Part 2 of 3: Hair of the Dog

Next morning, er, afternoon, we did the only two things a girl can do after a serious night out; we went to Denny's and then we had some more beer. At breakfast, er, brunch, we chattered until the grease arrived and then an intense silence descended on the table as we inhaled untold amounts of sausage. I ordered a Lumberjack Special and almost finished it.

We also made a looooonnngg visit to the friendly neighborhood Walgreen's for the necessities; enormous bottles of water, blister cushions, and bottle openers shaped like male strippers. We spent the rest of the short day (it was about 3 by this point) either sweating in the sun like rotisserie chickens or jumping in the pool yelping about how hot it was. Oh, and drinking beer, natch.

We went to Fremont St. that evening, old town Las Vegas. That was a lucky night for us all. Kelly and Christine sit down at the bar at the Four Queens casino. Without a word or a wink exchanged, the bartender (or "barkeep" as they would say in old town Vegas) says, "Two shots of Jager?" Altogether we drank approximately $50 worth of Jager there, without paying for a cent of it. We also got some very oddly-shaped beer cups. At some point Emilie slipped off to play a little Wheel of Fortune slots. We're drinking, we're bantering, we're angling for some more free Jager, when all of a sudden, Em appears behind us and says, "I just won $250!" Of course, the richest girl wins money. It was so exciting, Kelly and I felt the need to do a slow-motion victory run.

Later on, we felt the urge to do some karaoke. A favorite of mine, despite the fact I have a singing voice like that thing in Ghostbusters. I also wore a lovely slutty outfit composed of a very short skirt. And we were at a club called the Pink Taco. Gross, right? But so so Vegas. We sang, of course, "I've got friends in low places" by Garth Brooks. I didn't get the disgusting sexual innuendo (Pink Taco. . .low places. . .) until later. We also met a friend of Kelly and Christine's called Joe C., who made me laugh quite a bit. After some care-eeee-oak-eee, we went to a hilariously fun bar called The Piano Bar, where they have dueling piano players playing requests and bantering with the crowd. Very fun, until the played "I Love Rock'n'Roll" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, at which point it became VVVEERRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY fun. Love that song.

Around this point, Em's choice blister became too much for her to handle (don't blame her, that thing was gross) and she caught a cab home. The rest of us, including Joe C., moved on to Nine Dancing Irishmen, or Nine Drinking Irishmen, or something. Nine Irishmen were involved, anyhow. Funnily enough, we did meet some Irishmen, who gave Kelly some Irish dancing lessons. However, we've had some un-positive experiences with Irishmen, so we moved on. To some Australian Hottie McHots. I spotted one with the messy blonde thing I like, so of course Kel felt the urge to go grab his ass and tell him I thought he was cute. In this case it was okay because I really did think he was cute, but she's done that before when it wasn't so okay with me. Things start to get a little fuzzy here, but there was quite a bit of laughing and riding on someone's shoulders and I think I remember something about mullet wig.

On the cab ride home (I won't even tell you what time it was), we had a very smart and philosophical cabdriver who corrected us when we said "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." "No," he says, "only your money stays in Vegas." Which I thought was frighteningly true. That day we slept until past 1 pm. Before I left, my delicious mom tried to suggest some lovely museums I could visit. Ha. We couldn't have made it to any museums even if we had wanted to, which we didn't. We just ate some of the best burritos in existence at Chipotle and then went shopping. Feet hurting, bought a lot of alchohol the night before, so I didn't buy anything. The Aussie boys (we weren't 100% clear on their names, so we just called them the Aussie boys) did call, which was good. Although they called Kelly, not me, buttfaces.

Next up; Kelly's birthday, sweaty dancing, and the traditional 3 and 3. Don't touch that dial. Until I get around to that one, you can see a carefully edited selection of my pics here.