EPIC RECAP: What happens in Vegas does not stay...

...because Sin City will always, ALWAYS, steal your voice (and your morals, and your soul), and you will end up dying at your desk on Monday, attempting to answer the phone while sounding like a seventy year old sexy smoker.

WORTH IT THOUGH.

So hello, friends! I am back in the real world. There were shenanigans. There was scandalous behavior. There were injuries and material losses. And memories were made.

A DISCLAIMER:

Do not read this post if you are related to me (HI DAD!), or wish to believe I am a pure and delicate flower who would never ever make out in hotel lobbies at three am and get scolded for it by security guards because apparently you are offending the elderly, who should really be in bed at three am.  

Okay? Okay.

Proceeding!

Let's start at the very beginning, shall we?  Look what necessities I bought before heading to the airport. Band-Aids, glitter nail polish, and shaving cream. Vegas perfection, right?

So my flight was delayed on Thursday, 'cause OF COURSE, but Thumper ever so brilliantly suggested I try to get on standby, and I ended up on an earlier flight. That boy is wise. I would never have thought to do that, because I have no life skills. I managed to arrive an hour early and met up with two of my favorite ladies at the airport. We taxied ourselves to the Trump International, all atwitter with excitement, ready and prepared to take on the town.

These are the texts I sent to Thumper over the next hour:

Yup. "In the cab" to "drunk" to "cannot spell and needy" in the course of an hour. VEGAS.

Oh, so did I tell you I ended up buying a second dress? I did. It was only $12, practically free.

Check it out! You can't quite see the detail of the peplum in the actual Vegas shots so I included the selfie from my shopping expedition. I heart this dress.

So we got drunk and we got fancy, and headed out to the new hot spot Hakkasan at the MGM, where we were on the VIP list because we are important. We walked right the fuck in. Buh bye, line! And then...we danced. We danced, and shimmied, and got our groove on, and boogied, and got down, and DANCED. And then...I met a boy.

(Yes, yes, I realize I've been seeing Thumper for awhile now, but we have had no discussion of exclusivity or commitment and...it's VEGAS. So...no shame here. Nope.)

What happened was: I saw his adorable, bearded self behind Mantana, and I yelled to her, "GIRL. THERE IS A HOTTIE BEHIND YOU THAT YOU SHOULD DANCE WITH." Because in my mind, he was wayyyyyyy too cute for me. So imagine my surprise when he circled our group and came up behind me, and Mantana pushed me into him, and he started dancing with me. My inner fifteen year old was so excited y'all! I turned around to introduce myself, and not only did it turn out he lives in LA near me, it turned out he was super smart and super nice and super, super into me. Later we discussed this first interaction and he said I looked "incredible" on the dance floor and he was "intimidated" and I was like "wutnow?" So you know...I have no self-awareness whatsoever.

So, we danced. Then we went and got midnight breakfast with our friends. Then we made out in the aforementioned lobby until we were scolded and removed. And then, we played blackjack until he lost a sufficient amount of money (like, lots, he even offered to bankroll me). THEN, as we strolled down the Strip hand in hand, still not sick of each other nor remotely tired, he offered to get us a room.

"That sounds great, but I don't want you expecting anything," I said, ever so primly. Because I am not that kind of girl, gentle readers. No, I'm only the kind of girl who makes out in lobbies.

"I'm not expecting anything," he insisted. "I just want to spend more time with you."

*swoon*

So, a room it was. We talked, and made out, and cuddled. Then slept. He was very gentlemanly. He woke me up in the morning to say goodbye, since he was heading out that day back to LA. He asked for my number. I dozed as he got dressed to leave, and out of the corner of my sleepy eye I watched as he carefully hung up my dress.

So. Fucking. Adorable.

I slept a bit more, then dragged myself out of bed. My walk of shame was decorated with high fives from guys working on the Strip, and a kindly older woman in an elevator saying, "I hope you had fun, dear!" Also, my dress felt a lot shorter in the daylight.

I got back to the room to find one of the girls had gone to the gym, which, what the fuck man, and another one had just arrived home before me, shoeless. Yes, she had also stayed the night in a boy's room, and woken up without her footwear. God only knows, people. VEGAS.

Other things of note from that night: three out of the eight girls got their phones stolen/lost at Hakkasan, which is apparently a huge problem there according to Yelp reviews. Another group of girls we met had seven out of eight phones go missing. Way shitty. So the tally was three lost phones, a lost pair of shoes, and some lost dignity if we count my removal from the hotel lobby for inappropriate behavior.

And that? Was just Night #1. Night #2, another phone went missing, and more dignity was lost. Not mine.

Friday, half of us went to Daylight at Mandalay Bay for a pool party, where we partook in free drinks and sunshine.

From there, we headed to the Wynn, where the second incident of "inappropriateness via Taylor" occurred. See, apparently the buffet at the Wynn has a strict dress code, which yours truly wasn't following. My bathing suit coverup was not "opaque" enough. AKA, I was dressed like a slut. So I had to add Mantana's glittery cover-up as a second layer to be deemed appropriate for entry. I looked ridiculous. God, I was just a hussy all over the place this weekend.

After gorging ourselves at the buffet, there was an epic nap. EPIC.

And then...well. Thumper was supposed to be meeting up with us before we headed out for the night. He did not. He blew me off. Which earned him a place on my drunken shit list. I was not happy. Like come ON, bro. This is what you were missing out on.

RIGHT? Look at that side boob. Fail, Thumper. Fail. No sideboob for you.

Well I guess, considering the night I had prior, I suppose I shouldn't have been too upset, right? But I still gave him shit. Because I was not pleased. At least he knew he failed, he was very apologetic. He says he'll make it up to me. We'll see.

Night #2 we had pooled our money for bottle service at Body English at the Hard Rock, 'cause we wanted to feel like ballers. Plus, there was a music festival in Vegas this weekend, and we were worried about crowds (turns out it wasn't a huge deal, but whatever). So we headed to the casino and met up with our promoter, who was an adorable little thing in a cute red dress. We enjoyed some two for one drinks at the lounge before heading into the club, where there was a free champagne bar and we got a table right on the dance floor.

AND THEN WE DANCED.

And that's about all I remember...

Although apparently drunk me very responsibly got myself back to the hotel and into bed fully clothed. And I did get all my things in my suitcase (minus my iPod, which is being mailed to me). Go, Drunk Taylor!

I woke up Saturday to my alarm making WAY TOO MUCH NOISE at 6:30am. My flight was at 9. Everyone else was staying for a third night, but I had teacher training at 2, so I scrambled my shit together, rolled myself out of the hotel and into a cab, and got to the airport by 7 or so.

Then...my flight was cancelled. Not delayed. Flat. Out. Cancelled.

I cried.

Just the day before, I had joked that I wanted my flight to get cancelled. BUT NOT ONCE I WAS ALREADY AT THE AIRPORT. Before would have been great. While I could still stay for the third night, sure. But not while I was hungover as shit, with my bag already checked, ready to get on my damn way.

They managed to get me on a 12:15pm flight. Which was then delayed. Of course.

I puked on the plane during take-off into my Burger King bag like the mature, classy bitch I am.

I kept slamming my gigantic fucking blister on things.

I contemplated death.

I finally landed at LAX at ten minutes until 2, got into a cab, nearly puked in said cab, got home and threw my suitcase in my apartment, realized my car was at work, nearly cried again, walked to work, then finally made it to the yoga studio an hour late for training.

But I made it.

Fuck.

Me.

Sideways.

And that is my recap.

I think that's everything? If I think of more stories, I will certainly share.

God, I am such a shitshow.

VEGAS.