually lost it in the Diva Suite, like maybe I stuck it in a swag bag and then left it in the room, or something.
Anyhow, if anyone who was there finds a black powershot, 'tis mine, please and thank you.
I also lost my I.D. at the club we went to.
I also licked Adam's face, because that's how I do.
We took a cab to Panda Express, because you can't find that anywhere but Las Vegas.
I spent most of the day looking (and feeling) broken.
Julia made me take a picture with Elvis.
I do not like strangers in costumes.
Observe my body language:
It was really, REALLY easy to fly without identification.
I mean, I'm glad I was able to make it home, but for the big deal that airports make about checking your I.D. when you have it, they sure don't seem to care at ALL when you have nothing.
I showed them my debit card.
It just has my name.
Like I say, I'm exceedingly grateful that I was able to make it home, but seriously guys? If you're going to irradiate me and touch my labia majora, can't you care a LITTLE BIT about me being me?